‘That’s lovely, I hardly knew mine. I wish I did.’ Is it a memory, or imagination, the feel of Grandad’s hand over mine as I draw? A shiver runs through me, and it’s a physical ache. Wishing his touch was real. ‘I can only remember tiny snippets, and I don’t even know if they’re real or feelings I’ve made up from what I’ve been told. I don’t even know how much I loved them, or if I really did inherit my love of art from Grandad.’
He squeezes my hand. ‘I can’t imagine. I know you can’t get them back, but maybe you should talk to your mum more about them?’ He lets go and lies back on the grass; his wine glass cradled in one hand. ‘That boathouse you painted was theirs.’
‘Your grandparents? They had a boathouse here? By this house?’ This is weird.
He smiles, but his lips are thin. ‘I loved that place, it was my childhood, my adventures, my growing up, my grandparents, all wrapped up in one.’
I don’t know what to say. He sounds so sad. He wraps one arm round my waist, holding me there. ‘Georgie didn’t think, she didn’t realise what she was destroying. She certainly snapped me out of my brooding though! We should have talked properly earlier before it got to that, but I’d just retreated, wanted privacy, and so she went after fame and recognition. She wanted the likes, the admiration, everything I’d stopped giving her. I suppose I should have seen it was getting out of hand earlier, I should have done something. Talked to her more, like when she posted that photo of me.’
‘Ah, that photo.’
He sighs. ‘I didn’t even know she’d taken it; I didn’t know it was on her account for the world to see until days after when somebody joked about it in the pub.’ He stares straight into my eyes. ‘I was in uniform, I was identifiable, this place was. I have a rule; I never used to bring work home.’ He waves a hand in the vague direction of the house. ‘That’s why there are the fences, the gate.’
‘So, she at least did do that for you?’
‘Did what?’
‘Had it all fenced, the gate, everything.’
He levers himself up on his elbow again, then cups my chin in his hand. ‘Oh Becky.’ The tone of his voice starts up a swirl of unease in my stomach. ‘I thought you’d guessed, this place is mine, not hers.’ My heart blips and my lips part as his words form in my head, as everything I knew about him and Georgina splinters and reforms. ‘Lake View Cottage belonged to my grandparents and I inherited it.’
‘Yours?’ I squeak. I don’t know what else to say.
‘It was my refuge, my place to hide away when I came home, to regroup, get my head back together again.’
‘But, but, the camper van, the… I’m house-sitting, I… I saw Georgina.’ I take a big gulp of wine. I think I’m in shock. I think I’m blinking like an owl. ‘I didn’t know! How could you let me think…?’
‘I couldn’t just tell her it was over and turf her out, could I? We had an agreement. I said she could stay until July, when she’d had time to get something sorted out. I said I’d give her space. I’ve got somewhere else to stay. She hasn’t, and this place—’ he waves a hand ‘—is her livelihood, she needed to find somewhere else where she could do what she does.’
‘But she said…’
‘I hurt her. It was my fault, Becky. That’s why she couldn’t just let me have Bella, it’s her way of hurting me back. I let her down, I know I did. I changed as well, I wasn’t this action man she’d bought into. I came home and wanted to shut everybody out. It was me and Bella against the world.’ He gives a wry smile.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I say quietly.
‘I could have.’ He shrugs. ‘And what? You had an arrangement with her, not me. It wouldn’t have been fair on you to muddy the water. And I did say she could stay here for a few months.’
‘With Bella?’
‘With Bella. She was in bits about losing Bella as well as this place.’
‘And in bits about losing you,’ I say quietly. ‘That could be why she’s so upset.’
‘I let her down, I’ll let anybody down in the end.’
‘No way.’ I shake my head. ‘You’d never let people down.’ I reach out, let my fingers touch his, and he lifts his hands slightly, so our fingers intertwine.
I’m very afraid I’ve fallen hard for this man. This man who is big in more than just a physical way.
‘In her eyes I did. We’re only as important as the view other people have of us.’
‘Where will she go?’
‘We had a place in the village, where we lived before I got this place. It’s rented out now, but I’ve told her she can have it cheap if she wants for as long as she needs. And anyway, I prefer to be in the camper. It’s quiet, I’ve got some head space.’
I grin. ‘Not much.’ I hold my hand over my head; he’s far too tall to live in a camper van.
He chuckles. ‘I’m outside most of the time.’
‘And you do search and rescue?’
‘Yeah, that’s how I met Sam’s owner. She broke her leg on the fell and asked if I’d look after him for a bit and keep him working. So, why does your mum think so little of Teddy?’
‘Long story.’ I smile.
He smiles back. ‘I’ve got all night.’
‘Well, I bloody haven’t, I was up nearly all last night!’
‘Never make a soldier of you, will I?’
I shake my head. ‘Teddy was just a jerk; it was my fault for listening to him so much. I thought he knew best. But he’s just a snob really, he called my paintings “chocolate box”.’
‘Ah, an intellectual snob, worst of the lot.’
‘True. I mean he’s welcome to his own opinion, but he can’t just expect me to share it, can he?’
‘Nope. I hate any kind of snobbery and one-upmanship. As my grandad used to say, don’t diss somebody for trying – they could be the one that saves your life with an organ, or pushes you out of the path of a bus, or talks you down from the cliff edge.’
‘Have you ever been on the cliff edge?’ I ask softly.
‘Not for a long time. But he was, my grandad – he lived with depression, that’s partly why he loved it so much here. He said it mirrors your moods, you know that after every black day the clouds will eventually lift, and it will be beautiful again.’
‘He was right.’ I gaze over the lake. In the morning it will be bright and beautiful again. ‘I’ll really miss this place.’ Talking about Georgina coming back, about her deadline at the cottage has brought it home to me how little time I’ve got left. I take a deep breath. ‘I’ll miss Bella, and…’ I pause, ‘I’ll miss you.’
A smile lifts the corner of his mouth, and he leans in, so my head is cradled under his chin.
‘I’ll miss you too.’ There’s a long silence. ‘I really will miss you, so will Bella.’
‘I was looking at other places round here. Wondering if I could do another house-sit, come back.’
‘After all the trouble you’ve had?’ He chuckles and it reverberates through my body.
‘Sometimes things are worth the trouble. Maybe if I did,’ I carry on, slightly tentatively, ‘we could meet up. Dog walk?’
‘Sounds good to me. Or I could come and see you in your natural state?’
It’s my turn to grin. ‘You mean crummy flat, as opposed to you the caveman living in a camper in the woods?’
‘Cheeky!’
I yawn. He strokes my hair gently. It’s nice.
‘You’re knackered. I should go.’
‘Back to your little camper in the woods?’ I move away slightly, so I can look at him.
‘Back to my little camper in the woods.’
‘You don’t have to, you could stay.’
‘I could, but I won’t.’ Here we go again, except something deep in the base of my stomach tells me I shouldn’t panic. It’s okay. ‘You need some rest.’ He grins. ‘And you need to clear up the bloody mess your family left! Fine way to look after somebody else’s house!’
He pulls me in against
his body, his arm round my shoulders, so that I can snuggle in and rest my head on his chest.
‘It’s not just your parents who are proud of you, you know. I am. It takes guts to pull the plug on something that’s kind of working and get real, do what you were always meant to.’ He hugs me tighter and I don’t reply. I know I don’t need to.
We stay there as the sun sets, as the bats swoop past us and out over the lake, as the sky above darkens to purple-black and the pinpricks of light break through the canopy and sprinkle the world with stardust.
Then hand in hand we walk up to the house, and he kisses the tip of my nose. And he leaves.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I know I shouldn’t, but it is an addiction. Resistance is futile – like ignoring the last square in a bar of chocolate, or the last Pringle in a tube. I am hooked. Well, it’s not like chocolate actually, it’s a kind of morbid fascination. I know I’m not going to like what I see, but I have to look anyway.
Maybe it’s just FOMO. Her life is better than mine and I’m hoping some of it will rub off on me.
Or maybe it’s just something I like to beat myself over the head with. Maybe I have masochistic tendencies that I need to feed.
Well, whatever the maybe’s, I am drawn to Georgina’s Instagram page like a moth to the flame.
I mean, yeah, I know it’s shallow and meaningless, and not the truth. You’d have to be a bloody good actor to look in pain like Ash did when he talked about her, if she is all sweetness, light and hard done by as she claims, and I don’t think he is an actor.
Plus, Bella loves him, and I’ve always found dogs to be good judges of character. They have no need of artifice, no hidden motives to drive the way they react. But I still don’t know how she does it.
Not the flash pictures, I do know about Photoshop and filters. I don’t know how she has so many followers, so many likes, so many comments.
I am calling it research. Not stalking.
After all, if I could pin down just a fraction of her marketing capability it would help my own career no end. Especially if Mischief doesn’t canter into the bestseller lists internationally.
I woke up yesterday morning expecting a barrage of messages from her asking me to explain why I’d turned away HappyDogzDinnerzzz, which would have given me a major headache.
There was so much that needed explaining.
Like how I’d managed to lose Bella, why I’d called in Ash, why we’d found her at his van, why my whole family were here having an engagement party on her, sorry Ash’s (I have to keep reminding myself of that weird point) lawn a few hours later.
Luckily the girl from HappyDogz had enjoyed our champagne and entertainment tremendously, so much that she’d told Georgina it was all her fault and that they’d be back another day with extra freebies (she must have worked with Georgina before).
I don’t think she mentioned the state of Bella. Or me.
Or Ash.
I therefore woke up to one brief (thank God) message from Georgina with a rearranged appointment. At first, I couldn’t see the urgency to cram pack her diary now, why not wait until she got back and could handle it herself? But I’m beginning to wonder if she’s ‘making hay while the sun shines’ as they say, knowing that her days here and possibly with Bella are numbered.
Anyway, I read the message, replied with a ‘great, thanks for letting me know’ and then had an amazingly successful morning working.
Ash rang to check I was okay, that Bella wasn’t suffering any ill effects from her escapades, and to say he had paperwork to do and so ‘How about lunch tomorrow?’ Lunch tomorrow sounded good to me.
So Bella and I had a gentle stroll along the edge of the lake, and I worked late into the night, because all of a sudden I found it hard not to work. And despite the late night, I woke this morning feeling fully refreshed.
And now I am on Instagram for my daily dose of torture.
#puppylove #adorable #mynewcrush #newaddition #bestfriend #cutenessoverload
What?! I am confused.
These hashtags (there are actually over twenty of them, and lots of hearts and dogs) are not accompanying a photo of Bella.
This is a puppy, a very tiny practically edible puppy. With big ears, ginormous round eyes and a cute squished nose. A puppy with a heart-shaped blob of white on its silver-grey chest. OMG, this puppy is photogenic.
Definitely not Bella. Not that Bella is not photogenic, I didn’t mean that. I meant everything else – size, colour, ears.
I double check. This is definitely Georgina’s account.
I blink and read the description again. This is #romanticRomeo and he’s being collected by Georgina as soon as she gets home #OMGcannotwait #myheart.
Her last hashtags are #babymakesfour! #HappyFamilies!
Baby makes four? What does she mean, four? Four?
Happy family?
Four as in her, Bella, baby four paws, and who? Not Ash, surely not Ash? But she’s not mentioned another man to me. My throat is dry. Not that she would tell me a thing, it’s none of my business.
I don’t care that it is none of my business. I need to know it isn’t Ash! I feel sick.
He said she wanted to try again. Is she going to make a play for him, try and win him back?
The photo has masses of likes and comments. Puppies it seems are worth lots of sponsorship and publicity.
#puppiesruleokay!
Not bloody okay. Puppies do not rule.
What about Bella? What about Ash?
They were in love once though, and if Georgina turns the clock back, shows a bit of the old caring her, will he fall head over heels again?
After all I’m only the house-stroke-dog-sitter who will soon be going back to her own home. Out of sight, out of mind.
Did he simply think I was part of the fixtures and fittings?! Fresh sheets?
No. No, I’m being silly. I refuse to believe that.
There has been nothing, absolutely nothing to suggest he’d consider getting back with Georgina. And nothing to suggest he’s been having me on. He’s seemed so genuine.
So kind. Like he cared.
Okay, it was a shag (well several) and a snog or two. But we had a totally intimate evening of practically no touching.
And she hurt him, she really hurt him. I didn’t imagine that look on his face, or the tell-tale crackle in his voice.
But four? Have I missed something?
I am being totally silly. Overreacting. I need to give myself a slap, take a deep breath and calm down.
It is obvious. Georgina is just moving on. She’s taken a break to get her shit together and plan her future. She has found a new dog to replace Bella, because she has forgiven Ash, no, she has seen she is being mean and Bella is his, and she has a found a new man for her new life. Away from here and Ash.
But she said four!
My head hurts. Probably because I just thumped my palm against it. And because I seem to have forgotten how to keep breathing.
And my hand hurts. I suddenly realise I am clutching my mobile phone with rigid fingers, so I force myself to relax my grip.
It’s odd that she’s even managed to buy a puppy while she’s been away though. She didn’t tell me where she was going, but she’s not a difficult person to track.
Her whole life is spread out on social media for the world to see. I can understand why Ash found it difficult living that way.
Who wants every aspect of their life on show? Especially if you’re a private person, like Ash is. Like I am. I mean, apart from the risk of some weirdo stalking me (unlikely, but possible) then posting where I am, it isn’t that much of a risk for me, is it? Not like for Ash, who has always counted this house as his safe place. Where he’s hidden from danger.
But you could monitor Georgina’s every move from your couch. She’s been in New York most of the time (#NYC #Diner #Newforkcity) – so how did she find Romeo? Pick-a-pet-online?
OMG, my brain freezes along with my wandering f
ingers – she’s in London now! She’s getting close. She’s just posted a picture of Covent Garden (#lovelondon).
Something curdles in the base of my stomach. Anticipation. I know it’s irrational. It’s her house, she’s due back soon, but it feels, I don’t know – threatening?
Somebody has set the timer, we’re on a countdown to when I have to go, and all of a sudden, I really don’t want to.
I’m not ready.
I want to do that walk up to the tarn. I want to spend more time with Bella. I want to find more beautiful spots to take pictures. I want to see the kingfisher again, watch the bats at dusk, hear the birds in the morning. Draw Mischief in the wonderful magical setting. Paint.
But if I’m honest, the thing I really hear the clock clicking towards its final fateful chime about is me and Ash. I want to get to know Ash better.
I need to spend more time with him. Talk again about coming back.
I don’t know what we have, or what we don’t.
I only know that he makes me feel like I’m doing okay. That I’m who I should be, where I should be.
I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.
I am staring at the photo when I hear a noise at the front door.
‘In here! I need to show you something!’ Ash will love this. I don’t get the whole ‘four’ thing, but maybe that’s just Georgina and her make-believe perfect life that she can’t let go of? Surely the puppy will help with his battle to get Bella back? Georgina will have Romeo, so Ash will feel less guilty for a start. All he has to do is be patient until she comes back, then everything will work out.
‘What?’ The voice at the door makes me spin around in my seat. It is not Ash arriving early for our lunch date; it is not a male voice.
Georgina looks like she’s just stepped out of an Instagram picture herself. She has sun-kissed, golden-brown skin, designer sunglasses, sleek, caramel, highlighted hair and statement earrings that just shout out ‘you’ll rip your ear lobes off’ to me.
The Dog Sitter: The new feel-good romantic comedy of 2021 from the bestselling author of The Wedding Date! Page 27
