‘Yeah, if you like. Some animals struggle in these sorts of situations.’ She gave a sympathetic smile, but Regan was already worrying. She felt a strong sense of responsibility towards Elvis.
‘That’s not going to improve at the rescue centre if he’s stuck there for ages.’
‘Let’s hope he gets chosen quickly.’ The nurse patted Elvis and he twitched an ear.
He needed to cheer up a whole lot if someone was going to fall for the positive personality hidden inside.But then, if he recovered fully, was his boisterous self too much for most homes? Regan surmised that somewhere in between was the sweet spot.
‘You will let me know when he’s moving to the rescue centre, won’t you?’ she asked, trying not to sound too pathetic. She knew it was what was best for Elvis, but she’d need to say a proper goodbye.
‘Er, hopefully it’ll be in the next day or so.’ The nurse gave a wan smile. ‘I’ll give you a few minutes.’
Tears pricked at Regan’s eyes.Don’t be daft, she told herself.This is the best thing for him. She was in no position to offer him a permanent home – she didn’t even have one for herself, let alone for a giant dog. This was his chance for a happy life in a nice home with a family who would love him. She looked into his big, sad eyes. She wanted to tell him everything was going to work out fine, but if she spoke she feared it would release the tears which were threatening to overflow. Elvis briefly stood up and flopped down again with an audible huff, this time with his head on Regan’s knees. It was as if he knew this was goodbye, and it chipped away another piece from her shattered heart.
The next day was tough. No matter how hard Regan tried to focus on the stall, the lack of customers made her mind drift back to Elvis and how his big, sorrowful eyes had bored into her when she’d left him. She needed to focus on the now, but it was hard.
She had a tiny stool with her today; one from the studio, covered in paint splashes. Cleo was so neat in everything else, and yet she seemed to manage to get paint everywhere.
Regan stood and began trying to do the walking mindfully exercise. She managed to walk the length of her stallwithout thinking about Elvis, and only wobbled once. This was an improvement. In her periphery, someone meandered towards her stall. She prepared herself for them to ask where the loo was and rearranged her jars for the umpteenth time. She was fed up of thinking she had a potential customer approaching, only to be asked for the code for the toilets.
‘Hiya,’ said a familiar voice.
Just when she thought she’d reached rock bottom, some bastard introduced lower ground. Alex was standing a few safe feet away.
‘Alex.’ She kept it formal. It wasn’t likely he was after jam.
‘Is this what you’re doing now?’ He managed to make it sound like she was cleaning toilets. It irked her beyond reason.
‘Yes. I am running my own business. Being my own boss. Calling all the shots …’ She ran out of suitable clichéd phrases. ‘How about you? Still kissing butts at BHB Healthcare?’
He looked amused. ‘Yeah. I meant to tell you that you got me with the candied onion. Good one.’
That seemed such a long time ago, but she couldn’t help her sense of pride at getting one over on him. ‘Good of you to let me know.’
He stepped closer, but still looked afraid – she liked that. ‘I feel so bad about everything, Regan. Can I buy you a drink sometime?’
‘No, thanks. I’m fine.’ She broke eye contact and straightened her sign. She looked past him as if she had a queue of customers but there was no one there.
‘Right. I’d better go,’ he said. He had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘Nice to see you.’ She couldn’t say thesame, so she said nothing. He turned to look over his shoulder. ‘What’s with all the flowers on the crossing?’ He pointed vaguely towards the Ditchling Road entrance.
‘My friend Kevin was killed there.’
His expression changed. ‘Oh. I’m so sorry.’
‘You met him. You remember the lads beating up the homeless guy and you wouldn’t help?’
‘Er …’
‘Remember?’ She gave him her most challenging look. It made him whip his head back and walk straight into the fish trolley. He toppled slightly and saved himself by plunging a hand into the fish.
‘Hey!’ said the fish man. ‘Get your hands off.’ Alex scurried away shaking his wet cuff. That would stink for hours.
Regan glanced about. There were worse places to be. She tried a little mindful thought – she had plenty of time. What was good about the market? It was dry, and she had her own designated space – even if it wasn’t the one she’d agreed. She shot a glare at Dragon Woman as she walked past, shaking her head as she went. It was sunny outside, and most importantly she didn’t have to answer to anyone else. She let out a slow breath – things were okay. She was okay.
Glancing at the market entrance, Regan saw the old lady. Obviously Regan still didn’t have damson jam, but with the speed this woman walked, she had ample opportunity to try to sell her something else. She picked up a jar of her most conservative offering and darted out from behind the stall.
Regan realised she’d made her move way too soon, and she was now stuck in no man’s land holding a jar of jam. Poor woman, arthritic sloths could overtake her. She waited awkwardly for what seemed like an age.
‘Is that damson jam?’ asked the old lady, a hopeful look in her bespectacled eye.
