Part 2
I gave him enough time to get back down the path to the public car park, then gathered my two for their ride home. Ryan was wanting a chase again, so he stayed on the lead while Tara did her own in and out of the trees roaming, which I had worked out meant she typically walked and ran about a dozen times the distance I did. It was heading towards school run time, so I stopped by the little tea place, where they had a warm pasty and, to my delight, a piece of lemon drizzle cake.

A mug of tea went with it, rather than a paper cup, because one of my own mugs was kept behind the till. It worked nicely for me, and it guaranteed the kiosk would get some money off me most days. I walked round to the other side to grab a table, and Brian was already there, Diesel munching her way through a dog snack that sounded like a pig’s ear. He looked up with a smile as I approached.

“Oh, hello again! You following me around?”

I found myself smiling, and offered the simple explanation that we were, after all, in the only public car park in the area.

“Oh: do me a favour? I need to get the dogs into their boxes before I feed my face; do you mind if I leave this with you?”

“Not a problem”

“It’s just that I actually like these pasties, and these two sods will make such puppy eyes I’ll only end up getting about a third of it. Back in a minute”

I settled them into their cages in the back, leaving the tailgate up so they wouldn’t overheat, before taking a seat opposite Brian so that I could see the car. He was staring at my cake.

“I didn’t see that when I got my tea”

“They still have some left, I think”

“Two secs”

He was back after a minute, slice of cake on paper plate, and sat down with a bang, looking drained.

“What do you do, Brian?”

He looked down at his mug.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“No”

“Ah. I’m, er, an estate agent”

“Oh dear”

“Indeed. And my company does viewings at all sorts of daft hours, hence the odd times I can’t be there for the old lady. Lots of time on my feet as well, showing people around houses I probably couldn’t afford. And in a suit and tie, of course, so I can’t risk getting muddy. Not that conducive to romping with a springer”

“And I assume she likes to get wet?”

“Very”

I was concentrating on staying ladylike as I ate my pasty, despite the temptation to wolf it down, but it was still gone far too quickly. I grabbed some wipes from my rucksack, noting that Brian’s cake had evaporated or something like that, and after cleaning my fingers, I started on my own sponge sweetness. I almost missed it when he spoke again about his job dress code.

“Sorry?”

“I said I’m glad I’m a bloke. Our boss insists on ‘smart office’, and that means ties for the men”

“And the women?”

“Heels”

“Not something I wear that often, especially on these paths. Their feet must be in agony after a day’s agenting or conveying or whatever you call it”

He nodded.

“So they tell me. I end up being asked for favours when they know somethings going to be a long job”

“Ah. Even more times you can’t drag Diesel out”

“Exactly. Going to get her home now, and ta for the info. Maybe it’ll be you doing the walkies with her”

“Maybe. Have a good one!”

He was away before I finished my tea, so I sat in the sun a bit while my memory slapped me round the face a few times.

When Mum and Dad had divorced, my father had cleared off to his old family home, somewhere near Blackburn; I neither needed nor wanted to know, as the bruises had only faded from my flesh and not my memory. Mum had waited until I was out of school before selling up and moving to a serviced flat, but that had no appeal for me after the first year, when I found a decent flat on Balcombe Road in Horley, quite a way from what had actually been our ostensible family home. My current flat was in cycling distance of the office, just as the old house had been from the school, if only half the distance. Mum had been…

Count your blessings, Juliet. Mum had dropped me off at the Nuffield, picked me up after the surgery, and then looked after me until I was able to survive at my little place. Afterwards, however, things had become even more strained than they had been following my coming out, and more and more I was blamed for Dad’s departure for Points North. It wasn’t quite an armed truce, for we still observed formalities like birthdays and the like, but we no longer had any real bond.

Brian bloody Copley…

He had bever been one of the bullies, and then again had never stepped in to sort things out. He simply seemed never to register my presence, for good and bad, despite the eternities I felt I had spent staring at him from the age of thirteen or so. I did notice other boys, of course, as any girl would, but that noticing was noticed by other, nastier boys. It was very physical, until one day I punched one of the main bullies in the face.

No, that didn’t stop it, because I received a serious kicking from a group of them almost immediately after my punch landed, but the opportunist individual stuff did end. So, in the end, I wasn’t getting a regular slapping from whichever arsehole was in range, but less frequent gang beatings. I remembered trying to explain that to Dad.

“You need to stand up to them, son! Hit them where it hurts; that’s the only way”

“I did, Dad! I whacked one in the face, split his lip, bloodied his nose”

“And that worked, I bet”

“No, Dad. He simply called all his mates over and they all joined in”

“Where were your own mates?”

In my father’s bloody imagination, like his belief he had a son.

I managed to survive the place until I was sixteen and my GCSE exams were done, and then Mum packed me off to the sixth form college for my A-levels, which was when I had finally had enough, and came out, and what fun that was. Dad fucked off, Mum was pissed off, my old school ‘friends’ were still around the town, and my life was a barrel of laughs.

I still managed to get decent results in both sets of exams, which left me wondering whether the bullying had been aimed at me on the basis of being the school queer or one of its swots. Whatever the reason, the pain was the same.

I managed to sort of socially transition enough to move into my flat as myself, which eased things for me, but my future was a bit limited, as Mum had emphasised.

“Universities are expensive places, Jack”

“Juliet”

“We were putting the money away for it, you know, before you drove your father away”

“It was that tart from the King’s Head that drove him, Mum. Not me”

“Don’t be clever!”

She still supported me when I had my surgery, though, which was wonderful, right up until she started freezing me out again.

Brian Copley… Most of us girls, as I had always thought of myself, most of us straight ones, anyway, had had a big crush on him. He wasn’t one of the cool (read: stupid) kids, nor a sports champion type. He was just tall, and pleasant, and when he smiled it was like the best sunrise imaginable. He had been seeing some girl called Layla when I had finished my exams and left for sixth form, but that was the last I knew. I wondered if Diesel’s former owner had actually been that particular Layla, or someone else I had known, but it was, after all, water under the proverbial bridge.

Up and away, Jules. I walked round to the back of the van, making sure the dogs were fine and leaving them with a treat each before closing the hatch and setting off back to the HQ, dropping the two dogs off on the way before finally signing the van back in and grabbing my bike for the ride home, which, of course, took me directly past the school Brian had attended. I still had enough leftovers in the fridge to provide a meal, and I had already had a bite, so it would be roast pork sandwiches, a mug of tea and another attempt at getting that Open University assignment completed.

Mum had been right, and University was indeed mind-bogglingly expensive, but I had found that I could manage OU fees quite easily. All I had to do was limit my food intake and abandon any concept of a social life. Going everywhere by bike also helped, but I could still end up a little short at the end of each month, so I added in occasional light gardening work as a sideline. Not exactly the most fun-filled and exciting life imaginable.

I found myself jerking awake in my armchair at about ten that evening, needing to force myself upright for the short walk across to my bed. Sleep hit me like a power cut, and it was only with the very early dawn that I stirred.

More of the same as the week came to an end, but there were still slots available for work, so my weekend became a continuous link of working days. Ryan and Tara once, the pointer sisters twice, Mipsy and bloody Mopsy the shih tzus (who definitely DIDN’T go anywhere near the mud, ANY mud). No, I didn’t take any days off.

It was the following Tuesday when I got the duty list with the Salfords pick-up, in Mead Avenue; dog’s name Diesel. Collect from back garden, return same; afternoon slot. There was obviously no chance of it being another dog, so after I had settled Tara and Ryan into their boxes yet again, I found the gate at the side of the Meads Avenue semi-detached house, and tapped on it with a call of “Diesel! It’s Jules”

Ah well--- I had assumed it would be coming, just not quite so quickly.

The gate was of a stable-door style, so I reached over the top to unbolt the upper half. She was waiting right by the gate, sitting, with her tail going nineteen to the dozen as I reached down to clip her lead before opening the lower part and taking her to the van. Where both Tara and Ryan were straining to say hello. I kept her on an extending lead throughout her walk, as I couldn’t be sure she’d return, while Tara and Ryan played the same old games, both of them still noticing me enough to come sprinting back when I slipped Diesel a treat.

Another pasty, again kept well away from hoover hounds before I returned them home. Tara first, then Ryan, and finally Diesel. When I parked in Meads Avenue, there was a Vauxhall Corsa in the driveway, one I recognised from the other day. Instead of simply shutting Diesel up the back garden, therefore, I rang the doorbell, and Brian answered, still in his suit but minus the tie.

“Hello ladies! Was she a good girl for you?”

“Very. I kept her on the extending lead just in case she didn’t want to answer to me”

“Oh, I’ve got something that will help with that. Cuppa?”

Why not? I needed to collect some of his paperwork, so I left my wellies at the door and led Diesel in, unclipping her as Brian made a fuss in the extremely silly way many people do, all ‘Who’s been a GOOD girl?’ and the like. She scurried off ahead of him to what proved to be the kitchen, where a double-glazed door opened onto the back garden. Brian started the kettle going, and then asked if I would be okay in my socks on the concrete patio.

“Oh, they’ll be fine. Why the patio?”

“If she’s been on the lead all the time, she’ll still have loads of energy. Sit in the sun and wear her out”

He opened the door as the kettle boiled, and after Diesel had rushed out onto the grass to attack her water bowl, Brian showed me a well-worn tennis ball.

Two mugs of tea in hand, he led me to a small patio table and two comfortable-looking chairs. Once we were settled, he simply said “Diesel” and showed her the ball.

I don’t know how many times he and I tossed that ball up the garden, but every time we did, she shot off, collected it and dropped it at our feet. If we weren’t quite quick enough in throwing it, the ball would be nosed forward until against one of our feet. It made the conversation a little staccato.

“Was she on her own today?”

“No. Tara and Ryan again. It would have been nice to leave the three of them to romp together, but I’m not risking that till I’m sure she’ll come when called. By me, that is”

“What do you do, Juliet, apart from walk other people’s dogs”

“I’m studying. OU”

“Oh? What course?”

“Your turn to promise not to laugh?”

“Lips are sealed, smirk turned off”

“Okay: accountancy”

His promise was broken immediately, as he chuckled.

“We are most definitely pushing the envelope of exciting career choices here. Must be expensive”

“Oh, I do another job as well, depending on time and weather: gardening work. Grass cutting, pruning, hedge trimming, that sort of thing”

He laughed again.

“Looking at what passes for my garden, it could do with some TLC. The only problem would be Diesel. If you were here mowing the lawn or pruning my hollyhocks, she would be forever demanding her ball”

Hollyhocks? Was he bloody flirting with me? I checked out the paperwork, which was all fine, drank my tea and awaited the right moment to scram.

I still left him my mobile number.