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.

PART 3
It was only three days before I got the tasking to walk Diesel again, and this time I ran them out to Owlbeech. I normally avoided there with smaller dogs, but Tara loved it, as there could be a lot of splashy water and a huge space to sprint, which she seemed to do for the sheer hell of it. There was also a lot more dead wood to pick up, drop, chew and so on.

It always made me laugh when she found her preferred small tree type of stick to fetch, as it meant her lifting and dropping it until she had hold somewhere near its middle. I also corpsed every time she came to a pedestrian gate and failed to understand that she couldn’t trot through carrying a log three times the width of the opening.

I kept Diesel on her lead until we were on what I called the ‘Prairie’, a sizeable area of clear-fell slowly returning to grass, where I found the obvious problem with three dogs and one ball. I had formulated a Cunning Plan for this, which consisted of launching ball-on-string for Tara while slipping Ryan a treat with one hand, then using the other to throw Diesel’s tennis ball. It didn’t work perfectly, but well enough to wear them down, if only a little. Back to Holey, Tara and Ryan dropped off, then up to Brian’s. He was late home, and seemed a little out of sorts at first, but he still asked me in for another cuppa in the early Summer warmth.
Diesel got her ball, I did most of the throwing, and he kept fiddling with his phone. I could take a hint; after all, I had been given all too many of them over the years.

“Thanks for the tea. I better be heading off; return the van”

He looked up, looking a little flustered.

“Oh. Sorry; been a bit of a day. I was going to ask what you could actually do for this mess”

I had already done a quick audit, so to speak, so it was an answer I had ready.

“I travel by bike, so big tools aren’t a thing. Remember when Waitrose did their bike trailer experiment?”

“I think so”

“Well, I was a regular there for a while, just for the free coffee with their loyalty card, but every so often I’d pick up some groceries. They latched onto me to road test their trailer, and when the scheme tanked, they let me keep one. Done some mods, so there’s a bit more room to it. I have a small lawn mower I can fit in, as well as a battery hedge trimmer and a Strimmer, same deal”

“How do you power the mower?”

“Arms and legs. It’s a cylinder mower. Anyway, what you need is a brown bin. I can’t carry away garden waste”

“Brown bin?”

“You rent them from the Council. Pennies, really, but once a fortnight they empty them. Outsize wheely bin”

“Right. If you’ve still got five minutes, there’s stuff in the shed”

I had noticed the structure, a word I found inevitable due to its size. It wasn’t huge, but neither was it a simple tool box, being around the length that could take a decent tandem.

He ducked back into the kitchen for a key, which fitted a proper lock in the door rather than a padlock and hasp. Inside were a selection of leaf rakes, spades, gripes and so on, along with a small electric mower. Oddly, I also spotted a wall socket.

“Wired for power?”

He was looking very uncomfortable, so I naturally prodded him a bit more.

“Is this actually a man cave rather than a tool shed?”

He muttered under his breath before saying something that sounded like ‘better than the sofa’.

“Pardon?”

“Diesel’s… My ex. I think I told you a bit of history, so here’s my little declaration. I love dogs. K love them so much that I know I shouldn’t have one, because I can’t give her the attention I should. No offence, but, well, I cringe at the whole idea of professional walkers. People should…”

He shook his head as if trying to lose a persistent fly, then looked straight at me.

“Not trying to put you down, because you are simply doing your best to make a living. I just don’t like the idea that people take on dogs and then, well, you have to carry their slack”

Another look in to my eyes, another headshake.

“I must be coming across as a complete twat, Jules. Sorry. I don’t mean to. I took Diesel on because there were two of us, and Suky insisted on keeping her working dog after she was retired. That didn’t work out. She, us, we didn’t work out. TMI, I know, but the power socket’s there because this is where I ended up living until she left”

He paused, then found a smile, god knows where.

“Rant over. Anyway, with this socket here, does it make things easier?”

I pulled all my horns, feelers, tentacles, whatever, back in and nodded. My mind was bouncing round like a ball in a squash court. So it hadn’t been Layla-with-the-curls, nor Hannah-the-tart, nor any of the others? And what sort of bloody name was ‘Suky’ for a fucking adult woman?

Sleeping in the fucking SHED?

Not now, woman. Definitely not now.

“Yup, power will make life a lot easier. Can you see about sourcing a brown bin, and let me know?”

“Thanks, Jules. I will. I am really sorry for going off on one. Been a bad day, as I said. Best get your van back; I’ll see you soon”

What on Earth was going on in his world? More to the point, what was going on in my head, remembering his past flames with such venom and spite? Sleeping in a shed, though, was something special. Shit on a fucking stick.

I didn’t sleep well that night, half being down to anger at ‘Suky’, the rest entirely down to slapping myself in the head, in my imagination at least, in the realisation that I was still lusting after him, and my remaining rationality was parading a variety of what it considered more realistic scenarios ranging from “Sorry? You thought I’d fancy a dog walker?” all the way to “Oh fuck off you freak”, accompanied by the vividly imagined sound of him throwing up.

Stupid, stupid woman you are, Juliet.

Another, even smaller, part of me waved for attention: ‘At least this proves you are a woman’; the rest of me told it to sod off and shut the fuck up.

Such a well-adjusted post -transition woman, and so, so bloody lonely.

I found the time to visit my mother over the next few days, which was, as ever, a mistake. I suppose that what I was seeking was a bit of reassurance that, well, there was someone who cared for me, myself and I, and what I got was someone who could only care for someone who had bever really existed.

At least I hadn’t ended up sleeping in a shed.

Yes, he rang to agree to terms for the gardening work. Yes, I continued to take Diesel out, sometimes returning her to a dark and locked house, when Brian was unable to get home in time; she had a ‘dog house’ kennel she seemed happy to lie down in, but I wasn’t that comfortable with. I was still tied to my timetable, however, so I had no real choice other than to leave her in her little hut and drive away.

I did start carrying some dog food, just in case.

Brian remained polite, friendly, charming, whatever, but there were more and more occasions when he seemed to be excavating his manners from some dark place. I did the garden, which submitted with only the most minimal of resistance, and he paid. I walked Diesel, and he did the same.

I slowly realised that I was falling in love with him, and slapped myself down as a stupid, stupid tranny. I didn’t ask myself what Layla, Hannah and bloody stupidly-named Suky had that I didn’t, because I damned well knew.

They had been real, and I never would be. I never could be.

He didn’t have hollyhocks, but he did have a couple of hydrangea and some rather surprisingly decent roses, plus a little patch of peonies. I sorted out the grass after taming the encroaching brambles, all of which was somewhat hampered by a very attentive springer spaniel. In the end, I found myself pushing the mower over the grass with my right hand while my left reached down to scratch the top of her head. She really was a sweet dog.

My only real problem was that I found myself increasingly short of sleep, as I couldn’t just do Brian’s garden and clear off, for a wonderful springer spaniel was in need of affection.

Things went tits up when Brian came home one evening when he had said he would be out until at least eight o’clock, and I was lying on the lawn, soaking up the sun, with Diesel cuddled hard into my side, and all right with the world.

The first clue was when she exploded from my side, and I rolled over to see Brian coming through his kitchen door, Diesel dancing around him. He looked like shit.

I rolled to my feet and walked towards the pair, holding the tennis ball so that I could distract the dog.

“You okay, Brian?”

He shook his head, but I couldn’t read his expression, so I tried again.

“And?”

“Sorry I’m so late”

“Not a problem. Had my cuddles”

Stupid woman! Try again,

“Nice day, Diesel being herself, not a problem. Please let me… sorry. Is this something you can talk about, with me? Something you want, or need, to talk about?”

Once again, there was his usual sequence of looking down before staring at me directly. A very wry smile.

“Well, there might be something you can help with”

“Okay…”

“She’s alleged I am neglecting Diesel”

PART 4
I found myself laughing, almost automatically. I dealt with so many dogs I had a routine check-list for their owners, a method of deciding whether the owner was Dog People or rather someone who liked accessories. Small dogs in handbags, oh please.

My boss did much the same thing, not only refusing jobs where one or more of us had raised enough concerns, but passing them up the line for official action. As she also ran a kennels and cattery near Shipley Bridge, we saw a LOT of dogs and their owners.

I sobered up quickly, giving him a smile, but refraining from patting his hand. Most definitely not a good idea.

“Sorry again; not laughing at you. It’s just ridiculous, given how you look after her. Who has this come from?”

“You got time for this?”

“Not working for anyone but myself today. What do you have?”

“Well, I’ll put the kettle on first, then. Tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please, in this weather”

He smiled.

“You can lie down again if you want, but I will be in a chair”

Hint taken, I settled in one of the patio chairs after brushing grass cuttings off my T-shirt and jeans. He took a few minutes, but when he returned he wasn’t carrying the expected two mugs but a tray with a pot, cups and other doings.

“Another minute, please”

When he emerged again, it was with a dog bowl filled with something lumpy and moist that had Diesel immediately sitting while repeatedly licking her chops, eyes fixed on Brian’s face, with occasional rapid glances at the bowl, which he set before the sitting dog. A pause, then “Go on, girl”

She showed absolutely no restraint in her eating, and as she ripped through her food, he brought out a bowl of clean water for her.

“Could you be mother?”

I nodded and started the ritual, and on his final return he set an envelope down on the table before picking up his cup.

“I didn’t think you took sugar, Jules, but I can get some if you need”

“No need, Bri. Is that the letter?”

“Yup. From the RSPCA, no less”

“May I read it?”

“Feel free”

I picked up the paper, unfolded it and began to read, and oh dear was it utter tripe, but the sort of tripe that carried enough links to reality, and distortion thereof, to make it plausible. In fact, the bit about leaving the dog outside in all weathers could be ‘proven’ by a look at her dog house from the garden gate. I suspected that an RSPCA inspector had done just that, perhaps on a day when Brian had been late home.

They wanted a proper visit, by invitation preferably, and so on and so on, with the usual reminders of their position in regard to the law, place in society, et cetera, et cetera, and for once in one of their letters, I noticed, they didn’t ask for a donation. I assumed the writer thought that might have been a step just a little too far.

‘We have received information that suggests…’

“Bri?”

“Yes?”

“Neighbours okay? This smells like someone looking over the fence, seeing her kennel and doing some rubbish addition”

“Neighbours are fine. This will be from Suky”

“Isn’t she the one that dumped her dog?”

“Yes, but… Start from the beginning. This is, was, still is my house. I bought it before we met. Me and Suky, not me and you. Suky never had a house of her own. What she did was put money into a savings account, a joint one. We both did, me and her. That paid the household bills, and paid for our holidays”

“You put in equally?”

“No, because I earn a lot more than her. Just before she cleared off, I actually put in a chunk from a really good commission”

“And?”

“Suky demanded half the house when she went. I told her to---I said ‘no’, as I was the only one paying for it”

“Right… what about that joint account?”

“She jointly emptied it just before she left”

“Ah. Sorry to ask, but were you official? Married?”

He shook his head.

“Nothing like that. I did ask, but she kept saying no. I suppose that should have been some sort of warning. Anyway, this is exactly the sort of spiteful thing she was doing”

“Like the shed?”

“Like the shed. Anyway, it’s a big ask, and I’ll understand if you say no, but they want to visit and talk to me, and say if there are adverse findings, they may take her away”

“They can fuck right off with that idea!”

He smiled, although it was still a tired one.

“I will take that as a yes, then. But they want to come in two days’ time. Are you free? Half past five ?”

“No, not at the moment. Can you give me five minutes? Just need to make a quick call”

He nodded, so I walked round to the front of the house and rang work.

“Poochini’s. How can I help?”

“Hiya, Gwen. Is Mrs Thornbury there?”

“I’ll pass you across. It’s Jules, Mrs T”

“Hello, Jules. Your day off, isn’t it? How can we help?”

“One of our clients, Mrs T. I’m doing his garden today—yes, yes, so I multitask, you know that. Anyway, he’s due a visit from the RSPCA in two days. Allegations that he’s mistreating his dog”

“You put that rather carefully, Jules. Is he next to you?”

“No, I’m in private. I put it that way because it’s utter rubbish”

“Which client?”

“Mister Brian Copley; dog is Diesel”

“Your opinion?”

“Really cars for the hound, looks after her as best he can, given he works variable hours”

“He’s hired us as well for the gaps. Right, then… You are asking to be there for the visit?”

“Yes, absolutely”

“Then it’s a working day for you. I’ll rework the dogs you’ve got, but it would be easier for us if you could arrange the meeting for as late in the day as possible. You will be representing the business, so make sure your T-shirt’s a clean one”

“They want to come at half past five. Working day?”

“Arse. Can you manage the assigned stuff for the morning and early afternoon? Then do the meeting? And it’s ‘working day’ ss in you’ll be getting paid for those hours. We need good customers, and he seems to be one of them. Not bloody ‘I thought getting a dog was a good idea, but’ idiots. Keep me up to speed, please”

She finished the call and I put the phone away before heading back to---

Bri. I’d called him ‘Bri’. Shit.

I walked back to the garden, holding my phone up as a hint.

“Just spoken to the boss, and yes. I’ll be here for the meeting. Now, would you mind if I leave my trailer here till then? I have no more gardening for the next four days, but I do have some study assignments to get through”

“Not a problem, Juliet. I’ll let you know if there’s any change. And thanks, really”

“No need. Thank the boss, if you like. She’s the one paying me for the time”

The ride back was quicker without the trailer and panniers, but I worried myself sick the whole way. Would he treat ‘Bri’ as a pretty common shortening of his name, or would his mind immediately go back to his school days? So many jokes about him, from a group of the rugbyanderthals who would sing ‘Brian’ to the tune of that Roy Orbison song, or Hannah-with-the-curls’ boasts about his virility, ‘Bri one, get one free’ and ‘Stop Bri and get one’. She wasn’t the greatest of wits, but she was very, very clear about him and his assets, attributes, whatever euphemism would work best.

The day of the visit saw me with the Pointer Sisters in the morning, Mipsy and Mopsy for the afternoon session, and as the shih tzus’ energy levels weren’t the greatest I was able to stop in at home and grab a quick shower, ironing (really!) my T-shirt while my hair dried. Back in the van, in shoes rather than wellies, and at five o’clock I rang his doorbell. This was an official visit, after all. He was still in his suit, and looked very much as if he had just shaved. He ushered me into the hall, with another of those slightly uncertain smiles.

“Thanks for coming, Jules. I will have to shoot off as soon as this is done, because I have drawn short straw for tonight: a viewing”

“Has she been out?””

“No time today”

“Hell. I’ll—that your door?”

He waved at the living room door, so I took the hint and one of his chairs, as he welcomed what was clearly the RSPCA bod, walking them straight out into the back garden for abundantly obvious reasons. Twenty minutes later, and a thin man in uniform was looking into my waiting area.

“Hello, you’ll be Juliet? I’m Gary Sawyer, from the RSPCA, although that’s a bit redundant given the way I’m dressed. Are you happy to have a chat?”

Something in my expression made him laugh and shake his head.

“No, not like a police interview! I’m here to see what there is to be seen, not set up a criminal case”

“What would have happened if your ‘what’s to be seen’ had turned out to be something nasty?”

A shrug.

“Then a phone call, some colleagues, and the police as back up. I somehow don’t think this is going that way. Hang on---is that the doorbell?”

My imagination immediately peopled that one with two more RSPCA inspectors and a police firearms unit, but to my surprise Brian ushered in Mrs Thornbury before closing the door and retreating back to the garden, I assumed.

I said “Mrs T?” just as ‘Gary’ said “Marion ?”; she herself simply said “Jules, Gary” before settling herself onto the sofa and turning her eyes on me.

“Not happy about allegations like this, Jules, whether or not they’re untrue. Gary, Juliet is representing us as a business right now, but I realised this afternoon I must make something clear: Mr Copley is not being charged any fee for this. He is a good customer, no adverse reports, and I like things to be fully aboard. In short, he is not in any way paying us for our support. Pretend I’m not here, please”

Gary laughed again, then turned to me.

“Not going to make a big song and dance about this, Juliet. Could you please sum up how you see the situation vis a vis Diesel”

“Not much to tell, really. Mr Copley effectively had the dog dumped on him, and as he works full time, with odd hours, he feels he can’t look after her as she deserves. On the other hand, he loves Diesel, so rather than have her rehomed, he has hired us to take up the slack”

“Where does she sleep?”

“Beyond ‘indoors’, I have no idea”

“What’s the purpose of that kennel in the back garden?”

“Shelter. Sometimes he has to go out for work, or isn’t back until after she’s been returned by me or one of my colleagues. She gets the run of the garden, but has somewhere warm and dry if the weather breaks”

“What about food on those occasions?”

“Outside tap lets us fill a water bowl, and there’s a clean bowl and store of food in the shed. If Poochini’s isn’t walking her, Mr Copley has one of those timed feeder machines with dry food, kibble”

“Right. How does she react to other dogs?”

“She’s a springer, so it’s all ‘Hi! Play with me!’. One thing we do at Poochini’s is to keep a log of which dogs play nicely, and which ones need more watching. Can I do a little rant on that one?”

Mrs T stifled a laugh.

“I know full well where she’s going with this one. Let her rant, Gary”

“Okay…”

I drew in a rather theatrical deep breath before starting.

“With certain exceptions in a few breeds, dogs are products of their upbringing. Some of them only ever interact with other dogs, some only with humans, like BHDs”

“BHD?”

Mrs T called over “Bloody Handbag Dogs”, and Gary nodded, so I picked up my thread once again.

“Dogs brought up as if they are human babies, in short. Absolute pain to put them right, and with some it’s too late. I have several sets of dogs I am happy to let loose, let them do their thing. Diesel’s spent a lot of time with two of them, and with all due respect to my employer, it’s almost but NOT QUITE sweet enough for me to do the job for free. Just NOT QUITE. All three of them are properly rounded personalities, doggy style. Er, you know what I mean”

“What breeds are those two?”

“Ryan’s a Jack Russell, but one of the happy and playful ones. He like being chased by the other one, who likes to play tag, and when they are tired, he often sleeps on her”

“The other?”

“Tara? German shepherd/Scottish deerhound cross. Forty nine kilos in weight”

“Good god! Do you get any misunderstandings from passers-by?”

“All the time. I just call them both over for a treat, and that usually reassures people, especially when it’s a piggy ear”

“Why so?”

“Ryan takes his time, but Tara’s is gone in a bite and a half, but she doesn’t then try and take his”

“And Diesel?”

“Still working out what her favourites are, apart from chasing a tennis ball”

He carried on for another half hour, before sighing, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Marion? Anything to add?”

“Nothing, Gary. You know my views: if I had any suspicions about one of my customers, your number is in my phone. How do you feel?”

“Well, it’s what we technically call ‘malicious bollocks’, in my opinion. Do either of you know if anyone has a grudge against Mr Copley? Oh, and Diesel is clearly a very happy dog, to put that worry to bed”

I nodded to him.

“Yes, I believe there is a possible or probable source for this, but that is Mr Copley’s business, not mine”

“Thank you. He has told me some other things which are probably the same ones you are holding in confidentiality. They will be looked into”

Mrs T was still curious, though.

“Looked into with consideration to what ends, Gary?”

“Um, defamation, criminal harassment, potentially wasting police time. Anyway, I’m done here. I sort of thought I would be as soon as I saw Juliet’s T-shirt, to be honest. I’ll just have a last word with the owner, and then I’m off”

Brian brought Diesel in once the front door had shut, and she was straight over to me to say hello, followed by a visit to Mrs T, before scrambling up into Brian’s lap for a snooze. I introduced Mrs T, and he settled back into his chair with a smile, pointing at his seemingly boneless dog.

“How could anyone even think of being nasty to this one?”

PART 5
Brian had a little bit of time before his appointment, so stood us another round of tea, or rather I did, as Diesel was clearly in her favourite spot. Once we’d supped up, Marion and I walked out to the van.

“I came up by bus, Jules. Could you shove that stuff in the back, and I shall cadge a lift”

“Home or work?”

“Left the car at work, so no need for a detour. You did well there, love”

I settled myself into the driver’s seat as she matched me to my left, and once both doors were shut and belts clicked I started the short run back to my notional workplace, as Marion continued her debrief, before abruptly switching topics.

“I can see why you called first dibs there, Jules”

“She’s a lovely girl, Mrs T, and not just through her training”

“Not talking about the dog, love. He’s a bit young for me, but, well, I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed”

Concentrate on your driving, Juliet.

“You’ve gone very quiet, love. Have I touched a nerve?”

“We were at the same school. That’s all”

“Really? Does he remember you?”

“I don’t know if he remembers him, but so far not me”

“What has he said?”

“I told him I went to a school in Reigate”

“Lying isn’t a good way to start a rel—oof!”

I had spotted a space at the kerb outside one of the industrial buildings and slammed the van into it, almost but not quite pulling the handbrake on before we had fully stopped. I switched everything off, and stared at the dashboard for a moment before turning back to Mrs T.

“I am really sorry about that, but it’s not a conversation I can handle while driving. Are you all right?”

“A bit surprised, Jules, but no damage. What the actual hell?”

“Think about what you were saying, please?”

“What I was… Oh, right. Well, it’s true”

“And what sort of ‘relationship’ were you imagining?”

I even made ‘finger quotes’ as I said the R-word.

“Well, forgive me for saying this, but your eyes were all over him. Well, not all over; mostly on his own eyes. You must be tempted”

I did a little bit of breathing control, seeking a calm place to speak from.

“Hi. I’m Juliet, but I was Jack, who everyone took the piss out of at school, and I fancy you rotten. Want to go for a drink? Oh, and I’ve had the nip and tuck”

She looked a little shamefaced,

“I suppose when you put it like that, it might be a bit awkward”

I sighed, wondering how far I could safely tell off the woman who paid my wages.

“It’s the sort of thing that could get me killed, Mrs T. Not saying Bri would do that, and it’s much more a thing over the pond, but it could still end up in me going to prison in this country, and thanks to that cow of a Home Secretary, I would end up in a bloody men’s prison”

“You think he would do that?”

“I’d like to think not, but even in the best of outcomes, I would end up losing Diesel. I know she’s not mine, but”

Mrs T. stared at me in silence for nearly thirty seconds, then smiled, her voice now a lot softer.

“I was unsure about taking you on, you know. I didn’t know if you were simply desperate for a job, and you know full well that I know your mother, so I had all sorts of stuff flung my way. It was when you were first at the kennels, with that stroppy Staffie. I thought… No, that’s bad, even for me”

“What is?”

“Oh, I just thought he was going to bite your hand off, but you had him eating from it instead. You understand dogs, love. Did you know I got a complaint from the owner of those shih tzus?”

“Mipsy and Mopsy? What the hell for?”

“Oh, by ‘complaint’ I mean a compliment deliberately framed as a complaint. That the dogs preferred time with you over time with their owners. They set it out as a complaint, and then literally wrote ‘All joking aside’ before praising you. You GET dogs, as I said, and that’s a rare thing. When you get your certificates or whatever they’re called, you’ll be a real loss to us. And I actually find it hard to imagine you in blue baby clothes”

She took my hand, giving it a little squeeze and me a soft smile.

“What are we going to do to sort this out, then?”

“Damned if I know. Let’s get you back, and then I have some books to hit”

I didn’t say the other thing I was thinking, about settling down for a bloody good session of tears, which ambushed me partway through a chapter on depreciation of capital assets.

The next week and a half were pretty routine, if less peaceful, as the schools were breaking up for the Summer. We always lost some custom then, as many of the kids would walk their own dogs, but that was compensated for by those we took into our holiday kennels while the family was off in Spain or Turkey or whatever. A few of our nicer regulars, however, would go somewhere like France, driving with their dogs.

It meant that I worked at the kennels far more than I walked the beasts, There were a few that ‘didn’t play well with others’, or had kennel cough, so they got a well-controlled walk on the Meadows rather than in our open rompery. I worked my days, followed them with some evening edging and trimming, forced down a chapter or two from a textbook, and then simply sank into an overnight coma.

I was removing the dead stalks of some of Brian’s annuals, Diesel sprawled on the grass I had just mown around her rather mobile obstruction, when the back gate opened. Instant eruption of furry body, followed by disappearance of suited one indoors. He was back out after a few minutes, in board shorts and a sloppy T-shirt from some band or other, washed so often that the logo had faded almost to nothing.

“Jules?”

“Hi. Nearly done here”

“Do you drink?”

“Sorry?”

“I have some cold beers in the fridge, but I didn’t want to assume, especially as you’re on the bike”

“Ah! What do you have?”

“Hobgoblin Gold”

“That would be lovely. I’ll just bin the trimmings, and be with you”

As if.

I dropped into the chair as he popped the bottles and poured the beer into proper glasses. To say it hit the spot would be a serious understatement. I raised my glass to him after a decent first mouthful.

“Cheers, Brian!”

“Cheers. You’ve changed an awful lot, Jack”

My throat locked painfully on the ale, but I managed to swallow it rather than spit it out. No options offered themselves beyond absolute honesty. He had offered me a drink, after all, so axe murder was looking unlikely, at least at the moment. Deep breath.

“I have, and I haven’t been called Jack for quite a while. When did you realise?”

He was still leaning back in his chair, hand down to scratch Fiesel’s ear. Not the most threatening of stances, and he had indeed given me a beer.

“I didn’t. I ran into Hannah McBride”

“Hannah Sillitoe as was? Hannah-with-the-curls?”

“That’s the one. She’d seen you walking Diesel”

“And what did she say?”

He looked towards the end of the garden.

“Not the nicest things”

“Please tell. I’m a big girl now”

“Yes. I can see. Well… what was that freak Jack Marshall doing with my dog? And, had I turned queer, or had I always been a fairy?”

“She always had class, did Hannah”

“Yes. I do seem to have attracted some lovely women. Her and Suky. At least”

“She used to boast about you, Bri”

“I bloody well know that. She was a liar”

He looked up sharply, slightly pink in the face.

“We were fifteen, for fuck’s sake. I was always--- I was really tempted, but I didn’t really fancy being locked up, whichever way it might be. I wouldn’t, so she got hers from Graham McBride. Got five kids now, and half a stone in weight for each one. At least”

“Rather catty for a dog man”

“Please don’t make a joke of it, Jules. I am being serious”

“Sorry. Shall I start packing up my kit, then?”

“What for?”

“Well, what do you think? I was hoping that things could just tick along, you staying, you know”

“Ignorant”

“Oh, Bri: you were never ignorant, not in that sense. I just saw this as, what’s that phrase? Need to know. And you didn’t need to”

“Why not?”

“Bri, I am where I have always needed to be, and the last thing I really want is… I’m in a boat, Bri, a boat with very little freeboard, but still afloat. If it gets rocked, it sinks”

“All through school? You had this all the time we were at the comp?”

“All through my bloody life, Bri”

“Your parents?”

“Mum still calls me by my deadname, and Dad buggered off with a barmaid form the King’s”

“Not Trixy? That one with the huge, you know?”

“And the bras a cup size too small? Yup”

“Hell’s teeth”

He let the silence linger a little too long, so I broke it.

“What are you planning to do, Bri?”

“Oh, I have two answers to that question. The second one is that I haven’t got a clue”

“And the first?”

He busied himself with his glass, before giving his answer to the table.

“I was working up to asking you out, Jules”

Shit.

“I would have said ‘no’, Bri”

“Why?”

“All the reasons you already have. I couldn’t be certain how you would react, but from experience it’s usually awkward at the very best, and more often than not it’s more like the lovely Hannah’s take on things. Like I said, I am barely afloat. I can’t risk that boat going down”

“You think that little of me?”

Oh, you utter bastard. The tears had been fighting for release right from his first use of my deadname, and they boiled out and onto my face.

“Are you serious? I spent every fucking school day and all of my nights fancying you, and you know what? If I had been a normal girl I would have been giggling about you with all the others, but I couldn’t, could I? Every time I got spotted looking tour way, I got a kicking”

“Did I… Was I ever nasty to you? By accident, I mean?”

“No, Bri, never. I know you got a few smacks because of it. Layla told me”

“Another name from our past, eh?”

“Another silly little girl who ruined my daydreams. You came in with a black eye, and as she was your girl at the time, everyone wanted to know why, so she just pointed at me and said you’d been sticking up for the fairy”

That was when he started to cry. I tried to apologise, and he waved it way.

“I am so sorry, Jules. I shouldn’t have said what I said, but it has been a really shitty day, and I am sitting here with a dog I was terrified I would lose, and a friend I have hurt, and Suky has written me a letter gloating about Diesel being taken away and, shit. Sorry”

My waterworks banged off, as anger blew them away.

“She fucking what? Exactly how stupid is she? Into the house, wash your face. I am giving Mrs T a ring”

My boss answered on the third ring, her receptionist being away on one of those packages I dismissed so snarkily.

“Problems, Jules”

“Afraid so. Two of them. Brian’s just realised who I am”

“Arse. How has he taken it?”

“Messily. Trying to work out what his take is, but it’s the other problem I need your help with”

“Go ahead”

“The person we suspected was behind the neglect report has been confirmed”

“How exactly?”

“She wrote Brian a letter gloating about it”

Mrs T laughed long and loudly, before putting on a deep voice to say, “Oh dear how sad never mind”

“Sorry?”

“Old comedy show, love. Before you were born. And let me guess: you would like me to mention this to Gary and his crew?”

“Yes, as soon as I---Brian?”

I put the phone away from my head.

“I fully intend to report this, because I love that dog and… Because I love that dog, and I want that shit stopped. Are you with me?”

He looked down at Diesel, then nodded sharply. I got back to the phone.

“Mrs T?”

“Here. What did he say?”

“It’s a yes from him. I know some old comedy shows as well”

“Right, then. I will get onto Gary. Keep the gloatery safe, okay? And Juliet, my girl?”

“Yes?”

“If I can work out what you so nearly said, so can he. Best of luck, but do not go home without some clarity in how he sees you, okay?

She hung up, and I turned back to him.

“She’s letting Gary know, and says to keep everything to hand. That’s that one sorted, okay?”

“It isn’t…”

“It will be sorted when some snotty vindictive cow gets a solicitor’s letter or a police caution, or a bloody conviction”

“Jules, why do you never say ‘bitch’?”

I pointed at Diesel.

“Because I actually like bitches, while cows disturb me”

He nodded, eyes red, and I so wanted to reach out for him, to ease his pain. I had indeed so very nearly said something impossible to take back.

“Juliet?”

“Yes?”

“I am trying to understand how much you must hurt, but the only answer my head is giving me says I could never grasp the scale”

“It is what it is”

“I know. Can I ask what you are doing tomorrow?”

“Day off, thankfully. I was going to spend it with my books”

“Right. Well, my plan tonight, after such a shitty day, is to get rat-arsed and probably drunk-order a curry or a pizza or whatever”

“Sounds like a plan”

He spent a little more time with his glass before saying, “Do you prefer pizza or curry?”

My mouth fell open in shock.

“Um, Brian? What are you asking? Offering?”

“How the hell should I know? It’s… the spare bed is back in the house, not in the shed anymore. I am out on a limb here, and I am very, very nervous. A lot of the pain from today came from what Hannah said, and I’ve been bouncing all over trying to work things out. I was working myself up to ask you, you know: what I said. Then there’s what she said. Then there’s who I met up on Reigate hill, and I have been asking myself one question, which is that if Hannah hates you so much, that’s actually an endorsement”

He looked up into the sky this time, still speaking to me.

“And what you said about Diesel, I think I know what you left out. What you nearly said about yourself”

“Oh. I didn’t mean… What are we doing, Brian?”

“Getting to know each other, Jules, I hope. If… I’ll show you where things are in the house, and if, well, I have some delivery menus and a cupboard full of wine First, though…”

Mrs T can keep her old comedy show quotes; I’ll stick to old pop lyrics, and there was one specifically for that Summer afternoon.

It started with a kiss.