Rowan’s gaze held his, his ‘Both, maybe.’
Marcus smiled, he liked Rowan’s dry sense of humour.
‘Is Georgina still ill?’
Marcus nodded, slowly deflating, as he was reminded of Ruff to Regal’s current busyness, the helpless feeling he’d had all week now creeping up his back again, after he’d finally shook it off with the DIY he was doing.
‘I have a suggestion.’ Marcus’s curiosity was instantly piqued, his eyebrow quirked up. ‘Do you have a storeroom in the premises?’
‘Yes, Georgina said she’ll see how she feels for Wednesday.’
‘Okay, what time is your first appointment on Monday?’
‘Erm, nine... Why?’
‘I’ve been taking Atlas past Ruff to Regal every day on every walk since we first met, going past the gate, right up to the door. And I think I’ve got him to the stage where he feels comfortable to be there—outside at least.’ Marcus’s brow lifted. ‘Monday, can you meet me there forty-five minutes before your first appointment?’ Marcus nodded. ‘If I can get Atlas to enter freely, we’ll see how he is with the environment while I help you. If it’s a bit too much, I’d like to try and get him to settle in the storeroom for a nap—at least for half an hour—whilst the noises and smells continue in the parlour. That way, he’ll still be getting used to them, but in a place he’ll feel protected.’
Marcus’s mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide. He didn’t know if he was more surprised by the fact that Rowan thought Atlas was ready for such a bold move, or shocked by Rowan’s offer of help.
‘That... that sounds quite ambitious.’
‘Atlas coming into the parlour or me helping?’
‘Both,’ admitted Marcus. ‘The only thing is, I share the storeroom with Christine—we make tea in there—and her shop is on the other side of the tearoom, so Atlas would hear and smell things from that shop too. Wouldn’t it be too much for him?’
Rowan’s brow drew together, his eyes falling to look at Atlas. He slowly nodded and Marcus felt his stomach drop,
‘Yes it would.’ He looked back up at Marcus, and Marcus tried to hide his disappointment. Rowan studied him. ‘I’ll see how he is that morning before I decide to bring him. If I decide to leave Atlas at home for a couple of hours, I’ll still come and help.’
Marcus shook his head, ‘No, I can’t ask you to do that. As much as I’d jump at the offer for the extra help at the moment, it’s not fair on Atlas.’
‘He’ll be fine. Leaving him to self-soothe for a few hours is part of his recovery.’
Marcus immediately brightened. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘I am.’ He turned around and walked through the gate, calling back over his shoulder. I’ll still be there at eight fifteen, so you can show me what’s what.’
Marcus couldn’t stop the boyish grin from tugging up the corners of his mouth.
Chapter eight
Marcus arrived at Ruff to Regal forty minutes earlier than necessary and still felt late.
The parlour was dark when he unlocked the side gate, the alleyway quiet except for the distant cry of gulls and the soft clink of glass bottles being delivered somewhere along the seafront. Seagull Bay had not fully woken. No tourists wandered past with sun cream on their noses. No dogs strained at their leads towards Tammy’s Tearoom. No Mrs Calloway hovered nearby, pretending not to gather information with the precision of a highly trained spy.
It should have been peaceful. Instead, Marcus’s stomach was performing a full tap routine.
He pushed open the door to Ruff to Regal, stepped inside, and flicked on the lights. The familiar scent of shampoo, clean towels and faint wet dog greeted him, and he stood still for a moment, trying to see the place through Rowan’s eyes, then through Atlas’s eyes.
Too bright? Maybe. He crossed to the main switch and turned off one row of overhead lights, leaving the parlour softer around the edges.
Too many smells? Definitely, but there was only so much one man could do about the natural atmosphere of a dog-grooming business. He picked up yesterday’s towel basket anyway, shoved it into the laundry corner, then straightened the bottles on the shelf as if Rowan might object to coconut detangling spray being half an inch out of line.
Ridiculous.
Marcus looked around the room again.
Georgina’s grooming table was just behind his. His stood in the centre, polished and waiting. The bath gleamed beneath the light. Leads hung neatly from hooks. Treat jars lined the counter. The appointment book sat open beside the phone, and the day ahead was already crowded with names, breeds, times and small notes he had written to himself in increasingly frantic handwriting.
