Page 95 of Who’s That Girl?

Saying that, this is rather fun, I think, as Welly trots obediently alongside me. Maybe I could become a dog person.

‘Yes, you are, you’re handsome,’ I continue, as if Welly has refuted my claim.

Oliver catches my eye and I rub Welly’s head casually, as if I’m a pro at this. Welly stops at a tree and begins sniffing it enthusiastically. ‘Does that smell nice?’ I coo.

His tail wags excitedly.

‘He’s like me in the perfume hall at Harrods,’ I quip, glancing across at Oliver.

See, I can even make doggy jokes too.

‘Is that so?’ he says evenly.

‘Yes, in fact—’ I break off as I glance down at Welly. Hang on a minute, what’s he doing now? He’s stopped sniffing and is sort of squatting. I bend down to have a look. ‘Oh shit,’ I gasp, shrinking back.

‘Yup,’ nods Oliver, his mouth twitching with amusement at my reaction. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.’ He pulls a plastic bag out of his pocket.

‘It’s OK, I’ll do it,’ I protest quickly. I don’t want him thinking I’m a girl who’s afraid to get her hands dirty.

‘Hey, don’t worry about it.’

‘No, seriously,’ I insist. ‘What’s a little bit of dog poo?’

He looks at me uncertainly. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Shrugging, he passes me the plastic bag. ‘Only Welly’s been having a few problems recently. His stomach’s a little off …’

I glance down just in time to see the last of Welly’s—

Oh dear Lord, I can’t actually finish that sentence. My stomach lurches like a car with a dodgy clutch. In fact I really don’t think I can do this.

But you have to, I tell myself firmly. You can’t lose face now.

Holding my breath, I bob down and start trying to scoop it up. ‘Let me show you a trick. You see, you put your hand inside the bag …’ he starts explaining.

Unfortunately he’s a bit late for that.

‘Ewwuuggh.’ He winces. Sucking the air between his teeth, he throws me a sympathetic look.

But I hold firm. Summoning up the same air of forced calm that I need to remove the spiders from my shower, which for some reason is where big hairy spiders like to hang out, I tie the ends of the plastic bag together and dump it in a nearby litterbin.

There, done it.

‘First time, huh?’ He smiles, looking at my shell-shocked expression.

I nod wordlessly. My heart’s racing and I feel all trembly.

He laughs. ‘It gets easier, trust me.’

With the ice well and truly broken, the conversation flows easily between us as we enter Holland Park and the inner-city buzz gives way to a sanctuary of tennis courts, grass lawns and flower beds laid out like a colourful patchwork quilt. It’s a warm, hazy day, and the park buzzes with the sounds of summer: children’s laughter, music wafting from transistor radios, footballs being kicked.

After washing my hands thoroughly in the loos, we meander through the serene Japanese garden, walk over the bridge and watch the orange majestic koi swimming beneath. Welly crouches on his haunches, mesmerised by the fish, his nose almost touching the water.

‘Gosh, it’s so pretty here, isn’t it?’ I murmur, gazing around me.

‘Yeah.’ Oliver nods. ‘I come here a lot. It’s one of my favourite places. You don’t feel like you’re in London. You really can imagine you’re in Kyoto.’

‘Have you been?’ I ask with interest.

‘Yes, a few years ago I spent a month travelling around Japan.’