We clamber out of the car, and head to what the sign tells me is Dr Wong’s Veterinary Practice. Dr Wong herself is approximately 700 years old and talks with the most dense West Country accent I’ve heard since I arrived here as she ushers us in.
She barely speaks to us after that, but is the very picture of gentleness with Larry, as she picks him up and cuddles him and places him on her table. She examines him, looks at his teeth, pokes around in some personal places, and then scans his ears and head with a hand-held device. He endures it all stoically, but I’m sure he looks at me in disgust.
“No chip,” she announces, finally seeming to notice us. “Not neutered. Signs of malnutrition but otherwise healthy. Approximately three years old.”
“What do you think he is?” I ask curiously.
She gazes at me over her specs, and says: “Well, I’m not entirely sure, but my years of experience tell me he’s a dog.”
She bursts into laughter at my face, and continues: “Some Bedlington. Some Shih Tzu. Some Maltese perhaps. A bit of everything – the very best kind of dog. I don’t think anyone is looking for him. Feed him small amounts several times a day, and book him in for his op.”
She gives Larry a little kiss on the nose, and then looks at us as though wondering why we’re still here.
“But…” I say, “is there any other way to find out who he belongs to?”
She thinks about it, and replies: “I will make some calls, put out alerts on the missing pet noticeboards. But for now, he needs an owner. Are you not willing to be that?”
She fixes me with a stern glare that reminds me of my old French teacher, and I mutter: “I am, yes. For now.”
“Good. Nice dog, deserves better. No charge for now, but come back soon. Leave your number.”
She turns her back on us, and it appears we are dismissed. I scribble my details down on a notepad, and we leave.
“Wow,” I say, as we return to the car. “That was fun. Did I do something to offend her?”
“Dr Wong? No, she’s like that with everyone. Doesn’t have much time for people, but she’s great with the animals. Can you take me to McDonald’s?”
He says the name with great reverence, and it is funny how a child who is probably fed the very finest of food by a former Michelin-starred chef still yearns for the Golden Arches.
“Depends,” I reply, fastening my seatbelt. “How far away is it, and will your mum kill me?”
“Just a few miles, and no, as long as she doesn’t find out. There’s a Marks & Spencer there as well, and a big pet shop…”
I narrow my eyes at him, knowing that I am being played, but unable to resist. He has, after all, said the magic words – Marks & Spencer. I’ve been washing my clothes on the road, using launderettes or facilities at various hotels, but I am running low now, and the thought of a new multi-pack of knickers fills me with delight.
“It’s a deal,” I say, starting the engine. “As long as you don’t use that vape. Those things are not good for you.”
“Better than smoking!”
“Did you ever actually smoke, though? Are you using the vape to wean yourself off a 30-a-day nicotine habit?”
He doesn’t reply, just stares out of the window. Thought not.
“What are you, the vape police…” he mutters, a few seconds later than he needed to for it to have any impact. It obviously took him a few moments to come up with.
“Yes, that’s me,” I answer jauntily, giving him a crisp salute. “Sergeant Ella Farrell, Vape Police, West Dorset branch, reporting for duty!”
He tries not to laugh, but loses the battle. Despite the hair and the vape and the attempts to be surly, this is clearly a kid who has a bedrock of humour.
We carry on with our trip. I stock up on dog food and buy a lead and collar, then leave Larry outside with Dan while he eats his McMuffin and I browse underwear. Not the kind of thing you want to do with a teenage boy in tow, even if Larry had been allowed in.
I buy a few extra T-shirts, and a pair of shorts, and impulse buy a pretty summer dress that is made of layered floaty fabric, a rich cream patterned with tiny pink rosebuds. I have no idea when I will ever wear it, as I don’t tend to get invited to many garden parties these days, but in the bag it goes anyway. I tell myself that I now have all that I need to move on. I won’t need to ask to use anyone’s washing machine, and as soon as the car is sorted, I can leave. I’ll stay in the area, move on slowly in case Dr Wong miraculously finds Larry’s real mum, but I will take myself away from Starshine Cove.
When I started this journey, I had no real plan, and certainly no intention of settling down anywhere. The cove, for all its charm and beauty, simply has too many people in it to really be my happy place. When I pictured that beach at the end of my wasted meditation sessions, I didn’t imagine it came with a whole village full of people who wanted to get to know me. They have been hospitable and kind and accepting, but they have also been overwhelming. Even having Dan in the car – a kid who barely speaks – feels like an intrusion, and I feel the need to be alone again. Apart from Larry, obviously – maybe I have more in common with Dr Wong than I thought.
As we pull into the car park at the inn, I see a man in overalls packing a bag. He looks up and waves, and I see his van, realising that it is the company I called earlier.
“All sorted,” he says, as I approach the car, “fault in the electrics. Car’s still under warranty so no problems.”
