I knelt down and rubbed its head, my focus on the dog rather than my idiot brother who was slightly behind me, leaving our overnight bags on the ground next to his car.
“Claire said it was okay to have her living at hers and Killian’s until you moved – well, wherever you’re going to move to,” my mum said.
I turned to my brother who had inched a little closer, clearly thinking that if I hadn’t murdered him yet, he was almost safe. “You got me a dog?”
“Well, yeah,” he said. “She should’ve been mine but you know…”
“His shifts are too unpredictable. You can take her to work with you,” Mum said.
Callum clearly hadn’t told anyone yet that he was leaving the country for three months and that was why he couldn’t have the dog. The dog who was currently nudging me for attention and then flopped on her back for belly rubs.
“I can take her to work. Where’s she from?” She was far too friendly to be an unwanted pet, surely?
“She was chucked off a lorry on the motorway and ended up at Battersea Dogs’ Home. I treated her when I was helping out covering a shift. She’s had a lot of rehabilitation,” Callum said, bending down to join in the tummy tickles. “She’s good with kids and I don’t think she has a vicious bone in her body, but she is a collie so she’ll need a fair bit of exercise and if you leave her alone bored, she may chew furniture.”
I nodded, managing to wrestle the ball from her mouth and lobbed it across the garden. “Why hasn’t someone else had her?”
Callum shrugged. “I called dibs and paid for her treatment. I’ll help you look after her if you’re on a long night out. In fact, Claire and Jackson have both said they’ll dog sit too, so she shouldn’t cramp your style. But when you do move, you’ll need a garden.”
“What’s she called?” I said as she bounded back and dropped the ball on my lap, looking expectantly at me.
“Queenie. But you can change her name if you want,” Callum said, picking the ball up and throwing it further than I could manage.
“Why Queenie?”
“Because she turned the corner on one of the Queen’s birthdays. I didn’t name her properly until then,” he said, his tone gruff. I knew he’d fallen in love with Queenie the moment he’d met her, but he’d never give an animal a permanent name until he was sure they’d make it.
“What was she while you treated her?”
“Hope, because that was what she needed. Will you keep her?”
Queenie bounced back panting and dropped the ball, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. There was no way she wasn’t staying with me.
“Yes,” I said. “But you knew that already.”
Callum nodded, finally looking at me. “Good. Eli likes dogs too.”
I was still thinking over what Callum had said about Eli liking dogs when my mother breezed into the kitchen carrying a large bottle of water and a blissed out smile on her face. I knew better than to ask why she was so happy, as since we’d been over the age of eighteen she’d more than happily shared those pieces of information in the hope of grossing us out.
Queenie was lying at my feet after running five miles with me. We’d let Callum carry on; me because running wasn’t my favourite thing to do at the moment and Queenie because she had quite a few pins keeping her joints secure so any more than the slow five we’d done wasn’t sensible.
“We thought we’d have tapas so your dad went to the Spanish place and ordered a load of dishes to be delivered at about seven,” she said. “And I’ll make some sangria to go with it.”
I rolled my eyes. The last time I’d had Mum’s sangria I’d been seventeen and it had introduced me to how awful a hangover could be.
“Don’t worry, Ava-babes, I won’t make it strong. How are you anyway? I know you don’t want me asking that question, but I need to know you’re okay,” she said, opening the water and drinking it straight from the bottle, which was a very un-Marie thing to do.
“I’m doing okay,” I said. “I know it’s unlikely to happen again and I have strategies in place. I keep the Find my Friends app turned on all the time now and it’s linked to Max and Claire and Payts. And Eli.”
“How is Eli?” She put the top back on the bottle.
“What’s with the water? It’s usually a glass of red at this time on a Saturday,” I said.
“I’m trying to ease up given the fact that your dad’s had to cut out a lot of things he likes and we’re about to spend three weeks at the winery. I need to take better care of myself,” she said, eyeing the wine rack at the same time.
“Sangria?”
“A healthy version. Lots of fruit. And rationed portions for everyone. Callum will have beer anyway,” she said. “Now Eli?”
