Jay watched as the woman buried her hands in the dog’s coat and roughly rubbed his head, oblivious to any danger. Even after living with the dog for two days he wouldn’t manhandle him like that for fear of losing fingers or worse.
The woman carried on fussing Bruce and he seemed to like it. ‘You’re a softie, yes you are. But I have to go to work. Yes, I do. Bye, Bruce,’ she said, and Jay and Bruce both watched her leave.
Bruce looked at Jay with sad eyes. ‘You liked her, didn’t you? Maybe you’ll grow to like me. Come on.’ Jay gave an encouraging tug on the lead and thankfully Bruce followed him inside Nora’s house.
Jay was even more pleased when Bruce went straight to lie on Nora’s faux-fur rug. He was likely worn out after his mammoth expedition. Jay had covered almost every inch of the park, been round the bandstand multiple times as well as down two side roads and an alleyway he barely knew existed, and all at Bruce’s pace, which was one notch down from a gallop. No wonder the dog was tired, he was too.
‘Hey, Oliver Queen,’ said Jay. He liked to use the chameleon’s full name, mainly because as a DC Comics fan it made him smile. Jay opened up Oliver’s enclosure, as Nora always did, because she said that way he got a blast of new air. The chameleon was a brilliant green with yellow highlights. Nora said she could tell how he was feeling by what shade of green he was. Contrary to popular belief, chameleons don’t drastically change their colour to match their environment, as their world is mainly different shades of green– although Nora had joked that she would have liked to see him try to match her mum’s tartan throw. Oliver didn’t move fast, apart from his eyes, which were permanently swivelling in different directions. In contrast, Bruce had heavy eyelids like he was nodding off. At least he was calm, that was something.
Jay went into the kitchen to change Oliver’s water. Nora had a very white, modern kitchen, which was spotlessly clean. This was his last trip to Nora’s as she was due back from her course the next day. A sticky note on the counter detailed instructions that Jay rememberedbut he glanced at it again anyway. Nora had finished her note with:and if you have time to have a chat to Oliver I know he’d appreciate an update on your thoughts on breaking into Hollywood. At the bottom was her initial and a smiley face. Jay grinned back at the note. Nora knew very well that this was a subject he could talk about for hours on end, given the chance. Jay refreshed the water and, still smiling, walked back into the living room. He’d only made a couple of paces across the room before he froze. Something was wrong. Bruce had his back to Jay but the sound of loud chewing was definitely coming from him. Jay’s eyes shot to Oliver’s enclosure– it was empty.
‘Bruce?’ asked Jay. The dog glanced over his shoulder and licked his lips. ‘Oh, what have you done?’ Bruce trotted over to Jay, sat down and stared at him. Jay swallowed hard and so did Bruce. ‘Did you eat Oliver?’ Jay clutched the water container. Bruce’s mouth lolled open and Jay caught sight of something green inside. He recoiled.
This was a real-life horror film.
He’d been left in charge of a simple task and now Nora would never forgive him. He put the water in the vivarium and began searching the room, although he knew it was pointless. Poor little Oliver didn’t stand a chance against a brute like Bruce. Jay checked under the sofa, on all the shelves and even behind the radiators– there was no sign of the chameleon. Bruce was quite interested in the game of search and followed Jay closely,double-checking after he had examined each possible hiding place. Eventually Jay had to give up and accept the reality of the situation. He’d basically sentenced Oliver to death at the jaws of Bruce and Nora would never speak to him again.
*
Dixie had never felt like such a loser. Over the past week Renee had worked for hours on the van and despite it making a vaguely promising sound once or twice, she couldn’t get the engine to turn over. She’d pledged to come back and have another go after she’d made a few phone calls to friends who had once owned similar vans, but Dixie could see that they were reaching the end of the straw-clutching phase.
She’d bought a wreck, a disaster on wheels. It was time to face the fact that the van was dead and, with it, her hopes of becoming a social media influencer. It made her feel rather melancholy, which may have been enhanced by the number of G&Ts Renee had poured for her. Dixie sat in the back of the van and surveyed her seventies-themed nightmare. It looked awful and it smelt bad too. She’d had such plans for the interior and for her travels but everything had come to an abrupt halt. She lit a candle and the happy little flame danced but didn’t manage to lift her mood.
Dixie switched on her phone and began an Instagram Live. It was an opportunity to pour out all her hopesand dreams for the little clapped-out van Elsie, and how she felt such a fool for being duped by a con man, and to deliver the crushing blow that this would be her last post because Elsie was dead. Dixie found herself silently crying as she watched two of her six viewers log off. She let out a sniffly sob, gave a sad little wave and ended the post and her fledgling career. That was it; she’d have to go back to the drawing board or perhaps the list she’d drawn up with Nora and see if there was anything else feasible on there. She was rapidly losing faith in the 37 per cent rule.
Right now she didn’t feel like starting again. She needed a bit of time to wallow in her disappointment. Grabbing one of the slightly damp cushions that she’d planned to crochet a new cover for, she curled up in the foetal position and had another little cry.
Dixie wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep but when she awoke her eyes felt crusty from dried tears and someone was tapping on the side of the van. Renee stuck her head inside and recoiled. ‘Bloody hell, what’s that smell?’
Dixie wrinkled her nose. ‘I lit a candle. It’s eucalyptus and bay.’
‘Smells more like eau de cat litter tray to me,’ said Renee. ‘But an unattended candle might be exactly what you need to solve your problem, if you know what I mean,’ she added, with a tap on the side of her nose.
‘The candle is trying to mask the odour,’ explained Dixie, although she had to admit it was probablymaking things worse. ‘I think it’s damp.’ She sniffed the air, detecting a more caustic undercurrent.
‘It’s about as pleasant as a wet football sock,’ said Renee. ‘Funny story. There was me, George Best and… never mind, that’s one for another time.’
Dixie sniffed again. ‘I thought it was just damp but now I’m thinking it’s the smell of a dead campervan. Doesn’t matter what it is. The dream is over.’
‘Hells bells, someone is feeling sorry for themselves!’ said Renee. ‘You’re not seriously giving up because of a tiny thing like this, are you?’
‘It’s key to everything,’ said Dixie, wishing Renee would let her have a little wallow in peace. ‘Perhaps I need to get an ordinary job in an ordinary shop. Perhaps Waitrose are hiring.’
‘Because that’s where all the ordinary people shop,’ said Renee. ‘If you’ve checked out you won’t mind me having another tinker with it.’ She wasn’t really asking Dixie because she was already heading for the engine.
Dixie sighed. She didn’t want to give up but she also didn’t want to throw more money at a lost cause. Cutting her losses was the smart thing to do. She would have to have a serious think about her future because she was starting to believe she was completely useless. She got out her mobile and pulled up Instagram, expecting to see the usual twenty or so likes for her post. Dixie blinked. She had just four likes and a comment from an anonymous troll who called her a snowflake.
There was more muttering and Renee appeared witha new mucky smudge on her cheek. ‘Right. You need to make a decision. Are we quitting or are we fixing? Because personally I don’t like to be beaten by things.’ She arched an eyebrow at Dixie and waited.
Dixie bit her lip. This felt like one of those crossroads in life. She could cut her losses and move on or try a bit harder.
‘I’ve not got time to waste so perhaps you’ll let me know,’ said Renee as she headed back to the engine.
‘Hang on, Renee. I’ll not be beaten either,’ she said clambering out of the van. ‘Let’s fix this thing together. Just let me set up my ring light.’
‘As long as that’s not something you’ve bought from Anne Summers, then OK,’ she replied.
10
