Farah nodded seriously. ‘Well, it would get you out of the house,’ she said.
‘True.’
‘How about getting a dog?’
I considered this for a moment. A dogwouldget me out of the house and provide a bit of company… ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t want to just get a dog and then have to return it if it didn’t work out, that would be awful. And I mean, there’s the cats… I’m not sure.’
‘Our cat Hilda is fine with Neil’s dog. She just stays out of his way. Anyway, worth a thought. You could borrow him if you want?’
‘What, Neil?’ I said, referring to Farah’s very attractive and slightly younger new husband.
‘The dog,’ she said, smiling. ‘You definitely don’t want Neil, not with all his baggage.’
‘Bollocks,’ I said. ‘You love his baggage really. And I’m sure Carli and Jordan will come round eventually. You won’t be the evil stepmother forever.’
‘And you won’t be the sad and lonely empty nester forever either,’ she said, finishing the dregs of her tea. ‘But give it some thought. About borrowing the dog, I mean. It might be a chance to just give it a trial run.’
Which is how a week later I came to be standing on top of a blustery plain, an empty red lead dangling by my side.
‘Orinoco!’ I screamed, my voice battling against the wind howling across the top of Briar’s Hill. ‘Orinoco! Where the fuck are you?’
Things had started well. Farah had dropped him off first thing this morning and had been hugely appreciative of my generosity. She and Neil had managed to get a last-minute deal on one of those extremely pricey Cotswold hotels (a ‘mid-week autumn warmer special’, whatever that entailed) and their respective children had agreed to hold the fort at home, with certain restrictions.
‘I just didn’t think they could cope with the dog on top of everything else,’ Farah said breathlessly as she handed over the extraordinary amount of paraphernalia a two-year-old cockapoo appears to require. ‘If they can manage to get through a night being civil to each other and not breaking anything or running away from home then I’ll consider it a win. But if they had Orinoco to contend with as well it might push them over the edge…’ She sighed, the weight of family dynamics heavy in her expression.
‘Well, I think he looks delightful,’ I said gazing down into Orinoco’s beautiful caramel eyes and adorable fluffy face. ‘And I’m sure we’ll get on famously. How hard can it be?’
Famous last words.
‘Orinoco, you absolute bastard!’ I yelled once more. ‘Where the utter, utter bollocking fuck have you… Oh, sorry!’ I smiled sheepishly at another dogwalker who had appeared over the brow of the hill, a well-trained labrador walking sedately by his side.
‘Missing in action?’ asked the man. He had a concerned expression on his face, with wiry grey eyebrows furrowed beneath a knitted beanie.
‘Yes.’ I heaved out a sigh of despair. ‘Missing and he’s not even my dog. He went off in that direction.’ I pointed towards athicket of trees that were bending in the wind. ‘To be honest, I suspect that whatever he’s found in there, be it dead or alive, is much more interesting than me.’
The man gave a knowing smile and looked down at his own impeccably behaved hound. ‘We’ll give you a hand,’ he said. ‘See if Pilot can sniff him out.’ He shifted his weight from the stick he was using and winced a little as he pulled a bag of dog treats from the pocket of his anorak. ‘These should help too,’ he said, shaking them at me.
‘Oh, no, honestly,’ I said. ‘Please don’t trouble yourself on my account. You’re clearly out for a nice walk with your own lovely dog and…’And I don’t want you keeling over and breaking a hip just because of my ineptitude, I thought as he braced his weight against the stick and went to move forward in the direction of the trees.
‘Don’t you worry about this,’ he said, indicating the walking stick. ‘Just a bit of arthritis. Nothing fatal. Besides, Pilot and I quite enjoy a rescue mission on our days off.’ He smiled grimly as if he spent most days scooping up hapless fools who’d lost their dogs.
‘He’s not actually mine,’ I said as we ambled towards the thicket. ‘The dog, I mean.’ I felt that in meeting this chap I had significantly increased my odds of finding Orinoco and the relief made me particularly verbose. That and the fact that the only people I’d spoken to in the past twenty-four hours were Farah and a brief exchange with Joe before he left for work.
‘I’m looking after him for a friend. She’s having a few issues with her stepchildren and wanted a night away with her husband. They’ve gone to the Cotswolds, one of those fancy places with a walled kitchen garden and shepherd huts with their own hot tubs… You know.’ He didn’t really look like he would know, to be fair. I prattled away in the same fashion for a few moments, pausing for breath as we approached thetrees while the man used his walking stick to push back the surrounding bushes of nettles.
‘What’s his name?’ he asked, ducking under a damp branch and peering into the gloom beneath the trees.
‘Oh, uhm, Orinoco. It’s a bloody ridiculous name. Again, not my fault.’ I grimaced in a cartoon style. ‘And I’m Hattie.’
‘David,’ he said, extending a hand clad in a similar threadbare wool to his hat. ‘And this is Pilot.’
We shook gloves.
‘Pilot.’ I looked at the black labrador with the slightly grizzled muzzle. ‘FromJane Eyre?’
‘The very same.’ David patted the dog’s head fondly. ‘My wife’s favourite book,’ he said.
‘I always preferredVillette,’ I said. ‘No disrespect to your wife.’
