by Matt Dunn
And even if he does, that’s about as far as he’ll get.
* * *
My feeling of relief that Luke’s out of the picture lasts less than a day. That evening, just as I’m sitting in Julie’s dad’s lap while Julie cooks dinner, there’s a knock on the door.
“I’ll get it,” says Julie—perhaps a little needlessly, as Julie’s dad is under strict instructions to stay in his chair. The next thing I hear is the sound of Julie’s awkward cough from the doorway.
“Dad,” she says, leading Luke into the front room. “You remember Luke?”
I leap down onto the rug, riding it like a surfboard on the polished wooden floor for a foot or so before scuttling warily over to where Luke’s standing, as Julie’s dad does a double take from his chair.
“Luke?” he says, as if trying to place the name.
“How are you, Jim?” Luke takes a step forward, hesitates, as if he’s not sure it’s appropriate, then resumes his journey to where Julie’s dad is sitting, so I follow him across the room and lie protectively at Julie’s dad’s feet. “You don’t mind me calling you Jim, do you?”
Julie’s dad nods. “Suppose,” he says, gruffly, though Luke takes it as the most enthusiastic response in the world.
“You’re looking... I’m going to go with, better than the last time I saw you!” Luke laughs nervously, then he seems to realize it’s not exactly appropriate.
“That wouldn’t be hard,” says Julie’s dad. “I suppose I owe you a thank-you?”
He’s phrased it like a question, and Luke doesn’t seem quite sure how to respond, though to his credit, his mumbled “don’t mention it” does the job.
“How much do you, you know...” Luke clears his throat noisily. “Remember. About what happened.”
“Not a lot,” says Julie’s dad, to Luke’s evident relief. “Why?”
“I just... Well... Sometimes, people...” Luke glances down at me, as if he fears I’m about to give the game away, and if I could, I would. “It’s traumatic, isn’t it, a heart attack? And it might make you recall things...differently.”
Julie’s dad shrugs. “All I really remember is someone at the door...”
“That was me,” says Luke. “I’d, um, come to check on Julie. She hadn’t been in to work, so...”
“Followed by lots of barking. And then an ambulance ride.”
“Also me,” says Luke, visibly relieved. “Calling the ambulance, I mean. Not the, um...”
“Barking?” Julie’s keeping a respectable distance, as if she doesn’t dare get too close in case she might fall under Luke’s spell again.
“Yeah.” Luke lets out a nervous laugh. “That was Doug. The barking. He was obviously a bit...agitated.”
“Understandably.” Julie smiles flatly. “So, what are you doing here, Luke?”
“I just came to see how Jim was.”
“He’s doing okay. You’re doing okay, aren’t you, Dad?”
Julie’s dad nods. “Doing okay, son. Thanks.”
The three of them stand there awkwardly, then Luke half inclines his head toward the kitchen and inhales exaggeratedly. “Something smells nice.”
“It’s chili con carne,” says Julie’s dad. “My favorite.”
“Mine too!” says Luke, in a what-a-coincidence way, ignoring Julie’s dropped-open jaw as he does. “Right, so...” He looks at his watch. “I’d better leave you to your dinner. Take care of yourself, Jim.”
“Will do, son. Thanks again.”
Luke shrugs. “My pleasure. Happy to help. Lucky I was here, come to think of it. Otherwise...” He puffs air out of his cheeks, and slowly shakes his head. “Anyway. Enjoy your chili.”
He glances longingly at the kitchen door, then licks his lips for effect—behavior that would be over the top even from me. Julie’s dad opens his mouth as if to say something, then he looks at Julie, and sighs.
“Did you want to stay for dinner?”
“What for?”
This is from Julie, not Luke, but it’s Julie’s dad who answers the question. “So we can say a proper thank-you. You know, for...”
“For saving your life?” suggests Luke.
Then something really unexpected happens, because Julie’s dad says, “Well, yes,” then he starts crying. And while it’s probably due to the stress of what he’s just been through, rather than any sadness at forcing Luke and Julie together for an evening, I can just tell Luke’s going to seize hold of the situation as hard as he can.
“Of course I’ll stay,” says Luke, ignoring Julie’s eye-roll, while peering at me defiantly. “That’s if Julie doesn’t mind?”
Julie hurries across the room to place a comforting arm round her dad, and evidently decides she doesn’t have an alternative. “I suppose not,” she says.
“That’s settled, then,” says Julie’s dad. “There’s enough chili, is there, love?”
“Oh yes,” says Julie, archly. “Enough for Luke to have an extra-large helping.”
“Great!” says Luke, a little too overenthusiastically.
“Can I get you a drink?” says Julie’s dad, and Luke nods.
“Please.”
“Would you do the honors, love?” says Julie’s dad, as Luke makes himself comfortable on the sofa.
Julie stalks into the kitchen, opens the fridge door, and inspects the contents. “Right, well, we’ve got orange juice, or...” She frowns, and moves some things around on the shelf. “Well, orange juice, really.”
“What kind of orange juice?” says Luke.
Julie shows him the carton, and Luke wrinkles his nose up. “Ah,” he says.
“What’s ‘ah’?”
“It’s got ‘bits,’” Luke says. “Got any beer?”
“No,” says Julie, flatly. “On account of Dad having had a heart attack and not being allowed to drink.”
“Some wine, perhaps then?”
“Same answer. And you didn’t bring any, so...”
“Didn’t know I should, on account of this thank-you dinner being a surprise, and all that.” Luke grins sheepishly. “I can go and get some, if you...?”
Quick as a flash, Julie seems to sense an opening for an escape. “That’s okay. You stay here and keep Dad company. I’ll just nip down to the corner shop and...”
She stands there for a moment, and even I can see she’s waiting for Luke to put his hand in his pocket and give her some money, but when he just grins vacantly up at her, she sighs resignedly.
“Doug? Shall we?”
Always keen on the idea of a walk, I stand up and big stretch (though it can’t be that big a stretch, seeing as no one mentions it), then change my mind, deciding I’d better stay and make sure nothing more happens to Julie’s dad with just him and Luke in the house. So instead of joining Julie, I hop up onto the sofa, from where I can keep an eye on proceedings.
“Suit yourself,” says Julie—a little harshly, I feel—then she grabs her bag and stalks off along the hall.
“So,” says Julie’s dad, once Julie’s slammed the front door behind her. “Did you really come around here to inquire about my well-being? Or did you think you could use the fact that you, you know...”
“Saved your life?”
“...to get back into Julie’s good graces?”
I frown up at the two of them. It’s obviously not just Julie’s good graces that Luke’s trying to get back into.
“Because she’s met someone,” Julie’s dad continues. “Someone who could be good for her. Rather than somebody who’s just trying his luck on somebody vulnerable because he’s not getting enough at home. So if there’s a shred of decency in you, son, you’ll leave my daughter be so she can start to think about her future, rather than trying to hang on to the fantasy of something that can never be.”
“Sure,” says Luke, thoug
h it’s not really a valid response.
“Sure?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You don’t sound it.”
“No, I... This person would be Tom, would it? Julie’s new man?”
I peer up at Luke, not sure if he’s making a joke about Julie’s surname.
“It would,” says Julie’s dad.
“Right.”
“Right.”
“Good.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.”
Julie’s dad has his arms folded.
Luke’s drumming his fingers anxiously on the arm of the chair, no doubt willing Julie to hurry back with the wine.
Then suddenly the doorbell rings, and Luke reacts like it’s the bell at the end of a boxing match he’s losing. “I’ll get it,” he announces enthusiastically, leaping up from his seat.
Thinking it’s probably Julie, who’s forgotten her keys in her haste to get out, I leap down from the sofa and tail Luke along the hall, just in case he decides to try his luck privately with her there. But when Luke throws the door open, instead of a wine-bearing Julie, it’s Tom. With a bouquet of flowers. The same bouquet of flowers he tried to give Julie unsuccessfully yesterday morning.
“Ah,” Tom says, after a moment’s speechlessness, and I’m not sure who’s the more thrown of the three of us. Unfortunately, it’s Luke who recovers his composure first.
“Tim, isn’t it?”
I know he’s got Tom’s name wrong on purpose, and though I suspect Tom knows it too, he doesn’t rise to it.
“Tom,” he says, patiently.
Luke nods at the bouquet. “They for me?”
Tom stares at him, then glances down at me accusingly, as if my standing at Luke’s feet is the worst form of treason. “Is, um, Julie in?”
“Julie?” Luke squares up to him, as if the two of them are facing off with the giant Q-tips again. “Nope.”
Tom frowns, then glances back over his shoulder at Julie’s car, which is parked right outside. “You’re sure?”
Luke nods, but when he doesn’t elaborate, Tom clears his throat awkwardly. “Right.” He looks down at me again, though sadly, I’m powerless to help. “Do you know where she is?”
“Went out to get some wine. We’re about to have dinner.”
“Right,” says Tom, again, evidently growing less confident with each utterance.
“Can I give her a message?” Luke suggests, though in a tone that suggests he’s in the process of delivering a powerful one himself. And it’s evidently hitting home.
“Yes, just... I mean, no. Thanks.” Tom looks down at me a third time, then peers over Luke’s shoulder and along the hall, as if he’s hoping this is all some elaborate joke, and that Julie’s about to leap out from behind the door with a loud “Gotcha!”
Of course, Julie’s dad could appear at any moment and put a stop to this, but Julie’s dad is under strict instructions not to move from his chair. In any case, Tom’s already backing away along the path, and a part of me wants to go and grab onto his trouser leg with my teeth and drag him inside so Julie’s dad can clear up this whole thing.
“Right. Well, I’ll just...”
“Oh-kay! Good seeing you again, Tim.”
Luke reaches a hand up, and slowly waves goodbye, a small gesture, though one that suggests a finality. And though I take a step after him and whine plaintively at the rapidly-departing Tom, he doesn’t even look round.
Luke ushers me back inside with his foot—a little roughly, I have to say—then swaggers back along the hall. I follow him reluctantly, trying hard to resist the temptation to snap at his ankles.
“Who was that?” asks Julie’s dad, as we walk back into the front room.
“What? Oh. Some guy.” Luke lowers himself smugly back onto the sofa. “Probably trying to sell something. I told him to get lost.”
“I hope he got the message,” says Julie’s dad, and I snort indignantly.
Because I fear he got the wrong one.
* * *
The rest of the evening passes without incident. Julie comes back a few minutes later with a bottle of Chardonnay, pours herself an extra-large glass, then leaves Luke to help himself to wine while she helps him to an extra-large plate of chili.
Luke’s on his best behavior, perhaps deciding to play the long game. And though he’s polite, attentive, eats all his chili (while making the same noises he used to make when kissing Julie), and only gives Julie a chaste hug when he leaves, I’m sure that’s only because Julie’s dad’s watching. He doesn’t mention to Julie that Tom came around while she was at the store—of course he doesn’t.
And while Julie seems a little miffed when Tom doesn’t call for the next few days, I’m not at all surprised.
37
True to form, and probably because Tom doesn’t call Julie, Julie doesn’t call Tom either. She does call Priya, though, to tell her that Tom hasn’t called, and that she thinks it’s because he’s the same as all the rest of them, and that he can’t be bothered getting in touch now that he’s already got what he wanted, and how she’s left the ball in his court.
And because she doesn’t know that Tom’s already picked the ball up and attempted to throw it back to her, only to have Luke throw it back in his face, I fear she’s in danger of spiraling down into her old depression. Which is why I’m desperate for her to see Tom. So he—or she—can explain.
In fact, I’m so desperate for Julie to see Tom again, that I decide to fake an injury. I’ve seen it done before—the footballers that Julie’s dad likes to watch do it all the time. Which is why, when Julie takes me for my walk this morning, I put on a limp.
“What’s the matter, Doug?” she says, as she sees me staggering along the pavement behind her.
In response, I put my paw down gingerly, then let out a whimper, and Julie frowns.
“Have you hurt your leg?”
She kneels down in front of me and gently inspects my paw, so I yowl—an Oscar-winning yowl if ever there was one—then she beckons me forward. I manage a tentative step before reverting to a three-legged hop, and Julie sighs.
“Right,” she says. “Better get you off to the V-E-T.”
I’m so pleased my plan is working, I almost do a happy dance, before I remember that I’m supposed to be hurt. And as Julie scoops me up from the pavement and carries me back home, I congratulate myself on how easy it’s been.
* * *
Of course, as I’ve learned over the last few weeks, the path of true love never runs smoothly, because it’s not long before I discover the fundamental flaw in my plan is that there’s more than one V-E-T in town. Perhaps it serves me right for trying to interfere, but Julie, of course, takes me to a non-Tom one. As she carries me into the waiting room, I suspect I might be in danger of being found out.
I also realize I have to think on my feet and decide there’s nothing else I can do but pretend my leg’s okay again. Seeing as Julie doesn’t seem to want to put me down, I can’t quite find a way to show her.
I wriggle frantically, making myself as impossible to hold as I can. After trying to contain me for a second or two, Julie sets me down on the floor, where I proceed to run as far as my leash permits—which is pretty much only in circles around her feet. While Julie is watching my strange behavior, the receptionist looks up from her computer screen.
“Can I help you?”
“I phoned earlier. The pug with the limp?”
The receptionist looks over the counter at me, where I’ve stopped circling in order to catch my breath. “Oh yes. Doug, wasn’t it?” she says, smiling in a way that suggests my We Rate Dogs celebrity has preceded me.
“That’s right. Only he seems to be okay now.”
“Oh.” The receptionist frowns. “Did you still want the vet to see him?”
“I’m not sure,” says Julie as I do my best to demonstrate how I’m fine now by repeatedly hopping from one front leg to another, as if I’m trying to play an invisible pair of bongos. “Doug does seem to be acting a bit...odd.”
“You say he just started limping this morning?”
Julie nods. “When we were out on our walk. But now...” She peers down at me, where I alternate between intensely staring at the door, then looking back up at her to suggest it’s time to leave.
“Does his behavior seem funny to you?” Julie says.
The receptionist leans over the counter and examines me from the other side of the desk. So I stop the intense staring and do my best to act naturally, which of course I now worry looks unnatural since I’m trying so hard.
“Not really. But perhaps the vet should take a look. Just to be sure?”
I snort frustratedly, and Julie hesitates. “Doug’s never behaved like this before. Do you think he needs an X-ray? Or maybe one of those...” She lowers her voice. “Cat scans?”
At the mention of the c word, I look up so quickly it almost gives me whiplash. There’s no way I’m going to have any kind of feline-related therapy.
With an aggrieved bark, I give Julie a look. Then, using all four legs at their maximum capacity, I pull her unceremoniously toward the door.
* * *
In a strange coincidence that makes me think Santa might be Luke’s spirit animal, the cat next door is back. I’d feared the worst, but when Julie and I spot Miss Harris systematically removing all the Missing Cat posters from our street, the look on her face tells us everything we need to know.
“My baby’s home!” announces Miss Harris, enveloping Julie in a huge hug that surprises us both—and almost squeezes the life out of her.
“Oh, that’s...” Julie hesitates. Then when she sees just how relieved Miss Harris is, she breaks into a huge smile, perhaps having realized how she’d feel if I went missing. “Fabulous news.”
Miss Harris makes like one of those nodding bobblehead figures you sometimes see on car dashboards. “Isn’t it?”
