Hetty: An Angel Avenue Spin-Off
Page 22
WHEN the front door slams shut downstairs, he yells, “You home, Het?”
“Up here, stud.”
He divests himself of his shoes, throwing them to the floor in the hallway, then the thundering up the stairs follows.
He swings open the door to find me dressed alluringly.
He can’t even speak. He stands with his jaw hanging open.
“I went shopping,” I say softly, stroking a hand down my stocking leg. “I had to test them out as soon as I got home. I’ve been laid here soaking my panties for ages, waiting for my stud to come home.”
He pulls his shirt over his head, unties the string of his shorts and yanks them down along with his boxer shorts. He’s brutally hard already. I may have even put make-up on and painted my nails. After my convo with Liza earlier, I realised I’ve got to treat this man right.
Crawling up the bed, he kisses my ankle first, then up my calf, along my thigh. Across my stomach, over my silk-covered breasts and to my mouth. I spread my legs around him and he’s shocked to feel himself touch my warm sex with his.
Trembling, he murmurs, “You’re everything.”
I hold his cheeks in my hands, panting with desire. “As opposed to my crotchless panties, which are hardly anything.”
He kisses my mouth and it suddenly doesn’t matter about anything else but us.
AFTER OUR THIRD round, we flop down on the bed together, no energy left whatsoever. He’s got himself snuggled into my chest and my arms are wrapped around his head, my leg thrown over his back.
“I’m on the team,” he says, still puffing.
“Never doubted you, baby.”
I remain calm, catching my breath too. He was a little bit depraved once I said the underwear wasn’t expensive and was made from a material I would never use in my designs. That gave him the freedom to tear at things with his teeth and hands.
“You could sound a bit more excited. I actually got an agent, he’s actually sorting out my contract as we speak.”
“Hush, hush, hush. Why’d you think I was dressed like Betty Boop for you just then? I knew you’d do it.”
He lifts his head so I can see his big, brown eyes. “You did?”
“You’re special Joe, of course I knew you’d do it. It’s your destiny. Not even a hiccup along the way could prevent it. This is what you were born to do. I know. Don’t you?”
“It seems crazy now I ever stopped dreaming.”
He snuggles back down into my breasts, what little I have there anyway, and I tease my fingers through his rampantly curly hair.
“I’m going to have to cut this for you. As much as I like the beast look, you need to be a little less yeti now you’re going to be famous.”
He chuckles, shaking on top of me. “I love you.”
“I know you do.” I kiss his forehead and he takes a minute or two to compose himself. “Does Warrick know yet?”
“I wanted to tell you first.”
“Perhaps we should get decent and go to theirs, break the news. How about it?”
“If you like.”
“Don’t sound too enthusiastic, will you?”
He pinches my breast. “I’m knackered! Bloody hell. I’m not a machine.”
“Just ring them, then?”
“Nah, seed’s planted now,” he says, rolling off me, “we better go and tell ’em.”
I groan as I lift myself off the bed too, my thighs and hips screaming, all of me aching like a bitch.
We shower together, giggling and caressing in between, dressing like there’s no tomorrow once we’re out.
Before we know it, I’m driving my car towards Cottingham and the Jones residence.
But it’s when we are about to turn off Newland Avenue that I spot something queer.
“OH MY GOOD GOD!!!” I shout, squealing to a halt. The car behind nearly runs into the back of us, too – given the traffic lights are green.
Joe hasn’t seen what I’ve seen but he leaps from the car with me when I do.
The driver behind is shouting abuse when he sees me pick up a moving object from the ground.
“I’m sorry, but–” I hold up the puppy that was just crawling across the road.
Joe captures another puppy and we find the origin of these little mites. There’s a box outside the Community Church which has knocked over and some of the pups have fallen out, having no doubt then rolled down the incline of the entrance outside.
The angry driver drives around my car as the lights go green again. Once Joe and me are satisfied we have all the pups, we take the box and put it into my car. There are six in total and all of them are brindle.
I start the engine and drive off.
“What are you doing?” he asks. “We should take them to the RSPCA.”
“What, at this time of night? They’re tiny, Joe, newborn. We need a vets that stays open late, they need milk. We’ll take them to your parents, they’ll know what to do.”
We’re on the doorstep when Jules opens the door in her pyjamas and robe.
“One of those days?” I ask her.
“Exams season,” she responds, yawning, beckoning us inside.
Once we’re in the kitchen, she asks, “Tea, coffee? Something strong. Rick’s dealing with something work-related right now. Kids are in bed. I was finishing up–”
She shuts up when we all hear the same noise. An animal squeak.
I put the box down on the kitchen table and she gasps, moving back. “Good, god!”
“We found them on the road,” Joe explains, “literally, on the road. We didn’t know what else to do.”
“I’ll call the vets,” she says, “they have emergency hours. Terry,” – she means Warrick’s dad – “has used the same one for years for his cat Samuel.”
She digs out her Yellow Pages and calls them from the other room.
“Who would do this?” Joe asks, as she’s on the phone.
“I think I know…”
“Must be someone spiteful and cruel,” he says, stroking the pups’ noses as they lift their faces to sniff us.
“Or someone who can’t help themselves, let alone a brood of pups.”
“The mother must have been resistant to leave them.”
“I imagine so!”
Jules returns to the room. “We need syringes and canine milk replacement. They are to be fed every three to four hours too.”
I shoot her an ‘I can’t believe this is happening to me’ sort of look.
“This was me with those two hooligans upstairs. Good luck. You may find an all-night store somewhere that sells it.”
The front door slams shut and the whole house shakes. Jules shakes her head but says nothing. I reckon she knows more than she’s willing to divulge as Warrick rocks up, having completely missed my car parked outside by the looks of it.
“Son?” Warrick asks.
Joe swallows, presses his lips together, and says, “I got it, Dad. I did it.”
Warrick puts his hands in his hair, shouting, cheering, then he throws his son up into the air, “Yes, my boy!! MY BOY!!!”
Jules has her hand over her mouth, looking so proud.
“I told you he’d do it, didn’t I Jules?”
“Yes,” she nods, unable to believe this is happening.
Joe crosses the room to get a hug from Jules while Warrick spots the puppies on the table.
“Good lord, what have we here?”
“Puppies,” I tell him, “more specifically, puppies from Mars’s dog. Or bitch. Whatever is the correct term.”
“Shit,” he says, “shit.”
“He left them outside some church, Dad.”
Warrick’s staring at the puppies while Jules is still hugging Joe at the other side of the kitchen.
“They’re bull terrier pups, it has to be them. She looked fat when I saw Mars last.”
“He must have been so scared to do this,” Warrick whispers, “I don’t know why he couldn’t have brought them to me.”
“I’m lost,” she says.
“Mars did the picture. Warrick knows him.”
“No, I’m still lost.” She looks at Warrick with angry eyes. “You promised me you were going to stop helping homeless people! You promised me! You promised!” she screams, before stomping away and up the stairs.
I think this is perhaps more about him spending time away from home helping people than him risking the community centre. But little white lies do make big black ones, sometimes.
“Let’s go,” I whisper to Joe.
We leave quietly as Warrick broods alone in the kitchen.
“Proud of you son,” Warrick mumbles, as we shut the door behind us.
Seating ourselves inside the car, he has the box on his knees and checks his phone for stores that might be open and do indeed sell this milk the puppies need. We find somewhere that will close in approximately fifteen minutes so it’s a race to get there.
THE squeaking is unbearable again but so is my headache and I need more sleep. Joe’s shattered too and no matter what we do, the pups do not seem to want to feed from the syringes.
“We could try one more time,” he mumbles, rolling about in bed, groaning.
“Once more or we’re off to the RSPCA first thing.”
He goes down to make a new batch of milk while I try to summon the energy to sit myself up. It’s almost dawn and these little suckers must be hungry enough to eat from a plastic tube already.
I join him in the guest bedroom where we’ve put them all in a much bigger cardboard box with plenty of newspaper in case they go. My carpet’s covered in plastic sheeting as well.
With glee, we watch as one pup takes milk, then another, then another.
I’m almost asleep as I use the edge of the cardboard box to hold myself up right next to Joe, who’s more animated now he can see the pups eating.
“Good girl, good boy, that’s it,” he says, encouraging them.
When they’ve had enough, we shut off the lights and go back to bed. Snuggled up against him, I mumble, “I love you loads.”
He’s snoring already.
WE rose early and brought the pups to the RSPCA at first light, if to do nothing else but get some advice. They’re telling us that they have a nursing bitch out back who may adopt the pups. If that doesn’t happen, they will put the pups into a cage and they will be fed automatically from a machine. We’re desperately hoping the bitch doesn’t become aggressive around her new pups and lets them feed from her. Joe looks as if he doesn’t want to say goodbye to them. I want what’s best for them and having real doggy milk would be best. The staff are sympathetic but I can tell they think we should take the pups ourselves, seeing as though we found them. I’ve explained we don’t have time and we like our sleep too much! This isn’t our fault!
“Could we come back and see them? Watch their progress.” Joe has such a look of hope in his eyes. I know he wants to keep them all.
“Yes of course you can. You can sponsor them, if you wish. If it’s only a matter of time constraints, you can help in other ways.”
“Yeah, yeah, course,” he’s saying, before I’ve had time to gently talk him out of it.
He’s filling out forms before we know it and he’s told he gets first pick if he wants to have one after the puppies are weaned. I give him a look and he smiles with that glimmer of hope.
“Joe Jones, you’re incorrigible.”
“Joe Jones?” the woman asks, looking from the form, to him, then back to the form.
We turn around and he answers. “Yeah.”
“I thought I knew you from somewhere. I used to work with your mum in dog section, before… well.” Her words are accompanied by a tight smile. “How is she?”
He reflects her tight smile. “She’s where she can’t be harmed anymore.”
Avoiding the truth, he tugs me with him fast and we’re gone before anything more can be said. I say nothing either. I don’t like answering questions about my own mother.
As we’re driving along, I ask him, “When do you start training?”
“Next week,” he said, “we’ve just got to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.”
“That soon?”
“Well, it’s like it was fated. Someone I trained with in the youth team has just been sold, leaving a hole. Otherwise I might have never got this chance. This way seems like it’s… meant to be.”
“I think so.” I grab his knee and squeeze, then take my attention back to driving.
When we get home, it’s just us and our peace and quiet again. So why does he seem so melancholy? I think I know as I watch him trundle up the stairs and begin clearing out the dog stuff we got last night.
Like a freight train, it hits me.
Joe wants a family, and badly. Maybe not right now. But eventually, he will.
And I’ll have to be the one to end this one day, when he realises I’m not going to change my mind. I’ll have to do this or he’ll resent me. And he won’t admit his resentment because he loves me so much, and he won’t be able to let go. So I’ll have to do this. I’ll be the one to free him to have the life he wants. For now I’ll take every moment I have with him.
Because I love him enough to let him go.
IT’S later the same day. Joe went out to the gym for the afternoon so I decided to have a walk. I’m just leaving one of the shops on the Avenue when I spot Mars walking down the street with Kyla on her lead. I watch for a few seconds as he takes no notice of the fact she’s bleeding from her bowels. He seems oblivious.
I chase across the road immediately and stand in his way. I notice as we’re face to face, he’s much shorter than me and very, very slim. But he also looks ready to fight, should he have to.
I kneel down to pet her and she whimpers, her breathing unsteady. She’s not good at all. This man’s faithful companion has been through hell but she’ll follow him anywhere.
“She needs the vet, Mars. Badly.”
“No.” He tugs on her lead, taking her away.
“She’ll die!! Do you want that! She’ll die!” I yell at the top of my lungs.
He turns on me, his back up. “They’ll take her! Do you realise that? They’ll take her. Them interfering busybodies will take her because of the way we live. If I’m on their doorstep, they’ll take her.”
I give a short nod. “We’ll go to a vets, a proper one. I’ll pay. A friend of a friend knows him. You have to get this dog seen to before she dies. She’s ruptured, look! She shouldn’t be bleeding this profusely still. I can’t believe you left her puppies in the road, Mars.”
He looks blank and vacant in response to my words.
I take a deep breath and ask, “Do you trust me?”
He shrugs.
“I’ll take her and meet you back here later, okay? Do you have a phone?”
He shrugs again.
I take a business card from my wallet which is out of date now I don’t work at the community centre, but still has my mobile number on.
“You can call me on this.”
“You promise?” he asks. “You promise you’ll bring her back?”
“I promise.”
He gives me a nod, then hands over the lead.
The poor thing shouldn’t even be on her feet so I wrap my fleece jacket around her and pick her up. She must weigh at least three stones but I try not to show any complaint as I warn Mars, “Just let me take her, she’ll be fine. You’re not going to get into any trouble between now and then, are you?”
He shakes his head.
“I’ll be back soon.”
The dog seems to sag against me as I carry her down the street and towards where I live about 200 yards away. By the time I get to my car I’m knackered.
I lay her on the backseat in my fleece jacket which will now have to be burnt, or shredded. Maybe both.
In the passenger seat I send Jules a quick text: Do you have that vet’s number?
She replies fairly quickly with the name and number.
I look him up online and discover the address. I could call ahead but at this point in time, I’d rather just get there.
WHEN I arrive in reception carrying a very bloody and seemingly injured dog, the receptionist rushes at me and shouts through for the vet. He stops what he’s doing (apparently inspecting a poodle’s leg) and rushes at me.
“She gave birth not so long ago,” I explain, hazarding, “she’s not mine… it’s a long story.”
“Ruptured bowel,” he explains, “Elizabeth, take her to exam room three. I’ll be right along.”
It’s not long before the vet joins me in trying to determine if this is something Kyla will overcome. She must have lost a lot of blood and she seems very uncomfortable.
“What’s the story?” he asks me, as he shines a light in her eyes.
“She’s a street dog… she’s… she belongs to a homeless man.”
He looks up at me. “Anyone ever said you look like that painting?”
I chuckle. “Yep. And for your info, the man who painted me… this is his dog.”
“No shit.” He gives me a wry smile. “We better do what we can, then.”
He and one of his nurses inject the dog and then he’s inspecting her backside, taking a good look around. Kyla becomes dazed quickly and he remarks, “For a bull terrier she’s very undernourished.”
“I thought she weighed a tonne.”
“Most weigh a few stones. All the muscle, you see.”
He’s saying something to his nurse when I notice Kyla’s chest – it’s stopped moving up and down. She’s lying there, a bit limp.
“Doctor, I mean, Mister Vet… quick! Look at her.”
He puts his ear near her mouth and listens, then puts a stethoscope at her chest.
He stands up straight again and gives me a solemn look. “She’s at peace.”
“Oh my god,” I murmur, hands enclosing my nose and mouth, “I promised him I was bringing her back. I promised and now…”
The vet strokes his hand up and down the dog’s back, giving her a pat. “Some dogs keep going for their owner, miss. This one looks like she just gave up. Poor thing’s been through hell, by the looks of her.”