‘Nice neck accessory,’ one onlooker commented behind Michelle, looking actually far from amused.
‘Jesus Christ.’ Mark hastily tried to extract himself from Michelle’s neck-hold.
‘Nope,’ Matt assured him. ‘It’s just me.’
If Mark had never known ice-cool contempt, he knew it then.
Donna looked right through him.
And looked utterly, gut-wrenchingly fantastic.
Mark took Michelle home. Then had coffee alone.
****
Donna drove determinedly to the veterinary surgery the next morning. Her heart pulverised though it was, and puffy-eyed though she was, today, she’d decided, was the first day of the rest of her life. She was going to damn well despatch Mark to history, along with dickhead Jeremy and get on with living it.
She was due at the care home this lunchtime. Donna had said she would go and go she would. Little Karl wouldn’t notice whether she was there or not, of course, but Donna had had an idea, which just might make that little difference to his life.
Karl had given her the idea himself. Not in so many words, obviously. Four words, actually. ‘Starbuck’s lead,’ he’d said, and, ‘Karl’s lead,’ referring to the tether that bound them and kept him from wandering off, bless his dirty little socks.
But Sadie’s would be too small, she’d realised. In any case, she’d need more. Four, rather than three.
Donna slipped into the vets, hoping they had some in stock.
Hastily, she perused the doggy accessories stand, and there, in between Kongo’s and chewies, she found them. Yesss! And the right size. Perfect. She plucked them off and waved them at the veterinary nurse to pop on her bill, then dashed off to make haste to work, lest mean Jean decide to be even meaner if she were late.
Twenty minutes later, Donna skidded into the office, late, to be greeted by Jean’s pointed, ‘Morning, Donna,’ accompanied by her even more pointed glance at the clock.
‘Morning, Jean.’ Donna smiled brightly.
Hah! That threw her. Donna popped her coat on the rack and slipped smugly behind her mountain of post, whilst Jean looked on, perplexed, then reached for her bag to check her face in her compact, probably to see if she had visible signs of losing her touch.
Post despatched, and two typed reports later, Donna was starving, but ready to skip lunch. Also on the verge of asking Jean if she could slip off early to allow for travel time, which she was sure Jean wouldn’t mind since she was volunteering at one of their very own projects, when…
‘Right, I’m off,’ said Jean, ending her uber-important personal call. ‘Meeting with the Community Services Manager. Back about three… ish. I’ll need that report by then, Donna.’
What report? Donna glanced at her in-tray, where, as if by magic, another report had appeared. Cow.
‘Right.’ Enough was enough. Donna braced herself. ‘Um, shall I let the Chief Executive know where you can be contacted?’ Translated, shall I let the CE know you’re two-timing him? Blinkety-blink.
‘No need.’ Jean said, spraying enough perfume to triple the hole in the ozone layer. ‘He’s out all afternoon.’
‘Oh,’ said Donna. ‘It’s just that he rang, while you were on the phone… to Stephen.’
Donna smiled ever-so-sweetly and let it hang, knowing that Jean knew that Donna knew the Community Services Manager was female and didn’t generally go by the name of Stephen. Nor, Donna fancied, would Jean be ‘meeting’ her at Puccini’s intimate little Italian.
‘I’m sorry, Jean, but I can’t type your report for you.’ Donna held Jean’s flustered gaze. ‘I’m volunteering at Blossom Tree, you might recall.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Jean said, looking very much as if her bluff had been called.
‘Dr Lewis is really pleased you’re supporting me, by the way.’ Donna scraped her chair back, plucked up her coat, and sauntered, shoulders high, out of the door.
****
Dr Lewis laughed, but not unkindly. ‘I admire your ingenuity, Donna. Well done,’ he said.
Donna fluffed up her chest feathers.
‘Let’s do it.’ Dr Lewis nodded decisively. ‘We’ll loiter close by in case you need us.’ He nodded at a key worker. ‘And Donna,’ he gave her another smile, ‘if Karl does get a bit upset, try not to worry. We’re here to help the children develop. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, hey?’
Donna nodded, hoisted up her shoulders, collected up her photographs of Sadie, along with her purchase from the vet’s surgery, and went over to where Karl was drawing a picture of Starbuck, his brow knitted in concentration.
‘Hi Starbuck.’ Donna patted the real live Starbuck by Karl’s side, then went to sit on Karl’s other side.
‘Hello, Karl,’ she said, settling down at the table. The table that Karl seemed to be content sharing with other children today. ‘Ooh, my, that’s a good picture. It looks very much like Starbuck.’
Karl carried on crayoning.
‘I bet Starbuck thinks it looks like Starbuck.’
No response initially, then, ‘Starbuck thinks it looks like Starbuck,’ Karl repeated.
Donna smiled. ‘I have some pictures of my best friend today, Karl. Would Karl and Starbuck like to see them?’
‘Yes,’ said Karl.
Donna took a breath, then splayed the photographs of Sadie across the table, some front view, ergo, Sadie being an obviously three-legged dog, but most side shots, Sadie therefore looking like a dog should look to Karl, hopefully.
‘What’s this, Karl?’ Donna pointed to one of the photos.
Karl hesitated. ‘Dog,’ he said, at length.
Yesss! ‘Good boy, Karl. That’s right. It is a dog. Her name is Sadie. She’s Donna’s best friend.’
Karl pointed at the photo. ‘Donna’s best friend.’
Donna decided not to mention the missing leg. She needed Karl to concentrate on Sadie’s paws. More importantly, what was attached to her paws. She reached for another photograph, a close up of Sadie kitted out in her all-terrain paw protectors, which people had thought Donna barking mad when she’d taken Sadie walkies in, but which were essential apparel for a three-legged dog when it was slippery under paw.
‘See what Sadie is wearing, Karl?’ Donna pointed to the little black shoes, noted Karl’s eyes flicker across the photo, pause at the shoes, and was sure he’d registered what he saw there.
Donna moved the photo so Starbuck could get a better view — all-important in Karl’s mind. ‘See, Starbuck? See what Sadie’s wearing?’
‘Why? Hmm, good question, Starbuck.’ Donna cocked her head to one side, addressing the dog now, employing the ‘Agnes’ technique, and hoping Karl might go for it. ‘Starbuck wants to know why Sadie’s wearing shoes, Karl. Do you think we should try to explain?’
Karl crayoned a little harder. ‘Starbuck wants to know why Sadie’s wearing shoes,’ he said, after a moment.
Donna nodded. ‘Right, well, I’ll tell you, Starbuck.’ She moved around to get better access to the dog. ‘But I might have to point to your paw to tell you properly. Is that okay?’
‘Yes,’ Karl answered.
‘Thank you, Starbuck. And thank you, Karl.’ Donna smiled and lifted Starbuck’s paw. ‘Do you want to see, too, Karl?’ she asked and waited until Karl placed his pencil down and turned his attention towards Starbuck.
‘Okay.’ Donna started, mentally crossing her fingers. ‘Do you see your nails are quite long, Starbuck?’
Karl didn’t say anything, but his eye movement meant he was listening, Donna hoped.
She went on, as simplistically as she could. ‘Well, that means that sometimes, when it’s snowy or icy, you can slip. The rubber bottoms on the boots can stop you slipping, so you don’t fall over and hurt yourself.’
Donna heard the door squeak open behind them, but concentrated her efforts on trying to keep Karl concentrating.
‘And your best friend wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, would he, Starbuck?’
‘No,’ Karl said, his brow furrowed determinedly now.
‘You have soft pads on your feet, as well, Starbuck, like Karl has soft pads on the bottom of his feet. So, even if it’s not icy or snowy, you could still hurt your foot if you trod on something sharp. And then you might not be able to go on walkies. And I don’t think your best friend would like that at all.’
Donna glanced at Karl, trying to ignore the murmur of male voices behind them, for fear of losing his attention. ‘I think Starbuck might want to try some shoes on, Karl. Does Karl think he does?’
Donna watched and waited.
The furrow in Karl’s brow deepened. ‘I think Starbuck might want to try some shoes on,’ he eventually said.
‘Good boy, Starbuck.’ Donna breathed a sigh of relief, then moved around the dog, lifting each paw one by one and popping the paw-protectors on, whilst trying very hard to ignore Mark Evans staring at her from where he stood by the door.
Mark kept staring.
Utterly mesmerised.
Quite unable to tear his disbelieving eyes away from her.
Dr Lewis leaned towards him. ‘I think we landed on our feet with Donna, if you’ll forgive the pun.’
Mark hardly dared to breathe, thinking if he did, he might wake up from whatever hangover-induced hallucination this might be.
‘She has a natural empathy,’ Dr Lewis went on in the same low voice he’d been addressing Mark with in the last few minutes, rather than distract Donna from her mission, and Karl from Donna.
Mark nodded, at a loss for words that might describe how he felt about Donna just then. How could he have been such an idiot? She was smiling at his son. Talking to his son. Engaging with his son. Getting a reaction from him, and he’d been bloody fool enough to think she’d walk away at first knowledge of him.
He kept watching, what should be a Eureka moment, feeling sick to the bottom of his soul.
‘All set,’ Donna said, straightening from her task, then cocking an ear in Starbuck’s direction. ‘What was that, Starbuck?’
‘Oh,’ she said.
Mark’s mouth twitched into a smile.
‘Starbuck won’t go unless Karl wears his shoes.’ Donna sighed melodramatically. ‘He says Karl might hurt his feet. And then Karl might not be able to go walkies. And then Starbuck will be sad, because he doesn’t want to go walkies without his best friend.’
Best friend? Jesus. That’s where it had come from. Mark reeled inwardly. Could almost feel a collective holding of breath, a palpable tension as Karl climbed from his chair, walked over to his shoes, picked them up, plonked himself on the floor and pulled them on.
‘Good God!’ Dr Lewis stared in awe. ‘I don’t…’ He looked from a shoed and ready to go Karl, to Donna, back to Mark, but Mark was gone, half out door.
He couldn’t stay to watch anymore.
****
‘Mark?’ Donna stepped tentatively towards him.
He stayed where he was, his back to her.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I, er…’ He ran his hand though his hair.
Turned around after a while.
Swallowed hard.
Oh, Lord. He’d been crying.
Donna searched his face. She had no clue what to say to him. Why he was so upset. Why he hadn’t mentioned he had a special son. Except…
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Mark?’ she asked again, because she had to. ‘Was it because you didn’t think I’d be in your life long enough for you to warrant mentioning him?’
‘What!?’ Mark looked at her, visibly shocked. ‘No. I…’ He swallowed again. ‘I have to go,’ he said, dropping his gaze. ‘Can I call you, Donna? Will you please let me talk to you?’
He glanced back at her, hopefully.
Donna hesitated, then nodded. He might well have a harem on his landing. She wouldn’t be surprised if some voluptuous female popped out of the boot of his patrol car, complete with toothbrush and tassels, but… Her shoulders were broad. She had ears. She could listen if he needed to talk.
Chapter Sixteen
Donna wended her way back home, tired but content.
Jean had been quite nice to her when she got back to the office, wonder of wonders, though Donna didn’t have to wonder for too long. The Chief Executive wanted to see her personally, apparently, in his office, Jean informed her, then suggested they had tea.
Then made the tea.
Donna’s eyes nearly clunked into her cup when she spotted the biscuit Jean had placed on her saucer. She’d gone into the CE’s office warily and come out whooping.
She’d done it! Yes! Yesss! Yessity, yessss!
Dr Lewis had telephoned, so said the CE, saying he realised it would be a terrible loss to head office, but that he’d like Donna as a member of his team, training on the job, a.s.a.p.
Would she like to consider it, the CE asked.
Donna considered, for about a nanosecond, then dashed out to dance around her desk and hug a somewhat startled Jean.
Yes, it had been quite the best day in Donna’s life for a long time, apart from one teeny negative. Mark hadn’t rung.
Donna had no idea what he might say, if he did. Whether it would be worth listening to, but he’d looked so sad, so lonely, despite his female fan club, she couldn’t help hoping that, by some miracle, he might be able to redeem himself. At least allow them to be friends.
But he hadn’t rung.
She’d checked her mobile at least a thousand times, each time her euphoria dwindling a little bit more. It would have been nice to have someone to share her news with. Someone kind and caring, like the man she’d thought Mark to be. Still did, to a degree.
Donna let go a shuddery sigh, let herself through her front door, and checked the answerphone.
Nothing.
‘Not that desperate to call then, was he, hey, babe?’ She smiled half-heartedly at Sadie, who hopped enthusiastically to greet her.
‘Aw, hello, hon.’ Donna fixed a more appreciative smile in place, and bent to give the dog a good fuss. ‘You’re a star, do you know that? A super-duper star. Come on, let’s go and get you some chocy drops, my faithful little best friend.’
Lots of chocy drops, Donna decided. Little Karl happily wearing his shoes and Donna being offered the position at Blossom Tree was down to Sadie and her snazzy paw-wear, after all.
Donna headed for the kitchen to get dog treats and to close the perpetually open back door, before she was instantaneously ice-cubed.
‘Oh, dear, he’s a bad boy, isn’t he, Sade?’ Donna despaired of ever getting Matt not to leave the door open, ‘just in case Sadie needed to go out.’ The garden was secure enough to stop Findus slipping through the fence, but the flimsy bolt on the back fence wouldn’t stop people slipping in if they felt so inclined.
‘We’ll be murdered in our beds one day, won’t we, hon? No, course we won’t.’ She peered out to check on Findus, who was dining happily on dandelions, then smiled down at her dog, who followed her wherever she went. ‘You’d fight them off, wouldn’t you?’
‘Matt!’ Donna called up the stairs, once Findus had followed a trail of yoghurt drops back to his cage and Sadie had been duly rewarded her chocy variety ‘Will you please stop leaving the back door open. Sadie will let you know when she wants to go out.’
She cocked an ear in hopes of a reply. Nothing, apart from Matt and his friend whooping and groaning, and sound-effects from his computer game, which would explain why he’d left the back door open. With Matt installed in front of his PC, Sadie would have to resort to a flying karate kick to get his attention.
Ah, well, Donna yawned and stretched. A nice warm bath was in order, she thought, it being Friday night — fish and chips night. Also the night before Simon’s party, for which she’d need to preen, pluck, and make herself drop-dead gorgeous.
Donna sighed. ‘I may be some time, Sade.’
****
After checking on Karl, who was contentedly snuggled under his duvet wit
h Starbuck, Mark walked over to the phone.
It was now or never, he supposed.
Though how the hell he was going to explain that he’d started out thinking Donna would walk away once she knew about Karl, then assumed she had once she did… Christ, how wrong could he have been?
And this was without trying to explain away being locked in a no-holds-barred embrace with Michelle in the restaurant. He doubted very much that Donna would accept any explanations he had to offer about that.
Raking his hand through his hair, Mark picked up the phone, and dialled Donna’s number. Whatever her response, he needed to let her know how much he cared about her. Tell her what a special person she was. That he wished he’d been man enough to admit up front — as Donna had — that he was running scared of wrong relationships, too.
He let the phone ring. Was almost at the point of hanging up when Matt picked up.
Mark braced himself, ready to be not-so-politely told where to go. Matt, he’d deduced from the killer look he’d given him in the restaurant, hadn’t been too impressed with him either.
‘Hi, Matt,’ he said, nervously. ‘It’s Mark. How’s things?’
‘Who?’
‘Er, Mark,’ he repeated awkwardly. ‘Mark Evans. The, er, policeman.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Matt said, after a loaded pause. ‘I think I remember the name. Struggling to recall the two faces though.’
‘Ah.’ Mark sensed a little animosity.
‘Do you want something?’ Matt asked bluntly.
‘I, er…’ Mark started, faltered, then went for it. ‘Another chance?’ he asked, hopefully.
‘To do what? Mess her about again?’
‘No, absolutely not. To explain, that’s all.’
No answer.
‘To you, initially,’ Mark suggested. ‘And then, if you want to tell your mum I called, not to tell her to tell me to get stuffed…’
Silence.
‘It’d better be good,’ Matt said, at length.
‘Not good enough, I suspect, but it’s all I’ve got.’
‘Try me,’ Matt said dryly.
Somebody to Love: Sigh With Contentment, Scream With Frustration. At Time You Will Weep. Page 19
