‘Have you tried that?’ Max asked.
‘No way.’ Scarlett shuddered. ‘I hate spiders.’
‘Do unto others?’ Charlie said.
‘Exactly. We’re here to do unto the dogs.’ She watched Hiccup, who calmly sat at Naomi’s feet.
After the session Charlie offered Scarlett a ride to the Tube station. ‘It’s still peeing it down,’ he said. ‘We can at least keep you dry.’
But Hiccup’s steady growls started up again as soon as they walked together to the car.
‘Do you mind sitting in the back with Charlie?’ Naomi asked when they reached the old tan Saab. ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea putting the dogs together in the back.’
Just try it, Hiccup glared at Barkley.
Barkley was all for riding in the back. When Charlie opened the door he dove for the opposite side, where a vintage box of Kleenex lived. It was like his birthday and Christmas had come all at once.
Charlie got in the other side to shift to the middle. ‘Sorry, buddy, shove over.’ He attached the dog seat belt and clipped Barkley in behind the driver’s seat. Denied his Kleenex starter, Barkley settled for the next best thing.
‘Barkley, leave the window alone, that can’t taste good.’ The glass was already opaque from previous saliva sessions.
Barkley wagged his tail. What’s taste got to do with anything?
Hiccup glowered at him from her guard post beside Naomi. When she whined, Naomi reached over to scratch her shoulders. It calmed Hiccup. It seemed to calm Naomi, too.
She shouldn’t have rewarded the dog for being territorial, but Scarlett didn’t say anything. Naomi wasn’t a client, after all.
Barkley had stopped obsessing over the window to focus on the rubber bit where it slid into the door. Where others saw a mode of transport, Barkley saw a travelling smorgasbord.
‘He’s not eating the door, is he?’ Naomi called.
‘No,’ Charlie sighed. ‘He’s licking it. He thinks it tastes good.’ He pulled a squeaky toy from his bag. ‘Here, try this.’
Scarlett smiled. Charlie was definitely getting the hang of the training.
As they stopped at the light, he reached between the seats to stroke his girlfriend’s arm. It was a friendly gesture, but Hiccup didn’t see it that way. She launched herself through the seats with a snarl. She was clipped in to her dog belt so she didn’t get very far. But it was far enough to frighten a yelp out of Barkley, who’d forgotten there was anyone dangerous riding with them.
‘I’m so sorry!’ Naomi shouted over Hiccup’s frantic barking. ‘She thought you were coming up here, I guess.’
‘No, it was my fault, I shouldn’t have stuck my hand near her.’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s Hiccup who can’t behave.’
In the rear-view mirror Scarlett saw Naomi’s eyes well up as they pulled away from the light. ‘He’s a friend, Hiccup. A friend. Why can’t you understand that?’
Things were still tense when they got to the Tube station to drop her off. It would probably be a chilly journey home for the couple. ‘Thanks for the ride!’ Scarlett said. ‘Charlie, see you on Thursday. Naomi, hopefully I’ll see you again soon, too.’
As she dug out her Oyster card and hurried out of the rain into the station, she realised she’d meant what she’d said. If anyone needed a dog behaviourist, it was Naomi. If not for her own sake, then for Charlie’s. Otherwise Charlie might end up living with Max after all.
Chapter 20
‘You’ll take something back for Rufus, won’t you?’ Felicia asked, pulling plastic boxes out of the drawer without waiting for an answer. They were avid collectors of sealable leftoverware – those sturdy Greek yogurt pots that always seemed such a shame to get rid of, clear takeaway boxes, plus several nests of stackable containers. Felicia could run a delivery business if she wanted to. ‘There’ll be loads left over and your father is on a diet.’
Was he? Scarlett suspected this would be news to him. ‘Thanks. Rufus really did want to be here, but he’s got to work late all week. There’s a big project on.’
Felicia considered her words, but just pursed her lips. No wonder. It was about the third time Scarlett had said them in the space of twenty minutes.
Rufus hadn’t missed a family dinner in years. He wasn’t like Jacob, who had a doctor’s note, written in his own illegible script, to excuse him from the weekly meal. Rufus was the son-in-law who came to dinner every week. So as hard as she tried, she couldn’t help reading something into his absence. Even though he told her not to read anything into his absence.
Of course it was about the tests. He knew she’d told Gemma, and in a family that discussed bowel movements with more passion than Jay Rayner showed reviewing restaurants, god only knew what excruciating questions they’d ask. In Rufus’s shoes, she wouldn’t want to face the inquisition either… or worse, the famous Fothergill pity. Her parents could almost kill one with kindness.
‘Mum’s not coming either?’ Scarlett asked. Julia’s no-show was as out of character as Rufus’s. She might not be the most outgoing of women, but she never missed their dinners. It was the social highlight of her week. What was going on with their family? ‘Did she say why?’
She’d wanted to tell everyone at once about the tests.
‘She’s busy, she said.’ Felicia sighed. ‘Everybody’s busy these days.’
Scarlett hugged her stepmum. ‘Don’t take it personally… actually, do take it personally, because I’m here and that means I get to be your favourite, right?’
It was a running joke between her and Gemma. It was usually light-hearted, but not always.
‘You are my favourite,’ Felicia said, ambling to the stove to check her pots. Her bangles tinkled as she stirred up the deliciously spiced aroma of the turkey chilli bubbling away there.
‘You say that to all your daughters.’
‘Aye, of course.’
Gemma waddled slightly as she came in for a drink of water. She did like to exaggerate. ‘Pour Dad a coffee, will you?’
‘Half a cup,’ Felicia cautioned as Scarlett poured. ‘We’re trying to cut down, but the poor man keeps getting a headache. I haven’t the heart to make him stop cold. Pour yourself some if you want.’
Scarlett poured two half cups. Solidarity. ‘When you’re finished, Felicia, come in. I’ve got something to talk to you both about.’
They didn’t interrupt as she told them about the trouble her and Rufus were having – first the monthly unpregnancies, then the tests. It wasn’t as hard as she’d feared. Maybe telling Shannon and Gemma first had wrung enough emotion out of the story to let her hold it together. Perhaps it was just easier without having to worry about hurting Rufus with a badly-aimed word.
‘Did you never notice anything?’ Felicia asked. ‘I mean, did everything seem normal?’
‘Perfectly normal. You’d only know by looking under a microscope. If we weren’t having problems, there’d have been no clue at all that anything was wrong.’
‘But they’re doing more tests?’ Dad asked. ‘Maybe nothing is wrong. Or if there is, maybe it’s easy to solve.’
As long as there was a chance for a happy ending, everyone would grab it with both hands.
‘They’ve already retested him,’ she said. ‘We’re meeting with the GP tomorrow to find out the results. So yes, there could be a simple answer. We’re hoping so. Whatever they tell us, we’ll go from there.’
William moved to the sofa to hug his daughter. ‘How do you feel?’
‘It’s been really hard, Dad, you know? Just going through it every month was hard, even before we found out there was a problem.’ She found herself crying as his arms tightened. So much for holding it together. ‘I thought it was me. I know it’s not now, but a tiny part of me wishes it was.’ Her relief had, it turned out, been short-lived. Maybe good news was like that. After the initial euphoria things settle down and your mind adjusts to the new normal. Now she was just worried about Rufus. ‘I think
I could handle it better than Rufus.’
William kissed the top of her head. ‘You’re a strong woman. Of course you could handle it. And you’ll help Rufus handle it, too.’
Felicia turned to her daughter. It was obvious the news wasn’t new to Gemma. ‘You knew already, Gemma? Before or after you fell pregnant?’
‘After, Mum.’ The guilt on Gemma’s face was unmistakeable. Scarlett hated seeing it.
Felicia gathered Gemma up into a bear hug before dragging her to the sofa, where she pulled them both down to envelop Scarlett and their dad. ‘My poor babies. Scarlett, what you must have felt. And Gemma, oh, to give that news to your sister.’ She straightened up, pulling her children straight, too. She could be fierce in her love. ‘Now you both listen to me. You are the strongest support you have in the world. In. The. World. Your dad and I and Julia, we won’t be around forever, but, god willing, you’ve got each other for the rest of your lives. I want you both to remember that. You may think it’s Jacob and Rufus. I’m sure they think they are, too, but they’re a close second after your sister, because there is nothing, nothing, one of you can do to turn the other away.’
Hearing Felicia say that made it truer for Scarlett. No matter how she felt about Gemma’s pregnancy, she’d still beat the crap out of anyone who tried to hurt her sister.
‘Are you thinking about alternatives, just in case?’ Felicia wanted to know. Forward-planning Felicia. In Scarlett’s position she’d have already mapped out all the possibilities.
‘You mean adoption?’
She nodded. ‘Or sperm donation. You and Rufus have other options. A wanted child is a loved child. Genetics isn’t the most important thing.’
Scarlett knew Felicia was talking about her. She’d never made any distinction between her daughters. They both had her complete and utter devotion.
Scarlett hadn’t wanted to think about alternatives yet. It seemed too disloyal to Rufus, like she was already writing him off. ‘We will if it comes to that. Let’s see what the GP says first.’ It was the twenty-first century. Whatever Rufus’s trouble was, it had to be fixable.
She rang her mum as she was leaving. Information-wise, her parents were now out of balance. Scarlett didn’t want her mum’s feelings to be hurt. If she was the last to know by just an hour or two, it wouldn’t be so bad.
Julia’s mobile went straight through to voicemail so she stopped by on her way home. Her car was out front and the lights were on, though her mum didn’t answer when she rang the bell. She tried her mobile again. Voicemail. She put her ear to the door, feeling very Miss Marple. She could hear classical music playing faintly inside.
This time when she rang the bell, her mum answered. ‘Scarlett!’ She tucked her long pale blue flowered velvet robe around her. It was an indulgent Christmas present from her and Rufus last year.
‘Sorry, Mum, were you in the bath?’
‘No, no. Is everything all right?’
She really didn’t want to answer that standing in her mother’s doorway. ‘Fine. Here, Felicia sent you dinner, though you’ve probably eaten. Are you all right?’
‘Oh, yes, of course. I just had some things to finish off, that’s all.’ She didn’t move from the doorway. ‘Actually, I’m still a bit behind on them so I won’t keep you. Thanks for the food. I’ll ring Felicia tomorrow.’
‘Your phone kept going through to voicemail.’
‘It’s turned off. I told you I was working.’
Julia was a really good illustrator. She often had commissions, but rarely worked right down to a deadline.
‘You’re not inviting me in?’
‘I’ve got to work, Scarlett. Let’s talk tomorrow after I deliver the sketches, okay?’
She gently closed the door.
Fine then, Scarlett thought, don’t blame me for being the last one to know.
The next morning Scarlett and Rufus made their way to their GP’s surgery. The weather seemed too warm, too sunny and pleasant for it to be one of those depressingly defining moments of truth. It was more like a day for a picnic. If they got the news they hoped for, then maybe she’d suggest one after their appointment.
Dr Figg wore the same owlish glasses and patient manner she’d had in their first meeting. Scarlett scrutinised her expression for any sign of hope or despair, but the GP was good at her game. She gave nothing away. ‘Thank you for coming in. We’ve got all your test results back, Rufus, and they confirm the initial semen test.’ Like pulling off a plaster, she was straight in there. Rufus grabbed Scarlett’s hand. ‘The condition is called azoospermia, which just means the absence of sperm in the semen.’
‘So it’s not a low sperm count?’ Scarlett asked. Azoospermia. It sounded like an album U2 released in the nineties.
Dr Figg shook her head. ‘No sperm were identified. Now, there can be a number of reasons for this, and many are treatable. It might be a transport problem, if the testicles are producing sperm, but they’re not getting into the semen.’ She shifted a notebook to the other side of the desk and started drawing an upside-down willy. Rufus squeezed her hand as she tried not to smirk. ‘Sperm is transported from the testes to the urethra through these little tubes. A blockage can prevent the sperm from mixing with the semen before it leaves the body. And a blockage is treatable.’
Okay, that was good.
‘Or it may be, for example, that there’s a hormone imbalance affecting the production of the sperm in the testes.’
‘And that’s treatable, too?’ Rufus asked.
‘Yes, there’s a good response rate from hormone therapy. I want to refer you to a urology specialist, if that’s all right?’ She turned to her monitor to generate the referral request.
Scarlett studied the trays of light blue-, yellow- and purple-topped test tubes on the corner of Dr Figg’s desk. She tried to take in the news but could only wonder what the different coloured tubes were for. So many possible blood tests. How many would Rufus would have to take before they found an answer?
‘And what about Scarlett?’ Rufus asked as Scarlett stood to leave. She sat back down. Clearly they weren’t finished yet. ‘How do you know there’s not something wrong with her too?’
Dr Figg didn’t flinch, though Scarlett did. ‘Scarlett’s initial tests came back normal, Rufus, remember? There’s nothing at this point to indicate a problem.’
‘But you said yourself that those tests don’t measure the quality of her eggs, do they? So maybe that’s really the problem. Or there could be something else wrong that you didn’t test for yet.’
It was obvious from Dr Figg’s tolerant smile that she’d heard protests like this before. ‘Just because there’s a problem, Rufus, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. I know this must be distressing to hear, but it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. You’ve got a medical condition, that’s all. The urologist will do a complete physical examination. He’ll run blood tests and additional semen tests to find out what’s causing your azoospermia. Then together you can look at options for treating the condition.’
Numbly Scarlett left the surgery with Rufus clutching the urologist’s referral letter. They didn’t hold hands on the walk back.
She rang her Mum later that night. ‘Can I come round?’ she asked. She’d tried making Rufus feel better for hours. Nothing seemed to help. ‘I can be there in half an hour.’ Now she was the one who needed shoring up.
‘Of course. Come, darling.’
Her mum had a lot to catch up on.
Chapter 21
Shannon carefully peeled off Daphne’s royal blue briefs and undid her cape. ‘You’ll always be a superhero to me,’ she told the wriggling pug. The costume joined Shaggy’s Spiderman outfit and Scooby’s puffy green Hulk suit in her bag. ‘Come here, Velma.’ She peered into the dog’s excited brown eyes. ‘You actually look like you enjoy being Batman.’ She couldn’t leave the tiny clothes on though, no matter what Anastasia would have liked.
Freed from the pressure
of crime-fighting, the pugs squirmed and pranced underfoot. They didn’t really need leads since they rarely moved more than a few feet from her. But they were only little dogs. A speeding bike could turn one into a pug pancake.
She checked her phone. No missed calls. She rang Scarlett again but it went straight to voicemail. What was going on with her? She’d been sure she’d ring straight after their appointment but Rufus had been the first to call.
‘Can you meet tonight?’ he’d asked without preamble.
She caught her breath. ‘That doesn’t sound promising, Rufus. How’d it go?’
‘It wasn’t the answer I hoped for. See you when you drop off the dogs, okay? We’ll go from there.’
She had no idea what she was supposed to say to make Rufus feel better. Could anything make him feel better? She could only hope there’d be something for them to hold on to. Any tiny chance would do.
She was so preoccupied with her friends that Mr Darcy was nearly upon her before she noticed him. He wore a Pink Floyd tee shirt with his fleece tied round his waist. A pair of lively black and white springer spaniels crisscrossed in front of him with their noses to the ground and their long tails wagging madly. She was glad she didn’t have spaniels to walk. Her gaze fell on her own charges, all of whom were standing on the sun-warmed pavement with their tongues lolling.
She caught his smile as she looked away from him. Was it for her? She glanced back at him just as she remembered she was wearing her dorky specs.
She couldn’t snatch the glasses off now.
He half-raised his hand. She half-raised hers back, ready to fake an itch on her chin in case she was mistaken.
‘Your poodles have shrunk,’ he said as he approached.
‘The wash was too hot.’
‘Are they friendly?’
When she nodded he knelt down to pug level for a scratch. As Mr Darcy sank his hand into the furry rolls across Scooby’s shoulders, the dog wriggled so violently that he fell over. Soon they were all at it, tipping like dominoes. ‘Not so steady on their feet, are they?’
Love is a Four-Legged Word: The romantic comedy about canines, conception and fresh starts Page 16
