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First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015

Copyright © HarperColl‌insPublishers 2015

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cressida McLaughlin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9780008135218

Version: 2015-08-07

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Keep Reading_ Primrose Terrace

About the Author

Also by Cressida McLaughlin

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Cat Palmer had never seen Fairview Park looking so beautiful. It was late May, and the breeze that drifted in off the ocean made her think of days spent building sandcastles as a child. The sky was a brilliant blue with gauze-like clouds drifting slowly past. The wide expanse of green grass was humming and buzzing with families and couples and friends, all of whom had one thing in common: they were with their dogs.

There was almost every breed imaginable, from Great Danes to chihuahuas, dachshunds to Dalmatians. Cat was determined to see if the age-old belief stood firm, that there was a resemblance between every dog and its owner. She thought of all the doggy friends she’d made since moving to Primrose Terrace at the beginning of the year, and since she’d started her dog-walking business, Pooch Promenade.

There was her next-door neighbour Elsie with her two miniature schnauzers. All three had grey hair, but beyond that Cat couldn’t see any likeness. Then there was glamorous Jessica Heybourne, celebrity food author and Fairview socialite. Cat thought of her expensively highlighted blonde hair, and the three silky Westies that she owned – a diva with her diva dogs. Yes, there were more similarities there. Cat wondered what she should get if she was choosing a pet to match her own looks. She had boy-cut chestnut hair, brown eyes, long limbs. A red setter maybe, or a pointer? Though neither would be the breed of dog she’d choose, and she’d spent a lot of time thinking about the day she could have her own.

Her newest clients were Will and Juliette Barker, a professional couple who lived at number six Primrose Terrace and had asked her to walk their two golden retrievers, Alfie and Effie, while they were at work. Cat didn’t know them that well, but she didn’t think either of them looked remotely like their pets.

And then there was Chips, sitting perfectly at her feet, her sleek head brushing against Cat’s knee, just beneath the hem of her spring-green sundress. Cat had always thought of the Border collie as humble, elegant and well behaved. Her owner, Mark, could be seen as elegant in a dashing, roguish kind of way, but humble and well behaved he was not. Still, Cat found herself grinning at the thought of him. He had trusted her to look after Chips overnight, while he spent a couple of days in London, and promised her dinner on his return.

She approached a couple with two Labradoodles. Cat always thought of them as the hippies of the dog world; laid-back and loping, their eyes hidden behind elaborate fringes. ‘Welcome to the Pooches’ and Puppies’ Picnic,’ she said. ‘I’m Cat. I run Pooch Promenade with my friend Polly, so please feel free to ask any questions. There’s tea, coffee and cold drinks inside the café, along with water and treats for the dogs.’

‘Thanks,’ the man said. He was quite short and wide, with a bright blue T-shirt and a friendly face. The woman he was with smiled at Cat, her amber eyes wide. ‘We’re not sure we need a walker for these two, but couldn’t resist popping down when we heard about it.’

‘We love dogs,’ the woman added. ‘It’s so lovely to see so many here all at once.’

‘I know!’ Cat said, unable to hide her enthusiasm. ‘It’s such a good turnout – I had no idea it would be so popular.’

And not just for family pets and companions, but for people whose dogs were furkids – as important as children to their owners. She’d seen a young woman with spiky pink hair and porcelain skin leading two shih-tzus dressed in little tartan jackets and sunglasses, and an older woman pushing her Pekinese in a bright blue pet pushchair. Cat remembered seeing them on a dog-accessory website, but she hadn’t imagined people actually bought them. Didn’t dogs want to walk? She hoped so, otherwise her new business would be short-lived.

‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ she said to the couple, ‘where did you hear about it?’

‘On Twitter,’ the man said. ‘I work for the local paper – though “paper” seems a bit anomalous these days so I’m always on social media, trying to keep up with the times. I think your event was mentioned by Magic Mouse –have you heard of them?’

Cat smiled and did a quick visual search of the park. She couldn’t see Joe, her housemate and brother of her best friend Polly, but she knew he was here somewhere, despite his aversion to dogs. He’d come up with the idea for the Pooches’ and Puppies’ Picnic and, now it seemed, had tweeted it to his followers too. ‘I have,’ Cat said. ‘Amazing illustrations. Have you checked them out?’

The man nodded. ‘Yup. I’ve been following him for a while now, looking at his work. He – Joe, is it? – seems very talented.’

Cat glanced behind her, but she still couldn’t see him. ‘He is. He’s got a real skill for cartoons as well as graphic design – his work’s really versatile.’

‘We’re thinking of having a regular cartoon strip in the paper. It’s still just an idea at the moment, but…you know him well, then?’

‘He’s a friend,’ Cat said. Was that true? She hoped they were more than just housemates. ‘And – sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’

‘Phil.’

‘Do you think, Phil, if you get a chance, that you could mention today, maybe say a little bit about—’

‘Pooch Promenade?’ He gave her an easy, open smile. Was he really a journalist? ‘I think that can be arranged. Good-news stories are always great for the paper. Give me your number and I’ll look at it on Monday, ring for a quote.’

Cat’s heart leapt. ‘That’s fantastic!’ She handed him a Pooch Promenade card with her number on. ‘Thank you.’

‘And thanks for the info about Magic Mouse. I’ll be in touch.’

Cat directed them towards the Pavilion, the park’s dog-friendly café, run by George, that was hosting her event. She waved at a family with an Alsatian puppy straining on its leash, a young boy laughing as he was dragged along behind, his father with a protective hand on his shoulder.

‘Twenty names,’ a familiar voice said close to Cat’s ear. She spun round to see Polly waggling a clipboard. ‘Twenty people have registered to receive the Pooch Promenade newsletter, and it’s only eleven o’clock.’ Polly was wearing a pink T-shirt and white shorts, her long blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, her freckles just starting to emerge in the sunshine. Her pale blue eyes were alive with excitement.

‘That’s incredible,’ Cat said. ‘And the local paper said they’d put something in about today. At this rate I’ll need to hire more people.’

‘I’m going to try and spend a bit of time walking the dogs,’ Polly said. ‘I don’t have much spare, but I’m being swallowed by revision and I need to make sure I get some fresh air or I’ll be a gibbering wreck when the exams start. Can I help out?’

‘You’re serious?’ Cat flung her arms round her friend. ‘Oh, Polly, that would be amazing. I feel like I’ve barely seen you since I moved in!’

‘I know, it’s been rubbish. But my exams are three months away and then I’m free!’

‘Except you have to start doing the thing you’ve been training to do for so long.’

‘Daniel at Fairview vet’s says he’s really pleased with what I’ve done, that there’s money and demand for another nurse.’

‘So you can keep working there?’

Polly nodded, her lips pressed together, trying to hide what Cat could only assume was a huge grin.

‘Oh God, Polly, that’s brilliant! Why haven’t you told me already? We need to celebrate! You’ll be a fully qualified veterinary nurse.’

‘And maybe I’ll actually have a life!’

They hugged again, Cat feeling a swell of pride that her friend had worked hard and got to exactly where she wanted. It was impressive, and something Cat couldn’t imagine doing. She’d felt settled at her last children’s nursery in Brighton, had fitted into their spontaneous ways, but her job as nursery assistant in Fairview had lasted less than three months, and Cat had turned her back on that career path.

But Pooch Promenade felt right. She had always loved dogs, and couldn’t remember a time when she was so happy, walking people’s pets round Fairview Park and the sandy beach, getting to know the locals at the same time. Now that Polly was nearly qualified, all they had to do was drag her brother out of the post-break-up dumps, and their household would be the happiest on Primrose Terrace.

‘Where’s Joe?’ Cat asked. She stroked Chips’s ears, checking that the collie hadn’t turned to a statue at her side. The dog nuzzled her nose into Cat’s hand.

‘He’s on the veranda, giving out the cards with your rates and contact details on. I think I saw Jessica prowling around there too.’

‘Ah.’ The friends exchanged a knowing smile. A few weeks ago, Jessica had held a party at which Joe, work-at-home hoody enthusiast, had put on a sharp suit and ended up kissing the hostess. He’d assured them it was a one-off, but Cat had spoken to Jessica and wasn’t sure the author was quite so ready to forget it. ‘Do you think he needs rescuing?’

‘It wouldn’t hurt to see how he’s getting on. I’ll take Chips for a bit.’ Polly approached a tall, burly man with a boxer, what looked like a piece of bread sticking out of the dog’s mouth. Maybe it was a Street Sweeper, picking up any snack she could find on her route around the park. ‘Hello,’ Polly said, ‘welcome to the Pooches’ and Puppies’ Picnic. If you’ve got any questions I’d be happy to answer them.’

Cat gave her Chips’s lead and snaked through people and dogs towards the café. It was cooler under the awning, but only just, and Cat spotted Joe at a table with a glass of iced water. There was no sign of Jessica. He was wearing a grey T-shirt and dark cargo shorts and, despite being blonde and blue-eyed like his sister, he had tanned arms. Cat had imagined that, with all the time he spent hidden up in his office creating illustrations, he’d be as pale as a ghost. He didn’t look like a ghost.

‘How’s it going?’ she asked. ‘Not regretting giving up your Saturday to spend it with your least favourite animals?’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘There are worse ways I could be spending my weekend.’ He grinned, and Cat was surprised how relaxed he seemed.

‘That’s very magnanimous of you.’ Ever since she’d moved into number nine Primrose Terrace, they’d had a battle of wits about her new business and ultimately – although she wasn’t sure Joe knew this yet – about when Cat could have a dog of her own. Joe had made his feelings about dogs perfectly clear, and had put an obstacle firmly in the way. That obstacle was grumpy and ginger, liked Whiskas and went by the name of Shed. ‘Is all this contact starting to turn you, Joe? I mean, look how cute this one is!’

Joe sat up and peered over the table at where Cat was pointing.

‘Hello, what’s your name?’ She crouched down and the tiny dog trotted up to her. It was white and tan, with eyes too big for its pointy face, and huge ears that had their own furry tassels. ‘You look like a princess, don’t you? Your ears look like those hats.’ The dog looked up at her, as if expecting her to clarify. ‘Oh, you know. Joe?’

Joe frowned, thinking. ‘A hennin. That cone-shaped princess hat, that’s what it’s called.’

‘Exactly. See? You’re a princess. Who do you belong to?’ The dog sat in front of her and put her paw over her nose, just as a man with white hair and half-moon glasses bustled through the crowd. ‘Is this little dog yours?’

The old man nodded and sat down opposite Joe. ‘Hot, isn’t it? Phew. Shouldn’t have layered up like I have. Hard to break a habit and go without a vest, though.’

‘It is quite warm,’ Cat said, suppressing a smile. ‘What’s your dog called?’

Joe disappeared inside the café, and Cat turned her attention to her new visitor.

‘Paris,’ he said. ‘She’s a papillon. Marie Antoinette’s favourite breed. There’s a Papillon House in Paris, still. Seemed appropriate.’

‘She’s very well behaved.’

’She’s a perfect little butterfly. But sadly, a miserable one.’

‘A miserable butterfly?’

‘Papillon. It means butterfly in French. Don’t you young people go to school any more?’

‘That one must have passed me by.’

‘But you’ve been to Paris?’

‘Once. A long time ago.’ Cat had been with her parents when she was small. She didn’t remember much beyond the endless rain and straining her neck to look up at the Eiffel Tower, bearing down on her like a giant steel monster.

He smiled, a hazy look on his face. ‘Most romantic city in the world. You should take your chap with you, visit all the sites – Papillon House included.’

‘My chap?’

‘Your young gentlemen there,’ the man said.

Joe returned and put a glass of water in front of him.

‘Thank you, son, very kind. Seems very well behaved too,’ he said to Cat with a wink. ‘A trip to Paris would be just the thing.’

‘Oh, no, no, I—’ She glanced at Joe, saw him silently ask a question and turned back to the gentleman. ‘I’m Cat,’ she said. ‘I run Pooch Promenade.’ She held out her hand, and he took it.

‘Oh, yes, I know all about you. I’m Arthur, but people call me Captain.’

‘OK,’ Cat said quietly. ‘Can I ask—’

‘Why I’m called Captain?’

‘How you know about me?’

‘Elsie told me. We’re back-garden buddies, we chat over the wall. She said anyone and everyone with a dog would be here today, that I’d better hotfoot it down with my Paris. Don’t know why though, she doesn’t need more walks, doesn’t seem to want to do anything at the moment except hide under the sofa. Butterflies don’t do that, generally.’

‘I wonder why?’ Cat crouched and stroked the little dog, who was still trying to hide her nose under an inadequate paw. She started shaking. ‘She’s not unwell?’ Paris had a thin red collar, a tiny Eiffel Tower charm hanging off it in place of a name tag. Cat smiled at the old man’s romanticism.

‘Doesn’t seem so. I took her to the vet’s a couple of weeks ago, and they weren’t sure. She’s eating OK, she’s affectionate with me, but it seems she’s got that – arachnophobia thing.’

‘She’s scared of spiders?’ Joe peered down at Paris. ‘I guess she is quite sma—’

‘No no, not that. Going outside. When you don’t like going outside.’

‘Oh,’ Cat laughed, ‘agoraphobia.’

Joe shrugged and crossed his arms. ‘Arachnophobia is spiders.’

‘I am seventy-eight, boy,’ Captain scolded. ‘I can be forgiven for getting a word wrong here and there.’

‘Of course, I didn’t mean to—’

‘You young studs don’t like to be embarrassed, do you?’ He wagged a finger at Joe and Cat turned her attention back to the sad dog, hiding her smile.

‘Maybe I could ask my friend Polly to take a look at her? She’s a vet’s nurse, so—’ Cat was cut off by a loud squeal from somewhere beyond the periphery of the veranda. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, getting up.

Joe was already ahead of her, and Cat followed him back to where she’d left Polly and Chips. She stopped in her tracks when she saw that her friend was completely drenched, her mouth open aghast, water running off her and onto the hot grass. Chips was trotting backwards and forwards, her fur glistening. Cat thought she’d probably enjoyed the soaking more than Polly.

‘What the hell?’ Joe whispered. ‘Pol, are you OK? What happened?’

Cat took a step forward and then stopped. Mr Jasper was standing at the edge of the crowd that was beginning to form, holding an empty bucket. Mr Jasper, ex-headmaster and local dog hater, had a tendency to let his views be known in sneaky, underhand ways. This was the most public thing he’d ever done.

‘Oh my God,’ Cat said quietly, and then, much louder, ‘Mr Jasper, can I ask what that was in aid of? Because the last time I checked it was cats that didn’t like water and not dogs.’

Mr Jasper fidgeted, dancing backwards and forwards like one of Jessica’s Westies. She could see he was wavering, desperate to run away but knowing he couldn’t. ‘We don’t want this many dogs here!’ he shouted.

‘Who’s we?’ Cat asked.

‘Lots of us. Lots of people. They’re a menace. Pooing and biting and making a mess.’

‘It’s a park! It’s not like we’re traipsing them through the local museum! Where else should dogs go, except the park?’

Mr Jasper gave a smug little smile. ‘They should be in your homes, in your gardens. Leave the public spaces for the people.’

‘Even if that is your opinion – and it’s a pretty unrealistic and narrow-minded one – did you really think the best way to express that opinion was coming here and throwing a bucket of water over my friend? What possible purpose could that serve, except making a scene? It’s an unprovoked attack, it’s got nothing to do with dogs, and you don’t even have a banner!’

‘Yes, we do,’ said a familiar voice, and Cat shivered as she realized who it was.

Alison Knappett, Cat’s old boss at the nursery – otherwise known as Knickers-Too-Tight. Short and prim, her dark fringe low over her serious eyes, she stepped out from behind Mr Jasper and raised a cardboard placard. She was wearing a blue dress and flat, sensible shoes, as usual looking far older than her mid-thirties. The placard was white cardboard on a wood support, and the writing was bold but neat. It said, Say NO to dog walkers in Fairview.

Cat faltered. Mr Jasper she could face, but not Alison. Cat knew she didn’t like dogs – she’d found out to her cost just how much she hated them. But to go this far? To fire her and then try to sabotage her new business, felt very personal. ‘O-one banner?’ she stammered. ‘It’s not a very big protest, is it?’

‘But we’ve got everyone’s attention.’ Alison gestured around her, and Cat realized they were in the centre of a large circle of people and dogs, all waiting to see what would happen next. Polly was standing at the edge of the space and someone had got her a towel.

‘Go on then,’ Cat said. ‘Now you’ve got everyone’s attention, now you’ve ruined what was a perfectly good-tempered event, say what you wanted to say. Go on.’

Alison stepped forward but Mr Jasper put a hand on her arm.

‘We believe,’ he said, ‘that the recent trend for dog walkers is a growing menace to our society. Dogs are a part of life, I accept that, and so does my friend. We may not like it, but we accept it.’

‘No, you don’t,’ someone called, but Mr Jasper ignored them.

‘What we can’t accept, in our public spaces, where children and vulnerable people come to enjoy themselves, to get fresh air and a sense of calm, is the walking of multiple dogs in large and unruly packs. It’s a recipe for disaster. If you can’t control your dogs – and I defy anyone with more than four to be fully in control – then they will get loose, they will bite people, they will foul the grass and the paths where toddlers play, and they will ruin the serenity of this place.’

‘Nonsense,’ someone muttered.

‘I have already witnessed this woman struggling to keep control of a pack of dogs, in this very park! I have seen the damage that can be caused, and we will not stand for it!’

‘Dogs are dirty,’ Alison shouted, her prim voice straining to be heard. A few people had started to make low noises of dissent. ‘They’re dirty and they’re messy and they’re pests.’

‘Of course they’re not! What on earth are you talking about?’ A tall woman stepped forward, her black hair in corkscrews around her striking face, and Cat recognized her as Juliette Barker, one of her newest clients. She was half Jamaican and not, in Cat’s limited experience, a shrinking violet. ‘This is ridiculous,’ Juliette added.

‘You’re imbeciles,’ the man with the boxer said. ‘My Molly’s clean and smart and much better company than you.’ Cat noticed that Molly now had a Magnum wrapper sticking out of her mouth.

Mr Jasper and Alison exchanged an uneasy glance, and tried to step back into the crowd.

‘We will petition this,’ Mr Jasper said. ‘You just watch.’

‘Watch the signatures not roll in, you mean?’ boxer man said.

Captain appeared, holding Paris in his arms, her head nestled into his chest as if she couldn’t bear to watch. ‘You did set yourselves a hard task,’ he said in a friendly tone, ‘coming as a twosome to a dog lovers’ event.’ Alison blushed. Cat knew she hated to be wrong, and Captain’s words set a new fire under her.

‘Well, you can’t trust her,’ Alison screamed, pointing at Cat. ‘She is disorganized, and a danger to young children, and completely incompetent.’ She spat the last word and Cat gasped. ‘Don’t trust this woman to walk your dogs. Don’t trust her for anything.’

Cat opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

She felt a warm hand on her bare shoulder and suddenly Joe was in front of her, between her and Alison. ‘You’ve taken it too far,’ he said calmly. ‘You know as well as I do that what you’ve said about Cat is a lie. Nobody incompetent could have organized this event. She’s received nothing but praise for her dog walking – you guys aside – and if you want to talk about disorganized, then take a look in the mirror.’

The park was hushed, everyone straining to hear these quieter remarks. Cat took a step forward but Joe grabbed her hand.

Alison glared at Joe, and Joe looked steadily back at her. Cat knew that Joe would win any staring match.

‘You haven’t heard the end of this,’ Alison screeched. ‘And if you think you’re getting my business after this, Joseph Sinclair, then think again.’ She turned abruptly, her placard bashing Mr Jasper in the knees, and tried to push her way through the crowd. ‘Let me through!’

‘Are you OK?’ Joe turned to Cat and released her hand. ‘Sorry I stopped you. I was trying to defuse the situation and after what she’d said, I wouldn’t have blamed you for punching her in the face.’

‘No, you did the right thing. I didn’t realize she—’

’NO!’ Alison squealed, ‘get away!’ They turned to see Chips standing in front of the two protesters, looking up at Alison, a tennis ball at her feet. Alison moved back into the crowd and Chips trotted forward, putting the ball down in front of her again.

‘She loves you,’ someone laughed. ‘Though God knows why.’

‘This dog is harassing me!’ Alison moved further back and Chips followed, her tongue lolling out. She lifted her paw and looked up at Alison expectantly. Alison, her cheeks red, turned and pushed through the laughing crowd. Mr Jasper followed her, their placard discarded. Chips lay on the grass and rested her nose on her paws.

‘What was that all about?’ Polly was drying off quickly in the sun, her blonde hair forming wispy tendrils around her face. ‘I didn’t know Alison could be so cruel.’

‘I took Elsie’s puppy into her nursery,’ Cat shrugged. ‘She obviously holds grudges. But I’m so sorry, Joe, about your—’ She turned but he was no longer next to her. ‘Joe?’

Polly pointed to where Joe was crouched in front of Chips, laughing and rubbing her ears. ‘Good dog,’ he said. ‘What a clever dog.’

‘Oh my God,’ Cat whispered, ‘why is he doing that?’

Polly shrugged.

‘He’s not a dog person.’

‘I never said he wasn’t—’

‘He won’t let me have them in the house. Joe?’

Joe’s shoulders tensed and he stood up quickly, flashed them a quick smile and disappeared into the café.

Cat shook her head, feeling a mixture of confusion and relief. Maybe she was right, and that by coming into contact with so many dogs, he was slowly realizing how lovable they were. But he’d seemed so easy, so comfortable with Chips. ‘I don’t understand your brother, Polly. Either there’s something I’m not getting or that kiss with Jessica turned him into some kind of dog-loving wonder boy, like a modern-day princess kissing a toad.’

Polly put her hand on Cat’s shoulder. ‘Joe’s not a toad. It’s summer, and he loves summer. The whole Rosalin-and-Alex thing is further in the past, and I think his business is doing OK, despite losing Alison’s custom just now.’

‘But Chips is a dog.’

‘Yes, I know. Look, Cat, there’s something I haven’t—’

‘Joe hates dogs.’

Polly was looking in the direction of the café, chewing her lip. ‘It’s not that simple,’ she said. ‘Joe’s had a hard time of it, and maybe he’s realized he was an arse when you first moved in. He’s trying to make it up to you.’

Cat nodded. ‘He’s helped me with Twitter, he’s given me great advice, thought of the whole Pooches’ Picnic idea. He’s been really helpful, actually.’ Polly laughed. ‘No need to sound so surprised. He’s trying hard, and whatever impression he’s given you, he doesn’t hate dogs. He’s giving credit where credit’s due.’ She pointed at Chips.

Cat waggled her fingers and the Border collie raced up to her. She pulled a few treats out of her bag. ‘That, Chips, was brilliant. Maybe some of Mark’s cheekiness has rubbed off on you after all?’ Chips gave a single, cheery bark. ‘Do you miss him?’ she asked. Chips pressed her damp nose against Cat’s leg. ‘Yeah, I do too. Come on, let’s see if anyone still wants to talk about dog walking, or if they’re all convinced I’m completely incompetent. Coming, Pol?’

They made their way across the grass, saying hello to the few people who remained. Most had drifted off after Mr Jasper’s intervention, whether embarrassed to stay, or just seeing it as the perfect time for lunch. The sun was high in the sky, baking down on them all. Cat thought the dogs could do with going inside and cooling off. Maybe they’d all be happy to have a bucket of water thrown over them.

She could see Captain and his perky-eared papillon, Paris, on the veranda of the Pavilion café, talking to the owner George. And she could see Joe through the glass, helping to clear up. Cat really had to thank him for all he’d done. She’d found herself doing that quite a bit lately, and was starting to think she would have to change her opinion of him as a grumpy sod. She let Chips go ahead of her, but a dog started barking behind them and, intrigued, Chips changed course.

‘Chips,’ Cat called, ‘come on, let’s go inside.’ But the Border collie was intent on her new pursuit.

A small sandy-haired dog was haring across the grass towards Chips, running as fast as its tiny legs could carry it. At the last minute it jumped, its floppy ears flying, and came to an untidy halt next to the collie.

It continued to make a high, squeaking noise like a broken bicycle horn, and started running backwards and forwards. A classic Zoomie dog, Cat thought.

She approached the puppy, cautiously at first and then, when it seemed intent on tiring itself out, she pulled it into her arms, lifted it up and stroked its head, calming it. It was a cocker spaniel, and Cat thought it could only be about six months old. She turned its collar around and found a heart-shaped name tag. Olaf, it said, followed by a phone number.

Cat scanned the park. It was still busy, the grass dotted with groups kicking footballs and having picnics, but Cat could see no one who looked frantic, as if they’d lost someone important. Olaf. That name was familiar, and not just because it belonged to a snowman she’d heard about non-stop at the nursery. The nursery – that was it! She remembered Alison telling Emma to say goodbye to her dog; the little girl fighting back tears.

‘Where’s Emma?’ she asked Olaf, who was shivering, depleted of exertion and confidence. ‘Where’s your family?’

‘I think you might be looking for these two?’ It was Joe, ushering a couple of young girls towards her.

‘Olaf!’ the older one squealed. They were both crying loudly, and looked ragged despite their bright sundresses and sandals.

‘Is he yours?’ Cat held the puppy out to the older girl. She recognized four-year-old Emma, and there was something familiar about her sister too, despite her being too old to attend nursery. ‘Hey,’ she said gently, ‘there’s no need to cry. He’s had an adventure and now he’s tired, but he’s fine.’

‘And you did well to keep up with him,’ Joe added. ‘I saw how fast he was going. Maybe you two need to think about careers in athletics.’

The older girl started to sniff, restraining her tears, and reached out to take her pet. She cuddled him against her, and Olaf nuzzled her cheek. Cat thought she was probably about ten or eleven, skinny, with long, flyaway mousy hair and freckles. Emma was still sobbing, one hand gripping onto her sister’s dress.

‘You’re Emma, aren’t you?’ Cat asked.

The little girl nodded through her tears.

‘I’m Cat, from the nursery. Do you remember me?’

Again she nodded, then gulped and wiped her eyes with her hands. ‘Alison made you leave because you were too funny.’

Cat tried to hide her grin, which wasn’t easy when Joe was rolling his eyes.

‘Alison and I weren’t always best friends, Emma, but I loved all of you, and I miss you.’

‘We miss you too,’ Emma said. ‘And your puppy.’

‘But you’ve got one of your own. Olaf. Is this your sister?’

The older girl gave her a small smile. ‘I’m Lizzie. I’m ten.’

‘Nice to meet you, Lizzie. I’m Cat, and this is Joe. Were you bringing Olaf to the park?’

They both nodded, Lizzie’s eyes cast down to the ground. ‘Mum said could we take him out, because she’s busy with Henry. That’s our brother.’

‘He’s only ten months,’ Emma added, ‘and a handful.’

‘Shhh,’ hissed Lizzie. ‘Mum said not to say.’

‘Your mum told you not to say anything?’

‘About how stressed she is,’ Lizzie blurted, then gasped, her eyes filling up with tears again.

’That’s OK,’ Cat said reassuringly. ‘I won’t say anything. Do you want me to come with you and explain about Olaf to your mum?’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘No, it’s OK. We can take him back. Mum doesn’t need to know he got off the lead.’

‘You took him off!’ Emma squealed.

‘I really don’t mind,’ Cat said, trying to head off a squabble between the girls. ‘Our event’s done now, and I’d like to say hello to your mum again. Do you live close by?’

‘Number twelve Primrose Terrace,’ Emma said proudly.

‘Of course!’ Cat said. That’s where she remembered the older girl from – she’d passed them in the street on more than one occasion.

‘What?’ Lizzie asked, her slender brows lowering.

‘I live on Primrose Terrace too. Oh, this is perfect. I’ll just go and get Chips, and we’ll all walk back together.’

‘Of course,’ Joe said brightly. ‘We can’t get away with not knowing about one of our neighbours, can we?’

Cat shot him a sideways glance and went in search of Polly and Chips.

Chapter 2

The primroses that characterized Primrose Terrace lasted all the way through the spring, filling the wide grass verges opposite the houses with whites and pinks and blues, as well as the more common yellow. It looked like an intricately weaved carpet, and Cat wondered who tended to them, making sure they bloomed so spectacularly every year. She wondered whether the primroses had given the terrace its name or if it was the other way around.

The houses only ran along one side of the road. Opposite them, and beyond the colourful verges, was a high, redbrick wall shielding the back gardens of the seafront houses from view. Cat loved knowing that, just beyond those houses, was the endless expanse of glittering blue or churning grey water.

Their party of three grown-ups, two children and two dogs passed Jessica’s extravagant house at number one, reminding Cat that she hadn’t seen the author at the Pooches’ and Puppies’ Picnic, either superglued to Joe or anywhere else; then the bed and breakfast, a couple unloading suitcases from a VW Beetle outside; then Mark’s slightly shabbier house. Chips climbed the stairs and Cat thought she probably shouldn’t take a strange – albeit passive – dog to someone else’s house, especially when they had a baby.

‘Could you get Chips settled, Polly? I’ll come and check on her later.’

‘Of course.’

Cat handed Polly Mark’s key and Chips’s lead.

She lost Joe as they passed number nine.

‘I’ve got some work to catch up on,’ he said. ‘Nice to meet you, Emma and Lizzie.’ He bounded up the steps, leaving Cat, the girls and Olaf standing on the pavement.

‘Right then, it’s just us chickens.’ They made their way down the road, to number twelve.

‘We didn’t paint it,’ Lizzie said, ‘but we think we’ve got the prettiest house on the street.’

‘I can’t argue with that,’ Cat said.

Number twelve was pale pink, with the same white window frames as the other houses, and a white front door. Someone had, presumably a long time ago, painted a design of pink daisies round the edges of the door, but it was so faint now Cat could only just see what it was. There were cuddly toys lining one of the upstairs windows, looking out at the street, and the downstairs curtains were shut, despite it being the middle of the day. It was a very pretty house that, Cat thought, with a few extra touches, could really stand out.

‘I’ll check with Mum,’ Lizzie said. Emma followed closely behind, almost bumping into her sister. The door was ajar, and Lizzie pushed it open and slipped inside, followed by her sister. Cat waited, drumming her fingers on her arms. She thought she could hear someone shouting, but then the door swung open and a woman about Cat’s age appeared.

‘Hello?’ Her voice was breathless and clipped, her irritation clear. ‘Can I help?’ She had reddish-brown hair tied back from her face in a scrappy ponytail, green eyes and no make-up, a silver stud glinting just above her lip. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes red-rimmed. ‘Now’s not a good time.’

Cat wiped her hand down her dress and held it out. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m Cat. I used to work at Emma’s nursery, and I met her and Lizzie in the park today.’

‘They weren’t meant to go to the park,’ she rushed. ‘They were meant to walk up to the end of the road and back, that’s all. And then – I couldn’t leave, because of Henry, or what if they came back and I—’ She stopped and took a deep breath, shook her head. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘There isn’t a problem,’ Cat said. ‘I found Emma and Lizzie in the park with Olaf, and I thought…’

The other woman folded her arms. ‘You thought what? That they shouldn’t have been out without their mum? I told them not to leave the terrace, but there was some bloody dogs event in the park. I don’t need you – or anyone else – telling me how to do things.’

‘I’m not, I promise.’ Cat glanced up the street, hoping to see Polly’s instantly likeable face, but for the moment Primrose Terrace was quiet. ‘I wanted to say hello. I moved into the street at the beginning of the year, and I can’t believe we’ve not met properly yet. Also, it sounds like it’s partly my fault. I put on the event in the park, for dogs and their owners.’

‘Great, brilliant. Thanks for that. I don’t have time for a neighbourly chat, I need to see to Henry.’ She stepped back and moved to close the door, but Cat put her hand out.

‘Look – can I ask your name?’

‘I have to go.’

‘Please. They were so worried they’d upset you. I think they were trying to help.’

‘What would you know? Girls,’ she called, turning away, ‘wash your hands. Now. No complaints.’ She faced Cat again. ‘Look, Cat, is it?’

Cat nodded.

‘Thanks for bringing them back, but I need to get on.’

‘It’s just that—’ Cat stopped, wondering how to broach the subject.

The girls’ mother eyed her suspiciously. ‘What?’

‘Lizzie and Emma might have mentioned that…that you could do with some help.’

The young woman’s eyes widened. ‘They what?’

‘The thing is,’ Cat hurried, ‘I run a dog-walking business now, and this event that Lizzie noticed – well, she mentioned that sometimes, with the baby, it’s hard for you to get out. With Olaf. Hard for you to all have time together.’ She swallowed and crossed her fingers behind her back. This had potentially been another of her Worst Ideas Ever, and she didn’t want to patronize the woman or make her feel that she was a bad mother. She didn’t want to get the girls in trouble either.

The young woman looked at her for so long that Cat thought she might have somehow become invisible, but then she pushed the door open wider, and Cat could see the hallway beyond. ‘They said that, did they? About spending time together?’

Cat nodded.

The girls’ mother rubbed her eyes and gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘I’m Frankie,’ she said quietly. ‘They shouldn’t have done that, gone to the park. They know the rules.’ She gestured for Cat to come in.

‘They’re back though,’ Cat said, ‘and they’re fine.’

‘It’s bloody hard at the moment, with Henry and my shifts at the restaurant. My two girls are basically sorting themselves out, and I know it’s not fair – they’re still so young.’

She led the way into the living room, which was similar to the one at number nine, except that everything was bright, a myriad of colours. The sofas were red, the distressed wooden coffee tables dark purple, and the white walls were barely visible, covered in kids’ drawings, chains of seashells, a living scrapbook of Frankie and her family. Toys, magazines and clothes in various sizes covered every surface, a pale pink gauze hung across the doorway into the kitchen, and the threadbare carpet was hidden beneath a round, rainbow-swirl rug. It wasn’t tidy, but it was vibrant and full of life.

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