The Secret of Happy Ever After (28 page)

‘I need to know what to feed him, and what meds he’s got,’ she added as Rory stepped into the porch, but the truth was, Michelle didn’t mind putting off her weekly overview list for a bit longer. Not only had she not spoken to a soul all day, but this week contained an anniversary she wasn’t looking forward to very much, followed by an unavoidable trip to the Nightingale bosom to celebrate it the next day.

Michelle’s thirty-first birthday was on Friday. She didn’t want to think what Harvey might be planning for it. Something more dramatic than the weekly flowers that had been arriving in the shop and going home with a different member of staff each time. They weren’t in her house, but each time Gillian or Kelsey thanked her, Michelle felt his looming presence. She’d lost four pounds since New Year, just through nerves.

‘I’m not interrupting?’ asked Rory, reverting to his usual teasing tone. ‘You haven’t just got back from a weekend in Prague and need to unpack?’

‘I’ve already unpacked,’ lied Michelle. ‘What about you? Not rushing back to a cocktail soirée with Longhampton’s glitterati?’

‘I might be.’

‘I’ve seen your flat,’ said Michelle.

‘Then you’ll have seen my collection of sauté pans that have never been washed with water.’

‘Funny how many men have one of those. Nothing to do with a fear of washing up.’ Michelle walked through into her kitchen, conscious of Rory looking round
her
house. He’d never been past the porch before. She wondered what he was thinking, whether it was how he’d imagined. Did it remind him of the house he’d once shared with Esther? Had she let him put his light sabre up, or had she banned it?

Stop it, she thought, pulling herself up short; you’re getting as bad as Anna, imagining stories everywhere. She grabbed her handbag off the sideboard, looking for her purse.

‘How much was the surgery?’ she asked. ‘I’ll give you half.’

But Rory waved her away with an airy hand. ‘Don’t worry about it. Mr Quentin settled the bill. He’s got an account with the vets.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Let me guess – you paid it yourself because you think if you’re the one being nice to Tavish, he’ll leave you the flat. I know your game.’

It was a running joke they had – or rather, a sort of joke. Rory delighted in reminding Michelle about her less than pure motives for taking in ‘the dog that laid the golden eggs’, and Michelle had her own suspicions about Rory’s long-term plans to secure his own accommodation. The accusations flew back and forth with lightness, but the feathers had a sharp edge.

‘If I were doing that,’ countered Rory, ‘don’t you think I’d have him all the time?’

‘Why do all the work, when you can get me to do half of it?’

‘I
would
have Tavish all the time,’ said Rory, surprised. ‘I’m only letting you have him during the week for some company. Rachel said your house was gorgeous, but what it needed was a dog to give it some life. Make it a home.’

While Michelle was still reeling from a barb that dug deeper than he knew, Rory smiled, a wide grin that gave his angular face a boyish light. ‘Can I have a cup of tea? What with all the dog-nursing, I didn’t get any milk this weekend, so I’ve been drinking that foul peppermint tea stuff you’re supposed to keep for guests.’

Michelle opened her mouth to volley back some comment about how out of date his peppermint tea probably was if he saved it for guests, but what came out was, ‘This house
is
a home. It’s my home. Just because it isn’t messy or filled with kids and animals doesn’t mean it isn’t a
home
.’

Rory’s smile froze. ‘What? I didn’t mean . . .’

‘And I am so sick of people telling me I need company,’ Michelle went on, powered by the pent-up stress she’d accrued as she prepared herself for her mother’s ‘You’re not getting any younger’ birthday lecture. ‘If I needed
company
I would move some hot young language student in here. Or a live-in gardener slash masseur, not a dog who sheds all over my carpet. “Company” is what you offer elderly housebound relatives. Or what businessmen pay for!’

‘OK.’ Rory held up his hands, looking genuinely mortified. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not the greatest at . . . knowing when to stop. It’s been pointed out before. Things usually sound better in my head.’

Michelle ground to a halt, embarrassed. That rant about not needing company had been one she’d rehearsed in
her
head, ready to throw at her mother, and though it had sounded good then, she had the uncomfortable feeling it made her sound a bit insane when spoken aloud.
Gardener slash masseur. For God’s sake, Michelle, you sound like a sex-crazed pensioner.

‘Start again?’ she said, pinching her eyebrows in apology.

‘Can we?’

‘Course. Come through to the kitchen.’

Michelle turned the radio on and wished Rory had found her listening to some symphony or other, then wondered why on earth she’d wished that when she didn’t even like classical music that much. It was the kind of thing she used to do at school, forcing herself to listen to The Pixies in case one of the cool boys came round. And Rory was a cool boy, despite his geekiness.

‘Busy weekend?’ she asked casually.

She swilled hot water round the teapot and tried to remember what she’d told Anna she was doing in case Rory cross-checked.

‘Not really. Took some of Rachel’s rescue dogs out for a walk while Tavish was at the vet’s. If you do two laps of the park, she gives you a bacon sandwich, so that was my lunch sorted out.’

‘Sounds very charitable.’

‘It’s good fun. And the sarnies are excellent.’ Rory picked up a baking timer Michelle had never used, in the shape of a perfect peach. ‘You should come,’ he said casually. ‘When you’re not off on a minibreak one weekend.’

‘You spend your weekends walking dogs for a bacon sarnie? Surely there’s more in it for you than that?’ said Michelle. She wanted to say, ‘What a sweet thing to do’, like Anna would have done, but their relationship seemed rooted in this bantering mood, and she couldn’t stop herself.

He put the peach-shaped timer down and gave her a half-annoyed, half-amused look. ‘You’re very cynical, aren’t you? No, as it happens, I go there because it makes me feel like I’ve done something useful at the end of a week, when usually all I’ve done is shuffle a pile of paper from my desk to someone else’s. If you’d seen how grateful the dogs looked today, just for a quick chuck of a ball in a field . . . maybe you’d come out too. It’s really not a lot to do.’

It was Michelle’s turn to feel as if she’d hit a nerve. ‘Have you ever had a dog of your own?’

‘No. Esther always wanted to get one, but we couldn’t commit to . . .’ He paused, and self-consciously corrected himself, ‘
I
didn’t want to commit to one, so we used to volunteer up there instead. I got to know Cyril and Agnes through Four Oaks, and they took pity on me and offered me their flat when Esther and I split up, and so I guess if you
want
to be cynical you could say I did quite well out of it. If you want to be more philosophical you could say it was a karmic reward. Anyway,’ he finished, ‘I like a stroll and a coffee on a Saturday, it’s not a big deal to walk a dog or two at the same time.’

Rory picked the timer up again and twisted it round to thirty minutes. ‘Really, you should come up some time. You might meet some new people. New customers, even. Get Tavish to model some designer collars.’

Michelle put the teapot on the table trivet. Was he suggesting she go with him? Was that a date? She couldn’t tell. Something curled away inside her, reluctant and keen at the same time. ‘What are you setting that timer for? You know it’ll make an unholy racket when it goes off.’

‘Good. That’s how long I’m staying. When it goes off, so will I.’

She pushed a mug and the milk jug towards him. ‘You think you’re staying that long?’

‘Depends how rude you’re going to be to me.’ He sipped his tea, not slurping this time. ‘While I’m here, I’ve had an idea for the bookshop – one of my mates has written a novel and I suggested he have a launch party at the shop . . .’

Michelle steeled herself not to agree immediately to Rory’s friend’s book launch, but grudgingly found herself listening, then trying not to smile at Rory’s outrage at the way his mate had dragged every single one of his friends into the writing of his dreadful novel, the phone calls at all hours of the night to get their views on ever more ludicrous murder methods, the list of scores his friend had decided to settle with character names. His eyebrows went up and down as he spoke and his hands flew round, nearly knocking things off the table as he moved jugs and sugar bowls to illustrate how close they’d come to murdering him themselves.

When Rory got to the part where his friend made him lie down in the pub to draw round him with chalk to check how he’d have to fall to leave an ‘intriguing outline’, Michelle let out an involuntary laugh so loud Tavish jerked awake in his basket and barked. Or rather, it wasn’t a bark so much as a scared croak. The pathetic sound made them both stop.

‘It’s where he was intubated,’ Rory explained. ‘Might be a bit scratchy for a while.’

Michelle checked her watch, and as she did, the timer went off with an ear-splitting peal and Rory slammed his hand over it, muffling the sound. How could half an hour have passed so fast, she wondered? It felt like, well, not that long. No wonder Tavish was looking peeved, being made to wait for his dinner.

‘Is this thing accurate?’ he asked, with a smile that caught her unawares. ‘That can’t be thirty minutes.’

‘Are you saying my merchandise is faulty?’ she countered.

Ask him to stay for supper
, yelled a voice in her head, but she couldn’t. What if he said no? Or said yes and then thought she was an awful cook? Harvey had always complained about her cooking, and insisted on taking friends out for meals ‘so we can all stay friends’.

Before she could think what to say, Rory was standing up and shrugging his coat on. The tightness returned to her chest. He obviously wanted to get away, had other plans to attend to. Maybe he had company, unlike her. The impulse shrivelled, and she was glad she hadn’t asked.

‘Let me know if Tavish doesn’t seem himself,’ he said. ‘I told Cyril we’d keep him up to speed about the old boy.’

‘Of course you did,’ said Michelle, grabbing the chance to tease him. That was safer ground. ‘You hero, you. Did you tell him you’d sacrificed your own tatty sweatshirt?’

‘What? Oh, I see what you did there. Back to me doing this for nefarious reasons. I thought we were past that.’

Rory held her gaze, and Michelle felt as if she’d overstepped the mark. She wished she could take it back.

She started to say,‘We are,’ but he was speaking, and she bit her tongue.

‘Of course I’ll let him know that you’re letting Tavish dribble on your soft furnishing too,’ he said, then added, ‘He’s glad you’re sharing the caring. In fact, he said you needed the company.’

‘What?’ she began.

‘Of course he didn’t. Cheerie bye, Tavish,’ said Rory pointedly. He waved at the basket. ‘Bye, Michelle.’

‘I’ll see you to the door.’ She got up and followed him out, aware of his height. Rory towered over her, especially in her flat indoor shoes. Michelle noted too late that she’d forgotten to ask him to take his off, and he’d trailed mud through her hall.

15

Tavish slowly began to perk up over the next few days, and made the most of his recuperation with boiled rice and cod and other gum-friendly delicacies. Michelle had to remind herself of the bigger picture as she squeamishly checked his sore gums every morning and hid his meds in lumps of cream cheese, but it distracted her, and suddenly she was at the end of the week, and face to face with her thirty-first birthday.

Anna was waiting for her at the bookshop when she and Tavish arrived to open up, her face bright with enthusiasm at having remembered Michelle’s birthday, despite Michelle’s best efforts to pretend it wasn’t happening.

‘Happy birthday! I wanted to give you a breakfast treat, so Phil did the school run.’ Anna pressed a bunch of pearl-white tulips into her hand, followed by a bag of pastries from the bakery and a flat wrapped present that Michelle already knew would be a book. She followed them all with a big hug and kiss. ‘I hope you have a wonderful year,’ she said, into Michelle’s freshly washed hair.

Tavish barked, and Anna promptly released Michelle and gave him an ear tickle.

‘I’m sorry it’s not more exciting,’ she went on, ‘but it’s just a short book that you might get round to reading.’

‘Anna, you’re too sweet,’ said Michelle, feeling overwhelmed by her thoughtfulness. ‘I can’t believe you found time with all the stuff you’ve got going on at home. And you know I
love
white tulips. You shouldn’t have . . .’ she went on, unwrapping the present.

It was an old copy of
The Starlight Barking
by Dodie Smith. The card read, ‘From Anna and Lily and Pongo x’

‘The sequel to
One Hundred and One Dalmatians
,’ explained Anna eagerly. ‘It’s about what happens when the dogs take over and start running things. Thought it might make you see Tavish in a new light.’