No Ordinary Love

by Anita Notaro

  ‘Is that everyone?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘Hi, we’re Matt and Sally,’ said a thirtysomething, well-to-do guy whose hand was being tightly gripped by a pretty young woman.

  ‘Hi, Matt,’ everyone chorused as if we were all in rehab, which we sort of were.

  ‘We don’t actually own a dog, yet. We’re in the process of adopting a baby, and I thought we should get in some practice by taking responsibility for a dog. So we came here hoping to pick up some tips before we hit the dog shelters.’

  ‘Great, well you could always borrow one in the meantime. We seem to have more animals than humans here tonight.’ I looked around.

  ‘And last but not least, I hope, we’re Bronwyn and Susie,’ a voice – that I imagined would have the same effect as honey and lemon on a raw throat – purred softly. All eyes turned to look at the most divine pair of females I’d seen in a long time.

  ‘I’m Susie, actually, and this is my friend Bronwyn,’ the Vicks voice giggled. ‘Hi, everyone.’

  At that moment all hell broke loose so we were forced to abandon the introductions. A couple of strays had infiltrated the class, and Syd was having none of it and was trying to see them off. When I’d dealt with that, it was time to start the class. I quickly went through a few key points in relation to animal behaviour and then we made a few attempts at ‘sit’, ‘stay’ and ‘come’, as I tried to get the owners to see things the way a dog would. We walked round and round the car park and practised like mad and, all in all, it was fun and people seemed to make friends easily, which was a relief.

  ‘So, that’s just about it for this evening, then,’ I told them when the hour was up. ‘This was always going to be a free introduction, an initial get-to-know you.’ I smiled. ‘I have leaflets here if anyone would like more details of the type of services available.’ I reached into my satchel. ‘I do have a website, and you’re welcome to stay in touch by email. There is a suggestion that we might get various classes going if there’s enough interest, so I’d really welcome your comments.’

  I did a quick recap in my head. So far we had a handful of gays, a few pensioners, an anorak and a woman trying to turn her Siamese into a Shiatsu. And Mike, whom I hadn’t yet got a handle on. Just as well I was trained as a counsellor.

  3

  MY FIRST ONE-TO-ONE CLIENTS TURNED OUT TO BE BRONWYN AND Susie, or the delectable dykes, as Maddy insisted on calling them, even though we’d no idea whether they were gay or not.

  Apparently, Bronwyn and Susie had Googled me after the class and decided I was exactly what they needed. I was a qualified psychologist and also an expert in animal behaviour – according to some little-known journalist whom Maddy had persuaded to interview me. Of course, I knew none of this as I made my way excitedly to my brand-new office in the Sandyford Industrial Estate the following Monday afternoon, for my first ever canine-counselling session.

  Part of changing my life meant never working on Monday mornings again. EVER. In fact, ideally never working at all on that day. My plan was to start my week on Tuesday, thus avoiding that Monday-morning feeling for the rest of my days, I told my friends.

  ‘Doesn’t that just mean you get that Tuesday-morning feeling instead?’ Clodagh was nothing if not logical.

  ‘No, it’s not the same because the week has started so it’s not Monday.’ I think I knew what I was talking about here.

  ‘But it’s now your Monday, is it not?’

  ‘I give up.’ I dragged her out for coffee to try and give myself some energy.

  As it turned out, Bronwyn and Susie were only free on Mondays so I was forced to compromise my principles fairly early on, but I told them firmly I could only see them after two o’clock. Consequently, I had a lie-in, followed by a swim and sauna and then a leisurely lunch with Maddy.

  ‘Wow, Lou, what have you done to yourself?’ she smiled.

  ‘Lulu,’ I warned.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Lulu, I’m now called Lulu, remember, not Lou?’

  ‘Sorry again.’

  ‘No worries. Anyway, do you like it?’ I wasn’t sure what there was to like really, except that I was wearing casual trousers and a T-shirt, hardly trend-setting in the style stakes, I would have thought.

  ‘Your hair is a different colour.’ She sounded amazed. ‘You never colour your hair.’

  ‘Well, I’m just practising, to tell you the truth.’ I was thrilled she’d noticed. ‘I put in one of those wash-in rinses. Black Cherry, it’s called. Does it look any different? I feel like Penelope Cruz in that hair ad,’ I told her, flicking my glossy mane while running my fingers through it and pouting. Normally, my hair gave ‘mousey’ a bad name and, since my mum had had orangey hair most of her life, I’d never been brave enough to experiment, even with a wash-out-after-six-shampoos-type colour.

  ‘Yeah, it’s got a purple tinge.’ Maddy was impressed, I could tell. ‘Very cool. And you look rested or something. Have you had Botox?’

  ‘No, dumbo.’ I wasn’t quite sure whether to be annoyed that she thought I needed injections, or pleased that I wasn’t frowning any more, obviously. ‘It’s just that I’m not stressed. It’s my new life. And I’m wearing less make-up,’ I added for good measure. It was part of my simplified life, plus it was saving me a fortune – crucial if you looked at my appointments diary. I loved talking to Maddy like this. We’d known each other since childhood and so we had an unspoken agreement that we could say anything we liked to each other without consequences.

  ‘Christ, I wish I had the guts to quit my job.’

  ‘Maddy, you’re an actress, you don’t have a job.’ Actually that wasn’t fair. She did have a small part in Southside Girls, a sitcom about a group of country nurses who work in Whitecliff Clinic, an exclusive, south Dublin private hospital where everyone who’s anyone goes – if they can’t buy their way out of getting sick, that is. It was a huge success when it hit the television screens two years ago. Unfortunately, Maddy wasn’t one of the ‘girls’ as such, she was a member of the kitchen staff, which meant she got to wear a rather unappealing, vomit-green nylon coat and hairnet and her only line for the past year and a half seemed to have been ‘Chips or mash with that, love?’ Still, I adored having a friend who was in television, because there weren’t many laughs to be had in my profession, that’s for sure. Hopefully, though, all that was about to change. Besides, she did get the odd freebie, which she was happy to share in return for free psychoanalysis.

  Anyway, Maddy was only contracted to the series for ten weeks each year, which is why I’d been teasing her. Other than that she drew the dole, did the occasional voiceover and ‘rested’ a lot. But, hearing her talk about quitting anything was unusual, so I listened intently.

  ‘We’ve just been told that there’s a new producer starting on the show, and rumour has it that it’s Pauline Charleston,’ she sighed. ‘If it’s true I’ll slit my wrists. Honestly, the woman hates me, Lou, she—’

  ‘Lulu—’

  ‘Lulu, sorry, hon, I forgot. Anyway, I have to find a new job and you’re a great ad for it – you look, well, I dunno, you look . . .’ She searched for the right word.

  ‘“Stunning” would do,’ I laughed, using one that nobody would ever use in relation to me.

  ‘You do look great, honestly,’ she said kindly.

  ‘I look great for me, is what you mean,’ I told her. I was used to it. You see, part of my problem was that having grown up with a sister who was a stunner always made me feel, well, just ordinary, I suppose.

  ‘No, I mean it. You look younger, less, em – structured, that’s it.’ She sounded pleased with herself.

  ‘Well, that’s it. I’ve heard it all now. Most actresses would say, “Darling, you look fabulous,” or “Honey, you’re amazing,” but “Lulu, you look less structured” is all I get. Charming,’ I sighed, and ordered broccoli soup and a salad with toasted pine nuts.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I do. It’s just that I wish
I was a bit more . . . exotic,’ I told Maddy for the hundredth time. ‘No matter what I do, I still look average.’

  ‘You do not, you—’

  ‘Yes I do and you know it, so don’t you dare go all coy on me now. Look at me – I’ve lost a bit of weight—’

  ‘Now come on, you never had any real weight to lose—’

  ‘OK, not much, I’ll give you that,’ I conceded. ‘But I’ve started doga classes, and my bum looks a bit tighter, I think.’

  ‘What the hell’s dog-a?’

  ‘I said do-ga not dog-a.’ I was enjoying my moment. It’s rare to get one up on Maddy, who’s a mine of useless information. ‘Yoga with your dog,’ I explained. ‘It’s the latest craze in the States, apparently, and it’s just hit Ireland.’

  ‘From Brooklyn to Bray. That’s interesting. Does it matter at all that you don’t have a dog?’ Her brow wrinkled.

  ‘Well, yes, obviously. It’s hard to do the dog pose without one, I imagine, but I’ve only been to one class and it’s been all stretches. Besides, I will have a mongrel shortly.’

  ‘I suppose what I’m trying to say is that you’ve never shown any interest whatsoever in animals since Gnasher,’ Maddy said softly.

  ‘I have, it’s just taken me some time to think about owning one again,’ I said defensively, remembering the heartbreak I’d suffered when my first dog had died. I still couldn’t talk about him, even after all these years. ‘Anyway, I need one for my new career.’ I banished all thoughts of my adored dog, it was the only way. ‘Meanwhile, I’ve arranged to borrow my neighbour’s two Yorkies for the next class. Unfortunately, they’re called Pussy and Willie—’

  ‘There, you see, you simply can’t get away from body parts,’ Maddy said, in an I-told-you-so way. ‘Look, can I just say one thing? Are you not going a bit overboard on this change-of-career thing by giving up all your old clients?’

  ‘What? You encouraged me,’ I spluttered.

  ‘I know, and I do. Honestly. It’s just that you trained for years to become a psychologist. You specialize in sexual addiction and, last time I looked, the only thing the dogs in our neighbourhood were addicted to was licking their balls or chasing that poor postman who has a heart condition . . . no, let me finish,’ she pleaded. ‘Besides, any dog addicted to sex simply humps the nearest female he can hop up on, so no problems there, I reckon. Please . . .’ she patted my arm. ‘Just be sure you want to sever the ties completely. You’re great at what you do. AND you earned a fortune.’ She sounded miffed at me for not appreciating that.

  ‘Look, I know you’re only looking out for me, but it’s too late for all that. I’ve stopped practising and referred all my clients to other professionals. Besides, I’ve had it with counselling guys who don’t know their arse from their elbow. I’m all burnt out, Maddy; it’s very common among counsellors. And when I found myself one day wondering if I’d remembered to defrost the lamb chops for dinner in the middle of a client telling me how her lover had taken a call from his wife just as she was about to have an orgasm, I realized that I was becoming desensitized, to say the least.’ I really wanted her to understand. ‘Besides, I never got to meet any single men – well, not the type you could be seen in public with,’ I moaned. ‘At least dog owners tend to be sociable . . . and, in general, they don’t take themselves too seriously’ – although I wasn’t quite certain about that yet. ‘And I’m tired and talked out and, quite frankly, if I never have to see another man whose dick, I reckon, is a lot thicker than his brain, I’ll be happy.’

  ‘OK, OK, I get it, sort of,’ she conceded. ‘Don’t mind me anyway, I’m just jealous. And feeling a bit insecure myself. Tell me everything – are you nervous?’

  ‘Well, it hasn’t been as hard as I imagined, actually. Of course, I have the cushion of having a bit of money in the bank to tide me over for a year – at a push. Ask me again when that runs out.’ I slurped my soup, simply because I could. No more white shirts to keep clean just so I’d look the part for clients who couldn’t care less. I had a flashback to one particular day when my feet were killing me from too-tight stilettos and my stomach never stopped rumbling because I was on the apple diet in order to fit into a dull black dress for an equally dull conference on cognitive behaviour therapy, and said a prayer of thanks that I was out of it all.

  ‘Anyway, it’s too late to turn back now. I have my first appointment in less than an hour’s time.’ I filled Maddy in on what little I hadn’t already told her. Her final verdict was that Bronwyn and Susie sounded so luscious she’d be tempted to give them one herself.

  As it turned out, they were a nice normal doggy problem: Susie wanted a dog and Bronwyn wasn’t sure she could cope and was secretly hoping, I suspected, my skills as a psychologist would help persuade Susie this wasn’t a good idea. However, I concentrated on the idea of a pet and what it would mean in their lives. The decision to get one was for them as a couple to decide, I told them. Their problem was right up my alley, and they were great fun to boot.

  4

  NEXT DAY I GOT A CALL FROM RONAN O’MEARA ASKING IF I COULD see him that evening at seven, and out the window went my plan for no overtime. So far so not good on the work/life balance then.

  ‘Hi.’ He shook hands formally as soon as we met at the top of the stairs.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked, and I really wanted to know. There was something about him that suggested he’d known too much tragedy for someone his age. I don’t know how I knew that, it was one of the few things I was good at – reading people, being able to tell things about them before they let me know. He looked like someone who’d been dealt a major blow in life and been softened around the edges as a result.

  ‘Fine, thanks for seeing me at such short notice.’ He seemed a bit uneasy, I decided, watching him shove his hands in his pockets and shuffle about. I liked him in casual clothes much better, even if the dark-grey sweater looked like it had been in the tumble dryer once too often, his jeans hung around his bottom and his trainers needed a scrub.

  ‘Pleasure. You didn’t bring, eh, Deputy, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Christ, no, I’m trying not to encourage him.’ He eased himself down on to the couch. ‘Anyway, where would he sit?’ He grinned. ‘Not a blanket in sight. And I hardly think you’d want him scratching this,’ he patted my million-dollar leather sofa.

  Oh dear. How could I have forgotten a bed of some sort for the real clients? Canine couch, I scribbled on a yellow stickie, right next to pig’s ears – foie gras for four-legged friends, according to one website.

  ‘So, the problem is your gran’s dog, from what you told me the other evening?’ I decided to get straight down to business.

  ‘Myrtle, that’s right. It’s doing my head in, to be honest.’ He sighed. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs – I was even going to be a vet at one point.’

  ‘Really? You’d make a good vet, I suspect.’ I smiled at him.

  ‘That’s what everyone says.’ He grinned. ‘I’m mad about all animals, as it happens.’

  ‘So how come you changed your mind?’

  ‘Life.’ He shrugged, and something about the way he said it told me not to push.

  ‘What did you end up doing?’ I enquired casually.

  ‘Accountancy, like my father.’ His voice sounded so flat I felt myself squirming and had to stop my mouth forming a silent ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Right,’ I muttered instead, trying to keep my voice even. I could picture him as a classical musician, an IT specialist, a farmer even, but he just wasn’t accountant material.

  ‘I’d started training to be a vet actually. I was at college studying, and then my father died and I sort of drifted into his practice. Eventually I went back to study part-time and, I dunno, accountancy seemed the sensible option. The only one, in fact,’ he corrected himself. ‘My father’s business was a bit of a mess, you see, so I knew I’d end up there for quite a while. I felt I owed it to his staff, most of whom had been with him since school . . .’ His
voice tailed off and the sense of helplessness was almost tangible.

  ‘That must have been hard on you?’ I was sorry as soon as I said it. Stop counselling them, I chided myself.

  ‘I suppose.’ He shrugged. ‘Shit happens, I guess.’

  ‘So, you must have some understanding of dogs, then, if you were training to be a vet?’ Hell, he was probably more qualified than I was.

  ‘I do, at least I like to think I know a bit. That’s what’s wrecking my head, to be honest.’ He yawned and stretched. ‘My gran’s dog adores her, I can tell. He doesn’t even seem particularly pleased to see me half the time. Yet he keeps turning up at my door. If it’s not him, it’s my mother.’ He grinned. ‘Neither of them will leave me alone.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I dunno,’ he said, but he did, I knew, because he looked so uncomfortable. ‘But there’s always one of them on the doorstep. Last night I tickled my mother’s ears and gave the mutt a kiss.’ He smiled faintly. ‘It’s getting hard to tell them apart.’

  ‘You could always move,’ I suggested, trying to give him a way out of a conversation he didn’t want to have, I suspected.

  ‘I live within walking distance of the office, right by the sea, so it’s not really an option. Wouldn’t stop my mother anyway, I’m afraid. Do you ever have that problem?’

  I didn’t tell him that there was more chance of me tongue-kissing a python than finding my mother calling round unexpectedly to see how I was – even when she had lived in Ireland – but decided against it. ‘Eh, no, she lives abroad.’ I smiled. ‘Anyway, I’m sure we can sort out the canine in your life, even if the humans might be more difficult.’ I was at a loss actually, so I asked him a few more questions to buy me some time. Nothing obvious hit me even after more than half an hour’s probing. I tried to stay focussed on the dog, rather than giving his problem human associations, which is what I seemed to be doing a lot.

  ‘Tell me what happens when you bring the dog back to your gran?’