I need to do something. If I sit around and think, I’ll sink into a cycle of blame and guilt, and that won’t do anyone any good. I often tell clients that depression can’t hit a moving target, and I believe it to be true.
I take a quick shower and change, then walk up to the Ark. The clinic is shut on Sundays, and usually there’s just a skeleton staff running the place, but today there are a few more people around tidying up after the fundraiser last night. I suddenly realize that I left without telling anyone, and feel a stab of guilt. Noah won’t care, but it wasn’t exactly professional. I wonder how much we raised?
I cross the Quad to the Forever Home, and go inside. The office is empty, so I walk through to the barn and find Cullen in there. He’s seeing to a dog who’s sitting on a table, and who looks at me as I walk in. It’s a bitch, and immediately, her tail starts wagging. She has curly hair like a Poodle, and floppy Spaniel ears.
“That was quick,” Cullen says.
“This her?”
“Yeah, come and say hello.”
I go up to them and hold out my hand. She sniffs me, then happily licks me, wagging all the while. Her hair is more strawberry-blonde than bright ginger. It’s quite long, and as I run a hand underneath, I can feel a couple of mats beneath her arms, and she winces as I touch them.
“Yeah,” Cullen says, “Hal’s already checked her over and she has a few sores because she hasn’t been groomed. She’s a bit underweight, too. He wants to keep her here for a few days, feed her up a bit, give her some supplements, let her rest, and get those knots removed. Remy will sort that out tomorrow. I think she’ll be ready to leave maybe Wednesday?”
She seems perfect, but I’m not sure if I feel a connection with her, and I’m tired and she’s full of energy…
And then she looks up at me, and the look in her big brown eyes takes me right back to when Beth looked at me this morning across the counter, with affection and… dare I say adoration?
Well, shit.
“She’s beautiful,” I say, already lost.
“Yeah, a gorgeous little girl.”
“You prefer people to rename them, right?”
“Yeah, we think it encourages a connection.”
I bend and kiss the top of her head, and she turns and licks my cheek. Beth once told me her mother named her after Queen Elizabeth II, because she’s a fervent royalist.
“Hello, Queenie,” I say softly.
Cullen chuckles. “What a great name for such a sweet dog.”
I smile, feeling an odd lump in my throat as she leans against me. A dog’s love is so simple and unconditional. They don’t care what you look like, or what you’ve said and done. They love you whatever.
If only it was as easy as that to deal with people.
Chapter Nine
Beth
I’m still shaking when I arrive at the house.
I don’t have long, and I can’t afford to waste time ruminating. But even so, I find myself standing outside for a moment. The two-up, two-down house is tucked down a side street, small and compact because we couldn’t afford to rent anything else. I did my best with it—I planted flowers in the small front garden and asked the landlord for permission to repaint the front door and the porch. I’m fond of it because it was my first real home, and the thought of leaving makes my stomach flip.
I can’t think about that now. I have to go because I need time on my own to think. I don’t have my own car. I did, but it was too expensive to run two cars, and so I sold mine, and Jude and I shared his. I do have a bicycle, but I want to take more than a backpack with me, so I’ll have to pack a case and come back for the bike at a later date.
I force myself to go through the gate, unlock the door, and go inside. Jude’s clearly been home. I’m constantly tidying up, but he only has to be here for ten minutes and the place looks like a tip again. He drives me mad by leaving clothes, books, plates, sunglasses, and food wrappers everywhere. I twitch, tempted to pick up after him, then think, why should I?
The house has two bedrooms. The master bedroom overlooks the back garden, but most of Jude’s stuff is in the spare bedroom. Because he does shift work, right from the beginning he often slept there rather than wake me when he came to bed, and that only grew worse as time went by. Tears prick my eyes. I did try many times to encourage him to wake me, but after the first year I stopped asking, hating the rejection. I should have made more of an effort, though, or at leastinitiated a conversation about how it made me feel as if we were drifting apart.
I make myself go over to the wardrobe, take out a case, and start putting my clothes in. I can pick the rest up once I know what I’m doing, but for now I just need to get out before he comes back. I can’t talk to him yet. I can’t face the conversation. I know word for word how it’s going to go. So why even bother?
Halfway through, my phone buzzes. I pick it up—it’s a reply to a text I sent Kim after leaving Archer’s place. I asked her whether she could put me up for a night or two.
She’s replied,OMG what’s happened?
