Love is a Four-Legged Word: The romantic comedy about canines, conception and fresh starts

by Michele Gorman

  So it could be good news, then, Scarlett thought. Maybe the ulcer she was working on would be for nothing.

  Dr Figg turned her owlish gaze on Scarlett. ‘The blood test results came back just fine, Scarlett. Your FSH, LH and progesterone levels are normal, and the chlamydia test was negative.’

  Rufus planted a kiss on Scarlett’s temple. If he was nervous about the results, he hadn’t shown it. He’d been their greatest cheerleader all week. ‘What are the–?’ he asked.

  ‘Tests?’ Dr Figg finished for him. ‘FSH measures Scarlett’s ovarian reserve. It was six point two, which means she is still producing eggs. It’s not a test of the quality of those eggs, just an indication of quantity. The LH, or luteinizing hormone, checks whether ovulation is occurring, and it is. The progesterone test is another way to look at ovulation, and that’s normal, too.’

  ‘So that’s good,’ he said. ‘That’s great, darlin’,’ he said to Scarlett. She saw more than happiness on his face. There was relief, too. So he had been worried.

  But Scarlett wasn’t so sure they could relax yet. ‘Just because my test results are coming back normal, doesn’t mean I’ll automatically get pregnant, does it?’ she asked. ‘I mean, sometimes you don’t know why a woman isn’t getting pregnant, right?’

  Dr Figg nodded. ‘Nobody agrees on the exact percentage, but it’s thought that ten to twenty per cent of infertility cases are unexplained by the tests you underwent. It could have to do with the quality of the eggs, which, as I mentioned, wasn’t tested, or whether the hormones are sufficient for implantation, or any number of other reasons. But that’s not the case here.’

  ‘You mean our problems are explainable?’ Rufus asked.

  ‘I think so, yes,’ said the GP.

  Scarlett felt her tears welling up. All week she’d been thinking about the best-case scenario. Would it be better to know for sure what was wrong with her? At least then they might be able to do something about it. On the other hand, what if they couldn’t? Then she’d rather cling to some hope for a while longer.

  Her tears spilled over. This was it. This was the moment she might find out she couldn’t have a child. She’d imagined the conversation a million times already. It always kicked her in the gut and viciously scrubbed out the future she and Rufus wanted.

  She’d always assumed that one day she’d headline as a mother in the role of her life. Even when she broke up with Stuart and said goodbye to happy families, her belief that she’d eventually get that part never wavered. Motherhood was meant to be part of who she was.

  The issue was so tangled up in how she felt about herself that it wasn’t easy to unpick. Did it make her feel like more of a woman? Or rather, did the prospect of infertility make her feel like less of one?

  Despite what Rufus liked to think, her boobs weren’t simply there for his amusement. They were part and parcel of the baby-making kit. She had all the equipment. What if she never got to use it?

  She stared at the GP, knowing she could intellectualise it all she liked. This woman was about to tell her whether she’d ever be a mother. She feared that was going to hurt.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, reaching for the Kleenex on Dr Figg’s desk.

  ‘It’s perfectly understandable,’ she said. ‘It’s never easy hearing test results when you think something might be wrong.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Rufus, you’ll be pleased to know that your chlamydia test also came back negative.’

  He laughed. ‘I should hope so!’

  Scarlett squeezed his hand again as they shared a smile.

  ‘So, as to the results of your sperm analysis, there are three things we look at under a microscope: motility, morphology and sperm count. Motility means how well the sperm are able to move.’

  ‘Whether they’re strong swimmers,’ he said.

  ‘Right. Morphology looks at the shape of the sperm,’ she went on, ‘which can affect fertilisation rates. And the last thing we look at in the sample is the sperm count.’

  ‘And how’d I do?’ Rufus asked. To the GP he probably sounded like he was enquiring about the lunch specials rather than their future, but Scarlett heard the wobble in his voice. He was trying to keep it together, too.

  ‘Now, I don’t want you to worry too much yet, but there were no sperm detected in the sample. There can be several reasons for this, including a faulty test, so the first thing we’ll do is get another semen sample, and I’d like to do some blood tests as well. As I said, please try not to worry, though I know that’s easier said than done.’

  Rufus blew out the breath he’d been holding. ‘That sounds bad. Is it because of my underwear? It’s true that loose is better, right? I could switch to boxers, or no underwear if that’s best, or–’

  ‘We’re going to look at all possibilities,’ said the doctor. ‘A new semen sample and some more blood tests are the next step. Those can give us more information.’ She turned to her computer to tap out the blood test referral.

  ‘But how can that be?’ Scarlett asked. ‘He definitely… when we have sex?’

  Dr Figg nodded. ‘Ejaculates, yes, and that’s semen. It’s the carrier, if you like, for the sperm. You can only see how many sperm there are under a microscope.’

  Scarlett knew there’d be lots of time later for all the discussion this news demanded, but right now she needed to say something to make Rufus feel better.

  But what was she supposed to say? Could Rufus really have no sperm? No, the test must be wrong, like Dr Figg said.

  ‘The test is wrong,’ she told him when they were leaving. ‘I’m sure samples get mixed up all the time, or maybe they left it out too long or something. You’ll see, Rufus. It’ll be okay.’

  Did she believe that? She didn’t know. Part of her couldn’t reconcile her strong, gorgeous, yes, manly Rufus with the doctor’s results. And part of her, she was shocked to admit, kept thinking, Thank god it’s not me who’s at fault.

  He didn’t want to talk as they left the GP together. Scarlett understood perfectly. She knew how it felt to think your body is betraying your future.

  ‘I could cancel my class tonight,’ she offered.

  ‘No, I don’t want you to do that. I’m okay, really. We’ll know more after the tests. There’ll be an explanation, you’ll see.’

  He seemed to be telling himself that as much as her.

  ‘I love you,’ she said as they kissed goodbye at the train station.

  ‘Love you, too. See you later.’

  Thoughts thrummed through her mind as she made her way to the community centre for her puppy class. Well, mostly it was just one thought.

  Her ovaries worked! She’d been so convinced that she was deficient that she’d never stopped to think how she’d feel if Rufus was the one with the problem. As it turned out, the relief actually made her feel giddy. Because even though being an infertile couple would be heartbreaking – and she’d have to unpack that whole idea later if it turned out to be true – it was miles better than being the one responsible. She knew how ugly that sounded.

  Scarlett heard Shannon’s voice as she got back to the house after class. ‘I’m home!’ Shannon and Rufus were perched on the stools in the kitchen with an empty bottle of red between them. ‘Having a party?’

  ‘What time is it?’ Shannon cried. ‘I didn’t mean to stay this long.’

  ‘Time flies when you’re having fun,’ Rufus said, carrying their glasses to the sink. ‘Or crying into your wine, as the case may be.’

  Shannon hugged Scarlett. ‘I’m so glad your tests were good,’ she murmured. ‘I’ve been thinking about you all week.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. Rufus missed the look she gave him. On the phone he’d sounded like his normal self. All three times that she’d rung. But she wanted to look him in the eye to be sure.

  ‘You told Shannon about the tests?’

  ‘You told her,’ he said. ‘When you were with Gemma. You said you told them both.’

  ‘Yes, but not specifically a
bout these tests. Don’t you think it’s… I don’t know. Private, I guess.’ It was still too raw, too intimate to share. Even with best friends. Scarlett wanted some time alone, just the two of them, to process the news together. ‘It’s between us,’ she said, knowing she wasn’t conveying her feelings very well.

  He looked confused. ‘Am I not allowed to tell anyone about my test results, then? I’m supposed to keep that to myself? Are you that ashamed of me?’

  ‘No, of course not! That’s not what I mean. Rufus, I’m not ashamed of you at all. I just thought we go through this together right now, you and me, not with an audience. But of course you can talk to whoever you want, if it makes you feel better.’

  What kind of horrible person was she, telling him he couldn’t talk to his best friend just because she wasn’t yet ready to? ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, I’m overreacting.’ He put his arms around her. ‘Blame the hormones.’

  She giggled into his chest.

  ‘Maybe that’s why I’m shooting blanks.’

  She stopped laughing.

  Chapter 16

  Shannon definitely hadn’t planned on last night. Rufus wasn’t usually even home when she got back with the dogs. She’d nearly had a heart attack when she let herself in and he’d shouted from the living room.

  ‘How are my dogs?’ he’d asked as they launched themselves towards the sofa like furry juggernauts.

  ‘No, dogs, you’re wet!’ she’d scolded. ‘Don’t let them up there till I can dry them off.’ She got a towel from the kitchen closet and made a grab for Ginger. ‘I’d have rung the bell if I’d known you were in, instead of using my key. Your key. The key,’ she finished lamely.

  ‘Nah, don’t worry. I came back after my appointment. It didn’t make sense to go all the way back to the office.’

  Ginger stood still for her towel rub. It didn’t hold a candle to a tummy scratch, but it’d do till she could beg one of those off Rufus.

  ‘I was just going to have a glass of wine. Want one?’

  She stole a glance at the clock on the Sky box. ‘It’s half past four. Little early?’

  He shrugged. ‘Who’s keeping track?’

  She sized up Fred, who thought he was clever staying just out of arm’s reach. She threw the towel over his head, walked over and picked him up. Not so clever.

  ‘Impressive dog-wrangling,’ Rufus said.

  ‘That’s nothing. I can walk eight dogs together and keep them from killing each other, although we’re not allowed to do it anymore since the council licensed everyone.’

  ‘Your talents are being stifled by The Man.’

  ‘I can also open a tin of Pedigree with one hand and pour Iams with the other. I can clip toenails and express glands.’

  ‘I don’t want to know what that is, do I?’

  She explained, very briefly.

  ‘You milk dogs?’ he said. ‘I don’t think I want wine anymore.’

  ‘I should go anyway.’

  ‘No, come on, stay. I could use someone to talk to, actually. One glass. Please.’

  They were on the sofa for less than a nanosecond before Rufus launched into the GP’s appointment. She tried to stop him, but he pointed out that Scarlett had already told her about them trying. ‘Besides, I’m not sharing secrets. Well, I am I guess, but it’s nothing to do with Scarlett. She’s normal.’ He recounted the test results so far. ‘So I’m the one who’s impotent.’

  His face crumpled so suddenly that at first Shannon thought he was going to sneeze.

  ‘No, I’m sure that’s not true, though!’ she said desperately as tears slipped into his stubble. ‘You said yourself that the GP is doing the tests again. If it was a definitive answer, they wouldn’t do them all again, right? Maybe the sperm just wasn’t very noticeable. Maybe they were all hanging out at the edges, like shy people at a party. You just need to change the music to get them all dancing or… I don’t know.’ Way to stretch a weak analogy till it snapped, Shannon. She made him look her in the face. ‘Rufus, it’ll be okay. If there’s something wrong, they’ll fix it.’

  He rubbed his hand over his eyes. ‘If they can.’

  ‘Really, I wouldn’t worry yet. They can do miraculous stuff in medicine these days. Look at Mick Jagger. I’m sure he’s been dead for years.’

  ‘Are you saying my baby could look like Mick Jagger?’

  ‘If the lips fit. He’d be difficult to breast feed, though.’

  ‘He’d swallow Scarlett whole.’ He shook his head and sighed loudly. ‘Thanks Shannon. It was just a shock, you know? I’ll try not to be all doom and gloom about it till we know for sure. This wasn’t what you expected when you dropped the dogs off, was it? Sorry ’bout that.’

  ‘No, that’s okay.’ What were friends for?

  ‘At least stay for a bite to eat. I’ll cook us something. I skipped lunch to get to the appointment.’

  Hours later, Shannon came home to find them in the kitchen with the (second) empty bottle between them.

  She woke the next morning needing to check that Scarlett was okay. She rang instead of texting. ‘What’s your day look like?’ she asked when Scarlett picked up. ‘Are you around later? It’s just that I could use some advice about the pugs.’ She might not make time for herself, but Shannon knew Scarlett would always clear her diary for the business.

  ‘I’ve got puppy classes this morning and Max and Charlie from six. Afternoon works for me, though.’

  ‘That’s perfect, actually, since I’m picking them up at two. I could meet you at the park at around ten past? See you there.’

  She felt like James Bond. Or Jane Bond. Anyway, she had a secret mission: Operation What The Hell Is Wrong With My Friends.

  With no time for breakfast she brushed her teeth, shoved a handful of cashew nuts in her bag and hurried to Sampson’s house. She liked to show her face before the owners left for work. Otherwise they suspected she didn’t get there till their pets were fit to burst.

  She could hear Sampson’s gravelly bark from the end of the road.

  His owner opened the door. ‘He’s looking forward to his walk this morning,’ she said as Sampson squeezed by her. ‘Obviously.’

  He ambled to the pavement in front of the house and sat down to wait for Shannon to catch up.

  ‘I’d better not keep him waiting, then,’ she said as he stared at her with his droopy sad bulldog eyes.

  Fifi and Clive’s owners were gone by the time Shannon and Sampson got to their house, but the dogs had a little surprise waiting. The fruit bowl was tipped upside down on the kitchen floor, next to a carefully gnawed pile of skins and pits.

  There was a lot of mango working its way through delicate poodle systems. ‘You know you’re going to pay for that in the park.’

  No, their looks said. But grab a few extra bags, because you are.

  True to their intestines, Fifi detonated first. ‘You couldn’t even go on the grass?’ Shannon muttered. The runny yellow grenade wafted its noxious fumes from the pavement. Stinkageddon.

  She’d just smeared up as much as she could with the plastic Tesco bags she had when a shadow passed over her. She looked up, right into Mr Darcy’s green eyes. ‘Bad day?’ he asked.

  ‘Shitty, actually.’ What did one do with a handful of diarrhoea in such a situation? ‘The other one’s going to go off any minute. Mangoes.’

  ‘Ah.’ He understood. ‘I’d offer to help, but it looks like you’ve got things in hand.’

  She laughed, though she wasn’t sure he’d meant to make a joke. ‘Thanks.’

  He continued on with his greyhounds while she crept to a nearby bench. She’d actually talked to Mr Darcy! And she hadn’t been nervous at all. How could that be when she blushed at the supermarket till when the clerk asked if she wanted cash back? Was it because she’d been distracted by Fifi’s outpouring?

  Hopefully that wasn’t the answer because she really didn’t want to have a relationship that only worked when sc
ooping up bowel movements.

  A relationship. Imagine if that happened!

  Sampson stared up at her with his tongue sticking out between his bottom two teeth. Well done, lass. That was the hardest part.

  She rang Scarlett as she watched the poodles sniffing the low iron railing nearby. ‘Hey, guess what just happened? I talked to Mr Darcy. Actually talked to him! And he talked back!’ She could still hardly believe it.

  ‘Agh, I’ve been waiting for this call for months,’ Scarlett said. ‘Finally! I need all the details, but I’m just about to start puppy class now. Tell me everything when we meet, okay?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll pick up the pugs and see you at the gate.’

  Even the lingering whiff of poodle poo didn’t dampen her smile as she tipped her face to the sun. Sampson laid down with a grunt and closed his eyes.

  Now she had a new emotion to add to the anticipation that bubbled inside her whenever she saw Mr Darcy. She wasn’t a hundred per cent sure since she hadn’t felt it in so long, but she thought it might be hope.

  First checking that the Filming: Do Not Disturb sign wasn’t hung in the window, Shannon knocked on the pugs’ front door. She’d forgotten to do that once and Anastasia acted like Shannon had interrupted Tarantino in a crucial scene.

  ‘They’re nearly ready!’ Anastasia claimed as she opened the door. ‘I’m just looking for the golden tiara.’ She swept off up the stairs trailing her jade silk dressing gown and four wrinkled dogs. It was the same routine every time Shannon arrived. Different accessory, same mad dash to find it.

  Those poor dogs. Like pugs didn’t look silly enough without wearing full costumes.

  Shannon waited in the hall as usual, glancing at the dozens of pictures lining the walls.

  Fifty-something-year-old Anastasia featured in every photo. In some her long blonde hair was whipped into a candy floss cloud atop her head. In others it was woven with bits of feather or ribbon. Her china blue eyes were always made up with peacock-bright shimmering shadows and fringed with inch-long false lashes. And her complexion looked airbrushed, as smooth as the colourful silk kimonos she favoured. Everything about Anastasia was polished and camera-ready.