Pedigree Mum (17 page)

As soon as Kerry takes the call, Buddy zips across her path, pulling urgently on his lead. Until now, he’d been walking obediently at her side but, like a small child taking exception to his mother making a phone call, he seems to resent not having her full attention.

‘That’s great,’ she tells the well-spoken man, keeping a firm grip on the lead as Buddy strains ahead. ‘Yes, I still have some spaces, I’m sure I can fit you in …’

Mothers – plus the odd dad – are converging on the school gates. Despite the light rain, hair is neat and outfits look thought about rather than flung together in haste. Kerry feels suddenly self-conscious in her scruffy brown jacket.

‘I’m an absolute beginner,’ the man adds.

‘Well, that’s fine because I work with all abilities—’ Her words are drowned out by an outburst of barking. Buddy appears to have spied another dog – a small, fluffy black thing, like a Mongolian cushion, with no discernible features that Kerry can make out. It glides along beside its owner, as if on casters, paying no heed to the cacophony of barking several metres to its left. Apart from a quick frown in their direction, the owner hasn’t acknowledged them either. She strides on in her blue linen dress and camel trenchcoat, heels clicking as Buddy scrambles to get towards them.

‘Buddy, stop it,’ Kerry hisses as he continues to bark and lunge, nails scraping frantically on the pavement.

Now the cushion’s owner has stopped. ‘I’m not sure
he
should be going to school,’ she remarks over the racket.

‘Buddy,
stop
. He’s just … new,’ she explains. ‘I only picked him up half an hour ago. He’s probably a bit unsettled …’

‘Huh. Is
that
what you call it?’ the woman scoffs, dark bob swinging around her pointed chin. ‘I’d say he’s completely out of control. Is he aggressive?’

‘No, of course not,’ Kerry exclaims, realising that, actually, she has no idea. That man – James – said he wasn’t, but then, if he was desperate to rehome him, he was hardly likely to say, ‘There is a small chance he might savage your children.’

She realises she’s still gripping her phone. ‘Sorry, call you back,’ she shouts over the barking, not sure if the caller is still there or not. Quickly shoving her mobile into her jacket pocket, she grips Buddy’s lead with both hands.

‘That dog shouldn’t be around children,’ the woman says sharply, trotting off with her docile hound and merging with the other parents at the gate.

Kerry exhales fiercely. Great. First day as a dog owner and already she’s failed. Should she have primed herself to spot other dogs before Buddy did, and made a point of avoiding them? She’d always assumed dogs enjoyed mingling with others of their kind, with all the butt-sniffing that goes on. Relief floods through her as, with the other dog out of sight now, Buddy’s barks gradually subside. Now he’s just panting, which still doesn’t look especially friendly, but at least it’s unlikely to alarm small children when they come out of school.

Now Lara and Emily have appeared at her side. It’s spooky, the way they appear inseparable, always patrolling as a pair.

‘Ooh,’ Lara remarks. ‘I heard all that commotion. Got a new friend, I see.’

‘Yes,’ Kerry says with a grin, ‘this is Buddy …’

‘Oh, he’s very sweet. Bit nervy, though, isn’t he? I’d say he has
issues
.’

‘I don’t think—’

‘He was only barking,’ Brigid exclaims, striding towards them in a garish pink mac, her hair piled up messily and secured with a giant plastic tortoiseshell claw. ‘That’s what dogs are designed to do, Lara.’

‘Yes, but that one doesn’t.’ Kerry indicates the cushion dog lurking beside its owner, and quickly repositions herself to block it from Buddy’s vision.

Brigid has bobbed down to ruffle Buddy’s fur. ‘He’s adorable, isn’t he? What a gorgeous dog! And he’ll soon settle down. He’s just trying to assert his authority.’

‘Well, I hope so.’ Kerry checks her watch, willing the minutes to flash by and the children to rush out of school so they can meet Buddy and go home before he attracts any more sour looks.

‘Oh, is he new?’ A woman in a sky-blue running top and startlingly tight shorts grins down at Buddy.

‘Yes, I’ve just picked him up today.’

‘Bet the children love him.’

Kerry grins. ‘They haven’t met him yet. He’s a surprise for them, can’t wait till they come out …’

‘Ah, that’ll be nice for them after all they’ve been through.’

Kerry blinks at the woman. ‘Er, well, they’ve been begging me for years to get one. It’s been a long, intense campaign and I finally crumbled.’

The woman makes big, patronising eyes at Kerry and pats her arm. ‘That’s wonderful. I have to say, I think you’re all coping very well, considering.’

‘Do you?’ Kerry frowns, aware of Brigid regarding the woman with mild horror.

‘Oh yes. It must be
so
hard …’

What, to have your husband impregnate the work experience – sorry, editorial assistant? It’s shocking, the way details about your life spread around here, Chinese-whispers style. Kerry has mentioned her situation in passing to Lara, Emily and a couple of others, but is floored by this sudden outpouring of sympathy.

‘We’re all doing fine, thanks,’ she says firmly, making a point of turning away to cut that woman, with her
you-can-tell-me-all-about-it-dear
therapist’s voice, from her vision. Not much happens around here, that’s the problem, so any small event is leapt upon and gleefully discussed. And now that woman is murmuring to a friend, ‘That’s the one who …’ ‘That’s right,’ Kerry wants to scream, ‘and you know what else? His new girlfriend is twenty years old. That’s
seventeen years younger than me
. She is astoundingly pretty with huge blue eyes and small, sticky-out, modelly breasts. and I know this because I’ve not only met her, albeit briefly – but I also went out and bought that stupid magazine,
Mr Jones
, and when I saw her pouty picture on the contributors’ page I nearly threw up all over it …’

Thankfully, Brigid has swiftly engaged the two gossiping women in a conversation about plans for improving the playground. Kerry should probably join in, perhaps ingratiating herself by offering to make several hundred cupcakes to raise funds, but she doesn’t have the energy right now. She glances down at Buddy, wondering if this is how her life will be now: hanging out with a black and white mongrel with an aversion to cushions. Well, at least he’s being sweet, pressed up lovingly against her legs, the pleasing warmth from his furry body permeating her jeans. And the benefits, she suspects, will be many. Unlike a husband of ten years, he won’t moan about the office or the fact that Freddie has crayoned his trousers or squirted his man moisturiser into the sink. Dogs don’t have jobs, trousers or expensive skincare. Their needs are simple: food, water, exercise and love – ah. And the other thing. The thing that appears to be happening now as Buddy shifts away from Kerry’s legs and assumes a squatting stance on the pavement.

For one brief, optimistic moment, she wonders if he’s merely …
flexing
. When Freddie was a baby, she’d signed up for a course of yoga classes in the hope of becoming one of those serene, dreamy mums who reacts to spilt milk-sodden Weetabix with a beatific smile. In fact, she’d only made it to one class, and Buddy’s tensed, slightly trembling pose reminds her of the only position she could manage: on hands and knees, bum to the ground, as if pooing.

Only, in this case, not ‘as if’, but actually dumping a load. ‘Oh, God,’ Kerry mutters.

She glances around at the glowy-faced parents in the hope that, by the time she looks back down at the ground, the
mighty deposit will have miraculously disappeared, or at the
very least have slipped discreetly away down a pavement crack. But no. It’s still horribly, conspicuously there, almost glowing like neon. Could she blame it on that cushion dog? She spots him through the gathering of parents, snuffling at the ground. No, he’s tiny compared to Buddy. Anything that drops out of his bottom will be no bigger than a chickpea.

‘Brigid,’ she hisses as a couple of mothers turn to glare at the mess.

Brigid breaks off her conversation and hurries over. ‘You okay, Kerry?’

‘Not really. Look.’ She points at the ground and grimaces.

‘Oh dear. Not a good place for that.’

‘I know, and I don’t have a bag with me. I didn’t even bring my shoulder bag, I just shoved my purse and phone in my pocket …’

Brigid groans. ‘I don’t have a thing on me. Sorry.’

‘Er, I’ve got this.’ With a withering smile, Lara holds up a lilac paper carrier bag with a ribbon tie and ‘Dilly’s Bakery’ printed on it in elegant script. ‘It’s got macaroons in it,’ she adds. ‘They’re our regular Friday treat but I guess you could have the bag, if you’re desperate …’

‘No, I can’t use your lovely macaroon bag for poo.’ Kerry pulls out her purse and flicks through its cluttered interior. Much as she’d like to pretend otherwise, there’s no way she’ll be able to pick up Buddy’s rank deposit with a WH Smiths receipt.

Cushion dog’s owner is at her side now, pursing her lips and extracting a little black plastic sack from her handbag. ‘Here,’ she says with a tight smile.

‘Thank you. I must be better prepared next time.’ Kerry quickly bags up the poo and knots it tightly, privately marvelling at how weighty it is. At least Buddy hasn’t started barking again, even though the other dog is beside them now, sniffing him with great interest. Distance seems to be his trigger, Kerry observes. ‘Guess I’ve got a lot to learn,’ she adds with a forced laugh. ‘If he starts that crouching thing again, I’ll know to put a cork in it, haha.’

The woman eyes her with distaste and takes a step back. But Kerry no longer cares what anyone thinks, because Brigid is exclaiming, ‘Look – here they come!’ The rain has stopped, and the playground is wet and shiny in the weak afternoon sun as the children surge out of school. Kerry spots Mia first in her tomato-red sweatshirt and grey pleated skirt, swinging her battered Horrible Histories lunchbox. Spotting her mother, she smiles and waves; she hasn’t registered Buddy yet. Then she does, and there’s a small hesitation as if she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing, or perhaps she’s thinking,
Oh, that’s a cute dog sitting near Mummy
. Her smile brightens as she hurries towards Kerry, then Freddie appears, registering Buddy immediately and zooming towards them like a rocket.

‘Mummy!’ he yells. ‘Whose dog is this?’

‘He’s ours,’ Kerry laughs.

‘Really?’ Mia exclaims, tears springing into her dark eyes. ‘Ours to keep, forever?’

‘Yes – yes, of course, sweetheart.’ Kerry realises she’s not just laughing but crying too, as her children bob down to hug Buddy.

‘Is it a boy or a girl?’ Mia wants to know.

‘He’s a boy, about six, his owner didn’t want …’ She tails off, as Freddie and Mia are too excited to absorb any information right now. Other children push forward, and soon Buddy is surrounded by a delighted crowd. Kerry knows she should warn them to be careful because he still seems a little unsure, but she doesn’t want to spoil the moment and anyway, his tail is wagging so much, it looks as if it could spin off.

‘He’s a hit then,’ Lara observes with a wry smile.

‘Yes, looks like it.’

‘He’s a beauty,’ Brigid says, ‘isn’t he, Joe?’

‘Yeah, he’s great.’ Her son digs at the lump of gum in his mouth, stretches it out and pops it back in again.

‘Oh, Mummy,’ Freddie blurts out, throwing his arms around her. ‘I love him, thank you, thank you!’

‘This is the best day of my life,’ Mia declares. ‘What shall we call him?’

‘Well, he’s called Buddy at the moment but we can change it if you like, if you can both agree on another name …’

‘No,’ Mia insists, ‘I like Buddy …’

‘Me too,’ Freddie declares, his expression changing to one of puzzlement as he looks up at his mother. ‘Why are you crying?’

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she says quickly, ‘these are happy tears.’

They turn to leave with Brigid and Joe, plus a gaggle of children all clamouring to hold Buddy’s lead. Swinging her knotted poo bag, Kerry murmurs to Brigid, ‘I think he might be a bit of a handful actually.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Brigid gives her arm a squeeze. ‘The most interesting men always are.’

‘Come over again if you like,’ Nadine had murmured in the tiny office kitchen this afternoon. ‘I’m having a low-key night in.’ Hmmm. Well, that had sounded okay: a couple of hours at her place, perhaps staying over again, then up with the lark, back home to change and make himself look like a respectable dad on his way to pick up his children for the weekend. (
I’m a weekend dad now
… the phrase had been turning over in his mind all day.) So he and Nadine had jumped in a cab back to her place.

‘You don’t need to cook for me,’ he says now as she starts busying away in the kitchen.

‘Oh, I’m just getting a few bits and pieces together. They like something to nibble with their drinks.’

Rob frowns.
They?

‘They’re coming over about half eight-ish,’ she adds.

‘Er, who?’ he asks lightly.

‘Just a few friends.’ There’s the clink of crockery, and the sound of a packet being ripped open.

He gets up and peers into the kitchen. ‘A few friends? You never said …’

She smiles prettily, clutching a large glass bowl of tortilla chips. ‘It
is
Friday night, Rob. Don’t you normally do something fun at the weekend?’

‘Er … yes, I suppose so,’ he fibs.

‘Well, since I’ve been feeling a bit tired and queasy I haven’t really been in the mood for going out.’

‘I can understand that,’ Rob says. To his shame, he realises he hadn’t known she’d been feeling under the weather.

‘So I thought I’d ask the girls round. You don’t
mind
, do you?’