A Hundred Pieces of Me (26 page)

Gina chewed the inside of her lip. Stuart would have said no half an hour ago. He wouldn’t have made Rachel tea, as she had, or let her bring Buzz and his heartbreaking anxiety into her flat. Stuart never let anything unpleasant into their world; he stood at the threshold and repelled unpleasantness with logic and politeness. He’d have given Rachel fifty quid and firmly directed her out of their life.

While they were speaking, the greyhound was slowly relaxing his tense muscles against Rachel’s buckled boot, matching the texture of his coat to the battered suede. Even in his skinny state, Buzz was more finely sculpted than any dog Gina had seen before. He had a weary nobility that reminded her of Elizabethan portraits of princes posing with a hand on the head of their hunting hound, a bejewelled collar on its long neck.

But it’s such a cliché, Gina told herself. Split up, get a dog. It’s what everyone expects you to do. Why not just enjoy being on your own for a while? Spend some time on yourself, don’t allow yourself to be distracted by another project.

‘I hope you won’t take this the wrong way,’ said Rachel, carefully, as if she was offering an observation Gina might not want, ‘but dogs can be wonderful company when you don’t want any
actual
company, if you know what I mean.’

Gina met Rachel’s gaze. She had very honest brown eyes, framed with mascara, but crinkled at the edges. They were eyes that had cried and laughed and didn’t care that much about crow’s feet. Friendly eyes.

‘Sorry?’ said Gina.

‘It just reminded me, the boxes, the new kettle . . .’ Rachel waved a hand round the room. ‘Stop me if I’ve got it totally wrong, but I’ve been here too, unpacking an old life into a new one. It absolutely
sucks
. Everything about it sucks, no matter what people tell you about fresh starts and all that heal-yourself-sister bollocks. But dogs are great for broken hearts. They don’t give you advice, for one thing.’

Gina straightened her back. ‘And how do you know I’ve got a broken heart?’

Rachel shrugged. ‘Because my house looked like this when I moved in? No photos. Everything in new places. And, call me Shirley Holmes, last week you donated fifteen different books on how to leave a bad relationship and variations on that theme. We’ve got an entire self-help section now, thanks to you.’

‘That’s . . .’ Gina started to protest, then realised there was no point. She’d told Rachel everything about herself in her drop-offs.

‘Brought back some memories, seeing those,’ sighed Rachel. ‘
He’s Not That Into You.
God Almighty. I
hated
that book.
It’s Called a Break-Up Because It’s Broken
.
Three
different people gave me that. I reckon they sell more to concerned friends than they do to actual dumpees. And they’re all aimed at women, you notice.’

‘Only women buy instruction manuals about how to end things without upsetting anyone,’ said Gina. ‘Men just get on with it.’

‘Hah! If only it were that easy! In my experience, men prefer to manoeuvre you into doing it for them, then look all shocked and sad.’ Rachel dangled her hands limply at the wrist, like pretend puppy paws. ‘“You’re
dumping
me? Because I’m
sleeping with someone else
?” It took me about five years to work out that I should leave my ex. That’s a lot of self-help books, believe me. So I know a woman trying to leave a relationship when I see one.’

Gina turned her cooling mug of tea round and round, not wanting to overshare but at the same time feeling warmed into confession by Rachel’s exasperation. It felt wrong talking about divorce too much with Naomi: they both knew that Naomi wasn’t really jealous of her freedom and time, and that Gina wasn’t 100 per cent fine about it either.

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be glib,’ said Rachel. ‘I know it’s never straightforward. But it does get better. Just don’t get a cat. They just look at you like . . .
meh
.
Here we are, the single woman and her cat. Great
. Now a dog will look at you like . . .
how could he leave you? You’re amazing
.’

Gina managed a small smile. ‘You can stop selling the dog to me. I’ll look after him. But just for a few days.’

She expected Rachel to cheer, but instead she looked down at Buzz, then raised her brown eyes with a cautious expression. ‘I don’t
sell
dogs,’ she said. ‘Not to people who don’t want them. But – sorry if this sounds a bit woo, I don’t say this to everyone, believe me – I just get the weird feeling this is right. Buzz has found you. I think you two will be fine together, for however long he stays.’

As Rachel spoke his name, the dog’s head lifted and he saw Gina looking at him. He held her gaze for a second, then timidly tucked his nose back alongside his paws. Submissive. Unwanted. Resigned.

Gina blinked hard, twice, and frowned. Oh, bollocks, she was going to cry again. The music: that was what had loosened it. It was that unexplained, unspecific emotion that ambushed her when she thought she was in a clear place, the sudden swelling wave that roared up behind her, overwhelming her in a cloud of damp despair, leaving her weak and hopeless. Just like it had at the Magistrate’s House, in front of Nick. She swallowed. She definitely didn’t want another attack of hiccups.

‘Are you OK?’ asked Rachel, reaching out to touch her knee. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I used to hate it when . . . Oh, no. I really didn’t mean to upset you.’

Gina shook her head, then nodded. ‘It’s OK. ’S fine.’

‘It is OK
not
to be fine, you know,’ said Rachel.

She tried to centre herself: the white walls, the bold blue vase on the windowsill, the soft lamps, the hyacinth candle. Her place. Her new life.

Why wasn’t it making her happy? When was she going to start feeling better?

‘So . . .’ Gina focused on the dog. ‘So. What do I need to do?’

Rachel examined her face, saw that she meant it, and reached briskly into the nearest bag. ‘I’ve made you a timetable to give you an idea. And I’ve brought everything you’ll need.’

‘You know I’m trying to clear this place out, right? I’m going to have to make you take three bags of CDs for this.’

‘If you take the dog till Friday,’ said Rachel, ‘I’ll personally carry all your junk over the road.’

That night, Buzz slept in the spare room on an old duvet, shut in to stop him causing too much damage. Not that it looked like he’d do any: he curled up immediately like a stone.

On the other side of the wall, Gina lay sleepless in her bed, aware of the living creature, silent and impenetrable, in her flat. She could hear her mother’s voice, telling her she was making a mistake: dogs trailed germs round houses and bit owners while they slept. Stuart’s voice, too, despairing at her pushover nature.

But at the same time, Gina felt something unfolding in her stomach like a butterfly. Buzz, a dog, a responsibility, was the first active decision of her new life. It might all go wrong. But if it did, there would be only her to deal with it. There
was
only her now. The thought made her anxious or excited, she couldn’t tell which.

It was impossible to sleep when her brain was spinning like this, rolling what-ifs round, sending her life down different paths towards different versions of herself. Gina stared up at the ceiling, and tried to imagine herself sinking into the mattress, being absorbed into the whiteness, a trick that sometimes worked, sometimes didn’t. Tonight it didn’t. She was in the middle of an energy surge, and her limbs felt jaded and restless. Her mind kept going back to the Magistrate’s House, to the lists in her office, to the ExCel budget Stuart wanted, to the checklist Rory had given her to fill in about her finances; to where she might be now if she hadn’t married Stuart, if she hadn’t had cancer, if she hadn’t met Kit. Different lives shooting off like side shoots on a climbing plant.

Gina sat up in bed, rigid with panic and energy.

Broadband. I should get the broadband connected, she thought. No one’s going to do it for me. And I need to look up greyhound advice on the Internet. I can’t ask Rachel everything.

She glanced at the alarm clock: 4.12am. The service provider was supposed to have 24/7 customer support. Probably a good time to jump the queues.

Gina threw back the duvet, and went to reconnect herself to the rest of the world.

In the morning, Buzz wagged his tail cautiously when she got up, and gobbled his breakfast in the corner of the kitchen that Gina had designated his, but he seemed relieved when she took him to the charity shop. He slunk behind the counter where Rachel’s own Border collie sat, as still as a stuffed dog, watching the shop with his ice-blue eyes.

‘Don’t take it personally,’ Rachel said, spotting her chagrin. ‘He’ll adjust. He’s had a lot of upheaval, doesn’t know who to trust yet. Men might be a problem – he didn’t like my husband much. That didn’t go down well, I can tell you.’

‘He trusts
you
.’

Buzz was nudging at Rachel’s pocket with his pointy nose.

‘Yeah. That’s because I smell of thirty other dogs.’ Rachel pulled a sandwich bag out of her pocket. ‘And I have magic kibble. Gem’s just the same. Get kibble, watch the love flow, that’s my advice.’

She slipped both dogs a nugget; Buzz hesitated, then took his quickly, as if he wasn’t sure why it was on offer.

‘He was all right last night?’ Rachel glanced up at her.

‘Fine. Not a squeak.’

‘Then you’re obviously doing something right.’

Gina shrugged and heaved her bag of CDs onto the counter. ‘For you. But don’t read anything into them. There’s nothing to psychoanalyse about this lot other than that I had too much spare money in my early twenties.’

‘I’m the last person to hold anyone’s music taste against them,’ said Rachel. ‘If you pop back after five, we can give the dogs a quick once round the park – save you taking him out on your own?’

‘Thanks. That’d be great.’ Gina tried not to look at Buzz as she left. It was bad enough feeling the sharp eyes of Rachel’s Border collie following her out.

Gina thought about Buzz while she finalised the Rowntrees’ schedule in her office, then emailed it to Amanda and Nick. She didn’t normally take much notice of the dog-walkers, but today she admired a graceful pair of black greyhounds being walked along the towpath at lunchtime, and wondered if they were ex-racers too. She couldn’t get out of her head what Rachel had said about them being dumped. How could you leave a creature that looked at you the way Buzz did, with all that pain and wisdom in those mournful eyes?

By the time she went to collect Buzz at five, she’d got quite emotional about the idea of giving him a cosy week’s holiday, but when she bent down to fuss him, again he shied away, flattening himself against Rachel’s legs and shivering.

She felt disproportionately foolish, crouched there, rejected by a dog in a shop.

‘Ignore him,’ said Rachel, shrugging on her coat. ‘Less fuss the better. Just keep nice and calm and friendly.’

Gina let herself be led as much as Buzz as Rachel slipped a broad martingale collar around his neck and handed her the lead. She held it awkwardly. Buzz hunched his back.

They walked down the high street, with Gina ultra-conscious about where Buzz was, whether people might nudge him, or he might snap at toddlers or pushchairs. The lead felt tense in her hand, but Buzz trotted meekly until they got to the tall iron gates of the municipal gardens. Then, as they stepped into the quieter pathways of the park, his tail lost its rigid down sweep and he seemed to relax.

‘There’s a fenced area at the top,’ Rachel explained. ‘They can have a run around without getting in anyone’s way. I don’t think Buzz’ll go anywhere, but I’d leave him on that lead. Let him know you’re sticking with him.’

‘OK.’

They walked along the path, the dogs between them.

‘So, how long have you been in Longhampton?’ Rachel asked, with a quick sideways glance. She had an easy way of asking questions that didn’t feel like questions, just conversation. ‘Is this a recent move?’

Gina hesitated, wondering what the answer actually was, where she started from in her new life. It felt less awkward than it had done when she’d first introduced herself to the Rowntrees. She supposed that was how it would feel, a little less awkward until one morning she’d wake up and this would be her new normal.

‘I only moved from Dryden Road,’ she said. ‘I grew up round here.’

‘Ah, not a big move, then. What do you do, when you’re not giving all your possessions away to charity?’

Gina found herself telling Rachel about her job; it was much easier to talk about that than about herself. People generally liked talking about their houses, or moaning about the council, one or the other. Rachel was curious about the renovation work. Every so often she nodded a hello to someone else out walking a dog, but otherwise gave Gina the flattering impression that she was really interested in what she was saying.

It felt nice, unexpectedly so. Gina had never found it easy to make new friends – she really only had Naomi, and a few old workmates whom she met up with sometimes – but although Rachel didn’t mention the self-help books again, Gina felt something was understood between them, and it was a relief.