She’s definitely got some Yorkshire terrier in her,” the vet told Audrey, scratching the top of Dolly’s head. “She’s crossed with another small breed, possibly a Maltese or something similar. I can’t be sure without talking to the original owner. Where did you get her?”
Audrey named the pet shop.
“Ah yes,” the vet said. “Michael Browne.”
“Does Michael Browne have a beard and glasses?” Audrey asked.
“He does.”
Audrey waited, but no further comment was made. Either the vet had only met Michael Browne on a good day, or he was being extremely diplomatic.
“Dolly is very lively,” she told him. “I find her quite hard to manage.”
The vet nodded. “You’ll need lots of patience. House-training is a slow job, unfortunately. But don’t be afraid to be firm when she does something that’s not on. A smack on the nose, or on the rear end, won’t do her a bit of harm, and it’ll give her something to think about.”
“Oh.” Audrey doubted that she could find it in her to smack Dolly, however much she might deserve it.
“You probably find that she chews things,” the vet went on.
Audrey nodded. “Everything.”
“Get her a rubber bone; that’ll keep her distracted. Some people recommend an old slipper, but I feel that just gives them the idea that all slippers are chewable. Michael will have rubber bones.”
“Right.” One of Audrey’s old slippers would do fine, if it meant avoiding a visit to the pet shop.
The vet lifted Dolly’s head and examined her teeth. “She’s about twelve or thirteen weeks old, I’d say—again, hard to be accurate without talking to the owner. Did Michael tell you whether she’s been vaccinated?”
“No, and I forgot to ask. But even if she has, would it do her any harm to get another dose?”
The vet made a face. “Not a good idea—I’d need to know if she’s been started on a course, otherwise it’s very hit-and-miss. Could you call back to the pet shop and ask Michael?”
Audrey’s heart sank. Was there a conspiracy afoot to get her to revisit that man’s premises? “I suppose I could…” she said doubtfully.
The vet smiled. “His bark is worse than his bite, you know.”
Audrey looked unconvinced. “His bark is bad enough.”
It was the last thing she wanted. The prospect of coming face-to-face with him again was unpalatable in the extreme, but he was the only person who might have information about Dolly’s vaccinations, so it looked like a return visit was unavoidable. Was she never to be rid of him?
She’d go on Monday, on her way home from school. And as long as she was going back, she’d pick up a pet carrier, and a rubber bone. Much as she hated giving him any more business, they would make life considerably easier.
—————
Saturdays were always good, she didn’t know why. Maybe the supermarket did a special clear-out on Saturdays. She lifted the lid of the Dumpster and waved the smell away with her hand as she ran her eye quickly over the tumble of boxes and packets and bags inside. She pulled out a tray of dates, a few cartons of yogurt, sandwiches wrapped in plastic, a packet of cheese slices, and a box of jellies. There were trays of kiwi fruit but she couldn’t reach them, and some tomatoes but they had furry stuff growing on them.
“Is there crisps?”
“No,” she said, “no crisps.” He’d live on crisps if she let him.
She stuffed most of the food into the plastic bag she’d used so much the writing had all come off the front of it. She opened the tray of dates and handed one to Barry. “Try this, it’s nice.”
They had no way of cooking, so the only hot food he got was if they went to a chip shop. She didn’t know what they’d do when the weather got colder and he was eating mostly cold food. And would they even survive a frosty night in that shed? She was scared all the time of being in charge of Barry with nobody to ask when she didn’t know something.
She tried to give him different food to eat so he’d have a mix of good and bad. She remembered the dinners Granny used to cook for them, bacon and cabbage with white sauce, stews full of different vegetables, roast chicken sometimes on Sundays, although everyone fought over the legs.
Barry began to make a funny noise. She looked down and saw that his face had gone bright red, and was all screwed up.
“Jesus—” She reached a finger back into his throat and yanked out the date stone and threw it away. He retched and brought up a small amount of brown mush.
“Sorry,” she said, wiping his mouth with her sleeve. “I forgot about the stone. Are you all right?”
“I don’t like them things,” he whispered, his eyes wet from the choking. “I want crisps.”
Carmel hugged him tightly, her heart going wild. “Okay,” she said. “Come on, we’ll get crisps.”
—————
“Can I get my hair dyed?” Charlie asked.
“Sure,” James replied. “How about blue?”
She didn’t laugh, like he’d been expecting. “No, I want purple.”
He stopped and looked at her. “You’re serious.”
“’Course I am. Loads of people dye their hair.”
He resumed walking. “Not at your age they don’t. When you’re grown up, you can dye it whatever color you like.”
She sighed dramatically. He wondered what she’d be like at thirteen if she was beginning to show diva tendencies at six. Up ahead he spotted the hairdressing salon—and walking into the sandwich bar on the far side of it was a woman he knew but couldn’t place. Dark hair, a phone clamped to her ear as she pushed open the door.
Who was she? And then he realized, and laughed softly. He hadn’t recognized her with her clothes on.
“What?”
“Just saw someone I knew,” he told Charlie. “Someone from the drawing class.” They reached the salon and he ushered her inside.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s make you look like a beautiful princess.”
“Daddy.” But she smiled.