The Pet Shop at Pennycombe Bay

by Sheila Norton

  The evening after Pru’s assessment, I went to see Vera in hospital. She was sitting up in bed, scowling and snapping at the nurses. I was surprised: so far, since she’d been in the hospital, each time I’d seen her she’d been happier and more like her old self. I wondered what had put her in a bad mood.

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked her as I sat down next to the bed.

  ‘They say I can’t stay here,’ she said crossly.

  ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘They must think you’re making a good recovery.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes, that’s all very well,’ she retorted irritably. ‘But because I live on my own – like that’s some sort of crime these days – they say I can’t go home either. Not unless I have some home helps and damn social service busybodies coming round every damn day to interfere and poke their noses in. Otherwise they say I’ll have to go into a care home.’ She snorted. ‘Anyone would think I was old and incapable.’

  ‘Of course they don’t think that,’ I tried to placate her. ‘But your arm’s in plaster – you won’t be able to manage, Vera! And your ankle’s still not great either. You’ll only end up falling over again, and being brought back to hospital.’

  ‘So? Maybe that’d be better than the alternative!’ she snapped, throwing herself back against the pillows in a huff.

  Of course, I realised this was what was really wrong with her. She liked it here! She didn’t want to be discharged, because she’d been happier here, being with other people, watching the comings and goings, being safe and taken care of. She’d never admit it, though, that was for sure.

  ‘It might be nice being in a home,’ I suggested tentatively. ‘You’d have company—’

  ‘Company? Huh! I’ve been to one of those places, thank you very much, visiting my friend Nancy. None of the residents even talk to each other. They just sit in a row of chairs staring at nothing. Can’t help it, poor souls, most of them lost their bloody marbles long ago. They get taken to the toilet and changed like newborn babies, poor things. If you think I’m going to one of those places—’

  ‘Well, I’m sure they’re not all like that, but OK, I agree, maybe you’re far too … young, and fit … yet.’ I sighed. ‘Then you’ll just have to get used to having someone come round to look after you, Vera. It won’t be for long, only till your arm’s completely mended. They’ll just make sure you’re dressed, get you a meal and that sort of thing. It’ll be someone to talk to.’

  ‘I suppose you think I’m lonely,’ she said grumpily. ‘Well I’m not.’ She looked down. ‘Well, not normally. Normally I go out and about, you know. Meet people, talk to people. But since I hurt this damned ankle …’

  ‘I know. And now, with your arm too, it’ll be even longer before you can get back to normal,’ I sympathised.

  I didn’t know what else to say. I’d offer to call on her at home, of course, and I knew Jim certainly would too, but that probably wasn’t enough. Given her age, it could be months yet before she’d be completely back to normal, and she’d soon be fed up of sitting around on her own. She needed someone to chat to all the time, not just a carer who rushed in and out on a ten-minute visit. I thought of how I chatted to Prudence when we were on our own. You were never lonely with a dog. But although Vera used to have her little dog Trevor, she probably wouldn’t be able to look after one now.

  Just then, as if on cue, Annette the PAT volunteer came breezing onto the ward, calling out a cheerful ‘Good evening, ladies! How are we all today?’ And instantly, as if by magic, Vera sat up, her eyes brightening at the sight of Ernie, the big black cat.

  ‘Ah, here he is!’ she said, smiling broadly. ‘Look at him – isn’t he a lovely boy?’

  ‘Vera!’ I said, grasping her hand and squeezing it to get her attention. ‘That’s what you should do. Let’s get you a cat!’

  ‘What? Have you gone mad? A cat? What for?’

  ‘Someone to keep you company at home. A friend, to talk to. Look how much Ernie cheers you up! That’s what animals do – you should know that, you used to have a dog. That’s why people like Annette bring their pets round: to make you all feel better. It’s such a great idea, in fact I was just about to tell you: I’m going to start doing it myself, with Prudence!’

  ‘Are you?’ She stared at me. ‘But Prudence isn’t a cat.’

  ‘I know, but dogs can do it too. I’m coming to the children’s ward here at the hospital, every Wednesday when it’s my day off, and bringing Prudence along to cheer the kids up. Do you think they’ll like that?’

  ‘Yes, of course, I think the kids will love it. Good for you. But as for me getting a cat, I still don’t know why you think I’d want one.’

  ‘Look, I know I’d be lonely and miserable if I didn’t have my Prudence. And cats don’t need as much looking after as dogs. Seriously, Vera, give it some thought, please?’ I smiled. ‘Tell the doctors you’ll have the home-care plan. You can’t stay here, you know that. And I’ll talk to Jim about finding you a lovely friendly cat. Just say the word, and we’ll get onto it.’

  She was quiet for a moment, watching the patient opposite with Ernie.

  ‘I could call my cat Doc,’ she said, suddenly giving me a grin, as the idea began to take hold. ‘If he’s supposed to make me feel better.’

  ‘Exactly.’ I smiled back. And just at that moment, Annette brought Ernie over for Vera to stroke, so I said my goodbyes and left her to it. But as I turned back at the door of the ward, she was smiling blissfully as she cuddled Ernie with her one good arm.

  ‘I’m getting a cat myself when I get out of here,’ I heard her tell Annette. ‘His name’s going to be Doc. What d’you think of that, eh? Doc, because he’s going to make me feel better!’

  It was lovely to hear her laughing. And I was amazed that she’d come around so quickly to my idea! Needless to say, Jim was thrilled to hear about it the next day, and was looking forward to talking more about it to Vera when he visited her himself. Prudence had something to say to me on the subject too, of course:

  I bet she’d have preferred a dog really.

  ‘Yes, well, a cat’s better for her, Pru. She wouldn’t manage all the walks and so on.’

  I hope she realises what cats are like: they’re very badly behaved, you know. They stay out late at night, cavorting on rooftops. They don’t do as they’re told like we do.

  ‘I know. But they’re still good company when they come home,’ I said.

  Huh. The ones I’ve met spend all day sleeping off the booze from the night before. Still, if that’s what she wants, I suppose …

  Jim had been very impressed when I’d told him Prudence and I had been accepted for PAT work.

  ‘Why the children’s ward?’ he asked.

  ‘I … thought it might be easier to talk to children,’ I admitted, a bit shame-faced. ‘You know, I’m kind of shy with strangers sometimes and, well, I’m quite nervous about starting this. But I really do want to do it. So if it goes well with the kids’ ward, I might try something else later on.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ he said gently. ‘Well done, Jess. Is Prudence looking forward to it?’

  ‘She is!’ I laughed. ‘She says she hopes the children will give her choc drops! So I suppose I’d better take some with me!’

  My heart was beating nineteen to the dozen, though, when I arrived at Seashell Ward for my first visit. The ward sister, a friendly girl called Cheryl, who I thought looked almost too young to be in charge, pointed out the children who were keen to have a visit from Prudence.

  ‘George, over there by the window, had better be first,’ she said with a smile. ‘He hasn’t stopped asking all morning what time you’re coming. He’s recovering from surgery and he’s bored stiff. Then you’d better go to Daisy, in the bed opposite him. She’s been having treatment for a life-threatening illness,’ she added quietly. ‘But she’s a tough little nut, only four but bright as a button. She’ll tell you all about her own dog – she’s got a photo of him by her
bed.’

  In all, Prudence and I saw six children that first morning. Some of them were bouncing around the ward with so much energy it was hard to believe there was anything wrong with them, although there evidently was. In those cases, the nurses told me it was a relief all round that sitting with Prudence, stroking her and talking to her, was able to calm them down for a little while. Others, who lay in their beds, weak and pale and only just about able to lift a hand to pat Prudence on the head, rewarded me far more with their smiles and whispered few words.

  ‘Thank you so much, Jess – and Prudence,’ Cheryl said as we left the ward. ‘It’s lovely to know you’re going to be coming regularly. Some of these kids are here long term. It’ll be something for them to look forward to.’

  I went home feeling gratified and humbled at the same time. Nick had been quite right; it was such a simple thing to do, but it seemed to bring so much pleasure to others. It had gone well, and I was already looking forward to the next time. And it wasn’t until several hours later that I realised that once we’d got started I hadn’t even had time to feel shy.

  ‘Well done, Prudence,’ I said, dishing her up her favourite dinner as a reward. ‘You were so good!’

  I think the children liked me, don’t you?

  ‘Of course they did. They loved you.’

  Yes. I think they quite liked you, too, even though you were only there to keep an eye on me. I’m a working dog now, aren’t I? Like Buddy.

  ‘Yes. You’re a PAT dog. That’s very special. Like Buddy,’ I repeated to myself in a whisper. Of course, we hadn’t seen Buddy, or Nick, since that fateful morning in the beach café. I was still overcome with embarrassment every time I remembered him telling me he liked me and wanted us to get together. As far as I was concerned, it would be best if I never bumped into him again. At least, that was what I kept telling myself.

  CHAPTER 11

  That evening, I was staring into the fridge, trying to decide what to cook for dinner, at the same time humming along to a song on the radio, when I heard Ruth’s key in the door. In my new spirit of trying my best to be friendly and positive, I called out a cheery ‘Hello!’ as she walked down the hallway.

  ‘Hi.’ She stopped in the kitchen doorway and looked at me. ‘You all right? Had a good day?’

  Well, it was certainly an improvement from the grunts and snarls I often got from her these days.

  ‘Yes.’ I straightened up from the fridge and gave her a smile. ‘Really good, thanks.’ I hesitated, wondering if she’d even be interested, but I was still so buoyed up with my success I couldn’t resist going on: ‘I did my first session at the hospital this morning. The children’s ward. You remember, I told you I was going to volunteer, with Prudence?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ She nodded, still looking at me as she kicked off her shoes and put down her bag. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Really well, I think.’ I was pleased that she’d asked, and didn’t want to lose the moment, so I carried on, quickly, before she could walk away: ‘I think I’m going to love it. I … quite surprised myself, to be honest.’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re surprised,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I’d imagine it’s the sort of thing you’d be good at. You’ve always had a caring way about you.’

  ‘Oh.’ I blinked at her, taken aback. ‘Well, thanks.’ I looked back at the fridge. ‘Um – sausages OK for dinner?’

  ‘OK.’ She picked up her bag, then suddenly put it down again and added. ‘No, actually, why don’t we go out to eat? To celebrate your new venture. My treat.’

  I felt my mouth drop open in surprise. It had been ages since we’d been out together for an evening.

  ‘That’d be lovely, Ruth, if you’re sure,’ I said at once, and – not wanting to give her a chance to go upstairs and start on one of the bottles in the bag first – I added quickly: ‘I’m starving, though. Is it all right if we go now?’

  She shrugged. ‘Fine, yes. Let me just dump this bag of work upstairs and change out of my suit.’

  The bag of work clinked as she took it upstairs, but I didn’t comment. She was back down again within a few minutes and we walked down to the harbour, companionably enough, having agreed to head for the fish restaurant there. It was clear and warm outside, the promenade bustling with holidaymakers enjoying their evening strolls. As we walked, I told her a little about the children on Seashell Ward, and she talked about a demanding client who’d become the bane of her working life, and all the way, I wondered why it couldn’t always be like this between us.

  Everything was fine until we’d ordered our food.

  ‘And anything to drink, ladies?’ the waiter asked.

  ‘A bottle of Pinot Grigio, please,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Oh.’ I shook my head. ‘If you just want to get yourself a glass, Ruth, I’ll just have water—’

  ‘Have some wine, for God’s sake. I’m treating you. It’s a celebration,’ she said, irritably.

  ‘OK. Thank you.’ I agreed, not wanting a scene, in front of the waiter – or at all, really, while the evening was going so well. But as soon as he’d walked away, she hissed at me:

  ‘Don’t be so bloody sanctimonious, Jess. You like a glass of wine as much as I do.’

  ‘All right, yes, as it’s a special occasion.’

  She sighed. ‘I hope you’re not still thinking about that night when I was ill? I’m not going to overdo it again, OK? We’ve moved on, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes.’ I smiled at her and nodded. Much as I felt I needed to have a further conversation with her about the drinking, I knew this wasn’t the right time. It was an opportunity, instead, for us to have some fun together for a change, like we used to. And for trying to rebuild the trust between us, so that when the right time did come for that conversation, she might actually listen.

  She smiled back, and when the wine arrived and the waiter poured us both a large glass, we clinked glasses and she congratulated me again on doing ‘something really good’ with my life. I was touched; she sounded like she meant it, and more than that, she sounded, almost, a little bit wistful. I wondered whether she would have liked to do something different with her own life. She’d always been so career-focused, there hadn’t been much time for anything else. But I shied away from asking her anything too personal at that point. She went on to drink most of the wine, while I sipped at my one glass, and I was still all too aware that she could change from nice to nasty again at any point if she felt I was being too intrusive.

  ‘Thanks for tonight, Ruth,’ I said, tucking my arm in hers as we strolled home along the seafront later. A full moon was casting a wide pathway of light across the calm water of the bay as the sky darkened to a deep navy-blue. How on earth had I ever thought I would want to leave Pennycombe Bay? ‘It’s been lovely tonight.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It has. We should do it more often.’

  I knew better than to hope that was going to happen any time soon. But it had been a nice interlude, without any mention whatever of Nick or her feelings about him. I’d been really careful not to stray anywhere near that subject! And even if tonight had been a one-off, I was grateful for it, and I promised myself I’d remember it, the next time Ruth turned back into the Moody Cousin from Hell.

  A couple of days later we learned that Vera was being discharged from hospital. A lady from social services went to her house and made sure she could live downstairs for as long as necessary, and manage things OK with the help of a carer calling in.

  ‘She’s as cross as a cornered badger,’ Jim told me when I arrived at the shop the next day. ‘I popped in to see her last night and she spent the whole time complaining about being treated like an imbecile.’ He laughed, obviously pleased that his old friend was her normal outspoken self, rather than being depressed and miserable like she’d been before. ‘The carer seems nice, though.’

  ‘Oh, you met her, did you?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, she arrived while I was there. Edie, her name is. She’s very you
ng, younger than you, Jess, and she got Vera’s measure straight away. When she said she was there to help Vera get ready for bed, and Vera snapped her head off, saying she was quite capable of undressing herself, Edie just smiled and said OK then, she’d make them both a cup of tea while Vera got into her night things. Of course, Vera went on complaining about it being only eight o’clock, what sort of time was this to be going to bed, she wasn’t a child, and so on. Edie just shrugged and said she didn’t have to go to bed, she could sit up all night in her jamas if she liked, and as far as she was concerned, her man friend – she meant me, Jess—’ Jim coloured a bit, coughed and turned away from me. ‘Her man friend could stay all night too and she wouldn’t say a word to anyone!’

  I giggled, and Jim looked at me indignantly. ‘Vera thought it was funny too!’ he said. ‘As if I’d dream of doing such a thing – getting the neighbours talking about her!’

  ‘Of course you wouldn’t, Jim. You’re too much of a gentleman,’ I soothed him. ‘But at least it made Vera laugh.’

  ‘Yes. She went off to get herself changed, and I said I’d better get going. I told Edie not to mind if Vera snapped her head off, and she said, Don’t you worry about me, I’ve had far worse, and anyway I don’t blame her.’

  ‘Aw, she sounds like a nice girl.’

  ‘And now we have to think about Project Doc,’ he said.

  ‘Project Doc? Oh yes, of course, the cat! Is she still keen on the idea?’

  He smiled. ‘She can’t stop talking about it. She wants to adopt one from the cat shelter.’

  ‘Shall I offer to drive her there, then?’ I suggested, but to my surprise Jim shook his head.

  ‘She’s asked me to choose the cat for her.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s a bit of a responsibility. To be honest, I’m quite nervous of making the wrong choice, but she says she trusts me.’