by Amy Cross
“But you're just a puppy,” I continue. “How can you even know all this stuff?”
“We're just born with it,” he replies. “Don't ask me to explain, because I don't really understand very much. But I know it's not something that happens a lot, and I don't want to do it around other dogs, in case there's a problem.” He glances toward Justin. “I'm not even sure that it was wise to tell him.”
“What's he saying?” Justin asks. “Is he talking about me?”
“He's saying that he likes you very much,” I tell him.
“What's he asking?” Larry says.
“I'm not going to be an interpreter between you two,” I bark at him, before turning to Justin. “I just told him that I'm not going to interpret so the pair of you can have a conversation. Sorry, but I just can't do that.”
“Hey, it's fine,” Justin replies. “He's your dog. You should be the one who talks to him. How are things going outside, anyway? Is the fire out yet?”
Looking out the window, I see that – if anything – the flames seem to be spreading.
“I think it's going to take them all night to put it all out,” I tell him. “We sure used a lot of petrol. Maybe too much.”
“We should have used more,” he says darkly. “As long as that bog's destroyed, nothing else matters. Then we can all get on with our lives again.”
***
“I should get going,” Justin says later, as I turn from the sink and see him heading to the front door. “It's late, and I'm sure you've got work in the morning.”
“Actually, I have tomorrow off,” I reply, before hurrying through to him. “You don't have to go.”
He stops at the door, and I can tell that he's reluctant to leave. Now that I've seen how disgusting the flats on the fourth floor are, I completely understand.
“You can stay here,” I tell him.
“I don't want to put you out.”
“You won't,” I reply. “Honestly, I hate to think of you up on the fourth floor, breathing in all those spores. I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, so please, stay.”
I step closer and put a hand on the side of his arm.
“I think I even have a bottle of wine somewhere,” I add. “We've probably got hours to wait before we can check the bog, so maybe -”
Suddenly he leans closer and kisses me on the lips. I wasn't expecting that at all, but I don't push him away, and a moment later I bump back against the door and put my hands on his shoulder as the kiss deepens. I don't even remember the last time I kissed someone, and I feel like I should stop this and make sure that nothing improper happens. My mother would be aghast if she could see me now.
Then again, why am I thinking about my mother's reactions in the middle of my first kiss in years? It's not like I'm a prim, buttoned-up schoolteacher.
So when Justin puts a hand on my waist and presses himself against me, I don't push him away at all. I pull him closer. Maybe I'll regret this in the morning, but now? Now I want to be with someone again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I open my eyes, and I stare for a moment at the gray sky beyond the bedroom window.
For a moment, I don't dare move. I'm on my side, and I have no idea what I'll see when I roll over. Will Justin still be there, fast asleep? Will he have his eyes open, watching me? Will he have his back to me, so that I can't tell what mood he's in? There are so many possibilities, and I'm not exactly very practiced when it comes to this kind of situation.
Finally, figuring that I have to find out one way or the other, I roll over and turn to face him.
***
“Justin?” I say cautiously as I stop in the doorway, looking through to the kitchen.
I wait, but the flat seems completely quiet. I turn to go through and check the front room, but at the last moment I spot a note on the counter-top.
I head over and pick the note up, and I feel a tingling sense of dread as I read out loud.
“Didn't want to wake you. Went to look at the bog. Speak to you later. Justin.”
Huh.
I guess that makes sense.
I mean, it's not romantic, but I had no real reason to expect romance. Folding the note over, I head to the window and peer out, and I'm relieved to see that there are no more fire engines parked on the road. There are some temporary signs, diverting traffic away from the side of the road next to the fire, but for the most part it's quite surprising to see how quickly everything has gone back to normal. I guess maybe Justin was right when he said that people don't like being anywhere near the building.
I squint a little, hoping to spot him out there somewhere, but there's no sign of movement.
Heading through to the front room, I push the door open and see Larry in his crate. I immediately hesitate, and I can't help feeling that he's staring at me with an accusatory expression.
“I don't know if you heard anything last night,” I say cautiously. “Justin just stayed the night, that's all.”
“I know,” Larry barks. “I heard him sneaking about at sunrise.”
I wait, but he doesn't say anything else. I guess he's just a puppy, he probably doesn't really understand a lot of the things that humans do. Especially two consenting adults.
“I just have to pop out and check something,” I continue. “I'll be back soon to take you for a walk.”
I hesitate, and then I turn and head to the hallway.
“Next time,” Larry barks suddenly, “you could put some music on.”
I wince, but I don't turn to face him again. Frankly, I'm far too embarrassed.
***
As soon as I reach the forest, I start making my way along the path that loops around toward the site of the bog. I keep expecting to see – at the very least – a lone police officer watching the area, but there's no-one at all.
And then, as I make my way between the trees, I see that the ground ahead has been thoroughly charred.
By the time I reach the edge of what was the bog, it's clear that the fire has ravaged the entire site. Where once there was a putrid expanse of muddy slop, now there's nothing but ash. I can even feel the heat in the air as I take a step closer, but then I stop as I realize that maybe I shouldn't go all the way to the very edge.
Reaching down, I grab a long stick and reach out, poking the ash.
I half expect the stick's tip to slip beneath the ash, and for the bog to still be there, but in fact the ground feels quite firm. I try a few different areas, with the same results, and finally I begin to realize that the bog seems to have been destroyed. I guess I was somehow expecting it to have survived, but at the same time I have to acknowledge that Justin and I used a lot of petrol.
I guess crazy plans work out sometimes.
Tossing the stick aside, I turn to look for Justin, but at the last moment I spot something glistening in the concrete pipe that runs under the road. I tilt my head slightly, while telling myself that obviously the strange root must have also been destroyed by the inferno, but after a few seconds I realize that the root is still there.
That's some tough root.
I look around for Justin again, and then I pick my way around the edge of the bog until I'm as close to the pipe as I dare. I crane my neck to peer properly at the root, and I see that it's charred but still very much in one piece. Then again, its surface has been blackened and I realize after a moment that the whole thing is probably just a husk now. It certainly doesn't look alive, and I suppose it'll just rot away now. I briefly consider going back to find another stick, so that I can poke the root, but then I tell myself that there's no need.
I guess we did it.
I mean, I guess Justin did it.
I only helped.
Making my way back toward the path, I can't help looking around for Justin. I expected to find him down here, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been brooding about something, but I suppose I must have missed him. I almost call out to him, but I've never really been someone who likes to draw attention to herse
lf, so I satisfy myself with the assumption that he must have gone back to the building.
Once I'm inside again, I go up to the fourth floor and knock on Justin's door. There's no answer, so I head back down and open my front door, and as I do so I see that another note has been slid onto my mat.
“What is it now, Mr. Seymour?” I mutter as I pick the note up.
When I open the folded piece of paper, however, I see immediately from the handwriting that this isn't from Mr. Seymour at all.
It's from Justin.
“Gone away for a while,” I read out loud. “Not sure when or if I'll be back. Sorry. See you around some time. Glad we fixed everything.”
I read the note over one more time.
Well...
Huh.
Mr. “I don't have anywhere to go” suddenly found somewhere to go after last night, didn't he? For a moment, I actually start to feel a little annoyed that he simply ran off, but then I tell myself that I need to be a little more modern. After all, it's not as if we professed undying love for one another. I guess the whole thing simply didn't mean anything to him and he moved on.
Fine by me.
Screw him, anyway.
“Okay, Larry,” I bark as I head through to the front room, “let's go for a walk. Looks like it's just you and me!”
Part Six
NEW NORMAL
Chapter Twenty-Six
Three months later...
“Okay, how about that one?” I bark, as quietly as I can manage, as Larry and I sit on a bench in the park and watch another jogger coming this way. “Would you want to chase her?”
“Wouldn't be much of a challenge,” he barks back at me.
We both watch the jogger going past.
“She stank of sweat,” Larry adds.
“I didn't notice.”
“You don't have a nose like mine,” he points out. “I have something like three hundred million receptors on my nose, compared to... How many do you have, anyway? Like, five or something?”
“More like six million,” I tell him, “but I get where you're coming from.” I sigh. “I wish I could smell the way you smell. It's almost like I've got a disability.”
“You wouldn't say that if you knew what most people really smell like.”
“Fair point.”
“In fact...” He turns and looks past me, and I swear I can see the disgust in his eyes.
Turning, I see a smart-looking businessman coming this way, tapping away at his phone.
“What do you smell?” Larry barks.
“Nothing. Maybe cologne when he gets closer.”
“I smell pee,” Larry replies. “It's sprinkled on his shoes.”
“Really? Gross.”
“I smell anxiety, too,” he continues. “That man might look confident, but inside he's a mess. I think he feels guilty about something, but not in a regretful kind of way. He's deceiving people, and he's getting away with it so far, and he's worried that he'll get caught out. He also smells of a woman's perfume. No, the perfume of two women. He's cheating on his wife. He smells like baby food too. I think he has a wife at home, they've got a new baby, and he's cheating on his wife with someone at his office.”
“Wow,” I bark as the man walks past.
He glances at me, as if he thinks maybe he heard me make a dog noise, but then he turns his attention back to his phone and he keeps on walking.
“He's an estate agent,” Larry says suddenly.
“How can you tell that from his scent?” I ask incredulously.
“I can't. But I've seen him coming out of their office down the road several times.” He turns to me. “Do you think he's having affairs with his clients?”
“That's amazing,” I reply, feeling genuinely in awe. “The world must seem totally different to you, like nothing I can possibly experience.”
“If you want, we can try to 'accidentally' bump into this Matthew guy you're going on a date with tonight. I can try to suss him out, to make sure you're not totally wasting your time.”
“I don't think that'll be necessary,” I reply. “Mum's already been Facebook stalking him. She accidentally tried to add him as a friend. She called me last night in a total state of panic.” I pause for a moment. “But you really do see the world differently, don't you? It's almost like you exist on a higher plane.”
“Like a wise man kind of figure?”
“Absolutely.”
“I guess that's true,” he replies. “I do understand the world in a way that other people don't. Maybe that does make me very wise and -”
Suddenly he freezes, and I realize that he's spotted something.
Before I can turn and look, he suddenly starts barking loudly. I wince, but at least I understand the word that he's yelling over and over again. And as a woman cycles past us, I cringe as Larry repeatedly yells the word 'Bike' as loud as he can, while staring furiously at the spokes of the wheels.
He's wise in some ways. But maybe he still has a few things to learn.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“So how did you get into event management, anyway?” Matthew asks as we sit at our table in the restaurant. “That seems like quite a leap from studying English to working for a corporate event company.”
“I needed a job, basically,” I reply, forcing a smile. “I don't know. Does anyone actually have a real passion for event management?”
“I guess not,” he says cautiously, and then there's an uncomfortable pause.
I look down at my food and start cutting off another piece of my steak, but I can tell that Matthew's staring at me. We've been having these awkward pauses all evening, and they're gradually starting to get longer and longer. So far, I really don't think that this date is going too well.
Suddenly I hear Larry grumbling under the table.
“This guy is so boring,” he says. “Are you sure he even has a pulse?”
“Is your dog okay?” Matthew asks.
“He's fine,” I reply, before putting the slice of steak into my mouth and starting to chew.
“I was surprised they let him in here,” Matthew says. “But, hey, I love dogs. I've absolutely got nothing against them at all.” He pauses. “Even on dates.”
“Is he still talking?” Larry grumbles from his spot on the floor next to my feet. “I'm trying to sleep down here.”
I can't help smiling.
“What?” Matthew says.
“Nothing,” I reply.
“His feet smell,” Larry adds.
I try to restrain myself, but I know I'm smiling again.
“Are you sure he's okay?” Matthew asks. “I don't mind waiting if you need to take him out to the toilet.”
“He's totally fine,” I tell him. “Sorry. Please, just ignore him.”
“I think I'm going to pass out soon,” Larry continues. “His feet smell so bad, I'm surprised you haven't noticed them.”
“Be quiet!” I bark, trying to keep my voice low. “Stop making me laugh!”
I glance at Matthew, hoping against hope that he didn't notice that, but I immediately see that he's staring at me.
“Did you just...”
He hesitates.
“Did you just bark at your dog?” he asks finally.
“No,” I stammer.
“You did.”
I shake my head, but I already know that he caught me.
“It's just a little thing we do,” I say after a moment, trying to explain myself without sounding too insane. “I'm sorry, it won't happen again.”
“Hey, you love your dog,” he replies, forcing a smile. “I totally respect that.”
“I think he could weaponize those feet,” Larry says. “He could bottle that smell and sell it to the military.”
“So,” Matthew continues, “after my mother died last year I decide to be more -”
Suddenly I burst out laughing. I know I shouldn't, and I quickly bow my head in the hope that I'll be able to hide my reaction, but I can't help myself. For
several seconds, I continue to chuckle, and I can feel tears in my eyes. I try desperately to pull myself together, and then after a moment I hear chair legs scraping against the floor.
Looking up, I see that Matthew has got to his feet.
“Forget this,” he says, as he sets his napkin down. “I'm sorry that you find it so funny when I try to talk to you about something meaningful. I'm sorry I'm not as interesting or as funny as your dog.”
“Wait,” I say, still chuckling, as he steps past me and heads toward the door. I turn and see that he's leaving. “Matthew, please! I didn't mean it!”
He opens the door and heads outside, and I let my shoulders slump as I realize that I really blew this date. Turning, I look down at my food, and then I glance around the side of the table and see Larry staring up at me.
“Was it something I said?” he grumbles.
“No,” I bark quietly, hoping that no-one else will notice us, “it's my fault. I screwed up.” I pause for a moment. “Did his feet really smell that bad?” I continue. “I didn't notice anything.”
“I'm going to have nightmares about those feet,” Larry replies. “I think they'll haunt me for the rest of my days.”
I smile, and then I realize that I'm being watched by the couple at the next table. They're staring at me as if I'm completely insane, and I take a moment to pull myself together as I turn my attention back to the food on my plate. I'm still smiling, of course, but for the most part I'm just trying to look normal.
And then I start giggling, and I realize that maybe I should just ask for the bill and leave.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“And I told him that these things matter,” Dad continues as he, Mum and I sit watching TV at their house. “You can't advertise three-for-two puzzles and then later change it so that the free puzzle has to be one of those cheap little things that they keep next to the till. So I told them, I said I'll be writing a letter to the trading standards people. Do you know how they reacted to that?”
