I smile at the sight of her being overwhelmed by a tiny bundle of four-legged gratitude. Maybe there really isn’t anything in the world that equals the love of a dog.
“You know what Nora would say.”
“You know where ’er tongue ’as been?” Yara answers in some imitation of Nora’s accent as she pushes the grateful West Highland white terrier mix away from her face. “The old onesarealways the best. You done with your list?”
“Like a boss.” There’s been no letup from Nora’s these past weeks, not that I mind. Though now that I’m back at work, I’m seriously coming to miss my luxury spa days. “Old Bess’s ears arelooking much less sore, so I’d say the drops worked, and I’ve taken the cone of shame from the new Great Dane cross horse.”
“Has he got a name yet?”
“Nora’s calling him Scooby. NoDoo,” I add. “Oh, and that rash on the springer spaniel wasn’t ringworm but beetroot.”
“Beetroot?” Yara repeats, struggling to her feet. “Yeah, yeah, I’d love me, too, if I’d made my skin look brand new,” she laughs, patting the still-bouncy terrier.
“From Nora’s sandwich, apparently.”
“Really?” She glances briefly my way as we gather the tricks of our trade together.
“That’s what it looks like to me. I remembered how that day she was eating a sandwich, and it washed off.” I wave my hands in a kind ofta-daa!“You know her eyesight isn’t the greatest.”
Yara stretches her head to the side, as though trying to work out a kink in her neck. “Think we need to broach the subject of her driving license with her?”
Now it’s my turn to pull a face. “I think our duty of care in this instance—”
“—is not to the old dear who’d tear us a new one at the first sign of interference?”
“That’s about the sum of it.” Leaning over the gate, I slide the bolt open as Yara administers the last of her treatment—a liver treat—to her patient. “You’ve just got to know how to handle her.”
“I defer to you, oh knowledgeable one, but I would just like to point out that she has just taken theDisAstra on a trip to the bakery,” she says, using the nickname we’ve given her ancient Astra station wagon.
“Let’s add that to the list of shit to worry about later.”
“Speaking of shit, did you get yours back yet?”
I smile at her back as she closes the gate. Not only does Yara not speak Pulse Tok, but she clearly doesn’t read that stupid column. But neither would I if I weren’t part of their current obsession.
“Not yet.” Maybe I should get Oliver’s lawyers to intervene here too. My wandwouldcome in handy.
“Is Bitchell still giving you shit?”
“Eh. Not me. He turned up at Riley’s again. Lori was not pleased.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo.” She drags a finger down her cheek to mimic tears, her mouth turning down at the edges. “She’s completely the wrong person to ask to pass on a punch in the face.”
“Especially on my behalf.”
“You haven’t seen him since ...”
“Since the wedding that wasn’t?” I shake my head. “And I hope to keep it that way, especially as he seems to be suffering from a case of main-character syndrome.”
“He’s what?” Her expression twists.
“He seems to think he’s entitled to sympathy, according to an online article last week.”
“Women everywhere are cheering for you,” Una Smith had said. To use a Yara phrase, instead, she’s stitched me up.
“Sympathy!” Yara explodes. “That twat isthis closeto being strung up by a group of women in pink saris!” She holds her index finger and thumb half an inch apart.
“I was tempted.”
