Very briefly, in a moment of mild insanity on the Monday morning, Charley considered cycling into the shop with Bubbles on a loose lead running along beside her, as Ricky did with Carlo. However, a vivid catastrophe fantasy involving other dogs, a cat, several cars and an ambulance, wisely made her decide to walk instead. She set off optimistically, determined to thoroughly enjoy the journey. It was a dry, autumn day, with a slight breeze, and Bubbles trotted along obediently at heel. He was a joy to walk and she found herself hoping Ricky would see her arriving at Cargo with her well-behaved dog. Not that she particularly wanted to see Ricky, she reminded herself sharply.
As it happened, she didn’t see Ricky on her way in, which was probably just as well, because the moment she unlocked the shop door Bubbles went ballistic. He shot inside, ripping the lead out of her hand, and raced around shop like a demented demon, frantically jumping up and sniffing at everything.
‘Bubbles stop! Calm down! Come here! HERE!’ Desperately she tried to make a grab for his leash as it snaked tantalisingly past her, but just missed it. Leaping up to investigate one of the side tables, the dog knocked the entire display over, sending tealight holders, scented candles and countless other objects crashing to the floor.
Bloody dog! she cursed, then, ‘Drop it! Drop it!’ she bawled as Bubbles snatched up a pack of Prosecco-themed cocktail straws and charged round the shop with it, pleased as punch with his trophy.
Eventually she caught him and, tying his lead to the leg of the biggest table and hoping to God he wouldn’t be able to pull that over, she righted the small table and collected up all the stock. Fortunately nothing was damaged, except her confidence in her plan to have the dog in the shop.
To be fair to Bubbles, he had calmed down considerably by the time Tara got in, but the wild excitement of someone new set him off again and he hurled himself at her, as if she was a long-lost friend.
‘Get down, you sodding great dollop!’ she ordered, pushing him off crossly. ‘I hope he’s not going to do that to the customers.’
So do I, thought Charley but all she said was, ‘He’ll be fine once he gets used to being here.’ If all else failed she’d tie his lead to her thigh if she had to.
Tara shot her a withering look as if to say, Who are you trying to kid? which, uncharitably and probably unfairly, Charley put down to jealousy. Tara had been distinctly put out when she’d learned that Charley had taken Angie to the dogs’ home instead of her.
‘Monnie would have loved to go with you,’ she’d complained. ‘You know how much she loves animals.’
‘I would have asked you but I needed Angie’s advice,’ Charley had replied defensively. ‘She’s got a dog so I thought she’d know what to look for.’
Tara had left it at that, but Charley was sure the grievance still rankled.
As the morning progressed Bubbles did calm down but, embarrassingly, all the customers got the full-on, long-lost friend greeting.
‘You’re going to have to leave him at home,’ Tara told her.
‘I can’t. He howls the place down and the neighbours have complained.’
‘Good job you got Angie’s advice then,’ was Tara’s sarcastic riposte, and Charley bit her tongue. ‘In that case you’re going to have to get him under control!’
Easier said than done, thought Charley.
Things went from bad to worse when Ricky strolled by with Carlo. It was Charley’s bad luck that just at that precise moment a customer was leaving, and so the door was open. Seizing the moment, Bubbles shot through the doorway and launched himself playfully at the lurcher.
Charley raced after him, ‘Bubbles! Come here!’ she ordered firmly, desperately trying to convey in her voice that this was absolutely not the kind of behaviour her dog usually indulged in. ‘Come here!’ she yelled more loudly since Bubbles had apparently gone completely deaf.
Poor Carlo was trying to behave himself, but the cockerpoo was jumping all over him like a maniac. Eventually, Ricky managed to grasp his lead and haul him off the poor lurcher.
‘Is this yours?’ he asked Charley.
She wanted the ground to swallow her up, her previous fantasy bursting like a bubble. ‘Yes,’ she cringed.
Calmly telling Carlo to sit and stay outside the shop, Ricky hauled the still manically bouncing Bubbles inside. ‘Lively little fella,’ he commented mildly.
Charley held her hand out for the lead. ‘Yes, he is a bit. Thank you.’ Inwardly dying of embarrassment, she added by way of explanation, ‘He’s a rescue dog and it’s his first time in the shop.’
‘He’s a sodding nightmare, and it’ll probably be his last,’ muttered Tara loudly and Charley shot her a furious look. ‘Well, he is!’ Tara promptly turned to Ricky and infuriated Charley still further by asking, ‘Any ideas on how to control a hyperactive hound? Apart from nailing him to the floor?’
Ricky pulled a face. ‘That’s the trouble with adopting a dog; you don’t really know what you’re getting. It took Carlo a long time to settle.’
‘Oh, I’d forgotten Carlo was a rescue dog,’ said Charley.
‘Well, you’ve done a great job with him,’ Tara told Ricky, rather pointedly it seemed to Charley.
‘To be fair, he was a bit different from… Bubbles, is it?’ checked Ricky. Charley nodded. ‘In fact he was the complete opposite, very nervous, and wary of strangers.’
‘Yes, I don’t think we’ve got the same problem with Rent-a-Mugger,’ said Tara dryly, since the cockerpoo was now up on his back legs, straining at his leash, to get to Ricky.
‘Seriously, have you got any useful tips?’ asked Charley, gently hauling the dog backwards and then discreetly trying to push his backside into a sit.
Ricky glanced behind the till counter. ‘It might help if you bring his bed,’ he advised her. ‘That’ll show him he’s meant to settle. It’s what I did with Carlo.’ He shot Charley a wry smile. ‘I’m not promising it’ll work with that one, but it’s worth a try.’
Charley kicked herself. Why hadn’t she thought of that? ‘Good idea. Yes, I’ll do that. Well, thanks for your help,’ she said, hoping Ricky would take the hint and leave, before Bubbles disgraced himself further.
Although Ricky turned to go, it was Tara who didn’t seem to get the hint, delaying him by asking him if there was any news about selling his business. Charley could have happily strangled her.
‘Actually, yes. I think I’ve found a buyer.’
A lead weight seemed to wallop into Charley’s stomach. ‘Already?’
The palpable dismay in her voice led both Tara and Ricky to turn to her, so she added hurriedly, ‘That’s fantastic news. I was just surprised it’s happened so quickly.’
Tara shot her a withering look, which Charley ignored.
‘Yes, me too,’ agreed Ricky.
There was an awkward silence, during which Ricky’s eyes never left Charley’s, until Tara reminded him that his faithful lurcher was still obediently sitting outside, at which point, with some reluctance, Ricky turned to leave. ‘Good luck with the dog,’ he said to Charley.
‘Thanks, and good luck with the buyer,’ she responded. When he’d gone she studiously avoided looking at Tara, determined not to prompt any unwanted discussion about Ricky.
Since Charley couldn’t lug a dog’s bed into work with her every day she nipped out to buy Bubbles another one for the shop. ‘If you had pocket money I’d be making you pay for this,’ she told him, as she positioned it under the counter. The cockerpoo sniffed his new bed, clambered onto it, circled round busily half a dozen times and then plonked himself down with what seemed to Charley to be a satisfied sigh. Ricky, it turned out, had been right. Happily curled up in his new bed, the dog went to sleep.
The following afternoon, Ricky dropped into the shop, bearing a small carrier bag. Bubbles immediately leaped out of his bed, tail wagging nineteen-to-the-dozen.
‘This is for him,’ said Ricky, handing the bag to Charley with one hand, and stroking the cockerpoo’s head fondly with the other.
‘Oh,’ said Charley awkwardly. Her discomfort worsened when Pam loudly professed a sudden desire for tea and with glaring unsubtlety nipped out to get some, leaving Charley and Ricky alone together in the shop.
Opening the bag, ‘helped’ by Bubbles standing on his hind legs and trying to snuffle out the contents with his nose, Charley took out a complicated-looking dog toy.
‘You put a treat in it,’ explained Ricky, ‘and the dog has to work out how to get it out.’
‘Thank you,’ said Charley. ‘It’s very thoughtful of you. Really. And I do appreciate it.’
Ricky stood self-consciously for a moment, as if he had something else to say. So Charley waited and a lengthy silence grew between them.
Eventually Ricky said, ‘It should keep him happily occupied for hours. Well, that’s what it says on the pack…’
‘Let’s hope so. I’m sure he’ll love it. And thanks again.’
‘I’d best get back to the bike shop,’ he said, still not making any attempt to leave.
‘Yes, of course,’ agreed Charley, and finally, with one last ruffle of the cockerpoo’s ears, Ricky left.
After he’d gone, Charley stood gazing numbly at the dog toy in her hand, overwhelmed by a confusion of conflicting messages. Why did he have to be so nice to her on the one hand, whilst on the other hand heartlessly parade his new girlfriend under her nose? Either way, it hurt.
Pam returned a few minutes later, with the tea.
‘There was no need for you to scoot off like that,’ Charley told her.
‘I was just getting us some tea!’ Pam feigned an air of aggrieved innocence as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Since it was so profoundly untrue, Charley didn’t even deign to reply.
By the end of the week, even Tara had to admit Bubbles was settling down, and she’d taken to bringing in dog treats in the mornings, as well as coffee and pastries for her and Charley. The tension had also settled between the two friends, which was a huge relief for Charley, not least because the group were all having drinks at her place that evening, and whilst she always tried to adhere to the rule that what happens at work, stays at work, Tara did not. Looking on the bright side, however, Tara seemed to have got over her jealousy towards Angie, and the fun and banter had returned to their working relationship, so Charley was looking forward to seeing everyone. Well, she was… until lunchtime.
The restaurant owner who’d come in the previous week and ordered six of Angie’s paintings arrived, expecting them to have been delivered. When she discovered they hadn’t been, and that neither Tara nor Charley seemed to have any idea when they were expecting them, she erupted, venting spleen on Tara, volubly and publicly, in front of a shop full of people.
‘You promised me they would be here by the end of this week!’ she exclaimed at the top of her voice. Heads turned as customers sought to discover what the barney was about. Charley wondered if she should intervene and take the flack; it was her shop, after all. Bubbles slunk into his basket, frightened by the woman’s strident tone.
‘I do apologise,’ said Tara with impressive calm. ‘I was told they would be here. I’ll chase up the artist and find out what’s happened.’ Then, turning to Charley, she said imperiously, ‘Give her a ring please and find out when we can expect the outstanding artwork.’
Sympathetic as she was that her mate was getting a humiliating and very public shredding, Tara’s high-handed tone instantly incensed Charley and she would have loved to ignore Tara’s request but, mindful of how unprofessional that would look, she took her phone out, only for the woman to stop her.
‘No! It’s too late for that. You should have done that already!’
‘Perhaps if we call the artist—’ Tara started, but the woman cut her off rudely.
‘I only bought the other four because you promised you could get me the rest on time. So you either lied, or you’re incompetent.’ Tara’s face flushed livid, and Charley held her breath anticipating a volcanic outburst, but the woman had already turned her back on Tara and was striding towards the door.
‘Either way I don’t want the other ones,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll bring them back. And I shall expect a full refund!’
Instinctively, Charley decided it was best to pretend that the entire embarrassing scene hadn’t happened, and to discuss it with Tara later when the shop was empty, so she carried on serving the remaining customers as calmly as she could. The moment the last one had left the shop, Tara exploded at Charley.
‘I told you to give Angie a deadline,’ she ranted, ‘and now look what’s happened! Listen Charley, if you want run the shop like a… like a car boot sale that’s up to you, but I’m not up for being yelled at and being made to look like an a complete sodding idiot in a shop full of people!’
‘You were the one who over-committed Angie in the first place,’ Charley reminded her. ‘I warned you she might not be able to deliver that much artwork in time.’
‘She hasn’t delivered any!’
‘She’s obviously been too busy!’
Tara folded her arms and eyeballed Charley. ‘I knew you’d take her side.’
‘I’m not taking sides!’
‘Yes, you are. You’ve sided with Angie throughout this whole artwork problem.’ What artwork problem? thought Charley. ‘And you don’t even sodding well realise it,’ Tara continued furiously. ‘All along, I’ve tried to get her to be more professional, to get both of you to be more professional, actually, and you’ve constantly undermined me.’
Charley opened her mouth to protest, but at that precise moment Pam walked in. By the openly wary expression on her face it was clear she realised she’d interrupted something, but then it wouldn’t have taken a genius to work that out. Tara, arms crossed, was glaring at Charley, who was regarding her coolly, mouth pressed in a thin line, and the tension in the shop was almost physical.
After a beat Tara said, ‘Right, well, since Pam’s here, I may as well go,’ and, pausing only to nod at Pam, she picked up her bag and left.
Pam raised a querying eyebrow at Charley.
‘Don’t even ask,’ replied Charley, closing her eyes. So, tactfully, Pam didn’t.
Although later, clearly having had time to brood on the issue, she asked Charley if she wanted her to cancel her trip to Copenhagen.
‘Absolutely not!’ Charley was deeply moved that the older woman was prepared to abandon her holiday, and at the very last moment, if she was needed in the shop. ‘You go, and have a wonderful time.’
But for the rest of the afternoon Charley was distracted, fretting about what the bloody hell she should do about Tara. Obviously she’d have to try to resolve things before Monday since she didn’t want to risk a public quarrel in the shop and she knew it would be wise give her mate time to cool off, so she made a mental note to call her on Sunday, or better still, go round to her house with a peace offering. Which seemed like the perfect plan, until she remembered that everyone was coming round for drinks at hers that evening.
What if Tara has a go at Angie? She’ll annihilate her.