the back of his throat. ‘Not exactly, no …’
‘Are they painting their nails and applying face packs?’
‘No, they’re just … playing music and chatting, and I just wanted to call—’
‘Er, Rob,’ Kerry cuts in. ‘I’m kind of busy.’
‘Oh.’ His stomach slumps. Christ, the girls are singing now, punctuated by bursts of high-pitched laughter. He thinks of Kerry curled up on their knackered old sofa in Shorling and almost chokes with yearning.
‘You can’t do this,’ she adds.
‘What?’
‘Phone me out of the blue like this, just because you’re feeling out of your depth or whatever it is, and want something old and familiar.’
He frowns so hard, it causes his skull to throb. ‘You’re not old and familiar, Kerry.’
There’s a bitter laugh. ‘I’m going now.’
‘Oh … okay.’
‘Please don’t do this again. It’s not fair and it’s not very good for me right now.’ Her voice trembles as they finish the call.
Now Rob feels even worse. He didn’t plan to upset her – it’s the last thing he wants. He just wanted to say something nice to the woman he loves, and all he could think of was to praise her for going ahead with the dog thing. You’ve done the right thing, he’d wanted to say, if it makes Freddie and Mia happy after all they’ve been through. Christ, get them a whole bloody pack of hounds if you want to, and I’m sorry, so sorry for everything – for Nadine and the baby and fucking up so badly, and if I could do anything to make it not have happened, then I would …
But it’s too late for that. What Rob must do now is go back into the living room where the girls will have decided that his unborn child should be called Fern or Crocus. For a short while he’ll have to pretend to be enjoying himself, just to be polite. Then he’ll feign another migraine and take himself off to his cold, empty house, feeling as if his heart could break.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It’s gone ten by the time Kerry has finally coaxed the children to bed, having persuaded them that, yes, they still have to go to Nanny and Nonno’s with Daddy tomorrow, but it’s only for one night. And yes, of course Buddy will still be here when they get back on Sunday.
‘It’s not one night,’ Freddie bleated. ‘It’s two whole days.’
And now with the children in bed it’s just Kerry and Buddy, sharing the living room sofa (her no-dog-on-furniture rule lasted approximately five minutes). When she goes through to the kitchen he trots at her heels, his gaze un-wavering as she extracts the wine bottle from the fridge and pours herself a glass. He tails her to the music room, sitting expectantly at her feet as she starts to play the piano. And when she gets up from her stool to select a piece of music from her files, he looks up, following her every movement.
‘It’s okay,’ she says, patting his head. ‘I’m just going to the loo. Back in a minute.’ She hopes Buddy’s expression indicates that that’s okay (it’s impossible to tell). Yet, as soon as she’s shut the bathroom door behind her, his distressed whine quickly morphs into urgent barks. With a sigh, she lets him in, leaving the door open and trying not to feel under surveillance as she attends to business with him staring at her.
The flush of the loo seems to terrify him, and he shoots out, coming to a panting standstill at the front door.
‘D’you need to go out?’ she ponders, clipping on his lead and stepping out into the small, gravelled front garden. ‘Yes, I guess you do.’ There, just outside the house, she spots Buddy’s bag of food, document file and a couple of bowls all packed neatly into his basket; James must have dropped everything off without knocking. Just as well it hasn’t rained. Thanks a lot, Kerry mutters, deciding he clearly wants as little communication with her as possible. She circuits the garden several times until Buddy pees, then takes him inside, praying his barking doesn’t wake the children as she dashes back outside to retrieve the basket.
Is he exhibiting separation anxiety, like babies and toddlers have? Placing his basket in the corner of the living room and plumping up its paw-patterned cushion, she tries to coax him into it. He jumps up onto the sofa instead, wriggling to get comfortable, and when she sits beside him he rests his head on her lap. Now Kerry can’t fetch her wine or even reach the TV remote. She is trapped, and there’s nothing for it but to sit here with her now-sleeping dog, listening to the faint rush of the waves in the distance.
Her trilling mobile makes Buddy flinch, and she snatches it from her jeans pocket.
‘Kerry? It’s James.’
‘You mean Buddy-James?’
‘Yes.’ He chuckles. ‘Look, I’m really sorry to call you so late …’
‘That’s okay. Is something wrong?’ A thought strikes her: he wants Buddy back. That brusqueness – it was all a cover-up, and he’s realised he’s made a terrible mistake.
James clears his throat. ‘I should have explained. You see, I’m helping my son with his business – he has a sandwich shop – while trying to keep up with my own website design work. Things have been incredibly hectic lately, but this evening, when I started to think about Buddy …’ He tails off.
‘I did wonder,’ she says carefully, running a hand over Buddy’s soft fur. How on earth will she tell Freddie and Mia that Buddy has to go back? Rob was right – it was a rash move. Even if this hadn’t happened, all kinds of things can go wrong: illness, accidents, death … Buddy opens an amber eye and looks at her. She no longer cares about his barking outburst or the fact that he pooed outside school; it’s just what dogs do.
‘… He has a few issues,’ James is saying, ‘since, er, something happened at home.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘He gets really anxious,’ James goes on, ‘like if he sees or hears another dog that he can’t greet and sniff, and if a truck goes by – any large vehicle really – and there’s been some chewing and the odd, er, little accident …’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she murmurs.
‘No, I’m sorry. I wish I’d been more honest with you from the start.’
Kerry bites her lip. His voice is lovely; warmer and friendlier than the clipped tone he’d adopted when she’d been at his house. ‘You can come and pick him up tomorrow if you like,’ she says flatly.
‘Oh. Er … right. Okay.’
There’s a stilted pause, and Buddy shifts position so as to edge further onto Kerry’s lap. ‘My children will be away with their dad then,’ she adds, ‘and I’d rather it happened when they’re not around. The sooner the better, I suppose, before they get too attached.’ Some hope of that. The entire evening has been filled with cuddling, grooming and playing with Buddy, and he seemed to relish the attention.
‘Er, I only want him back if he’s too much for you,’
