They moved into the living room and Joe flopped down on the sofa. ‘It’s a party, for people to have fun at. It’s not a networking event.’
‘Why can’t it be both? And anyway, don’t you want to have some fun? You’re always so busy. You go from your office to the kitchen to the deli down the road. You can’t possibly describe running as fun, and these opportunities don’t come along very often. You never know what could happen.’
And maybe it was the wine, or his prevailing good mood, or something else that Cat was unaware of, but her daring paid off. Joe gave her a hesitant, lopsided smile and said, ‘All right. Mainly just so you’ll shut up about it – but I’ll come with you.’
Cat could only grin at him, until that grin turned into surprised laughter, which in turn infected Joe, until they were both laughing at nothing, loudly enough to wake Shed up. The cat yawned expansively, gave them a disgusted glare and padded off in search of Whiskas.
‘I can’t find my heels! I’ve been in this house four months and it’s already eaten my best shoes.’
‘If they’re your best shoes, how come you haven’t needed them for the last four months?’
‘This is not the time to be smart, Joe, this is the time to be helpful. Have you seen them?’
‘I haven’t,’ Joe said. ‘But I’ll check the last of your boxes that are still out by the back door.’ She heard him move past her, ignoring the pointedness in his voice, and delved further into the cupboard under the stairs. It was dusty and dark, and Cat didn’t want to think about the soft fronds stroking her face, or what might be trying to live in them. She was glad she’d waited to have her shower.
‘If I had a dog,’ she said, ‘then he’d find them in seconds. He might chew them, but at least he’d find them.’
‘What was that?’ Joe called.
‘Nothing!’
Despite his recent good mood, Cat still felt that she was treading on eggshells with Joe, that he was like a plastic windmill that could change direction with a single puff. One word out of place and he’d take off his shirt – not that she’d particularly mind that bit – put on his grey hoody with the holes in the sleeves, and slump down on the sofa. She didn’t want to turn up to the party on her own, and now she had it in her head, she couldn’t imagine going without him.
She found a box of old CDs and a pair of battered orange trainers that looked like Polly’s size, then her hand closed around something familiar but completely out of place. She pulled it into the light and sat on the carpet, examining the collar. It was for a large-sized dog, navy blue, no tags or studs – or Swarovski crystals – but definitely a dog’s collar. Was it Polly’s, brought home from a shift at the vet’s? She burrowed back in, her hands going to the same place, and this time she pulled out a tennis ball, its fuzz worn away to nothing.
She jumped as something nudged her thigh, and suddenly Shed’s front paws were on her leg, trying to launch his hefty weight over her and into the depths of the cupboard, claws digging into her flesh. ‘No, Shed – yeouch!’ She nudged him back down. ‘I will never be able to get you out if you go in there. And don’t pincushion me.’ Shed closed his eyes. ‘But what are these?’ she whispered. ‘Are they Polly’s? Would you like to play fetch?’ She waggled the ball at him and he turned abruptly and sat on the carpet with his back to her. Cat checked her watch and shoved the items back in the cupboard just as Joe appeared in the doorway with her black, patent peep-toe heels.
‘Are these what you’re looking for?’
Joe had outdone himself. He was wearing a navy suit with a crisp white shirt, the dark blue of the jacket making his eyes look almost unnaturally bright. He’d shaved his designer stubble, and tamed his short hair with a product that smelled of tropical beaches. Cat nodded her approval. ‘That’s, uhm – you look great, Joe.’
‘Likewise. Is your dress new? I didn’t hear you ferreting around for it like the shoes.’
Cat smiled. ‘I wanted to make a good impression.’ She’d smoothed her fringe to the side, and found a pair of beaded dangly earrings to match her dress.
Joe cleared his throat. ‘Oh, you’ll definitely—’
The door flew open and Polly hurried in, her blonde hair flying, her cheeks pink. ‘Am I too late? Can I still make it?’
‘You’re coming?’
‘Layla said she’d cover – she was meant to be flat-viewing tonight but it’s fallen through.’
‘Awesome!’ Cat fist-bumped with her friend. ‘We can be fashionably late.’
Joe rolled his eyes. ‘Even more, you mean?’
‘Give me ten minutes. Promise.’ Polly raced up the stairs and slammed the bathroom door.
Half an hour later they were ascending the steps to number one Primrose Terrace. There were gold fairy lights framing the front door, highlighting the yellow paintwork, and the house seemed to buzz with anticipation, lights on, silhouettes visible behind the blinds. Polly was wearing a short fuchsia dress, her long hair loose around her shoulders, and they had made the decision to come without coats, Cat’s arms goose-pimpling in protest.
Cat raised her hand to knock and the door swung inwards. ‘Oh, Cat!’ Jessica squealed. ‘And Cat’s friends! So glad you could make it. Please come in.’ Cat heard Polly gasp, and silently agreed that Jessica was a gasp-worthy sight. She was wearing a short black Stella McCartney cutout halter-neck dress, with nude side-panels accentuating her curves. She had thick silver bangles on both arms, sky-high black heels and enough smoky eye make-up to reproduce a Lowry painting. Cat thought Jessica was probably in her mid thirties, a woman whose life was dedicated to food, and yet she looked as though she was about to steal the show at a red-carpet event. ‘Cat,’ Jessica said, ‘you don’t know how much I appreciate you coming – all of you. Come and join in the fun!’
‘This is Polly, and this is Joe.’ Jessica greeted them enthusiastically, drawing them into perfumed hugs, kissing Joe’s cheeks three times. They stepped over the threshold into the wide hallway, and were approached by a waiter with a tray of full champagne flutes.
Cat took one, looked at the figures moving, chatting and laughing, and felt fear close around her. What did she think she was doing? Nobody would care that she was a dog walker – nobody would care what her name was. She was not a high-flyer in Fairhaven, or even Fairview. She’d only been here a few months and spent her days getting muddy and walking round the park. She took a sip of champagne, then another, as she, Polly and Joe stepped amongst the throngs of people. She reached out to take Joe’s elbow but Jessica swooped in, a long, bare arm around his shoulder, and dragged him off in the opposite direction.
‘Ohmygosh,’ Polly said, ‘this is incredible. I knew she was famous, and sociable, but this is crazy-glamorous. I’m not sure my Oasis number cuts it.’
‘You look beautiful,’ Cat assured her. ‘But it’s pretty frightening, isn’t it?’ She did a full, slow turn, and her eyes came to rest on a sofa, just visible through a doorway. ‘Elsie!’ She waved, took Polly’s hand and strode across the room. Her friend was already holding court, soaking up the local gossip from those around her.
‘Hello, ladies,’ Elsie said, raising her glass to them. ‘I’ve been getting acquainted with your chums.’
Cat dropped to her knees. Valentino was sitting next to Elsie, Coco and Dior taking up the other cushions, their front paws on the arms of the sofa, their curiosity clear. Cat stroked them. Dior nuzzled her nose into Cat’s neck and Coco, his ear folded down like a jaunty fedora, let out a delighted bark.
‘They clearly love you,’ Elsie said.
‘They’re so beautiful.’ Polly lifted Dior up, cuddling the Westie against her.
‘For once, Cat,’ Elsie chided, ‘be careful of your dress. It’s exquisite, and wouldn’t be enhanced by dog hairs, or fewer beautiful beads.’
‘No,’ Cat sighed. She kissed the top of Valentino’s head and stood up. ‘I’m going to get another drink. Does anyone want one?’ Elsie and Polly nodded and Cat sought out o
ne of the waistcoat-clad waiters. She spotted Joe across the room, talking to a woman wearing a leopard-print dress. She was touching him constantly, his arm, his shoulder, but Joe looked relaxed, laughing at what she was saying, one hand in his pocket. Cat felt a shiver of surprise, and resisted the urge to interrupt them. How had he managed to do that? He was a hermit, a wallower by his own admission, though it was true that, this evening, he looked every inch the eligible bachelor.
Cat turned to the waiter. ‘Could I take three of these for my friends, please?’
‘Of course.’
Cat carefully lifted the glasses, balancing them in her fingers.
‘Not that bad a party, is it?’
‘What, I – no, they’re – oh, hello.’ She grinned, because it was the only thing that her brain could manage when faced with Mark, stylish and dangerous-looking in a Tom Ford black suit and black shirt, his dark hair impossibly shiny.
‘Great dress.’
‘T-thank you,’ she managed. ‘I’ll just take these…’ Suddenly Polly was alongside her, prising two of the glasses out of her hands. Cat gave Polly a look and tried to tilt her head imperceptibly towards Mark. Polly returned her look, knowingly, and turned to introduce herself.
‘Hello, I’m Polly. You must be Mark.’
‘Why must I?’
Polly did a goldfish impression. ‘S-sorry?’
‘How do you know I’m Mark? I haven’t met you before, have I?’
Polly turned her goldfish from Mark to Cat and back again.
Cat closed her eyes. ‘I may have mentioned the squirrel incident to Polly. Polly, meet Mark. Mark, this is Polly – friend and housemate, and the other half of Pooch Promenade.’
‘Though I haven’t really done anything yet,’ Polly added.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ he said. ‘I’m flattered that Cat described me well enough for you to recognize me.’
‘I told her you were tall, dark and over-confident.’
Mark tipped his head on one side, considering, then nodded his approval. ‘Sounds about right. Good party so far?’
‘Seems so. Jessica doesn’t do things by halves, does she?’ Cat couldn’t help it. Every time she was faced with Mark, her resolve went out of the window. Her subconscious seemed intent on discovering his relationship status.
‘Seems not.’ He perused the room, then gave them a quick smile. ‘There’s someone I need to talk to – I’ll catch up with you later.’
‘Oooh,’ Polly said as soon as he was out of earshot, ‘he’s a bit of alright.’
‘Did you see how smug his chin was?’
Polly laughed. ‘He’s not unsure of himself. But I can see why you were intrigued – it can’t be every day that you’re approached by a man who’s quite so…arresting. Why don’t you just ask him? Ask him if he’s with Jessica, or someone else, or if he’s single?’
‘But you’ve seen what he’s like – he wouldn’t let me live it down if I asked him out and he turned out to be with Jessica, or married, or gay.’
‘Not over something like that, surely. He must have emotions just like everyone else. And if he’s going to be that cruel, then he’s not worth it anyway.’
‘I just…’ Cat sighed. ‘I can’t do anything unless I know that he’s not with Jessica. She’s already a client, he lives five doors away – it would be too awkward. Like you said, Pol, I have to put my business first.’
‘If I were you I’d try and make room for him as well.’
It was so unlike Polly that it shocked Cat into laughter. ‘You’re mad!’
‘I’m coming round to your way of thinking,’ she said. ‘Find out if he’s with Jessica and then, if not, go for it. Honestly, Cat, I can’t remember the last time I saw someone that good-looking in real life.’
‘He’s got a smug chin and razor-sharp observation. I don’t stand a chance.’
‘You’re underestimating yourself, Cat Palmer. I say throw caution to the wind – it’s a party after all.’
Polly clinked her glass, and Cat felt as though she’d been given approval from the person whose opinion she cared about most. Sadly, she wasn’t sure she still had the guts to go through with it. Maybe more champagne would help…
The champagne kept coming, and the waiters circled with trays of tiny, exotic canapés: smoked salmon and horseradish, mushroom and halloumi, strawberry and balsamic vinegar. They were tasty, but not filling, and Cat had begun to feel light headed. Polly was having an in-depth conversation with an older woman about horses, and as Cat knew nothing beyond Black Beauty and My Friend Flicka, she’d slipped away. She had only spoken to one person she didn’t already know, and that was to ask where the toilet was.
She downed her drink and, sighing, returned to Elsie’s permanent spot on the sofa. Her knee meant that she was having drinks, canapés and conversations brought to her, and Cat knew she was revelling in the attention. As she sidestepped through the crowd she saw that Elsie’s current companion was Joe. He was grinning, his jacket folded over the arm of the sofa, white shirtsleeves rolled up. She had never seen him so animated, and thought that he should find a party to go to at least once a month. Maybe she should hide his hoody collection.
‘Hey,’ she waved.
‘Cat! Come and sit down.’ Joe patted the seat beside him, and Cat sat gratefully between them. ‘Having a good time?’
‘Not as good as you are,’ she said, smiling. ‘How do you do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Talk to people you don’t know. Approach them, launch into a conversation. I saw you with that woman earlier – I’ve seen you with lots of people.’
Joe shrugged and put his arm along the back of the sofa. ‘You have to treat it like your one opportunity, and not give a shit what people think. Say what you want to say and if they like it, they’ll keep talking to you. If they don’t they’ll walk away and you never have to see them again.’
‘But how do I know?’
‘You don’t. You could get a Jessica Heybourne or a Mr Jasper.’
‘Ugh,’ she shivered. ‘Don’t remind me about Mr Jasper.’
‘Or you could get someone in between,’ Joe said, his voice softer. ‘Like me. I’m not always that hard to live with, am I?’ He raised his eyebrows in what Cat thought – but would never tell him – was an excellent impression of a lost puppy. A Labrador.
‘No,’ she laughed. ‘Not always.’
‘Good advice from your housemate, don’t you think?’ Elsie patted her knee. ‘If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out. If not, then you’ve only lost a sliver of self-confidence which will come back anyway.’
‘Right, yes.’ Cat examined her knees. ‘Brilliant advice. Thanks, Joe, thanks, Elsie. I just…it’s hard, launching in. How do you bring up the subject of dogs at a party like this? I know the Westies are here somewhere, but…’
‘So host your own event,’ Joe said. ‘Organize a dog get-together, invite owners to come and find out about Pooch Promenade. But not at ours,’ he added quickly. ‘Somewhere large and dog-friendly. Maybe the café in the park. George likes dogs, doesn’t he?’
Cat stared at him.
‘What?’ he shrugged. ‘Look, if it’s a crap idea—’
‘It’s an amazing idea,’ Cat said, her eyes shining at the thought. ‘It’s perfect.’
‘There you go then. Tell people that you’re having a great time and that you’re hosting an event soon, and the dog bit will follow naturally.’
‘You’re a genius, Joe!’ Cat squeezed his arm.
‘Knock them dead.’ Joe gave her his steady, blue-eyed stare. ‘You already do in that dress, so…go for it.’
Cat nodded, stood and walked purposefully amongst the warm bodies. Joe was right – they all were. She was proud of her dog-walking business, and she was attracted to Mark. If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out.
She was going to talk to people about Pooch Promenade, and she was going to find Mark.
Half an hour later she’d spoken to
six people she didn’t know, had mentioned Pooch Promenade to a couple who lived nearby and had two retrievers, and discovered that nobody had seen Jessica or Mark for the last hour.
‘Try Jessica’s study,’ Boris said, skewering an olive with a cocktail stick. He was tall and willowy, dressed in a green three-piece suit, his hair a shock of vibrant but (according to his eyebrows) natural orange. He ran the boutique bed and breakfast at number three Primrose Terrace with his partner Charles and two French bulldogs. He’d promised to follow Cat on Twitter and introduce her to Dylan and Bossy, and was now imparting invaluable advice about what she should do next.
‘Won’t she mind?’
‘Just knock. Jessica knows how to put on a party – if it’s not locked then it’s not out of bounds. First floor, end of the corridor.’ He pointed his glass towards the staircase.
Cat climbed it slowly, her sweaty palm slipping on the bannister. She shouldn’t be doing this; she should wait until they reappeared. But if she could get one glance, one sign that they were definitely together, then she could stop thinking about Mark and avoid the embarrassment of being rejected. The staircase curved and the hallway below disappeared from sight as Cat found herself at the end of a corridor. There were black-and-white photographs on the wall, mostly of Jessica herself, and the thick carpet was the same pale green as the rugs downstairs.
The door at the end was ajar, a glow of light coming from inside. Cat took a step towards it, then another. Voices and laughter drifted up from downstairs. She took another step, heard a familiar shuffling sound and looked down to see Valentino, his tail wagging like a metronome, black nose angled up towards her.
Wellies and Westies Page 8
