Authors: Isabel Wolff
‘What
is
it, then? The scariest, most frightful,
horrifying
thing you’ve ever done in your entire life?’ Her pale blue eyes were shimmering with anticipation.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘You know those big black spiders you get in the bath?’ He gave an involuntary shudder. ‘I once put one of those outside.’
‘You’re teasing me,’ she giggled, clapping her hand to her mouth.
‘No, it’s true. I really did. If you don’t believe me, you can ring up my ex.’
‘Okay, everyone,’ I said after I’d done the roll call. ‘Welcome again, and let’s play Pass the Puppy.’
‘I can’t help feeling we should be doing this to music,’ said Lily as she passed Gwyneth, yapping, to her left.
‘—I say, Alfie’s grown.’
‘—I think Cosmo’s second teeth are coming through.’
‘—Bentley’s widdled on me!’
‘—He doesn’t
usually
do that.’
‘—Where’s the kitchen roll?’
We discussed the importance of identi-chipping and poop-scooping, then, finally, we had problem-sharing again.
‘And how are things going with Lola, Sue?’ I asked her.
‘Oh, it’s getting
much
better,’ she said. ‘I mean, I have my good days and my bad days…’ Everyone nodded sympathetically. ‘But I don’t feel
nearly
as stressed.’
‘You’ve got to get them in a routine,’ said Phyllis, bouncing Maisie on her lap. ‘
That’s
the key to it.’
‘That’s right,’ everyone murmured as they cradled their puppies. ‘You’ve got to get them in a routine.’
‘Okay, so, see you all next week then,’ I said.
‘Must dash,’ said Marcus, as he waved at everyone. He
tucked Twiglet into his jumper. ‘Twiggers and I have got a hot date.’
‘Oh
that
sounds exciting,’ said Phyllis. ‘New girlfriend?’ Marcus nodded. ‘Oh good.’ He opened his wallet and showed her a snap. I didn’t want to appear nosey, so I didn’t look, though I was curious.
‘What do you think?’ I heard him say.
‘Well, she’s
very
pretty,’ said Phyllis approvingly.
‘She is. She’s gorgeous. She’s a jewellery designer,’ he explained as he put the photo back. ‘Glass necklaces. They’re made out of
tiny
little beads. She strings them herself,’ he added proudly.
‘Really?’
‘She’s very successful. She sells them in Liberty’s.’
‘I
say
. And how did you meet her?’
‘In the chemist’s by Chalk Farm tube. She was waiting for a prescription and I was buying some Strepsils and we got chatting.’
‘
How
romantic.’
‘It was. Because it wasn’t actually my local chemist, as I live in Camden. But I’d just dropped in there because I had a bit of a scratchy throat—and
there
she was. This
vision
.’
‘That’s a lovely story,’ Phyllis said. ‘Anyway, we mustn’t keep you, Marcus. Maisie, say bye-bye to Twiglet.’ Maisie emitted a cross between a squeak and a yap. Marcus left, then Lily came up to me.
‘I had no
idea
you’d been engaged to Alexander Darke,’ she whispered, her large brown eyes goggling. I nodded. ‘That’s absolutely brilliant,’ she said. I looked at her blankly. ‘I mean, for the piece. It’s
fantastic
copy.’
‘Oh. Good,’ I said dismally.
‘And how was the great D.J.?’
‘He was…fine.’
‘He can be notoriously tricky—the snappy snapper. Was he like that with you?’
‘A bit.’
‘I’ve met him a couple of times, but I found him so uncommunicative. You’d get more conversation out of a corpse.
I
think it’s something to do with what happened to him,’ she went on confidentially. ‘I’m sure you must have noticed his hands.’
‘I, no, not really, I…’
‘The poor darling had this
dreadful
experience. Years ago, his father was sent a letter-bomb by the animal rights crazies—not that I disagree with them on
every
issue—but anyway, D.J. opened it instead and
Boom!
’. Her eyes had opened as wide as windows. ‘Hence those awful scars. They say he’s never been the same.’ I felt sick. ‘Well, you wouldn’t be, would you?’ I wished she’d shut
up
. ‘They say that’s why his marriage didn’t last.’ I looked at her. ‘He was married to this Polish model.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely gorgeous—but she’d had enough after a year. She claimed he hardly ever talked to her. I can well imagine it. Anyway,’ she put Gwyneth in her puppy basket, and tugged on Jennifer’s lead. ‘My driver’s waiting, Miranda. Bye!’
That night I hardly slept. Lily’s words kept buzzing around my head like trapped bees bouncing against a windowpane: ‘
never been the same—well you wouldn’t be, would you—never been the same—BOOM!
’ I eventually fell asleep at about six and was woken by the phone—it was Daisy on her way to work.
‘At last I can talk to you,’ she said over the dull rumble of the rush hour. ‘I’ve been so frantic—we’re doing a Bollywood ball and I’ve been trying to find a couple of elephants. So how’s it all going? The search?’
‘I’ve found him,’ I said.
‘You’ve
found
him?’
‘Yes. That photographer—the one I said wasn’t the right one.’ I hauled myself into a sitting position. ‘Well, it turns out he
is
. The reason why he sounds American is because he grew up in the States.’
‘Christ,’ she exclaimed. ‘You must have got a shock when you realized.’
‘I did—about ten million volts.’
‘And what was he like?’
‘He was a bit…difficult,’ I said. ‘But then it was a very stressful encounter—not that he would have understood why.’ On my bedside table was his business card. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. ‘But I also thought he was…nice.’
‘What does he look like?’ she said as I heard a bicycle bell tinkling aggressively in the background. I described him to her.
‘Gosh, he sounds rather attractive.’
‘He…is. Though he’s very brooding and watchful—he doesn’t exactly put you at your ease.’
‘And was it weird, being photographed by him?’
‘It was terrifying. I gibbered like a maniac to begin with. But then, somehow, once he was behind the camera, this change came over him and he seemed to relax. As though he was able to talk to me then.’
‘How long was he with you?’
I pulled up the blind and my room filled with sunlight. ‘About an hour.’
‘And was it…obvious…?’ she asked tactfully.
‘Oh yes. There are scars. You can see. But Christ, Daisy…’ I looked out of the window and my vision blurred with sudden tears, ‘he could have lost
fingers
—or worse. He could
have been blinded. That’s always been part of the nightmare for me—not knowing how seriously he’d been hurt. As it is, his hands are okay, but they’re just,’ my throat was aching, ‘…scarred. And I
did
that to him,’ I wept. ‘And it was such a huge shock—actually
seeing it
—seeing the damage
I’d caused
.’
‘So you obviously didn’t…tell him then.’
I wiped my eyes with the cuff of my nightshirt. ‘No. Not yet. But I will. Now that I’ve met him I can’t possibly
not
tell him. So I’m going to call him soon. Very soon. But I’ve just got to steel myself first. It isn’t going to be easy,’ I sniffed. ‘In fact it’s going to be very hard.’
‘You sound a bit like me,’ she said ruefully, ‘with Nigel.’
‘So you still haven’t spoken to him?’
‘No. As I say, I’ve been busy and so has he. He had his advanced bonsai cultivation on Monday, and I had indoor climbing on Tuesday, then last night I was at the Trail to Timbuktu extravaganza and he was working late because he really wants to get Equity Partnership soon. But I
will
speak to him. Definitely. Any day now…’
‘Hmm.’
‘But you ring David. In your own time. When you feel absolutely ready, Miranda—you ring him.’
I didn’t have to, because, to my great surprise—he phoned me.
I was with a client down in Kingston later that day—a lop-eared house-rabbit.
‘What’s his name?’ I asked his owner, as she passed me a biscuit. She brushed a crumb off her twin-set.
‘Bob.’
‘Short for Bobtail?’
She looked puzzled. ‘No. Robert.’
‘Oh, of course.’ I opened my pad and began to take notes. ‘Bob the bunny,’ I scribbled. ‘And he’s four months old?’
‘He is. And most of the time he’s a very pleasant and well-mannered young rabbit,’ she said approvingly as she sipped her tea. ‘But recently he’s become
extremely
demanding, haven’t you, Bob?’ She wagged an admonitory finger at him as he sat next to her on the sofa, washing his face.
‘In what way?’ I asked as he did his toilette. He licked his forepaws then wiped them several times over his eyes and nose.
‘Well, during the day he has the run of the house,’ she explained. ‘He’s litter-trained. But he sleeps in his play-pen at night. And when I come downstairs in the morning I usually feed him before I do anything else, and give him a bit of fuss. But lately I’ve noticed that if it isn’t convenient for me to do that right away because the phone rings, or my little girl needs me, he goes totally
berserk
.’ I looked at Bob. He was washing his ears now, carefully pulling them down over his face.
‘Berserk?’ I repeated. ‘How?’
‘He throws a
huge
wobbly. He grabs the bars of his cage and shakes them, or he goes over to his pile of toys and throws them about. He’s got some wooden bricks and he
hurls
them all
over
the place. It’s quite frightening, actually.’
‘Hmm, I can imagine.’ I visualized a notice outside the house—
Beware of the Rabbit
.
‘It’s a sort of hysteria,’ she observed. ‘Sometimes I think it’s like he’s going through the “terrible twos”.’
‘Well, you’re not far off the mark. He
is
having toddler tantrums—or the lapine equivalent of them—because he’s just learning, to his horror, that the world doesn’t always go according to his plan. He’s shocked to find that he can’t have a carrot or a cuddle exactly when he wants it—so he sulks,
or he vents his frustration in physical ways. It’s what we call “redirected aggression”.’
‘I
see
.’
And I was just explaining that he’d almost certainly grow out of it, and it was nothing to worry about, when my mobile rang.
‘Miranda?’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s David here.’ My stomach did a somersault. ‘Miranda? Are you there?’
‘Ye-es. Yes. Hello.’
‘Are you busy at the moment?’
‘Well, a bit—I’m with a client.’ I glanced at the woman, who was now hunting for her handbag, Bob dangling under her left arm.
‘What species?’
‘Erm—oryctolagus cuniculus.’
‘Wabbit,’ he said.
‘
Very
good,’ I laughed.
‘I had one when I was a kid. I used to pride myself on being able to say that.’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘So…have they come out well?’ I asked. ‘The photographs?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t printed them yet. That’s not why I’m ringing.’
‘Oh.’
‘No, I was just phoning you…’
There was another tiny silence. ‘Yes?’
‘Well… I was…sorry that I didn’t have that beer with you on Tuesday.’
Oh
. ‘Oh, well, don’t worry, David—that’s fine.’
‘So, I just…wondered if you’d like to come out for a beer with me?’
He’s asking me out?
My heart did a swallow dive. ‘O-kay…’
‘In fact, I was wondering if you were free tomorrow,’ he went on. ‘But I guess you’re busy,’ he added casually. ‘It’s such short notice and you probably have plans.’
‘No, I’m not doing anything. That would be…nice. Um, where did you have in mind?’
‘Well, we could go somewhere near you, or, if you don’t mind coming over to Clerkenwell, there’s the St John restaurant. They’ve got a very good menu.’
‘Yes, I could come over there. So you mean dinner, then?’ I added uncertainly.
‘I guess I do mean that. You do eat dinner, I hope?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do. Dinner’s fine.’
Then, over pudding, I’ll tell you the terrible truth about myself…
‘That’s great then.’
And you’ll loathe me for the rest of your life
.
‘I’ll book the table,’ I heard him say, ‘and I’ll only ring you back if I can’t get one, otherwise I’ll meet you there at, what, seven thirty? It’s at 26 St John Street.’
‘I’ll find it.’
‘Great. See you there.’
The thought of seeing David had an odd effect on me. I felt relieved on one level—filled with terror on another—but at least it distracted me from
Land Ahoy!
I’d been dreading the first episode for weeks, but, as it was, I felt able to watch. That night I lay on my bed, with my tiny portable perched on the chest of drawers, clutching one of Herman’s wrinkly paws. As the opening music played, the name ‘Alexander Darke’ appeared, in a curlicued script, virtually filling the screen. He was playing the ship’s commander, Francis Flavell. And now there he was. There was Alexander. I felt my heart-rate increase as the camera panned in for a close-up. He
looked so dignified as he strode about the quarterdeck in a gale, barking orders, his face streaming with spray and rain.
‘How does she steer, Mr Tree?’
‘Holding steady, Sir!’
‘Take her to windward, Mr Tree! To windward I say!’
And now the ship was creaking and listing as the sailors pulled on the rigging.
‘She’s run aground, Sir!’
‘Man the decks!’
During the commercial break, Daisy phoned me. ‘Are you watching it?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I said bleakly.
‘Do you feel okay?’
‘I feel…strange. I keep thinking, I was going to
marry
that man.’
‘Well, I must say I’m glad that you’re
not
. Anyway, what do you think?’
‘Well, objectively, I think he looks fantastic. There’s no doubt about it, Daisy,’ I added flatly. ‘This is going to make him a star.’