Has he gone to the toilet yet?
If he did, did you remember to make a note of it?
If he hasn’t, we probably don’t need to be concerned yet but it’s worth keeping an eye on.
Yes mostly yes and I’ll do it now, I typed when I could get a text in edgeways.It can be a poo retrospective.
After a little less than half a second, Oliver texted back,Thank you.
I got distracted by next doors kid being an absolute shut while spud was shutting
*shit
*shitting
Spud keeps poking the phone
There was a slight pause. Oliver was, by nature, a long-form texter.I really don’t understand why you have such a problem with Colin. He’s a perfectly pleasant boy.
This stung. It wasn’t the first time Oliver had said neutral to positive things about Next Door’s Kid. The fucking traitor.No hes not. He keeps calling me a dickhead
Perhaps he’s going through a phase.
A phase of calling exactly me a dickhead
He’s probably testing boundaries because he perceives you as an authority figure.
Oliver no one has perceived me as an authority figure in my entire life
Another Oliver-length texting pause. Or maybe he was getting food on his lunch break, which I hoped he was.
I hope, I texted,you’re getting lunch
On my way to get a wrap.
I thought about sending a “love you,” but I’d told Oliver I loved him only yesterday, and I had a reputation to uphold. So I sent a heart emoji instead, and felt like a different sort of dickhead. Oh God, Next Door’s Kid had been right.
“Come on, Spud.” I deposited him back on the floor. “It’s your lunch time too.”
He bounced after me into the kitchen and bounced even more when he saw me pulling down a pouch of puppy noms. It felt weirdly validating every time I made him happy, which seemed to happen a lot for reasons of dog. In a complicated world, it was nice to have a relationship where I could get regular positive reinforcement by doing very simple actions. Which raised some uncomfortable questions about exactly who was being trained here.
Once I’d put the bowl down in the puppy pen and Spud had stuck his face in it, I went and did my due diligence with the Journal of the Poo Year.
6:47, Oliver’s entry began,urine and some stool of good consistency and healthy colour.
Underneath it, I wrote,10ish? Did poo. Maybe wee?
My phone buzzed.
By the way, Oliver was telling me,as lovely as you’re looking in your coquettish hedgehog boxers you should probably wear trousers to meetings. You never know when you might have to stand up.
Good tip, I sent back.Timely.
Chapter 8
During our lunchtime texts, I,d told myself I’d let Oliver know about the wholemight be losing my job thingwhen he got home. When he got home, I told myself I’d let Oliver know about the wholemight be losing my job thingafter dinner. After dinner, I told myself I’d let Oliver know about the wholemight be losing my job thingbefore bed. Except now I was in bed, and I was fucked. Fucked in the emotional sense, not in the fun sense.
Or, I reasoned as Oliver was brushing his teeth, I’d been deeply unselfish. Because he’d had a hard day in court—apparently it wasn’t so great when the defendant showed up wearing the exact clothes he’d been caught on CCTV in—and he deserved to play with our new puppy without being burdened by a problem that still might not lead to me losing the only job I’d been able to hold down since Miles left.
