by Paula Daly
There, trembling, was a tiny, sorry-looking animal, tied to the drainpipe. ‘She’s called Tess,’ Dennis said, ‘and she’s yours if you want her.’
I was about to speak when Celia’s voice rang out. ‘He’s lost his mind, Roz! I told him, “Dennis, you have lost your mind,”’ and she strutted down her path, out of her gate and up towards us.
By this time George was outside, trying to crouch (unable to on account of the limited flexion in his knee), and Tess, the puppy, was urinating with excitement. She was up on her hind legs, trying to scrabble into George’s arms.
‘I thought he’d done so well with his walking and all,’ Dennis whispered. ‘Thought this might push him that extra bit.’
‘Oh, Dennis,’ I said, overcome. ‘That’s so lovely of you, but I don’t think we can take her. My landlord—’
‘This is his idiotic plan, Roz,’ snapped Celia, silencing me. ‘You take the dog. It’s George’s dog on paper. But we look after it when you’re at work. And if your landlord says anything, then you tell him she’s ours.’
Dennis squinted, saying, ‘Foxy’s getting on a bit now, so it’d be nice to have a pup about the place.’
‘Foxy won’t thank you for it,’ I told him.
‘Ah, she’ll come around.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I said.
George now had the pup in his arms. She was the size of guinea pig, with café-au-lait-coloured fur, and a pair of black dots for eyebrows. She wore a tentative look as though she, too, was waiting for me to decide her fate.
‘Thank you, Dennis,’ I said firmly, and he nodded just once.
‘You all right to take her now?’ he asked, and I told him, glancing at George’s rapturous expression, that I doubted I would have any choice in the matter.
‘Right you are,’ he said, smiling, not meeting my eye. ‘I’ll go and fetch her bowl and blankets.’
George stood rooted to the spot. He held on to the tiny pup as if his life depended on it. ‘You coming in?’ I asked, and he nodded. I reached out and cupped the puppy’s chin gently in my hand. ‘Welcome,’ I said to her. ‘Welcome, Tess.’
And we all went inside to get ourselves acquainted.
46
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Us
Dear Roz
Just got your email. I’m doing the Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage in an attempt to ‘find myself’.
No sign of me yet, so I’m heading home.
I realize running away was not the answer. I’ve been unable to stop thinking about you. Let’s pick up where we left off.
Will call in as soon as I’m back.
Love, Henry.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank:
James Long, Debbie Leatherbarrow and Zoe Lea.
And also: Jane Gregory, Stephanie Glencross, Claire Morris, and everyone at Gregory & Company. Frankie Gray, Sarah Adams, Alison Barrow, Rachel Rayner, Claire Ward and everyone at Transworld. Corinna Barsan at Grove Atlantic. Thanks, too, to Cathy Rentzenbrink.
Whilst writing, I found the book How to be Idle by Tom Hodgkinson very useful.
About the Author
Paula Daly lives in Cumbria with her husband, three children and whippet Skippy. Before becoming a writer she was a freelance physiotherapist.
Also by Paula Daly
Just What Kind of Mother Are You?
Keep Your Friends Close
No Remorse
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
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Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published in Great Britain by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Paula Daly 2015
Paula Daly has asserted her right under the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473510159
ISBN 9780593074497 (cased)
9780593074503 (tpb)
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