The Secret of Happy Ever After (2 page)

‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Pongo! Stop it, no! He broke the lead!’

A blonde woman about Michelle’s age and seemingly twice her height bumped into her table, struggling to wind in an extending lead with one hand while pulling the dog away from a nearby table with the other. She looked windblown and distressed, her authority undermined further by her clamping the handle of the lead between her knees while she tried to untangle it. As she yanked ineffectually at the knot, her wide-set blue eyes scanned the café nervously for signs of damage.

‘Did he break anything? Did he spill your coffee? Let me get you another one. Please don’t tell Natalie, he’s already on a warning.’ The words tumbled out of her mouth, and when Pongo stood up and – inevitably – his tail swished the sugar bowl off the table and into Michelle’s big bag, showering it with granulated sugar, she covered her face with a hand. Michelle saw that it was chafed from the lead, with raw, chewed nails and scribbled notes in biro on the back of her hand.

Walk dog
.

Ironing.

Treats/girls?

‘Bollocks.’ The voice behind the hand sounded close to tears. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s not his fault, it’s mine.’

Michelle had been prepared to yell at her for not controlling her dog properly, but something about the woman’s slumped shoulders reminded her of her own overwhelming weariness.

‘It’s fine,’ she said instead. ‘No harm done. Are
you
OK?’

The woman uncovered her eyes and tried to smile but the results were mixed. She had an open, peaches-and-cream sort of face; a primary school teacher, or a milkmaid from a child’s book, thought Michelle. Simple and soft. Not suited to the kind of firm discipline required by Dalmatians.

The other customers were starting to turn around, peering at them with a special curiosity reserved for naughty dogs and toddlers.

‘Oh no, your lovely bag . . .’ the woman started, but Michelle pulled the chair out, trying not to nudge the Dalmatian who had already lain down at her feet, his head on her Marc Jacobs tote.

‘Come on, sit down,’ she said. ‘Your dog already has. Get your breath back.’

Gratefully, the woman slid her slim frame into the chair and grimaced up from under long, golden lashes, her expression now more embarrassed than distressed. ‘Is everyone staring at me?’

‘Yes,’ said Michelle. ‘But it’s fine. They were staring at me about five minutes ago.’

‘Really? What embarrassing thing did your dog do?’

‘Nothing. It was me they were staring at,’ she added selfconsciously. ‘I’ve just moved here. New in town. Funny accent, probably.’

The woman smiled, and her face lit up from the inside. ‘
Nooo
. Don’t think that! It’s more likely because you don’t have a dog with you. This is the dog café,’ she went on, when Michelle looked non-plussed. ‘People tend to come in here with their dogs because they’re not allowed in anywhere else. Natalie gives them a Bonio if they behave themselves.’

Michelle turned round in her chair, and wondered why on earth she hadn’t seen it before. Under the table opposite, where the elderly couple were sharing a pot of tea and a scone, was a black Scottish terrier curled around a West Highland White terrier in matching tartan jackets. Next to them was a family with a tubby chocolate Labrador sprawled over their feet, asleep. By the door were bowls on plastic mats, and the biscuits she’d seen in the big jars by the Gaggia were, on closer inspection, Bonios.

‘That is what I call niche marketing,’ she said. ‘Smart. Very smart.’

When she turned back, the woman had pulled herself together, and was smiling in a warm, welcoming way.

‘I’m Anna,’ she said, holding out her hand over the table menu. ‘This is Pongo. After the books, naturally. Well, after the film, in his case. I don’t think his owners even know there’s a book.’ She looked cross with herself. ‘Sorry, that was mean. Forget I said that.’

‘I’m Michelle,’ said Michelle. ‘I’ve just bought the shop next door.’

‘Really?’ Anna seemed interested. ‘You’re a fishmonger?’

‘God, no! No, it’s going to be an interiors shop. Actually,’ Michelle went on, seizing the opportunity to get some inside info on her customer base, ‘you can help me with some market research . . . Um, is she looking at us?’

The brunette who’d served Michelle at the counter was approaching them with pinched eyebrows, and immediately Pongo’s tail started whipping back and forth again.

‘His problem is that he loves everyone too much. Hello, Natalie!’ said Anna. ‘Sorry about Pongo. He’ll be good this time, I promise.’

Natalie sighed and folded her arms over her frilled pinny. ‘Anna, you know I love Pongo, but we have to have a ‘‘three strikes and you’re out’’ policy. And some people would count stealing two lots of cake on one visit as two strikes.’

‘But I’ve got his lead wrapped round my ankle. He’ll be fine!’

‘By all means come back when you’ve trained him to behave in public places,’ she went on, ‘but if he’s disruptive to other customers . . .’ She glanced at Michelle.

‘It’s OK,’ said Michelle, feeling involved now. She didn’t want to go back to Swan’s Row yet – and Anna seemed happy to chat. ‘Look, he’s totally chilled out.’

The three women looked down at Pongo, who was lying beneath the table as if butter wouldn’t melt. Michelle noticed, too late, that he had carrot cake crumbs round his muzzle. And her plate was empty.

‘He’s helping me with research,’ Michelle went on, reverting to her confident sales voice. ‘Can I have another cup of coffee, please? Anna? Coffee for you?’

Anna pulled off her crocheted beret and nodded, sending wisps of spun-gold hair floating round her flushed face. ‘Um, yes. Lovely. If you’re sure . . .’

Once Natalie was heading back to the counter, Anna leaned across the table and whispered, ‘That’s so kind of you, but you should let me get the coffees. Please. After what Pongo’s done . . .’

‘Not at all, I need some local inside track, if you’ve got a minute.’ Michelle finished off the dregs of her espresso. Already she felt more focused. ‘So. Longhampton. Going by what I’ve seen so far, it seems to be a good place for dog owners and yummy mummies? Can you fill me in?’

Anna winced. ‘I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask about either of those things.’

Michelle froze, her cup halfway to the saucer. Had she put her foot in it? Anna had the dog, didn’t she? And she seemed about the right age to have kids – the hat she was wearing looked as if she’d borrowed it from a teenager.

To Michelle’s horror, big fat tears were filling Anna’s china blue eyes.

‘Sorry,’ said Anna, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘This is so stupid. You must think you’ve found the town’s mad dogwoman. Sorry!’

‘No, I don’t.’ Michelle reached into her bag and pulled out a spotted cotton handkerchief. She had to shake the sugar off it first, which made Anna groan. ‘I’m sorry, have I said something . . . ?’ Michelle asked her.

Anna blew her nose automatically, then looked askance at the hanky.

‘Keep it,’ said Michelle. ‘I’ve got lots.’

‘You should stock these, they’re nice.’ Anna blinked hard and pulled her smile back on. ‘Bit of a sore point, that’s all. I’m only a mum at the weekends. My husband, Phil, has three girls from his first marriage, and they’re round at our house now. We have them every other weekend and one weeknight.’

‘Right,’ said Michelle. Kids were out of her range of experience. She didn’t mind them, but then again she didn’t mind zebras or Marmite. ‘Are you here . . . because they’re there?’

‘Sort of. I’m giving them some dad time. As requested by their mother. We’ve only been married a year and a half, we’re still kind of feeling our way through the whole stepmother thing.’ Anna pressed her lips together. ‘It’s . . . challenging for everyone, but we’re trying.’

‘And the dog?’

‘Is theirs. I think he was the final straw.’ She glanced down at Pongo. ‘It’s not his fault no one bothered to train him. He sees the dog-walker more than he sees the girls, poor boy. I suggested we all went for a family walk this afternoon, but when I got to the front door, it turned out that only I was on it.’

‘Do you prefer him to them?’ Michelle wondered if that was the reason for the tears. Given the choice, she’d take a dog over three of someone else’s resentful kids.

‘No, no! I like all of them. I
love
children,’ Anna insisted, apparently surprised at the question. ‘It’s easier for me to walk Pongo when they’re not arguing about who holds his lead or throws the ball, but . . .’ Her voice trailed off as Natalie reappeared and put two coffees and another slice of cake in front of them.

When she’d gone, Anna sighed. ‘It’s just not quite how I pictured it. But then things never are, are they?’

‘What did you picture?’ Michelle was skilful at asking questions so she didn’t have to supply answers herself. She didn’t want the subject to get round to her own marriage, which definitely hadn’t lived up to expectations, hers or anyone else’s.

‘Something between
Mary Poppins
and
The Sound of Music
?’ Anna half laughed at herself. ‘I mean, I’m an only child, I’ve wanted a big family since I was a kid. And when I married Phil, I read all the parenting books, you know, I wasn’t going to be the wicked stepmother, I wasn’t going to try to replace anyone, but in the end . . .’ She shrugged and looked sad. ‘If you could wave a magic wand and make people love you we’d all be at it, wouldn’t we? Waving away.’

An unexpected lump filled Michelle’s throat.

Anna stirred some sugar into her coffee, dissipating the froth. ‘Sorry, that’s too much information, isn’t it? Boring! Tell me about this new shop. What are you calling it?’

‘I haven’t decided.’ Michelle felt the warm beam of Anna’s attention turned on her, and she started to feel excited about the place again. The fishy smell receded in her mind. ‘I need something . . . comforting, and a bit magical. Happy. Any suggestions?’

‘Home Sweet Home, then. Isn’t that what we’re all trying to create?’ Anna grinned and pushed the cake plate towards her. ‘Help me eat this,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fifty per cent fat free if we share.’

The next morning, when Michelle arrived at the shop with her builder, her tape measure and her project file, there was a box on the step, tied roughly with raffia and bearing a label which read simply: ‘Michelle’.

For a nauseating moment, Michelle wondered if Harvey had somehow found her, but it wasn’t his style. He didn’t do handwritten if gold-plated was available. She undid the raffia to find a packet of nice biscuits and a homemade Thank You card; in Anna’s round handwriting was her address and phone number, and a request from Pongo to come over for a walk the following weekend, ‘when I promise I’ll behave myself’.

Anna had added her own note, inviting Michelle to drop in at the library where she worked so she could take her out for lunch and show her the high spots of Longhampton. ‘A short lunch should do it!’ Anna had added.

Michelle stood outside her new shop, and at that exact moment, the sun came out over Longhampton High Street. Already she felt better, and she hadn’t even started decorating.

Two and a half years later . . .

1

Anna McQueen had planned her Christmas down to the last homemade gingerbread robin dangling from the tree, but her meticulously prepared vision of festive bonhomie certainly hadn’t involved escaping from her own house using the dog as a getaway vehicle.

This isn’t how it is in the books, she thought, letting a delighted Pongo lead her out of the wrought-iron park gates and down towards the canal, humiliation and resentment making her strides extra long. The wicked stepmother was supposed to cast her overworked stepdaughters out into the snow while she toasted her toes in front of a roaring fire, not the other way round.

Well, she amended, to be fair the girls weren’t toasting their toes exactly. They were videochatting on Skype to their mum, Sarah, in her enormous new house in Westchester, NY. Sarah was probably toasting her toes. Or having them French pedicured by Santa’s beauty elves.

That had been why Anna had ended up running herself ragged – trying to give them the best Christmas ever to make up for their mother taking a two-year job contract in the US back in July. Ironic, since Sarah still felt like more of a presence in the house than she did herself.

Anna blinked hard at the mental image of Chloe, Becca and Lily clustering round the laptop with squeals of delight at the exact moment she’d tried to start a new family tradition with a pan full of gold-leaf-topped mini mince pies that had given her a finger burn and stress-related indigestion. The mince pies – or the mass family ignoring of them – had been the final straw, sealed by a comment from Phil’s mother, with her merciless timing.

‘Did you make these?’ Evelyn had enquired, her pencilled eyebrow arched to its fullest, most damning, extent. It was the first direct comment she’d addressed to Anna all morning, and when Anna had modestly nodded that yes, she had, Evelyn paused a beat, then said witheringly, ‘Oh. In that case, I’ll pass.’