Page 53

“Well, most people call their sausage dogs Weiner or Schnitzel or something sausage related.”

“I see him as more than just a sausage,” I tell her. “Besides, it had to be something I was comfortable shouting over the field and not cringing at when the vet called his name for his appointments.”

“Most of the dogs at the shelter were called Ruffles or Patch or Scruffy. I never came across a Paul,” she says, scratching behind Paul’s ears.

“I rest my case. He’s one of a kind.”

Paul had been about four when Pippa and I got together. From the get-go, she didn’t like him. She tried to tell me she was allergic to him, and when we finally decided to move in together, it caused a massive row when she suggested rehoming Paul.

Like the diplomat I am, I’d suggested a compromise, and Paul had been relegated to the bottom floor of the house, which meant he slept alone in the living room at night, which I think I hated more than he did.

The day she left, I picked him up, took him upstairs, and tucked him into my bed. I swear if he could’ve spoken, he’d have said, “Thank God she’s gone.”

Glancing to my left, I watch as Paul lifts his head to Alice as she nuzzles under his chin and tells him he’s the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

I can see it in his eyes. He likes Alice.

Maybe as much as I do.

26

Alice

We pull up outside a semidetached house, every window wide open and the front garden looking more like a nursery playground.

Owen comes to the passenger side and opens the door. Paul jumps from my knee and sets off towards the house like he knows exactly where he’s going and what day of the week it is.

“Don’t fall for the puppy eyes when we eat,” Owen tells me. “He’ll sit under the table looking like he’s never been fed, even though he had his tea before we left. And Smithy’s chilli is laden with garlic and onions, so he can’t have any of it anyway.”

“But there’ll be cheese, right?” I smirk.

“Don’t give him any cheese,” Owen warns.

“Why not?”

“I have to share a bed with him, and the turnover for digesting food in sausage dogs is a very short space of time.”

I laugh as we make our way up the path, dodging the abandoned bike and naked Barbie that are on the front step.

Owen knocks, and as he does, we hear a shout from inside.

Owen opens the door, and the aroma hits me in full force. It’s spicy, and tangy. It’s like stepping outside your apartment when you’re on holiday, and all the restaurants have started cooking and are trying to lure you in with their flavours. My mouth waters, and my earlier nerves are immediately replaced with hunger.

The hallway is small. A coatstand on the right is littered with jackets of varying shapes, colours, and sizes. Two pink raincoats, two kids’ denim jackets, two purple umbrellas, and two pairs of silver, glittery wellies.

“Come in, come in. Ignore the chaos!” A woman arrives, her black curly hair tied up on her head in a bright red scarf. She’s wearing an all-in-one black jumpsuit that highlights her tanned skin and warm eyes, and long beads dangle around her neck. I’m so glad I went for baggy jeans and a chunky cardigan.

She hugs Owen, who then bends down to take off Paul’s lead.

“You must be Alice. I’m so glad you could make it. I’m Romana.” She leans in for a hug, which I accept, noticing how she smells of flowers, baking, soap, and honey.

“It’s lovely to meet you, and thank you for having me,” I tell her as she releases me. “Something smells amazing.”

“Andy’s in the kitchen if you guys want to step over the mess and go on through.” She ushers us forwards.

“Andy?” I mouth to Owen.

“Andrew Smith. I’m the only one who calls him Smithy.”