Her Closest Friend (ARC)

by Clare Boyd

  Mummy got back to Sophie within the day:

  Sorry. Had my phone off. Diana is harassing me about coming to see your new dog. Does Saturday work? Will he be okay around Harley? Naomi

  Sophie confirmed the arrangement straight away, reassuring Naomi that Bear would be fine around Harley. The rehoming team at Battersea Dogs Home had warned Sophie that he was ‘particular about his doggie friends’, and that they had to be careful about the ‘high prey drive’ of a collie-husky mix, but Sophie did not mention these details to Naomi, fearing it would give her the wrong impression of their friendly dog. In fact, Sophie laughed at the thought of little Harley cowering in the corner as Bear raced around barking. Bear barked a lot, but he wouldn’t mean to scare him. He was only two, and he was lively. They’d get used to each other.

  Sophie held Bear by the collar as Naomi, Izzy and Diana edged past him. His lip was curled. It was the first time Sophie had heard him growl.

  ‘Stop that, Bear,’ Dylan laughed, rubbing him under the chin and kissing his head.

  ‘Don’t worry, he’s a bit wary around new people,’ Sophie explained.

  Once the door was closed, Sophie let go of him and he raced up to Izzy and Diana barking and growling. They waited behind Naomi cautiously.

  ‘Will he bite?’ Diana asked.

  ‘He wouldn’t hurt a flea. Just ignore the noise. Want some juice?’

  ‘Look at his blue eyes. They look like glass,’ Izzy said, backing off further.

  Bear stayed in the hallway barking at them as Sophie fixed their drinks. ‘Shush, Bear,’ she scolded.

  Dylan stroked him and soothed him and reassured him. Sophie admired them together. Both had light hair and clear eyes. Sophie couldn’t stop taking photographs of them.

  ‘Can I pat him?’ Diana asked, crouching down, holding out her hand to let him smell her.

  ‘Of course,’ Dylan said proudly.

  Bear licked Dylan’s face and allowed Diana to stroke him, before dashing into the garden. All three children scrambled off after him.

  ‘I’ve left Harley in the car,’ Naomi said. Her eyes were wide as they scanned the kitchen, perhaps marvelling at the smart new stripped-oak Shaker units and black enamel knobs and large glass jar of gladioli on the sill.

  ‘He’ll be fine around him, Naomi.’ Sophie switched on the kettle.

  ‘Do you know his history?’

  ‘He was badly abused at his last home. They told me he was starved and hit and holed up in a tiny London flat.’

  ‘That’s awful.’ Naomi stared out of the window, with her back to the kitchen.

  ‘He needs a lot of walking. That’s why I wanted him to make friends with Harley, so we could go on dog walks together.’

  Sophie read a lack of enthusiasm into the silence that followed. She understood why there might be a difficult period with Naomi, for a while. This would pass, like the other phases they had moved through in their long friendship.

  ‘Do you want to get Harley out now?’

  ‘I’ll get him out in a bit.’

  ‘I think now would be good.’

  Naomi turned to face Sophie. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes pleading, almost. ‘Sophie, you promise he’ll be safe around him?’

  Naomi’s gloom was getting on Sophie’s nerves. If it was possible to look drowned without being wet, Naomi had achieved it.

  ‘Wow. You, of all people. Your attitude is exactly why a third of all dogs at the Battersea Dogs Home are put down – a third – because so few people believe in giving them a second chance. Bear was abused. He had no love from anybody, and he was never allowed to socialise with other dogs or go for runs outside, and now we’ve given him a chance at another life. Don’t you think he deserves a bit of a chance?’

  Cowed, Naomi looked to the floor. ‘Sorry. I know. If Harley had been treated like that…’

  Sophie put a hand on Naomi’s shoulder. Naomi jerked away suddenly, as though Sophie had burnt her.

  ‘Let’s get him out of the car and introduce them,’ Sophie said, leading the way to the front door and the car. ‘They’ll be lifelong friends.’

  Before reaching her car, Naomi pointed at Sophie’s new car. ‘It’s like a Volvo convention out here.’

  ‘Do you like it?’ Sophie asked, admiring the black sheen of the polished bodywork. She had bought it on lease-purchase last week. ‘I wanted space for a dog cage in the back.’

  Naomi opened the boot to her own black Volvo and Harley scrabbled out, almost falling over his little feet as he circled Sophie, barking hello.

  ‘He thinks it’s walk time,’ Naomi said, swooping to clip his lead on.

  ‘I’ve reinforced the fencing in the woods at the bottom of the garden. You can let him off if you like.’

  ‘While they meet, I’ll keep it on,’ she said firmly.

  With Harley trotting at Naomi’s heels, they went through the house and out to the overgrown, stepped garden, where the three children were running around in the bright noon sunshine with Bear.

  Instantly, both dogs began barking at each other, attracted to each other like magnets. Harley strained on the leash, his yap as fierce as Bear’s throaty baying. They circled and sniffed, interested rather than hostile. Still, Naomi did not let Harley run free.

  Izzy came panting up from the bottom of the garden. ‘Mum! Can we go into the woods with Harley?’

  ‘If you keep him on the lead.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just do as I say.’

  Izzy took the lead.

  Sophie’s lips straightened. ‘I’ll get the tea.’

  She brought out a tray of Earl Grey tea and lemon wedges and shortbread, placed it on the garden table and sat down on one of the two chairs to pour. The brick patio was uneven and the tea spilt, but she did not care. In spite of Naomi’s suspicion of Bear, the high jinks of the dogs and children, who ran in and out of the woodland and up and down the garden, made her smile. Up until now, there hadn’t been many moments in Sophie’s life when she could survey the scene around her and feel a pang of satisfaction and pride. But Naomi was ruining it, hovering, watching them with a frown and crossed arms.

  ‘Shortbread?’ Sophie asked, trying to distract her.

  Naomi ate four shortbread biscuits and let her tea go cold. They talked about the blog. Or Sophie talked and Naomi listened, occasionally sanctioning an idea of Sophie’s. When the children were out of sight, Naomi’s fingers drummed her thighs, stopping intermittently when barking was heard, her neck stretching long.

  Shortly, Dylan and Izzy and Diana raced out of the woods and past them, inside, bored of the dogs, dumping Harley’s lead on the grass by Naomi’s feet.

  ‘Girls! Girls! Why is Harley off the lead?’ she called after them, picking up the lead.

  Bear appeared from the woods and trotted up the stepped garden to sit at Sophie’s feet. His head was high and alert. When Sophie stroked him, his fur was soft and a little damp. Then Harley shot out of the woods but scampered around the lower terrace. His little black form ran back and forth, sniffing, rustling through the undergrowth, leaping up at the foxgloves, nose trained up a tree trunk or down a hole. His speed picked up suddenly, and he raced across the garden.

  Bear barked, lurched forward and left Sophie’s side.

  ‘Harley!’ Naomi called out through cupped hands, starting to run. ‘Harley!’

  ‘Stop being so jumpy!’ Sophie shouted down to her. ‘They’ve obviously just smelt a rabbit!’

  Full pelt, Bear charged down the small verges like a racehorse, body low, hind and front legs splayed almost horizontal, head stretched forward, focused and determined. Watching the speed at which he moved gave Sophie a thrill.

  Sophie laughed at Naomi stumbling down the garden, shouting at Bear, who had overtaken her. Bear’s barks turned to growls, and Harley began squealing, high-pitched and continual. With a jolt, Sophie clocked the danger and sprinted down to them. Naomi had a stick in her hand and she was beating at Bear. Her spine-tingli
ng screech rang out through the woods.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Sophie screamed, running closer. She stopped still in horror. Bear’s jaws were around Harley’s little black throat.

  Sophie lunged at Bear and tried to pull him off, but Bear refused to let go. His teeth were locked into Harley’s flesh. With a low, persistent snarl, he shook Harley’s small body around, like a doll, and then pinned him to the ground. Sophie dragged at his collar, harder and harder, until he finally released Harley onto the grass, where the little dog fell limp and still.

  Naomi scooped him up, wailing and crying, and Sophie slapped Bear across his nose. ‘Bad dog! What have you done? Bad dog!’ she shouted breathlessly, in disbelief, her heart hammering at her ribs. He whimpered at her and skulked off into the woods behind them.

  Naomi ran through the house, screaming at the girls to get into the car. The girls came thundering down the stairs and began crying when they saw Harley flopped in their mother’s arms.

  ‘Harley needs to go to the animal hospital, right now. Forget your shoes, just get in the car,’ Naomi said.

  ‘I want my shoes!’ wailed Izzy.

  ‘Just go! I’ll look after the girls for you!’ Sophie cried.

  Naomi’s face jerked into Sophie’s, contorted and furious. ‘Never,’ she hissed, yanking at her shocked daughters with her one free arm, and pushing them out of the house and into the back seat of the car without their shoes.

  ‘Diana. You’re going to have to be very brave and hold Harley on the way to the hospital. Can you do that for me?’ Naomi asked, straight and firm.

  Diana nodded, tears falling down her face as she took Harley into her arms.

  As Naomi careered out of the drive, Sophie heard Bear padding up to her. He nuzzled into her legs, whining, and she sank down to his level and kissed him on the head, letting him lick her. ‘It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault, my big Blue Bear,’ she repeated, rubbing into his thick fur, feeling a desperate sob push at her throat.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The space around my head spun like a hurricane as I drove. I have no idea how I operated a car. Somehow, I navigated my way to the vet hospital and allowed a nurse to take Harley from me. I couldn’t process what she was saying as I followed her to a room where Harley was laid down in front of a vet with a bleach-blonde crop. As the vet examined him, I tried to relay what had happened. My account was back to front and upside down. He was rushed away to surgery.

  In the reception area, where Diana and Izzy had stayed, Diana was crying about the blood on her t-shirt. She trembled as I changed her into a spare sweater, which I had found in the car. When I called Charlie, the sound of his panic cleared mine from my mind, as though he had scraped it all up for himself. Charlie’s upset made it real. I wanted to withdraw from that. I became clear-cut and to the point.

  My girls’ hot bodies were in my arms as we waited; heavy on my lap or leaning into my side or wrapped around my waist, their wet, pale faces were buried in my neck, their grass-stained socks wrinkled around their toes.

  The walls around me were cream and pine and aluminium. Everything was pale and tidy, while inside my head there was violence and chaos. My fingers drummed on the clean surfaces.

  The vet with the bleach-blonde crop had returned to us in her blue scrubs too soon. Her face blurred as I watched her pink lips tell us that Harley had sustained fatal injuries in the attack, that he had died before they had administered the anaesthetic for surgery.

  I clutched Izzy and Diana’s hands, swallowing back a wail of pain that could have brought the world to a standstill.

  The girls collapsed into me, their shoulders juddering as they sniffed and whimpered. Their hair was infused by that musty stench of Sophie’s incense.

  I don’t know whether it was right to let Diana and Izzy, so young, see Harley’s body under that red blanket on the operating table. I wanted them to have a chance to say goodbye, to bury their faces in his black, curly fur and to kiss that silky head of his one last time. But I don’t think I had fully accepted that he was dead until I touched him, until he hadn’t responded to us, to our stroking or kissing. Why hadn’t he rolled over for a tummy scratch? Where was the thump of his tail? Where was that rough lick? It had been unbelievable, unbearable.

  ‘I love you, Harley. I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you,’ I whispered, shedding tears into his black fur. ‘I hope you’re in a better place. Full of pine cones,’ I wept.

  ‘Bye-bye, Harley. I love you forever and ever,’ Izzy sobbed, laying her head on his body.

  Diana’s words were incomprehensible through her crying as she said goodbye. I had to gently prize her off him when the nurse told us it was time to go.

  The girls were probably too young to experience the lifeless body of their pet, the dead body of the fifth member of our family, of their Harley. They were definitely too young.

  * * *

  By the time we were home, it was late. Izzy and Diana were as pale as ghosts. Charlie was waiting for us, red-eyed, with hugs and hot chocolates and a story for the girls before bed.

  Back downstairs in the kitchen, Charlie and I exhaled in unison and we stared at each other, like strangers at first, and then the tears came. We hugged. I could not believe that Harley was not at our feet, that he would never circle and yap and jump up at us ever again.

  Together we went to the car boot to fetch Harley’s body. Charlie carried the black bag to the freezer in the garage. The buzz of its generator seemed louder than ever as I removed the tub of vanilla ice cream and some ancient rabbit pies, brought to us once by Charlie’s mother. Charlie laid his body in the cheerless, unadorned container and I felt such a wrench, I wanted to bring him out again and warm him up.

  ‘You’re only here for one night, Harley-Barley,’ I whispered to his body, closing the lid.

  ‘Did you call the police?’ Charlie asked, as we walked back to the house.

  At first, I thought he was talking about Jason Parker. In my dazed state, I imagined that he knew, magically, and then I realised he was referring to Bear’s attack.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You should. I’ve read up on it online. Under the Dangerous Dogs Act, that dog should have a control order put on him, at the very least. He could even be put down. For now, they can insist he wears a muzzle and a lead when he goes out.’

  ‘I’ll call tomorrow,’ I sighed, weary of Charlie’s pragmatic approach. I didn’t want to be pragmatic. I wanted to be emotional and useless.

  ‘Tell me everything,’ he said gently, sensing my fragility, pinging a curl from my hair. Since I had told him about the rape, he had been very kind and very cautious around me. No longer was he scowling at the fourth glass of wine poured over supper, no longer was he making disparaging remarks about Sophie’s involvement in the blog.

  ‘Everything?’ I said, more to myself than to Charlie.

  I had been waiting for the right time to tell him everything. In fact, I had longed for one day in my life when I didn’t feel dragged down by exhaustion, for one day when I didn’t feel too beaten by the daily grind to open up such a monumental conversation. But Sophie’s repeated texts about Bear had thrown me off and frightened me. When she had emailed Diana, I had thought of her threats, and their trip to Brighton, and I had capitulated. I had turned up at their house to meet Bear, and look what had happened, and now I was going to tell Charlie about the attack. He would not know that it was the first layer of many to peel back.

  As I talked, I relived it, seeing again and again the appalling vision of Harley being mauled. Charlie listened quietly, pulling out a box of cereal and pouring us two big bowls of our favourite comfort food. Spooning the sugary treat into our mouths, we moved into the sitting room and onto the sofa, pulling a blanket over us. The chink of the spoons against the bowls punctuated our conversation.

  ‘Did the girls say anything about feeling responsible, because they let him off the lead?’

  Until now, I had not
thought of that. I had blamed myself entirely and always would.

  ‘I don’t think so. I guess they’ll blame Bear. I’m sure. I hope.’

  Charlie threw his spoon into his bowl with a clatter. ‘That stupid bloody woman.’

  ‘I should’ve trusted my instincts.’

  My instincts had been to stay away, emboldened by my confession to Charlie about Jason Parker. I had not. Worse than that, I had failed to stand up to her, had failed to protect Harley.

  ‘Your instincts tend to side with her.’

  I let his loaded comment slide. There was too much to say to be weighed down by a row. Anyway, he was right.

  ‘You should see what she’s done to the cottage.’

  ‘What’s she done?’

  ‘It’s creepy. She’s decorated it exactly like this house. The sofas and the walls are the same colours as in here and she’s even got the same enamel black knobs on her kitchen units. And she’s bought a black Volvo.’

  He grimaced, as though disgusted. ‘Really? Did you say anything?’

  ‘I was too embarrassed to say anything. I’m not even sure she realises what she’s done.’

  ‘Oh, come on! She must do.’

  ‘Seriously, Charlie. I really don’t.’

  Charlie continued spooning the cereal into his mouth. He was brooding. I knew exactly what he was thinking. On this sad evening, on the day our dear Harley had died, he would be wondering why I had remained friends with Sophie for so many years. If I had ended our poisoned friendship earlier, if I’d stood up to her blackmail and her threats, Harley might still be alive. I had Harley’s blood on my hands.

  ‘The first day I met Sophie, she gave me Lolita to read,’ I said.

  ‘That’s a strange icebreaker.’

  ‘Especially as the only books I’d read up until then had been Jane Austens and Jilly Coopers, and a few thrillers my father would nick from holiday villas. I didn’t really know how to take it.’

  ‘She was trying to shock you?’