He wants to focus on my future lol. He offered to meet me in Taiwan. He’s seen some press articles about me attending events with Mr Yomoda’s students and thought it was a PR stunt. I see now what an *rse he is. I told him I didn’t need him and that my lawyer would be in touch about him being in breach of contract for abandoning me. The line went dead.
Regan texted back:Well done you! You don’t need him. You can do this on your own.
Not sure about on my own but I can do it without Oscar.
It made Regan feel good to see the change in Cleo.
Go you!she texted.
I am looking forward to coming home and catching up with you and all your news.Regan stared at the text and the messy studio; she couldn’t really say the same.
Regan woke the next morning to the sensation she’d often heard heart attack victims describe, like having an elephant sitting on their chest. In her case, it was a snoring Irish wolfhound whose doggy breath could wilt a stone rose.‘Eurch, Elvis! Gerroff.’ She wriggled from underneath him. Elvis sat up and began merrily licking his doggy nether region. She popped his medical collar back on and he shook his head about in protest.
Dilemma number one – she usually went to the gym first thing for a mini workout and shower. There was only one thing for it. She lured Elvis into the car with a beef and onion crisp, after her first attempt using a banana failed. She popped round to her dad’s, and as she was going up the steps she remembered that she’d not called ahead. She knocked on the door anyway and busied herself trying somehow to get Elvis to sit so he didn’t look quite so imposing. With his medical cone, he looked like a furry standard lamp sitting next to her.
A shadow appeared at the door moments before her father opened it.
Graham was wearing his usual cardigan and dark trousers, but today he had the addition of a surgical collar. Regan looked from her father to the dog and back again. The resemblance was uncanny. ‘I don’t have a lot of time, but this is Elvis. He’s your grand-dog.’ She gave her best goofy, but hopefully loveable, smile. ‘And I need to use your shower because there’s a problem with Cleo’s. Please.’
Graham blinked several times in quick succession. ‘Does it have fleas?’
‘No,hedoesn’t. He’s Kevin’s dog … well, mine now.’
‘Oh. I see. All right. Come in.’ Graham stood well back as they passed.
‘What happened to your neck?’ asked Regan, a little concerned.
Graham seemed to jolt at the question. ‘Nothing.’
‘You’re wearing a surgical collar. It can’t be nothing.’ She looked around for where to put Elvis. There wasnowhere ideal. He was already using up a large amount of the space.
‘Minor … um … accident. Took a tumble. Grazed my elbow and did something to my neck.’ Graham rubbed his elbow.
‘Be careful. You’re not as young as you once were.’ She’d bet anything Tarty Tara had something to do with his injuries; she shuddered and tried to block the X-rated image that popped unwelcomingly into her mind. ‘Stay,’ she told Elvis, showing him the palm of her hand, more in an attempt to show her dad she was in control. Elvis licked it.
She only had time for a super-quick shower and hair wash, but it was better than not having one at all, especially as she’d been used as a dog bed for most of the night. She dried herself off and checked her wet hair in the mirror. She noted the make-up smeared on the hand towel by the basin. Evidence that Tarty Tara had been here recently; though, thankfully, she didn’t seem to be about this morning.
When she heard growling, she threw on her clothes and hurried out of the bathroom to find Elvis hanging on to her father’s much prized 1994 Manchester United scarf. It was Graham who was doing the growling. Elvis was very happy playing tug of war.
‘It’s eating my scarf!’
‘He’s… oh, never mind. Elvis, drop it.’ She didn’t know why she was bothering; there was no way he was letting go without a much better incentive. She went to the fridge and returned with a sausage roll. Elvis let go in a heartbeat, and Graham tumbled backwards, the victor.
‘You all right?’ she asked.
‘I think so.’ He sat up and checked his scarf. ‘Yes. It’sokay. I’ve recently taken it out of the back of the car because the sun was fading it, but—’
‘Not the scarf. Your neck.’
‘Oh, yes. Hey, that sausage roll was for my lunch!’
Regan knew it was time to leave. This was far too much to handle before breakfast.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Regan felt like she was trying to solve a puzzle – how was she meant to deposit a box of jamandElvis at the market? She pulled up at the coffee shop and shut the door quickly so Elvis was trapped in the car. Regan ferried the first box of jam inside, but by the time she got back, the car was rocking like a troop of demon monkeys had invaded it. There was so much fur flying around the inside of the car it looked like a giant snow globe. Elvis didn’t like being left; but then he had spent all his time outside with Kevin, so it was understandable.
Regan ferried in the rest of the jam and moved the car, then she and Elvis walked back to collect the jam from the café. Elvis switched between walking calmly at her side and trying to yank her arm out of its socket when he spotted anything he had to investigate. It was Saturday and it felt odd not going to Mantra, but the stall now had to come first. Her mind drifted off to Charlie. He was becoming less of a presence in her life and she didn’t like it. They’d not spoken since the argument over Elvis.
