complete with gold halo, and a puli in a Rastafarian hat. There were two Pekes in tutus, a corgi in a headscarf, and a Sheltie in a pink feather boa, which was making it sneeze. There was a wolfhound dressed as Little Red Riding Hood and a Newfoundland wearing fairy wings. Finally, there was a dachshund dressed as a shiny Christmas cracker, its nose just visible through the crimped end. I looked over to where Jimmy had been standing, but he’d gone.
‘Are you ready to announce the winners?’ Caroline asked me.
‘I am. In joint third place are—number seventeen, the regal looking corgi, and the Christmas cracker dachshund, number twelve. In second place is—number eight, the very Gallic-looking bichon frise. But the first prize for the Fancy Dress category goes to—the Angel Rottweiler!’ Everyone applauded. This seemed to be a popular choice.
‘And finally,’ said Caroline, ‘we come to “Pup Idol”, the canine karaoke competition, the result of which will be decided by you all, in a popular vote. So thanks to Miranda Sweet for being such a great judge.’ My duties done, I stepped down. This was my chance to find Jimmy, while the dog show was still going on. ‘Now, we’ve got a selection of songs here,’ Caroline went on, ‘so may we please have the first of our three talented contestants—Desmond the Dalmatian?’ Desmond and his owner stepped up onto the podium and Caroline passed them the mike. Then she pressed the button on the sound system. A familiar song started up.
‘Ebony and ivory…’
The dog threw back its head.
‘Woooow-ow-owwww-oooo…’
‘Live together in perfect harmony…’
‘Ooooo-woowwww-ow-ow-ow…’
‘Side by side on my piano keyboard…oh Lord…’
‘Ow-ow-oooooowwww…’
’Why don’t we-ee?’
‘Oowwoowwwwwwwwwwww…’
‘—That’s rather good,’ I heard someone say as I moved through the crowd.
‘—Yes, very nice tone.’
‘—Bit of an obvious choice though.’
‘—But the diction’s clear.’
‘—Hmm—you can almost make out the words.’
The song went on for another minute or so, then Caroline faded down the music. Desmond stepped down to a burst of applause and the Christmas cracker dachshund stepped up.
‘Now,’ said Caroline, as I stood by the rope and scanned the crowd, ‘we have Pretzel, who, you may remember, won the event last year. And this year Pretzel has chosen a very challenging classical number, the Queen of the Night’s solo from The Magic Flute!’
‘—That is a brave choice,’ I heard someone say. ‘Notoriously difficult.’
‘—Hmm,’ acknowledged his friend. ‘Let’s hope she’s got the range for it.’
‘—And the breathing of course!’
‘—Gosh, yes.’
The orchestra swelled to a crescendo, and the dog started to vocalize.
‘Yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yaaap!
‘Yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yaaap!
‘Yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap…’
‘—Not bad,’ said the connoisseur appreciatively.
‘—She’s hitting those top notes pretty well.’
‘—She’s not really a coloratura though, let’s face it.’
‘—Oooh, I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yaaap!’
‘—Sounds a bit like Maria Callas, if you ask me.’
‘—More like Lesley Garrett.’
‘Yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yaaap!’
Pretzel’s performance was enthusiastically received, then the last contestant, a sheepdog, began to croon along to the strains of ‘Danny Boy’.
‘Ow wow wow wooooow…’
‘—God, isn’t that beautiful?’
‘Ow wow wow wow wow wow wow wooooooowww…’
‘—Brings tears to your eyes doesn’t it?’
‘Ow wow wow wooooow, wow wow wow wow wow woooooowwwwwwww…’
‘—Got a tissue anyone?’
‘Wow wow ow WOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWW…’
‘—Nice rubato.’
‘Wow wow wow wow wow wow wow wooooooow…’
‘—He could get a recording contract with a voice like that.’
‘Wow wow wow wow wow wow wow wow wow woow woow woooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwww!’
There was a moment’s silence, then thunderous applause.
‘Now’ said Caroline, ‘may we please have your votes?’ Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. I glanced at my watch—it was a quarter to five and the fete would soon finish. I felt my heart race. Where was he? ‘Can we have the votes for Desmond and his cover version of the Paul McCartney?’ I heard Caroline ask. There was a few seconds’ silence while she counted them. Maybe he’d gone into the house. ‘And now a show of hands please for Pretzel and her thrilling rendition of the Mozart…one, two…five…eight, okay…’ I looked towards the garden. ‘And lastly, your votes for Shep the sheepdog, and “Danny Boy”…Oh, that’s a very decisive result! So I’m delighted to announce that this year’s Little Gateley Pup Idol is Shep the sheepdog. Shall we ask him to sing it again?’
‘YEAAHHHH!!!!’
As Shep did his reprise I spotted Jimmy, chatting amiably to the woman running the tombola. ‘Thank you so much,’ I heard him say as I approached. ‘We really appreciate it.’ I hovered for a moment, knowing that he must have seen me on the periphery of his vision, but he pointedly kept his back turned. Then he moved on to a group of people by the refreshment tent. I could hardly interrupt.
‘Yes,’ I heard him say. ‘It’s been a wonderful afternoon, hasn’t it? No, we love having it here.’ I pretended to be engrossed in the bric-a-brac stall. ‘So lucky with the weather, yes. And how old are your lovely kids? Four and two? Lovely ages. How sweet.’ Now, as he strolled confidently towards the house, stopping every few yards to speak to someone, I discreetly pursued him, my heart racing. It was all very well confronting him, but what would I say? What words could evoke
