Cathy Hopkins - [Mates, Dates 04] (6 page)

‘We were just
discussing the newsletter,’ said Lucy.

‘Cool,’ said Nesta.
‘So, you going to go for it?’

I nodded. ‘And Lucy’s
agreed to do a fashion piece.’

‘Excellent,’ said
Nesta. ‘And I tell you what readers like more than
anything
. A
make-over. You know, before and after sort of thing.’

‘Good idea,’ said
Lucy.

Nesta was staring at
me. ‘And you know who we should do?’

I shook my head.

‘
You
, of
course. You could
look
fabulous
if you wanted to.’

Lucy looked shocked.
‘Nesta. TJ
does
look fabulous. Honestly, you and your big mouth. You
don’t think before you open it, do you?’

‘What?
What’
?‘
said Nesta, looking flustered. ’I didn’t mean anything… I only meant…‘

I tried to smile but I
wanted to die. She thought I looked awful. I knew I didn’t wear all the latest
fashions, but she didn’t have to rub it in. I got up to leave.

‘Oh, don’t go, TJ,’
said Lucy.

I looked at my watch
and made for the door. ‘I have karate at seven and it’s the last one before the
summer hols, so I can’t miss it. Honest, really, it’s OK.’ I did my best to
look cheerful, but Lucy didn’t look convinced.

‘TJ, I hope I didn’t…’
started Nesta. ‘Oh, hell. I mean… I was only trying to say, I don’t think you
make…’

‘Nesta. Button it,’
said Lucy, linking my arm. ‘Come on, I’ll show you out.’

When we got to the
front door, Lucy made me promise I’d come again. ‘You sure you’re OK?’ she
asked.

I nodded. I wanted to
get away. And I did have karate that night, not that I was in the mood any more.
I really wanted to go home and talk to Hannah on email.

I looked back at
Lucy’s house after she shut the front door. No way was I going to go there
again for Nesta to point out how awful I look. It’s all right for her, she’d
look fab in a bin-liner.

Furry
Friends

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I woke up the next
morning feeling better. It was the weekend and Mum had promised to take me to
Battersea Dogs’ Home. Who needed girlfriends? I was going to get my new best
friend of the furry kind.

I got dressed and
hurtled down the stairs. Nobody in the kitchen. No one in Dad’s study. No one
in the living-room.

‘Where’s Mum?’ I
asked, on finding Dad sitting out on the patio reading the paper and having a
cup of coffee.

‘She got called out on
a case. Good morning, TJ.’

‘Oh, yeah. Morning.
Good. When will she be back?’

‘She couldn’t say…’

‘Oh,
no
!
’
I wailed. ‘We were going to go to the
dogs’ home. And I have football this afternoon… We won’t have time if she’s not
back soon.’

‘I’ve got the day
off,’ said Dad. ‘Ready when you are.’

‘School all right?’
asked Dad, as he drove down Edgware Road towards Hyde Park.

‘Yeah.’

‘Not long until the
summer holidays?’

‘No. Not long.’

‘Feeling all right?’

‘Yeah. You, Dad?’

‘Yes. Fine, thank
you.’

I could see that he
was trying, but I wasn’t in the mood for telling him how I was really feeling.
He’d never understand how much I missed Paul and Hannah and what it was like to
be the only girl in Year 9 without a best friend. Plus, I didn’t want to get
him started on Paul and how he’s wasted his opportunities. The last thing I
wanted was a lecture on how I must focus on school and my career and get good
grades.

I felt relieved when
he gave up and switched the radio on, even if it was to listen to classical
music. He means well, does Dad, but sometimes, he’s so busy offering his
solutions that he doesn’t realise that he hasn’t really listened to the
problem. It’s much easier to talk to Mum. She understands better that sometimes
people don’t want to be told what to do, they just want someone to listen and
give a bit of sympathy.

I spent the rest of
the journey looking out of the window as we drove down Park Lane, towards
Victoria then over the Chelsea Bridge.

‘I’ve always wanted to
come here,’ said Dad, as we parked the car near Battersea Park. ‘I’ve been
wanting a dog for
ages’

‘Really?’ I said as we
got out and walked round the corner to the Home. ‘I never knew that. Have you
ever had a dog before?’

Dad nodded. ‘When I
was a lad. Best friend I ever had. Being an only child, he was my constant
companion.’

‘What was his name?’

‘Rex.’

‘What happened to
him?’

‘He died after I left
for university. I was heartbroken. I thought it was my fault, you know, because
I’d gone away and left him. But my mother said it wasn’t like that. She said it
was his time to go and that he’d waited until I’d gone so as not to upset me.’

We walked into the
reception area at the home and I watched Dad as he found his wallet to pay our
entrance fee. I swear his eyes misted over when he’d talked about Rex. It made me
see him in a new light. Dad clearly had a soft side when it came to animals.

‘Pound for you,’ said
the lady behind a counter. ‘And fifty pence for the young lady. Have you come
to look or to buy a dog or cat?’

‘Buy a dog,’ I said.

‘Then you need to have
an interview with a Rehomer first. Follow the red paws on the ground and
someone will come and talk to you. See what sort you want and so on. Then you
follow the blue paws and go and have a look.’

I couldn’t wait and
felt really excited. I could see Dad did as well. He’d turned from Scary Dad
into Smiley Dad.

We followed the red
paws and went to sit in the waiting room with a group of other people. A sign
on the wall told us that it cost £70 for a dog and £40 for a cat. After a short
wait, a man in a red tracksuit came out and called us into a room where he
asked loads of questions about where we lived and whether there were other
children or cats and if was there a garden.

It was funny because
he was stern like a headmaster and Dad had to really sell the fact that we
would be good owners.

‘Our chief concern,’
said the man, finally relaxing, ‘is that the dogs go to a permanent home where
they will be happy and well cared for - for the rest of their lives. Hence the
interrogation. Many of our dogs are here because their previous owners couldn’t
or wouldn’t care for them. Last thing we want is for a dog to have another bad
experience.’

‘Quite right,’ said
Dad. ‘I can assure you that we’ll take very good care of whoever we get today.’

‘OK, then. Let’s go
and look at the dogs,’ said the man.

Dad looked at me and
winked as we followed the man along the path of blue paws through a courtyard
to a building at the back.

Inside it was like a
hospital with long sloping corridors leading up to different floors. Each corridor
had a different name: Oxford Street on the ground floor where the clinic was;
Bond Street and Bow Street on the first floor where the dogs were kept; Regent
Street and Baker Street on the second with dogs and cats and a private floor,
Fleet Street and Pall Mall on the top.

‘Here we go,’ said our
Rehomer, opening a door to a side ward. ‘I’ll leave you to look around. Take
your time, then, when you’ve decided, we’ll bring the dog to you for an
introduction and see if you get on. Takes about fifteen minutes. Then, if all
parties are happy, you can go.’

Two things hit us as
soon as we entered the ward. The sound of barking. And the smell. Not a bad
smell, but distinctive nonetheless. Like wet hay mixed with dog food.

‘
Phworr
,’ I
said.

‘Aromatherapy of the canine
kind,’ laughed Dad, as we looked in to see the first hopeful face looking out
at us from behind bars.

‘It’s like they’re in
a prison cell,’ I said as a Jack Russell poked a paw through at us and barked
in friendly greeting.

We spent the next hour
walking through all the wards on every floor. We must have seen about fifty
dogs. Each one had a little room in which was a blanket, water, a toy and
outside access to a corridor at the back.

There were all sorts
of characters to choose from. Collies, Beagles, Jack Russells, mongrels of
every colour even a Samoyed, which Dad told me was a rare breed. He looked like
a big white teddy. At the side of each cage was a report with the dog’s
details: the breed, name, age, history and whether they liked cats or children.
Whether they needed an experienced owner and whether they were destructive or
not!

At the end of their
report was a comment as though written by the dog. ‘I make a good companion.’
Or ‘I need commitment.’ Or one big dog whose comment said,‘I am a majestic
individual!’

‘That one sounds like
you, Dad,’ I said, pointing at the last one. With his tall stature and
silver-white hair, Dad did have a majestic air.

‘I don’t know what you
mean,’ he laughed, then pointed at one that said,‘ And there’s one that sounds
like you — “I have a strong will and need a lot of training”.’

On one ward, a black
mongrel called Woodie was doing everything he could to get people’s attention.
All sorts of mad antics - bouncing off the walls, paws up against the bars. It
was as though he was saying ‘pick me,
pick me
, look what I can
do
…
back flips, jumping, bouncing!!!! Pick me.
Pick me
!

Another old
brown-and-white collie sat looking at us with pleading eyes. She looked as
though she had a bad wig on.

‘This is
heartbreaking,’ said Dad, reading her report. ‘She’s called Kiki. She’s
thirteen.’

Kiki put her paw
through the cage and even though there was a big sign saying not to touch the
dogs, Dad took her paw and stroked it. ‘Hello, girl.’ Then he turned to me and
I swear his eyes were misting over again. ‘Poor thing. At her age, she’s
probably here because her owner died or something. She looks as though she’s
been well looked after though. Shame, because a lot of people come here and
only want the young dogs. They see “thirteen years” and see the expense of
vet’s bills.’