buried her head in her collar as she negotiated the dogs past a woman with a pushchair, the hood pulled low to prevent the baby from being splattered with rain.
Cat’s second client was a man called Terry, who lived in one of the large seafront houses, and his Rhodesian ridgeback Bertha. He wasn’t likely to be a frequent customer, but while his mother was in hospital he was having to spend a lot of time in Dorset, and couldn’t keep dragging Bertha backwards and forwards only to leave her outside the hospital, confused and alone. Cat knew it was a risk, taking such a large, strong dog out with five smaller ones, but she wasn’t going to turn down business so soon. Once she had a few more dogs she could stagger her walks, match the pets up like a dating agency – who was most suited to walk with who.
With all six dogs on their leads, she turned away from the churning, foaming sea, the seaside car park all but deserted, and towards Fairview Park. The Westies were very well behaved, only occasionally straying into the path of a passer-by, and Bertha was at the back, gliding on her long legs, with Chalky trotting along beside. Disco was causing Cat the most trouble, but only because – with five other dogs to be excited by – she had reached maximum bounce. She was yapping constantly and bounding in all directions, barging into Valentino and getting under Cat’s feet. The Westies were good-natured, but Cat didn’t think they would ignore her for ever.
The sky was low, the spring colours muted as she turned into the park, and it took Cat a moment to realize that her control would be short-lived. All six dogs recognized this as their stomping ground, and Cat knew that Bertha and Chalky were often allowed off their leads within the gates. Not today though. Cat was hoping – on her first walk at least – to return with the same number of dogs she’d started with.
Suddenly Bertha was at the front of the pack, the other dogs skittering along behind. Only Chalky remained alongside her, and when she glanced down he looked up at her with dark, mournful eyes. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she whispered, quickening her pace to try and keep up with the pack. ‘It’s going to be fine. Doggies,’ she called, ‘come on, doggies! Slow down a bit.’
They ignored her.
Cat trotted down the path, past a young family, the eldest boy riding a bike with stabilizers, and an old couple walking hand in hand, wearing matching woolly hats. She could see a pair of red setters in the distance, their sleek coats standing out against the gloom, and a sprightly collie chased a tennis ball across the grass.
She took a deep breath and pulled on the leads. ‘Bertha! Valentino, Coco, Dior! Slow down!’ And then, hopeful of receiving some loyalty from the dog she knew best, ‘Disco, treat time!’ Disco’s bounding changed direction and her little paws were suddenly on Cat’s shins, her tail wagging. Cat came to a halt and grinned at the puppy, her breathing calmer. The other dogs slowed and then stopped, and she suddenly had the attention of six pairs of eyes.
‘Good, good dogs,’ she panted. ‘Excellent dogs. Phew, thank God.’ She reached into her pocket and gave each dog a treat. They chewed them down and looked expectantly up at her, ready for another.
‘Having a bit of trouble, are we?’ Cat froze at the words which, while perfectly friendly, came in a voice that was not.
‘I’m fine, thanks, Mr Jasper.’ He was standing a few feet away, his arms folded across his short, rounded frame. He was smiling, and only his dark eyes and the tone of his voice betrayed what he thought of her and her dogs.
‘Did you know that over one hundred people a year are injured in accidents that can be directly attributed to dogs, within Fairhaven alone?’
Cat gritted her teeth. The dogs strained at their leads and Dior whimpered softly. ‘I didn’t, but I don’t really have time—’
‘Dog walkers are a menace,’ Mr Jasper whispered, leaning in towards her, his features contorted like a gargoyle. ‘You can’t keep control of that many dogs. They’ll get loose and they’ll terrorize people. You are a menace, and I will put a stop to this.’
‘To what? To people earning a living, dogs getting exercise?’ Mr Jasper turned and strode quickly away. She called after him. ‘Are you going to stop people using the park altogether, so you can preserve it as some kind of natural relic?’ He didn’t turn, but picked up his pace.
‘OK,’ she said to her pack, ‘ignore him. Let’s try again. But I’d like you all to take a moment to consider how difficult this is for me, how I’m prepared to admit that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, and that you can either hinder or help me. And we don’t want to give Mr Jasper any more ammunition, OK?’ They stayed where they were. ‘That’s it for now. One treat now, one at the end. Those are the rules. So…’ She waited. The dogs stayed still, apart from Disco, who was trying to destroy her left boot. ‘So…GO!’
The moment she said it, she realized it was a mistake.
Now she wasn’t walking, or even trotting, but was running to keep up with the dogs, the leads rubbing against her palms, wearing the skin sore. Chalky, his older bones not used to the pace, started whining. The Westies looked like summer clouds at her feet, Bertha like a small pony tearing out in front, and she couldn’t even see Disco. And then, like a flock of birds, their direction changed, and their barking got louder. They pulled her past the Pavilion café, and Cat thought she saw George staring at her, a tea towel in his hand, but she couldn’t be sure because she was focusing on not getting dragged behind the dogs like one of the tin cans on a wedding car.
They pulled her towards a clutch of trees at the edge of the park, and Cat saw the reason why. Was it possible for your heart to sink and beat out of your ribs at the same time? Cat thought it must be as she watched the grey, furry target bouncing across the grass like a Slinky, its tail a giant dandelion clock.
A squirrel.
Of all the bad luck in all the world, she had to find a squirrel on her first outing as a professional dog walker. ‘Come ON!’ She dug her heels into the grass, but they slid in the mud and she narrowly avoided ending up on her bum. ‘Come on, puppies, please!’
They’d reached the trees. The squirrel had hopped up the trunk of a large oak, so at least Cat could try to get her breath back while all the dogs – Bertha included – tried to climb up after it. Cat could feel the disapproving gaze of every other person in the park burning through her coat, tickling the back of her neck.
‘Please,’ she coaxed, ‘please stop. The squirrel won’t come down while you’re here, you can’t get up there and I promise you – I promise you –’ holding the leads in her left hand, her arm muscles burning, she managed to pull the bag of treats out of her coat pocket – ‘squirrel does not taste as nice as these.’ She shook the bag. The dogs didn’t notice.
Cat swallowed down a wave of despair.
‘Look, Disco! Chalky! Valentino, Bertha! Squirrel meat is tough, and it’s all gristle with no flavour at all. Treats are better than squirrel.’
‘Are you speaking from experience?’ a voice said. ‘I’d love to know when you’ve eaten squirrel.’
For a second Cat thought that Mr Jasper had followed her, but the voice was different and the strain on her arm disappeared as a hand gripped the leads, taking all the pressure. She risked turning her head, and found herself staring into the eyes of a man who, it seemed, had come to rescue her. Cat felt a jolt of recognition. She’d seen him and his dog before, had seen him watching her through the park railings the day she’d lost her job.
‘How
