by Fiona Gibson
‘Where does he usually go?’ Rob asks.
‘The beach, of course – this one and the far one too, the park occasionally and the golf course but only if the weather’s bad and there are no golfers …’
Rob rubs his chin. ‘Won’t he just come back?’
‘He’s a dog, Rob, not a bloody pigeon. Come on – I’ll lock the house, you check the beach and I’ll head into town and search the park – make sure you’ve got your mobile …’
‘What, um … you mean now?’
She glares at him. Has he no concept of what this means? ‘Yes, now.’
‘And if I find him …’
She darts back inside, handing him the posh Christmas lead and stuffing Buddy’s old frayed one into her pocket.
‘Just bring him home.’ She locks the door, already striding away. ‘We’ve got an hour and a half before I need to pick up the kids from school,’ she calls back. ‘We’d better have found him by then.’
*
By 3 p.m., there’s still no sign of Buddy. Kerry has scoured Thorny Park, giving every passerby a description of her dog, and marched up and down the steep slope where the children sledged last winter. She has also called Rob, instructing him to hurry home for the kids’ swimming bags, letting himself in with the spare key she keeps hidden under a large speckled pebble. He must then pick up the children from school and take them straight to the pool for their lesson.
They’ll blame her, of course, for letting Buddy escape. Not marvellous Daddy. Fathers can do no wrong, she thinks bleakly. While Kerry dutifully prepares their favourite meals, sneaking vegetables in her bologneses and chillis, Rob can fling them an omelette and be heralded as a culinary genius. ‘This is lovely, Daddy,’ Mia used to exclaim, on the rare occasions that Rob would fix a weekend lunch. ‘Why don’t you cook all the time?’
An hour later, Kerry parks herself on a bench and pulls out her mobile to call Rob again. ‘You haven’t told them what’s happened, have you?’ she asks.
‘No, of course not. They’re in the pool now. They have no idea …’
‘Because they’ll be in bits. Please, Rob – they mustn’t know what’s happened …’
‘Kerry … we could get them another dog. I’d buy it for them …’
‘What are you talking about?’ she exclaims.
‘I just thought, so they wouldn’t be so upset …’
‘You think we could replace Buddy and they’d never know?’
He emits an exasperated snort. ‘No, of course not. I don’t mean an exact replica. But … well, maybe they could choose one that’s, y’know … easier to train. Less erratic …’
She takes a moment to process this. ‘I don’t think so, Rob. Just take care of the kids, okay? Bring them home, make them pasta or something. And tell them I’ve, um … gone for a long walk.’
Leaving the park now, Kerry considers going home to get the car and driving around town in the hope of covering more ground that way. But then, she won’t be able to stop and ask people along the way. Instead, she makes her way back to the seafront which is milling with kids and their parents around a collection of stalls. ‘Kerry!’ comes a shrill female voice. She scans the women in their summery dresses – it’s a sea of pink, lemon and mint – and sees Lara striding towards her, glossy bob swinging around her chin.
‘We thought Mia and Freddie might like to join in with the tug of war,’ she says with a bright smile. ‘It’s starting in five minutes.’
‘Oh, they’re not with me today. They’re having their swimming lesson, then their dad’s taking them back to the house …’ She keeps scanning the area for a flash of black and white fur among the crowds. ‘Buddy’s lost,’ she adds. ‘I’ve been searching for hours. Didn’t even know this was on today …’
‘Oh, it’s on all week – different events every day. A fund-raising thing for the Beach Buddies. I think there’s a dog show starting soon …’ Lara’s face softens with concern as she touches Kerry’s arm. ‘Listen, Emily and some of the other mums are here. I’ll put the word round about Buddy, maybe they could announce something on the tannoy …’
‘No, don’t do that—’
‘Could he have been picked up by the police, d’you think?’
Kerry rubs her tired eyes. ‘I’m starting to wonder. Think I’ll give it another half hour and then I’ll have to head home. God, I’m dreading telling the children …’ Without warning, her eyes flood with tears.
‘Oh, don’t cry …’ Lara’s pale blue eyes widen with concern. ‘We’ll find him, Kerry, don’t worry …’
‘Why didn’t I have him microchipped?’ she blurts out. ‘I kept meaning to do it. I feel so stupid, so bloody incompetent I can’t even keep a dog safe …’
‘That’s the last thing you are,’ Lara exclaims, delving into her lime suede handbag for a packet of tissues. Kerry takes them gratefully and mops up her tears and snot. ‘God, Kerry. You’re not stupid. You’re amazing, the way you hold everything together all by yourself. Everyone thinks so. Come here, you poor thing …’ She allows herself to be hugged, and as she pulls away, she realises she’s left a teary splodge on Lara’s marshmallow-pink cotton dress.
‘Look what I’ve done,’ she wails.
‘Are you crazy? I don’t care about that. Here, give me your mobile number and I’ll make sure everyone starts looking …’
Kerry mutters her number, marvelling at Lara’s status in town, and the possibility that she might have the power to rustle up an immediate search party. ‘What about the tug of war?’ she asks.
‘There are plenty of people there to keep an eye on the children. Go on – off you pop, keep looking, and I’ll give you a call if we find him.’
‘Okay – and thanks, Lara.’ She blinks at the damp patch on her dress. ‘I’ll head up to the golf course – we often go for walks up there.’
‘Good idea, darling. And don’t worry – it’ll all turn out okay …’
Oh for the confidence of the Shorling wife, Kerry reflects, who even has pretty tissues (Lara’s were turquoise and patterned with daisies, she couldn’t help but notice). On the golf course now, she scans the vast sweep of lush green, asking every golfer she sees if they’ve noticed a runaway hound, and receiving apologetic shakes of the head in response. Having searched for Luke’s sandwich shop on her phone, she calls the number. A woman picks up. ‘Um … sorry to bother you,’ she starts, still scanning the area for a flash of Buddy, perhaps having spotted a golf ball in motion and claimed it as his own. ‘I’m a friend of James’s and, um … Buddy’s gone missing. I just wondered if he might have seen him—’
‘Oh, he used to be mine,’ the woman says when she pauses for breath.
‘Who?’ Kerry barks.
‘Buddy. I’m Amy, James’s wife …’
‘I see …’
There’s a stilted pause. ‘Look, I’m just finishing up here. James has just gone home, I’ll be seeing him later … we’ll keep a look-out.’
‘Thank you … and I’m sorry. I feel so bad.’
‘Don’t,’ Amy says kindly. ‘James told me he’d turned into a bit of a handful … I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.’
Kerry finishes the call, wondering whether it had been easy for Amy to slot back into James’s life. Could she and Rob do that? Is there a remote possibility that they could, in his words, ‘try again’?
‘Hello, Ethan?’ She scans the thickly wooded area with her phone jammed at her ear. ‘Listen, Buddy’s run away. I’m at the far end of the golf course, by the woods. Just wondered, seeing as I’m so near to your place …’
‘Of course I’ll help. Give me five minutes and I’ll be there.’
As the minutes stretch, she pictures Mia and Freddie starting to worry now, figuring that it’s strange, both their mother and Buddy being out for so long. ‘Oh – you’re back,’ she says, breaking into a smile as Harvey, appealingly unshaven and in a scruffy black sweater and jeans, appears with Ethan.
‘Yes, I was
going to call you …’
‘Well, I’m glad you’re here but, I don’t know – it feels as if I’ve looked everywhere …’ They spend the next half hour searching, with Ethan combing the perimeter of the course and she and Harvey checking the woods. She finds herself telling him about Rob’s proposal, and how, after his little adventure, he’s decided he wants to come back.
‘What are you going to do?’ Harvey asks. ‘Could you trust him, do you think?’
She shakes her head. ‘God knows.’
‘He’s devoted to you, though, isn’t he?’
Kerry snorts, her heart lurching as a black and white dog comes into view, then plummeting again as she realises it’s a spaniel on a lead. ‘The fact that he slept with someone else would suggest he’s not.’
Harvey puts an arm around her shoulders. ‘Hey, listen – talking of devotion, dogs tend to bond with one person in particular – and that’s you. So maybe, when he’s had his little adventure, he’ll decide that’s enough fun for one day and come back, a bit sheepish and a bit embarrassed for all the hassle he’s caused …’
‘You think he’ll just turn up at home?’ Her mobile rings, and she whips it out of her pocket. ‘Lara? Any news?’ She pauses, emitting a great ‘Oh!’ of relief. ‘I’ll be there in five minutes. Yes, please grab him if you can …’ She turns to Harvey and grins. ‘Seems like Buddy’s gate-crashed the dog show. We’ll probably be drummed out of town after this.’
*
While Buddy had so far resisted capture, when he sees Kerry approaching, with Harvey at her side, he runs full-pelt towards her.
‘You’ve had us worried sick,’ she exclaims, grabbing his collar and clipping on his lead.
‘If you’d wanted to enter him for the show,’ a prim woman says, her frosted peach lips set in a terse line, ‘you should have been here at four o’clock for registration.’
‘No, I don’t think it’s his sort of thing …’ Kerry glances around at the assembled crowd – a vision of immaculate grooming and high pedigree, dogs and owners alike. Although the woman with the black cushion dog is clearly trying not to laugh, she’s forced to stop a splutter of mirth with her hand. Brigid appears, creasing up hysterically, and blushing only slightly as she registers Harvey’s presence. A demure-looking Roxy and a giggling Joe are at her side.
‘Well, he’s kept us entertained,’ Brigid says, giving Kerry a hug. ‘We did everything we could to catch him but he thought it was a game, kept scampering off and tearing around in circles while the other dogs were being judged. I’ve left my phone at home, so thank God Lara had your number …’
‘He ran off with a rosette,’ Joe announces gleefully, ‘and then he spat it out.’
‘Did he?’ Kerry turns to Harvey and cringes. ‘What am I going to do with him?’
‘Um … training?’ he suggests, raising a brow.
‘Don’t do anything with him,’ Brigid retorts, frowning at Harvey. ‘At least he livened things up. This dog show’s the same every year – isn’t it dull, Lara? Same old primped pooches trotting round the enclosure for what feels like hours on end …’
Both mother and daughter murmur in agreement, and Audrey-Jane is still giggling as she takes a bite of her ice lolly.
‘Oh, absolutely,’ Lara declares, her face breaking into a grin as she turns back to Kerry. ‘You and Buddy are like a breath of fresh air around here.’
Chapter Sixty-Eight
BlinkMedia Towers obviously wasn’t designed with buggies in mind. As Rob didn’t fancy trying to negotiate the revolving doors, he’s had to buzz the normal door which you used to be able to walk straight through as easily as if it were Marks & Spencer’s. Why the high security all of a sudden? He’s already waited five minutes for the haughty-looking blonde on main reception to let him in. Maybe management are scared that rival companies will send people in to infiltrate Mr Jones and steal Eddy’s fantastic ideas, haha. The last issue bombed, Simon told him gleefully. And now, due to the magazine’s rapidly increasing boob count, it’s been repositioned on newsstands away from the high-end glossies and among the soft porn. Yet as a sales strategy that’s failing too. As it’s not rude enough to satisfy the top-shelf lurkers, Mr Jones has found itself caught between a rock and a hard place, so to speak.
If only Eddy had listened when Rob pitched that idea of the History of the Brogue for the Style Tip of the Month page.
The blonde girl finally finishes sipping her latte and sashays over to grant him access to the hallowed towers. He half expects her to soften when she realises he has a baby with him. Astoundingly, though, she fails to acknowledge Rafferty in his buggy, despite the fact that, to Rob’s mind, he looks especially cute today in his little Paul Smith Junior all-in-one.
‘Sign in?’ The girl picks up a clipboard from the reception desk.
‘Er, no, I work here.’ Rob laughs stiffly, awaiting an apology.
‘Which magazine?’
‘Mr Jones. Been on leave, looking after this little man …’ He casts Rafferty a fond glance, expecting her to register him now. But no, she wrinkles her nose as if he has brought in a buggy of rotting vegetables.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Roberto Tambini,’ he says flatly.
She flicks through a great wodge of stapled A4 until she finds the Mr Jones sheet. ‘Your name’s not on it.’
‘But I’ve worked here ten years!’ His outburst makes Rafferty flinch in alarm.
‘Well, sorry.’ She shrugs. ‘You’ll have to sign in as a visitor and wear this.’ And so he is finally granted access to the lift. The greasy-haired boy who’s already in there presses himself against the metallic back wall, as if fatherhood might be contagious.
Rob exits at the third floor, already sweating as he manoeuvres out Rafferty’s buggy, pushing open the Mr Jones offices’ swing doors with his backside and blundering up to Ava’s desk.
‘Oh, he’s gorgeous,’ she shrieks, bounding out of her seat and terrifying the baby with her burgundy grin.
‘Does he always make that racket?’ sniggers Phil, who’s swiftly joined by Frank and Eddy, all of them looming over the buggy while Rafferty howls.
‘Look – haha!’ Eddy jabs a porky finger at Rob’s huge laminated visitor’s badge.
‘Yes, well, it seems to have gone a bit high security around here. That girl didn’t even have my name on the list.’ Rob picks up a writhing Rafferty and holds him to his chest.
Eddy smirks. ‘Oh, Cassie’s not the brightest bulb. Decorative, though. Anyway, you said you wanted a chat. What’ll you do with Junior here? He stinks a bit, by the way …’
‘He should be fine, I just checked his nappy in the loos in Starbucks …’
‘Must be you then, mate,’ he guffaws.
Rob hesitates, cradling Rafferty and registering that his shirt is already daubed with a small splodge of milky vomit. Figuring that, as a woman, Ava will welcome the opportunity to cuddle a freaked-out infant while Daddy talks business, he makes a move to hand him to her – but she shrinks away and hurries back to her desk.
‘Nadine okay?’ she mouths with a pained expression.
Rob shrugs, about to explain that he has no idea how she is, when Ava snatches her phone and makes a call. In fact, apart from Eddy, everyone else has scurried back to their own corners of the office, like mice scattering when a light is switched on.
‘I’ll just bring him with me,’ Rob says. ‘He’ll be okay in a minute.’
‘Oh, er, all right.’ Eddy flares his nostrils and heads for his little glass cube.
Rafferty does, thankfully, quieten down. In fact, Rob decides that it’s better that he’s here; his presence will ensure that the whole business is wrapped up as quickly as possible. ‘I’d like to put my name down for voluntary redundancy,’ he begins.
Eddy frowns at him across an eerily empty desk. ‘No, you can’t do that.’
‘Listen, I know I’m springing it on you, and you’ve been great since Nadine, um …’
‘Sorry, your timing’s not good.’ He shakes his head firmly.
Rob repositions Rafferty so he can peer over his shoulder and watch Frank adding a saucy caption to the centrefold girl. ‘Well … I’ll work notice of course. It’s just too difficult to keep everything going and I’ve decided it’ll be better for us – for my whole family, really – if I move down to Shorling and go freelance.’
Eddy blinks slowly. His eyelashes really are transparent, Rob observes, like tiny fishbones. ‘No, you see, the cut-off date for redundancy applications was a week ago.’
‘Oh,’ he says hollowly.
‘Which is a bugger, mate, seeing as you’ve been here since the year dot. Would’ve been a fortune.’
‘Mmm.’ Rob inhales, detecting the sour odour coming from his shoulder. ‘Can’t I just apply late? Surely, with having the baby and Nadine freaking out and going back to her mum and dad’s, the HR people would bend the rules a bit …’
Eddy shakes his head. ‘Not a chance, Robster.’
‘You … you do know about Nadine, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, mate. Bad news.’ He nods and stifles a yawn, unaware that, if he weren’t holding a baby, Rob would happily knock him flat.
Instead, he glances round at the office in which a decade of his life has drained away. Years and years spent at his keyboard, clattering with such speed and intensity that he frequently left with a flickering eyelid.
‘I’ll resign then,’ he says.
‘You are joking,’ Eddy guffaws. ‘You’re needed here. You just need to find a decent nanny or childminder or whatever they have these days and get back to the coalface.’
‘The coalface?’ Rob repeats mockingly.
‘Yeah, back in the heart of things. You’ve been stuck in that flat too long, that’s the problem. Don’t know how mothers stand it. No wonder Nadine lost the plot.’
Rafferty is wriggling now, tired of his view of Frank’s screen. Delving into the vast quilted bag at his feet, Rob pulls out a bottle of milk. ‘I’m not coming back to the coalface, Eddy. I don’t want to work here anymore.’
