Veronica took her role as temporary announcer very seriously.
‘And our next contestant is Mabel, whose owner assures us her tail has been in training since January.’
The crowd laughed.
Marcus stood at the edge of the ring, clipboard tucked under one arm, barely able to keep the smile from his face. Tammy’s stall was already busy, her dog biscuits disappearing faster than anyone had predicted. Pippa sat at the registration table with Oliver hovering beside her like a man prepared to catch her if she so much as blinked too tiredly. Reverend Townsend was blessing a Dachshund wearing a sunflower bandana, while the dog’s owner dabbed at her eyes as though the ceremony were a royal wedding.
Near the beach steps, Jack was speaking to a family about tide times and beach safety. Old Po had somehow produced more cable ties from his pocket than any man should reasonably be carrying and was using them to fix one of the wayward signs.
Christine caught Marcus’s eye from beside the main marquee and lifted both thumbs.
He lifted one back.
For the first time all week, Marcus did not feel as if the day was balanced entirely on his shoulders.
It was being held by all of them.
The thought warmed him more than the sun.
A round of applause broke out as Bertie won Waggiest Tail by a landslide, mostly because his owner burst into tears and Bertie celebrated by licking Veronica’s hand with such enthusiasm that she lost her place on the results sheet.
Marcus laughed until his sides ached.
Then his attention drifted, as it always seemed to do now, towards the quiet zone.
Rowan was crouched at the entrance, speaking to a woman with a nervous Collie pressed against her legs. Marcus could not hear what he was saying, but he recognised the calm, steady tilt of his head, the patience in his posture, the way he gave the dog space without making the owner feel foolish.
Atlas lay just inside the marquee, head up, watchful but not distressed.
A little while ago, that would have seemed impossible. Now he was part of the day. Not as a spectacle. Not as a story for people to whisper over.
Just there.
Safe.
Marcus’s throat tightened.
‘Marcus!’
He turned as Tammy hurried towards him, cheeks flushed and hair escaping from her bun.
‘We need more water bowls by the refreshment stall. The dogs keep sitting under the table hoping for biscuits.’
‘On it.’
He collected three bowls from the supply box and filled them from the water station. By the time he returned, two Labradors had already stationed themselves beside Tammy’s table with thesolemn determination of customers who had no intention of leaving without snacks.
‘You two are shameless,’ Marcus told them.
One of the Labradors wagged his tail.
‘Don’t encourage them,’ Tammy said, though she slipped them each half a biscuit as soon as their owners gave permission.
The next category began: Best Smile.
This one was gentler. Owners crouched beside their dogs, coaxing them to show happy faces. A toothless old greyhound won an immediate cheer simply by opening one eye. A Pomeranian gave what Marcus could only describe as a judgemental smirk. Rosie entered with Tom and Christine, and although she did not win, Christine clapped as if she had.
Marcus took a moment to stand back and absorb it all.
