by Nikki Attree
They’d removed most of the existing walls to open out the interior, and added a glass extension at the rear. The glass was of course triple glazed and could be made opaque at the touch of a switch! Under the house they’d constructed an impressive basement with an enormous home cinema, an indoor swimming pool, and a nightclub dance floor complete with futuristic computer-controlled lighting system. Kevin had teased them a little about the latter feature, saying it was a bit “bling” and wondering if they weren’t perhaps too grown-up to need their own night club, but they’d basked in all the attention.
The wow-factor continued throughout the rest of the house. A glass staircase wound around a glass-sided lift, and light flooded in from the spectacular glass roof. Given the choice of how to get up and down stairs, nine times out of ten Elizabeth and Miranda took the lift, probably contributing to them both being somewhat sizably challenged.
Neither would walk very far if they could avoid it. It hadn’t occurred to Elizabeth that she could save all the money that she was paying both Cheryl and her personal trainer, just by taking Doodle for a brisk walk on the Heath every day. Most dog owners understood the health benefits of having a pooch to motivate them to get off their backsides, but not these two.
As previously mentioned, Elizabeth certainly wasn’t foolish enough to believe that money could always buy her health, but she liked the idea that by paying a dog walker, she could save enough minutes in the day to allow her fitness trainer to charge his much more outrageous fee for burning off the calories that she would otherwise have expended by taking Doodle for a good walk. As we’ve said before, Elizabeth’s creed was that you get what you pay for.
But we digress. Let’s get back to the house ... Elizabeth had spent ages agonising over every detail. The bespoke Italian taps cost ‘an arm and a leg’, and even the electrical switches and sockets were customised to her design. Their Grand Design had kept her and Andrew together. There were plenty of arguments, but they’d been over issues like the bathroom fittings rather than the shortcomings of their relationship. The TV people liked a bit of creative tension to “sex up the show”, but Elizabeth and Andrew made sure that they kept things in check for the filming.
When the house was finally finished there was enormous relief, but also a feeling of anticlimax as if the spark had gone out of their life together. They might have split up then, but Miranda arrived to distract them further, and they’d soldiered on for her sake. Elizabeth had suspicions that Andrew was playing away, but she turned a blind eye while their daughter was still at a vulnerable age. Catching him with her secretary coincided with Miranda becoming a teenager, and old enough to handle them splitting up.
When they divorced, she’d been able to source the better lawyer. Andrew was the guilty party, and she got both Miranda and the house. Something of a result, which went a long way to softening the blow. Particularly getting the house. Not that she didn’t care about her daughter just as much, but the house was special. It was her baby, and she’d sweated blood to bring it to life (Miranda had arrived in Harley Street courtesy of a ‘too posh to push’ caesarian).
* * *
Doodle has finished her sniff around the bits of the house that she’s allowed to sniff, and is now ensconced on the sofa waiting for Cheryl to show up. Same as it ever was: a designer dog, all alone in a great big Grand Design of a house.
The sofa is, like all of Elizabeth’s furniture, impressively plush and expensive. It‘s made of the finest, rarest hide, and seats at least sixteen people. Not that it gets to see that many very often, now that Elizabeth and Andrew no longer hold court with their soirées. Nope, these days the sofa’s main occupant is Doodle.
She’s fortunate to be allowed on the sofa at all, given Elizabeth’s paranoid loathing of dirt and smells. Luckily she’s a Labradoodle, and they don't shed their fur (partly accounting for the ‘designer dog’ label that so attracted Elizabeth). Anyway, Doodle rarely has the opportunity to get dirty or smelly, but oh how she wishes she could. She watches the other mutts on the Heath enviously as they leap through the grass, splashing through puddles, chasing sticks through the mud, dashing after birds and squirrels ... but she’s rarely allowed off the lead, and Cheryl knows that she mustn’t get the pooch muddy.
Doodle wasn’t always a sofa dog though. In the early days she had the run of the whole house. Miranda loved to play with her, she slept in her bedroom, and even Elizabeth would take her for a walk occasionally. The novelty of owning a dog soon wore off though, and reality reasserted it’s dirty face late one evening when Doodle had her first little ‘accident’ on Miranda's carpet.
It was enough to send Elizabeth into panic mode. She’d read that puppies did that kind of thing until they were toilet trained, but she was expecting Maria, her regular cleaner to deal with it.
She calls Maria, but she’s out on the town. She calls Cheryl. “You must be joking, it’s nearly midnight” says the dog walker. In desperation she grabs the Yellow Pages, calls a twenty-four hour cleaning company: ‘Squeaky Clean’ and explains her predicament.
A polite young man answers: “of course madam. We’ll drop by tomorrow morning at 8 am. Will there be someone to let us in ...?"
Elizabeth interrupts him: “no, no, you don’t understand. Tomorrow morning just isn’t good enough. I need you to deal with this right now. Immediately. Look, you say on your website: ‘We Erase your Stinks - Whatever and Whenever’...”
“Yes madam, that’s correct. We do have an emergency callout service, but with respect, I hardly think that your dog relieving herself on your daughter’s carpet counts as a genuine emergency. Normally our clients would be using the out-of-hours service to deal with toxic chemical spillages, or infestations of dangerous pests ... that kind of thing. I would suggest, madam, that you get a bowl of water with some washing-up liquid, put some rubber gloves on, and soak the area liberally."
Elizabeth is appalled by this suggestion and nearly speechless at the thought of it, but she doesn’t hang up. "No, no, I can't do that. I’m allergic to anything disgusting. That’s what I employ Maria for. Look, how much do you charge for an emergency call out?"
“Well, I’ll just put you on hold for a second ...” There’s a pause, and some mumbling in the background, while the nice young man consults his ‘Squeaky Clean’ colleague. Eventually they decide what they can get away with charging ...
“Umm, OK madam. You’re in Hampstead you say? Just off the Heath in a five bedroom house? Right, well that’ll be an initial five hundred pounds callout charge for the first half-hour, plus the costs of our specialised professional cleaning products.”
Elizabeth is relieved to have found a solution at last, and clearly it’s going to be effective, because as everyone knows: ‘you get what you pay for’.
"OK, that’s fine. I’ll expect you as soon as possible. Please hurry, it’s my daughter’s bedroom that’s polluted.” She gives them her address.
Half-an-hour later Charlie and Jim ring the doorbell looking quite scary in their ‘Squeaky Clean’ emergency callout suits. At least they’ve decided to dispense with the full face masks and breathing apparatus. Elizabeth shows them upstairs to Miranda’s bedroom, where they find an exceptionally cute puppy snoozing on the bed, but no sign of the offending spillage. They have a rummage around, but see nothing untoward.
There’s a scratching of heads, a shrugging of shoulders, and eventually Charlie calls down to Elizabeth: "umm, excuse me madam. Could you just show us where the dog detritus is located in the room please. We don't see anything on the carpet."
"For God’s sake. It's in the corner, near the armchair" shouts Elizabeth in exasperation. “And I’m not going anywhere near it!” she adds in a shrill, almost hysterical tone. From the panic in her voice you’d be forgiven for imagining that she’d just found a corpse in her daughter’s bedroom, or a pile of dead rats at the very least.
Charlie and Jim examine the area of carpet in question, but there’s still no sign of anythin
g inappropriate. Doodle wakes up to find two men in funny-looking overalls sniffing around ‘her’ bedroom. They smell extremely interesting, and she licks Jim’s face as he crawls around the carpet on all-fours. The more she sees of these guys the more she likes them. They’re covered in the most amazing aromas and they clearly like to behave as if they were dogs. She does what comes naturally and sniffs at the other end of the human/dog.
Jim’s just about had enough now: “OK now, just stop that! Good doggie. Show us where you did a pee-pee then.”
Doodle obliging squats beside the chair and a little trickle emerges from under her to form a yellow puddle on the carpet.
Charlie is as relieved as Doodle: “hey Jim, well done mate. Result. We’ve got something we can clean up. Now we can take the rich bitch’s money and get the hell out of here.”
They set to work with the ‘specialised professional cleaning products’ that they bought from the local supermarket, and a few minutes later they are proudly showing Elizabeth a squeaky clean carpet.
“Thank you so much” she says to the two hygiene operatives. “I don’t know what I would have done without your expertise.”
Charlie and Jim pocket the cash and make a hasty retreat. There’s still just about time to get a drink in the late-night boozer if they hurry. Doodle is sad to see them go. After the night’s exciting adventures she’s banished from Miranda’s room and allocated a corner in the kitchen for her bed.
And that was the last time Doodle was allowed in the bedrooms. A gate was installed to stop her climbing the stairs, and she was confined to the ground floor. (The basement had always been out-of-bounds. It’s swimming pool and fancy dance floor were no place for a dog).
As Doodle’s world shrank, so did her contact with humans. She could no longer lie at Miranda’s feet, or on her bed, while she typed away on her laptop, giggling and saying stuff like: “wow, no way”. The girl became less and less interested in the dog that she’d so desperately wanted, and more and more interested in her friends on Facebook.
Elizabeth no longer took Doodle for walks on the Heath. She was so busy at work and far too tired to play with the pooch in the evenings. She employed the best (well certainly the most expensive) ‘canine carer’ that she could find to exercise Doodle, but it never crossed her mind that perhaps dogs had feelings too, and might even get lonely.
So there she is yet again. Alone on the sofa, waiting for Cheryl to show up. Same as it ever was. And that’s where we’ll leave her for the moment.
* * *
Elizabeth arrives at her office. She takes the book from her shiny aluminum briefcase, places it on the desk, and starts working on her proposal for a ‘Nobody’s Poodle’ movie.
Later that day she presents it to her boss at ‘Cutting Edge Films’. Initially he’s somewhat skeptical. As a production company they are known for their blockbuster action movies and romantic comedies. A dog movie would be something of a risky departure. But as Elizabeth gets into her stride he warms to her proposal. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so risky if they could keep it to a rock bottom budget. After all, Tenerife is hardly an exotic location; the interiors could be shot in a studio here; and we’re not talking a cast of thousands or mega special effects. By the time she’s quoting numbers and gross profits on 'Marley and Me' he is persuaded that the project has legs, and he gives her the green light to discuss a deal with the authors.
She shows him Gizmo’s Facebook page and he agrees that the pooch could make a good star. Not only is he cute, but he already has quite a following in the dog world, and his ethical stance on dog issues would make a nice PR angle. He would also be considerably cheaper than Hugh Grunt.
Later that day Elizabeth is sifting through her inbox and comes across an e-mail from the Sunday Times with the subject: ‘For next Sunday’s mag, with your approval?’.
She opens it to find an impressive high resolution image of herself in her garden holding a very photogenic Doodle. The caption reads: ‘Executive producer, Elizabeth Parker-Smyth, at home in Hampstead with Doodle.’
At first she’s a bit confused, thinking that perhaps the paparazzi have been stalking her. “Well, they’ve done a nice job anyway” she thinks, as she takes in the detail of her artfully informal but quintessentially chic outfit and subtle make-up. She can’t help admiring the way that the photographer has lit and framed the shot so that Doodle’s white fur contrasts with her charcoal-grey dress, and the blood-red roses in the background.
Then she remembers the photo shoot a few months ago, for the magazine’s ‘Celebrity Pets’ page. The editor had been very persuasive, mentioning previous columns featuring David Bowie with his snake, Wayne Rooney and his tortoise, Ken Livingstone with his newts ...
“It’s a kind of ‘Day In The Life’ of you and your pet” she’d said on the phone, “you’ll love it, and the photographer’s gorgeous.”
So Elizabeth had agreed, and here was the result. She speed-reads the article. It reads quite well, mentioning most of her career highlights, but she’s slightly concerned at the journalist’s suggestion that she got a “designer dog” solely to boost her image and raise her media profile.
At least they haven’t misquoted her response: “no, of course I didn’t get Doodle just because she matched the decor” she reads. “Unlike some celebs who bribe their way to adopting their kids from a third-world country, my daughter and I have always loved dogs and we just fell in love with Doodle. She’s very much part of our little family.”
“Yes, well most of that is true” she thinks. “And the publicity isn’t bad now is it? I mean, it’s going to be in the Sunday Times supplement not Dogs Today!”.
She’s really quite chuffed and prints a copy to take home. “Can’t wait to show this to Miranda” she thinks. “She’s going to love the picture of Doodle. We’ll be all over her school-friends’ Facebook and Twitter. This will really boost her confidence. What a great idea it was to get a dog.”
And she’s right. Miranda loves the photo of Doodle and the idea that she’s a ‘Celebrity Pet’. “Maybe I have been ignoring Doodle” she thinks. “Perhaps I should be a bit nicer to her. Especially now that she’s a celeb.” She goes upstairs to post the picture to all her friends on-line.
That evening, after Miranda and Doodle have been playing together in the garden, Elizabeth tells her about the new dog film project and gives her ‘Nobody’s Poodle’ to read. Her daughter doesn’t really ‘do books’, so she’s pleasantly surprised when a few days later Miranda announces that this Poodle book is “wicked” and that Doodle has just got to be in the film: “like wow, they’re gonna be all over me big-time L.O.L.” she crows.
Elizabeth starts to explain that her boss has already decided that Gizmo will be the star, and anyway Doodle is a girl-dog, but she can see that Miranda is about to throw a tantrum. Then she has a brain-wave. What if Doodle were to play the part of Katie (Gizmo’s amiga) in the film? The Katie role provides the ‘lurve interest’, and it might work even better if they were both cute Labradoodles. Whole chunks of plot instantly float into her brain...
“Hmm let’s see now. They may look the same, but they come from different sides of town. Cheeky bit-of-ruff mutt meets classy bitch. They can’t stand each other, then they fall head-over-heels ... er, make that paws. There’s your classic love story right there.Then there’s the identical dog angle. That could be exploited. There’s room for a few capers there.”
Yes, it could definitely work. Not to mention the approval ratings and bonding with her daughter that this could win her.
Miranda is “blown away” by the idea. “Awesome!” she screams. “F-ing ace! My dog is going to be, like, a star! Just wait till I tweet this.”
Elizabeth is delighted to have made her daughter so happy, but she warns her to keep it strictly under wraps and definitely off the net until the project is official. The last thing she needs is her carefully orchestrated viral marketing campaign pre-empted by a load of schoolgirls chatting about it on
Twitter.
The next morning Elizabeth picks up the phone in her office and calls the author of ‘Nobody’s Poodle’, in Tenerife. The phone rings a few times and a female voice says: “hola?”
Elizabeth: “hi, is that Nikki? I’d just like to have a chat with you, about making a film of your book.”
3 PAULINE DELIVERS
Jack and Harry drive back to Stoke Newington feeling well pleased with themselves. They’ve just discovered that their canine hostage is worth two thousand pounds to his rightful owner. Time to put the next stage of Jack’s cunning plan into action.
“Right ‘Arry, phone your mum and fill ‘er in. She can take the pooch back tomorrow and collect the reward money for us, like you suggested."
"Yeah, I know I said that” Harry sighs, “but now I’m not so sure that it's a good idea. I mean, you ‘ave met my old ma, ‘aven’t you ..."
A picture of Pauline floats into Jack’s mind, and he shudders as he weighs up the implications of her involvement. He knows only too well what his partner is getting at, but they don’t have much choice.
"Look mate, we can't take Angus back ourselves, and who else can we trust not to run off with the dosh?” A thoughtful pause as the cogs turn in Jack’s brain2 ... “Umm, she wouldn’t do that would she?”
“Watch it mate, that’s my mum yer talkin about. We’re thick as thieves ‘er an me. Of course we can trust ‘er.”
Harry lapses into silence as he ponders this, but yes, on balance he’s reasonably confident that Pauline won’t do a runner with their wodge. It’s the rest of the package that worries him.
Jack has been thinking about that too: “look ‘Arry, we can dress her up so she’s not so scary. We’ll make sure that she leaves out the leopard-skin leggings, the bling jewelry, and the lairy make-up. If we put her in a sensible coat and a woolly hat she might even look like a normal seventy-five year old year granny.”
