than we actually did. And the longer it went on, the harder it sometimes was. I was getting fed up of explaining away his absence so often and trying not to notice the private looks people exchanged when I did so. I got the feeling that some people didn’t even believe he existed. It was hard to blame them. There were weeks when he was so busy he barely called or texted at all. But I liked him and he’d promised me things would change soon. So until then, I’d just put up with the looks and comments. Things would change for the better soon.
I got to the edge of the block and opened the first kennel.
‘Hiya, Kong,’ I called as I entered.
A tiny patter of paws barely made a sound as the dog scuttled towards me. I scooped him up and gave him a cuddle. The teacup Yorkshire Terrier had come to the centre so thin it was hard to believe how he was still even alive. None of us had expected him to last another day. He was roughly the same size as one of the Kong toys we stuffed with cheese and treats for the bigger dogs, hence his name, and we all prepared for hearing the worst the next time we came in. But on my next shift, to my great surprise, not to mention delight, little Kong was still there and had even gained some weight. The vets had had to be careful about building him up gradually but he was now at a much healthier weight, and we were just awaiting some results from some tests on his kidneys. If those came back OK, which Mark was pretty confident would happen, Kong would soon be gracing the rehoming pages on the rescue centre’s website. He wouldn’t be up there long. His loving nature combined with perfect portability meant he’d be snapped up in hours, I suspected. I’d miss his little snuggles and really wished I could have him for myself, but it wasn’t possible with my job. And it wasn’t exactly the first time I’d been told I couldn’t have a pet. Even though this time I was the one giving myself the order. But at least now, here, I got to have the interaction with the animals that I loved.
I tucked Kong in the front of my hoody where he liked to sit whilst I cleaned out his kennel. From there he watched everything that was going on, keeping nice and warm. I chatted away to him as I did my chores and he sat, listening contentedly. Today I told him about Sara’s engagement, that I hadn’t been seeing Calum as much as I’d hoped, and then I told him about my latest client, Michael O’Farrell, and the fact that I still couldn’t even begin to make him out.
Several hours later, I’d cleaned all the kennels in my block, helped feed all the guests and played with a puppy for far too long before its new owner came to pick her up.
‘You look like that Stay Puft guy from Ghostbusters,’ Mark said, laughing as he wandered over.
I pulled the scarf down that was currently tucked up to my nose.
‘You say the nicest things.’
‘I try.’
‘How many layers have you got on?’
I paused a moment. ‘Four, I think.’
He grinned.
‘Who you taking?’
‘Pete and Bonio.’
‘Good choice.’
I smiled back and grabbed a couple of leads from the line of hooks on the wall.
‘See you later.’
‘See ya. Have fun.’
I tucked a tennis ball in each pocket and snagged a ball flinger from the shelf. ‘That’s the plan.’
With that I walked back in the direction of the kennels, collected my charges for the afternoon and set off for the fields adjoining the centre, a dog on each side of me. The snow had stopped for now and a watery sun was making a half-hearted attempt to shine through, even though it wasn’t that long until it was time for it to think about setting.
‘Right lads,’ I said, closing the gate behind me and bending down to unclip each lead. Both dogs waited, eager. Clearly these two knew who was the leader of the pack in this instance. Or maybe they just knew that I had tasty sausage pieces in my pocket.
Dropping a tennis ball in the cup of the thrower, I flicked my arm back and then let the ball fly. Bonio and Pete took off immediately. I loaded another and let it go, the ball zooming over their heads and Pete peeled off to chase the second one. Their enthusiasm and sheer joy made me laugh as I watched them. Bending, I called to them, my voice full of encouragement as I clapped my gloved hands. They charged back towards me, each with a soggy tennis ball held proud. Wagging their tails, they plonked their bottoms down in the snow and waited for a treat and a cuddle. I dropped down and gave them both, revelling in the warmth they radiated. And, if I was honest, also in the sense of being wanted, of belonging, of the love that they filled me with. I knew exactly where I was with these animals. There were no games, no falsehoods, no pretending-everything-was-fine. It was one of the many reasons I loved the time I spent here. I knew exactly where I stood.
I sat on the train and gazed out of the window, watching the lights of the city grow closer. We pulled into the terminus and I stepped back out into the noise of the London station. I’d changed before leaving the rescue centre and now headed towards the Underground, bound for Covent Garden. I’d already got presents for Bernice, Mark and Janey and her family. They were really the only people I had to buy for, but I’d decided that perhaps a few little bits from Neal’s Yard might be nice to go with the experience vouchers I’d already got for the girls. And maybe something else, if it caught my eye.
Having spent over half an hour perusing all the goodies on offer, sniffing various pots and potions and making up two baskets worth of organic treats, I left the shop and wandered out into the alley that the company took its name from. I loved the colourfully painted walls and the bare brick facades with their bright window frames. Decorated for the season, it looked even more enticing and cosy than ever. White fairy lights entwined around a pair of doorway olive trees and a softly twinkling Christmas tree cast a soft glow in a shopfront window. I smiled at a couple apparently exploring the area for the first time, and the delight on their faces as they shared the experience, taking selfies galore. Moving on, I headed to the main part of the old marketplace, now decked out in all its Christmas finery. The huge tree shone bright and a street entertainer was making the crowd laugh with corny jokes as he proceeded with some sleight of hand. I watched for a few moments before heading inside to the old Apple Market, now filled with little boutiques. This year’s decoration theme was gold and silver and the decorations spanned the width of the roof. Giant bell-shaped lights ran down the centre with smaller versions fanning out to the edge.
Window shopping passed another half an hour until I found a little café and ensconced myself at a table. Nearby a string quartet were busking, the live music adding to the atmosphere as people stopped to watch and listen. My gaze drifted to the passing crowds and the others at the tables surrounding me; couples opening bags and pulling presents from them to show the other their purchase, families laughing and, occasionally, squabbling after a long day as everyone became tired. I loved this time of year – the lights, the decorations, the music. It made me happy. For the most part. Although my formative Christmas experiences might have put me off for life, I’d held on determinedly to the joy that the season was supposed to bring, and hoped that, one day, I’d find it.
I had to admit that it wasn’t always the easiest of tasks and just occasionally I floundered. A couple of years had seen me grab a last-minute break abroad to some sun-soaked spot instead, where I’d do nothing but read and sip drinks from glasses decorated with so much
