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‘Ralph? Is it really you?’
Would he recognise her? After all these years? He’d been very young when he’d first been brought to Wagging Tails and then she’d only seen him a handful of times.
‘Hello, Ralph. Oh, sweetheart, it’s so lovely to see you.’ Holding her palm flat against the bars of the door, she knelt down until she was level with the Staffie. ‘Do you remember me?’
She watched as Ralph lifted his head from his bed of duvets and looked at her, his deep eyes holding memories that she, Aunt Flora, or anyone for that matter, would never find out. Standing up, he stretched before shaking his body, his eyes fixed on her. He sauntered over and leaned his head up against the door, his fur warm against the metal.
‘You remember me.’
Sitting down, she leaned against the door too, her forehead against his, a lump forming in her throat.
‘Is that you, Ginny, lovely?’
Poppy kissed Ralph’s forehead and stood up before following her aunt’s voice.
‘It’s me, Aunt Flora.’
She walked to the far kennel, where Poppy could see her aunt was sitting on the floor, surrounded by three small puppies, each one clambering onto her lap, vying for attention.
‘Poppy! Poppy, oh, darling. How are you?’ Flora grinned and held her arms out towards her.
How was she? Now, that was one question she actually didn’t really know the answer to herself. Relieved? Angry? Overwhelmingly sad?
Shrugging, she pushed open the door and lowered herself next to her aunt.
Probably seeing the look on Poppy’s face, her aunt quickly added, ‘Oh, lovely. You don’t need to answer that. It was daft of me to ask such a question. Come here.’
Leaning her head against Aunt Flora’s shoulder, Poppy looked down at the puppies who had paused their game to cock their heads and peer at her, their dark eyes glistening with curiosity.
‘Meet Sage, Basil and Thyme.’
Poppy shook her head, a small involuntary laugh escaping her lips. ‘Susan named them?’
‘You guessed it.’ Flora picked up one of the wriggling pups and placed it in Poppy’s arms. ‘Here, Thyme is the calmer of the trio, believe it or not, and if there’s one thing she loves more than running around like a headless chicken, it’s snuggling in your arms.’
‘Aw, she’s such a cutie.’ Poppy lowered her face to Thyme’s head, breathing in that unmistakable biscuity aroma of puppy, and watched as she closed her eyes.
‘She is. Don’t go getting attached, though. I know how soppy you go over a spaniel, but these three are already reserved and will go to their forever homes just as soon as they’ve had their vaccinations.’
2
Stretching her arms above her head, Poppy squashed the mound of pillows away from her head and sat up. That was the best night’s sleep she’d had in a long time. She looked out of the window, the dim light of a winter’s morning filtering through the edges of the curtains. What time was it?
Nine thirty. She’d even slept through breakfast time. Pushing the duvet to the end of the bed, she stood up and slipped her feet into the fluffy grey slippers Aunt Flora had left for her. She walked across to the window, opened the curtains and looked out. She could see Susan and someone she didn’t recognise exercising dogs in the paddocks and, beyond that, the kennels. A van had just pulled up into the courtyard.
She watched as a woman jumped out before going to the back of the van and lifting out tray after tray of dog food.
As a child, Poppy had always loved delivery day. The driver had always brought a bag of dog toys he’d collected from his colleagues, and it had been her job to share these fairly between the dogs. She’d taken this responsibility seriously, making sure each dog got the perfect gift – tennis balls for the energetic, cuddly teddies for the elder dogs and the ones missing the comfort of home, squeaky toys for those who liked to chew.
Closing the curtains again, she looked towards the suitcase by the door, a pile of clean dry clothes now balanced on top. Yesterday evening, Aunt Flora had taken the muddy clothes away and must have returned the freshly laundered items sometime. Picking them up, Poppy held them to her face. Aunt Flora was still using the same honeysuckle-fragranced fabric conditioner she had years before. In a way, it felt like home.
Poppy replaced the clothes before rolling her shoulders back and looking in the mirror which stood on the old dressing table Uncle Arthur had French polished. She pulled at the skin under her eyes, the dark circles deep and sunken. Well, with a few more nights’ sleep as good as the one she’d just had, at least they should begin to improve.
It was Saturday. The day Ben was apparently going on his first date since they’d decided to separate. She swallowed. It may have been a mutual decision to separate – a difficult one but a mutual one – but it still stung to her core that he was seemingly moving on so quickly. They’d barely been apart four months. Four months of still living together. For three of those months Poppy had believed he’d tell her they’d made a mistake, tell her he still loved her and wanted to work on their relationship instead of walking away. But that hadn’t happened, and as such, one month followed, with Poppy crying into her pillow in the spare bedroom as her new reality set in.
Standing up tall, she took a deep breath in. She needed to move on, too. Not in any romantic way. She shuddered. No, she wasn’t ready forthat. But emotionally. She needed to take this time out. Be kind to herself, as Melissa kept telling her, and begin to visualise a future as a single woman. A future without Ben. She sighed. After six years of having Ben in her life she knew it would be difficult, but if he could do it, she had to believe she could too.
* * *
