The Pet Shop at Pennycombe Bay

by Sheila Norton

  ‘Too busy looking at him, I suppose.’ Vera gave me an old-fashioned look, and I blushed and hastily denied it. ‘He’s married, you know,’ she added. ‘Well, at least, I presume he is – there’s a little boy, and I’ve seen a woman coming and going. One never knows, of course, these days … they could be living together, or not living together and just co-op parenting – or she could be his girlfriend, or his bit of stuff on the side, or his daughter with some other woman, or—’ She was counting off the apparently endless possibilities of their relationship on her fingers. ‘Or he’s gay and she’s just his sister. None of my business, mind. As I keep telling you, I’m not what-d’you-call-it – sexaphobic.’

  ‘Quite.’ I smiled. ‘Yes, I expect he is married or whatever, but it’s Tom I know, not his other half, because he comes into the shop. I just need to get in touch with him – or his wife – about their son. But anyway, you know him, obviously. Do you know where he lives, then?’

  ‘Course I do. Next door but one – the house on the end.’

  ‘Here in Fish Row? Oh, I see.’ It might have been a small town, but this was still a happy coincidence. ‘That’s great. Thanks, Vera.’

  ‘You going to call on him, then? At his house?’ she asked, frowning with disapproval.

  ‘No. I think I’ll just put a note through their door. And stop looking at me like that, Vera. I’m not making a move on him or anything. It’s about the little boy. I’m hoping to be helping him at school, with Prudence.’

  By the time I’d explained about read2dogs, she was looking slightly more satisfied about my motives.

  ‘Sounds a nice idea,’ she said, nodding. ‘Yes, it’d be nice if you can help the little lad. Well, just you mind out that the wife, girlfriend, whatever, doesn’t get the wrong idea, that’s all I’m saying. It’s time you found yourself a nice boyfriend of your own. A single one.’

  ‘Vera, I’ve given up on men,’ I said, laughing. ‘In fact I think I might join a nunnery. It seems a really peaceful kind of life. Less hassle.’

  She was about to make some further comment when we heard the cat flap rattle in the kitchen and Doc came trotting in to see us, meowing loudly, and we were both distracted by fussing over him.

  ‘He’s the only boyfriend I need,’ Vera said a little later, as if she’d suddenly remembered our previous conversation. ‘And you can tell that to your boss, if you like. In case he’s got any what-d’you-call-it – ulterior motives – what with coming round here all the damn time, checking up on me.’

  My heart sank. Poor Jim. I was quite convinced he did have ulterior motives, but only those born of his long-held affection for Vera.

  ‘He’s just trying to be helpful, I’m sure,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m fed up with being fussed over. And I’ve made up my mind, by the way – I’m going to start going out on my own to the shops. I’m sick and tired of lying around here like I’m already dead and just waiting for the bloody coffin. I’m going tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, please be careful, won’t you – and don’t go if it’s wet out.’

  I knew it was hopeless to try to dissuade her. And I also knew that no matter what she said, Jim wasn’t going to stop calling on Vera to check that she was OK, especially not if I told him she was planning to start walking out on her own. Not unless she categorically forbade him to. And somehow, however much she protested, I had the distinct feeling she’d be disappointed if he actually did stop. She’d have nothing to complain about then!

  I didn’t write much on the note to Tom: I just gave my phone number and asked if he would either call me, or pop into the shop to see me, about the read2dogs scheme.

  Thank you – Jess from Paws4Thought – I signed off. I was wary of sounding too friendly, after Vera’s warnings to me about the wife/partner/other woman/daughter/sister.

  I popped the note, written on a scrap of paper Vera tore from her shopping list pad for me, into the door of the end house of the row on my way home that evening. There were lights on in the house and, sure enough, a blue Peugeot parked outside, but I didn’t want to ring the bell. It was, after all, nearly half past eight and the little boy would probably be in bed. But before I’d even reached home, my phone was ringing.

  ‘Jess? It’s Tom. You just put a note through my door? You should have knocked!’

  ‘Oh … er … I didn’t want to disturb you.’ It was strange. Serving him in the pet shop, I’d been easy and comfortable in his company and had enjoyed chatting to him, but now, talking to him on the phone, I felt tongue-tied, as if he were a stranger. ‘It isn’t urgent or anything. It’s just about the reading thing, you know, at the school.’

  ‘Yes. Read2dogs, you called it?’

  ‘That’s right. I’m going to start doing it, you see. At Pennycombe Bay Primary. I’ve been to see the headmaster—’

  ‘You have?’ He sounded amazed. ‘Wow. I really admire you for that, Jess!’

  ‘Do you?’ I stopped walking, my heart suddenly thudding. Had I been a bit rash? Perhaps I’d let myself in for something really nerve-racking. Or maybe Mr Phillips the headmaster wasn’t as nice as he’d seemed. Or the boy’s class teacher was a monster and all the children were little terrors. What did Tom know that I didn’t?

  ‘Well, yes,’ he said. ‘I mean, we were only talking about it the other day, weren’t we. And you’ve gone straight to the school and volunteered? Spoken to Mr Phillips about it? I don’t think I’d have had the confidence to go and do that. If it had been me, I’d have spent about a month wondering about it, another month plucking up the courage—’

  For a moment, I actually wondered if he’d heard – perhaps Jim had told him – how shy and nervous I normally was, and if he was being sarcastic.

  ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t have,’ I said. ‘And anyway, I told you, I do already volunteer for Pets As Therapy at the hospital, so it wasn’t such a big deal.’

  At least, I hoped it wasn’t. He didn’t need to know how nervous I’d been about going into Mr Phillips’s study.

  ‘So what did the head say?’ Tom was going on. ‘Are you going to start doing the reading sessions with the kids, then?’

  ‘Yes. Starting next week. I don’t actually do the reading with them,’ I corrected him. ‘The teacher will be there. I just take Prudence into the classroom and she listens to them reading.’

  ‘Right, yes, sorry, of course.’

  There was a pause. I wondered if I’d sounded a little too abrupt. I wished I’d waited until I next saw him in the shop to talk to him about this. I’d never really been very good at phone conversations. I preferred to see people’s faces so that I could judge what they were thinking.

  ‘Well, anyway,’ I went on briskly to cover how awkward I was now feeling, ‘the thing is, I don’t even know your son’s name. And Mr Phillips said, if I let him know, he’d ask his teacher whether he’s suitable. You know, to come to the sessions with Prudence.’

  ‘Really?’ It was weird how he kept sounding so astonished at everything I said. ‘Wow, that’s good of him. And good of you, Jess, to mention Jacob. Oh, that’s his name, Jacob. His teacher is Mrs Green. Year two, Daffodil class.’

  ‘Year two, Daffodil class,’ I repeated to myself. ‘Jacob.’ I didn’t suppose there’d be more than one Jacob in the class, but just in case, I added, ‘Should I have his surname too?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry – Sanders. Jacob Sanders.’ There was another awkward pause, and then he added, ‘I’m Tom Sanders. I don’t know your name, either.’

  ‘Me? Oh, I’m Jess Ferguson.’ It suddenly all felt too ridiculous for words – introducing ourselves to each other so formally like this, over the phone, when up till now we’d been chatting happily together in the shop almost like old friends. Any minute now we were going to be saying Pleased to meet you! to each other. I just wanted the call to be over before the embarrassment became any more intense. ‘Anyway, thank you, I’ll pass that on to Mr Phillips, then. And hopefully perhaps I’ll get to meet Ja
cob before too long.’

  ‘I hope so. I’m sure it’ll help him, meeting your dog. I mean, you know, reading to her.’

  He sounded as awkward as I felt. I wondered if in fact his wife was there listening, suspicious or annoyed about him having a conversation with some strange woman. I said goodbye and hung up. I’d pass the boy’s details on to the school in the morning, and if Prudence and I could help their son, I’d be really pleased. And hopefully next time I saw him in the shop we could get back to talking together in our usual easy manner!

  As it turned out, that Saturday something else happened that completely took my mind off Tom and his son. I’d been walking Prudence along the seafront by the harbour, early in the evening – a quick, brisk walk, because the November weather had turned blustery and cold. The harbour area was deserted; there were no visitors around now, and the local people were presumably all warm and cosy in their homes with their central heating turned up and their televisions on. It was almost high tide, the sea angry-looking, as grey as steel, in the yellow glow from the streetlights. Huge waves were crashing against the sea wall, spray flying into the air and stinging my face with tiny grains of sand.

  ‘Come on, Pru,’ I said, giving her lead a gentle tug when she stopped to sniff around a bench at another dog’s scent. I shivered. ‘Let’s get home, it’s not a nice night to be out.’

  From across the road, there was a burst of music as the door of the Smugglers’ Arms burst open. In the light from within the bar, I saw two men stumble out, holding onto each other and laughing in the way of the seriously inebriated. I looked away and kept walking, but one of them was already calling out to me:

  ‘All right, me darlin’? Goin’ my way, be ’ee?’

  ‘Shuddup,’ the other man slurred at him. ‘Leave the liddle lady alone.’

  ‘I b’ain’t hurting ’er. Jus’ bein’ friendly, b’aint I?’

  ‘Yeah, well, give over, she don’ want you bein’ friendly for Chrissake. Sorry, love.’

  I’d walked on quite a way past them by now, on the other side, but they were shouting, and their voices were carrying on the wind. I stopped, dead. There was something about those last two words, aimed at my back: Sorry, love. The tone of his voice, even now when he was obviously drunk – I’d have recognised it anywhere.

  And he must have recognised me at exactly the same moment, even in the dark, even from that distance, because suddenly there were heavy footsteps running after me, and the sound of the other man’s voice calling, ‘Oi! Where be gwain’?’ I wanted to move on, to run, as fast as I could, to get back home and pretend I’d never heard what I’d heard, seen what I’d seen. But I seemed to be frozen to the spot. And then it was too late; he was there, behind me, his hand on my shoulder, and Prudence was barking and growling ferociously, so that I had to bend down and reassure her before she decided to go for his ankles.

  ‘It’s all right, Pru,’ I said, and I realised my voice was shaking. I wasn’t quite sure why. ‘It’s OK, we know him. Look, it’s Nick.’

  It was Nick all right. And he was blind drunk.

  CHAPTER 22

  ‘You don’t seem very pleased to see me,’ he said, his hand still on my shoulder, his beer-stinking breath close to my face.

  ‘I’m not,’ I said. My heart was hammering so fast it actually hurt. ‘You’re drunk. It’s cold, and I’m going home. Go back to your friend.’

  ‘He’s gone now.’ He waved his arm behind him in the general direction of the pub, and it was true, his mate was nowhere to be seen. He’d obviously given up waiting for Nick and headed home. ‘Anyway, I’m not drunk, not really. Only a little bit. Not as drunk as him.’

  ‘Even so. I can’t believe it, can’t believe you’d do this, after the way you treated Ruth about her drinking—’

  There was a silence for a moment. He looked up and down the street as if he was searching for inspiration.

  ‘I can explain,’ he said.

  ‘Huh! Sorry, but I’m going—’

  ‘Come for a drink with me.’

  ‘No!’ I stared at him in disbelief. ‘Absolutely not!’

  ‘A coffee, then. Just a quick one, so that I can tell you, explain to you. Please – it’ll warm you up.’

  I was shaking with cold by now, the wind biting straight through my jacket. The idea of a hot coffee was certainly tempting. Even Prudence had started to shiver, the cold wind blowing her ears back behind her head.

  ‘OK,’ I said, cautiously. ‘A very quick coffee, then. Perhaps it’ll sober you up.’

  We turned back towards the pub. As we pushed open the door, the warmth hit me like a physical force. There was a wood fire burning in the old brick fireplace, and music playing loudly, something with a thumping bass beat. It was packed. We wouldn’t be able to hear each other talk, I decided, but perhaps that would be a good thing.

  ‘Come through to the other bar,’ he shouted close to my ear, and reluctantly I followed him through a door at the back of the bar. When the door shut behind us, the music and laughter from the main bar were muted. There was another fire in here, but the room was smaller, so it was even warmer, and there were only a couple of tables occupied, with people enjoying bar food. ‘Sit down, I’ll get the coffees,’ Nick said. He was already sounding less drunk. Perhaps he really hadn’t been as bad as he’d sounded.

  I slipped off my coat and took some deep breaths to compose myself. I wasn’t excited at seeing him, or at being with him, I reminded myself. It had just been a shock, because I’d begun to convince myself he’d moved away. When he brought me my coffee, I cupped my hands around the mug and sipped it, inhaling the steam, without looking at him.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said eventually.

  I looked up to find him staring at me over the rim of his mug.

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘And yet you only waited five minutes for me when we were supposed to meet.’

  ‘Half an hour.’

  ‘OK, half an hour, but if you’d at least answered my calls, I’d have explained, I’d had a terrible shock, a phone call from my old boss—’

  ‘I told you, I was in a bad place at the time. I’d lost my dog, my best friend – you should know what that would feel like. I couldn’t face being let down, messed around …’

  ‘I wouldn’t have messed you around. Of course I knew what you were going through. If I hadn’t felt so sorry for you, I wouldn’t even have suggested meeting you; it could have destroyed my relationship with Ruth.’ I sighed, remembering again what she’d told me. ‘You were hardly very understanding about her problems, from what I hear.’

  ‘Oh, I suppose she’s been talking about me, has she, making up a load of lies – she would do.’ He suddenly slammed his mug down on the table and got to his feet.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

  ‘I need a proper drink.’

  I watched, my mouth open in surprise, as he went to the bar, and came back with what looked like a large whisky, which he downed almost immediately.

  ‘You’re drinking a lot,’ I commented.

  ‘Yes.’ There was no explanation. I frowned, feeling uneasy again. I sipped my coffee, anxious now to finish and get off home. This had been a mistake. Pru had dozed off under the table, lying across my feet, and I bent to stroke her head, to warn her we’d be going in a minute. ‘So,’ he said, as if the conversation so far had been perfectly polite and straightforward, ‘what have you been up to lately?’

  ‘Um …’ I took another sip of coffee. Perhaps this was best. Keep to safe topics. ‘Well, you know. Work, and – oh, the Pets As Therapy visits, they’re going well. And I’ve volunteered to start at the primary school, doing read2dogs.’ I saw something flicker across his face and I put my hand up to my mouth. ‘Oh, sorry. Not a very tactful thing to talk about.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s not the PAT visits I miss, Jess. It’s Buddy.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I never particularly enjoyed doing those visits, to be h
onest. All those poor old demented souls in that nursing home, sitting there waiting to die, dribbling down their bibs—’

  ‘That’s not a very nice way to talk about them,’ I protested.

  ‘No, well. Perhaps I’m not a very nice person. But Ruth’s obviously told you that already.’

  I shook my head and started to put my coat back on. This was going nowhere. He seemed to be in the mood to pick a fight. Perhaps he was still drunk, and that double whisky wouldn’t have helped.

  ‘I’m sorry, I think I’m going to have to go,’ I said, giving Pru another gentle little prod. But Nick ignored me, continuing to talk in the same low growl, staring into his whisky glass.

  ‘I only did it to impress you anyway.’

  I stopped, one arm in my coat. ‘Did what to impress me?’

  ‘The Pets As Therapy thing. I’d heard about it, you know, looked into it, even got Buddy approved, but I wasn’t sure it was really my thing. I didn’t decide to actually start doing it until I met you.’ He looked up now and gave me a slightly lopsided grin. ‘I wanted you from that first day I saw you, down on the beach.’

  I felt myself go hot with shock. It was flattering, of course, but I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. It had been easy enough, embarrassingly easy, for me to imagine myself in love with him – he was so good-looking, with that devastating smile and the deceptive charm he knew how to turn on when it suited him. But for him to talk about having wanted me from that first time we met, seemed frankly ridiculous. I was a short, stubby, scruffy and awkward version of my beautiful cousin! And anyway, telling me this, now, was completely wrong, on so many levels. ‘But you were already seeing Ruth!’

  ‘Yes, unfortunately. It was even more unfortunate when I found out you were her cousin, and not only that, you lived with her. But we had the dogs in common, didn’t we. An excuse to chat to each other. I reckoned you’d come round if you found out I was doing something like that – PAT – being a good boy, helping the community, all that stuff—’