Reversed Forecast / Small Holdings. Nicola Barker

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      Don looked irritated. ‘I tell you, the only important thing you need to do to win at the dogs, Ruby, is to rely on honest thinking.’

      She liked the way he’d used her name. She looked into his face. Did he want to employ her or to fuck her? Either way, she was flattered. He was saying, ‘Racing isn’t just about speed.’

      He paused. ‘Do you know what it is that makes a good dog?’

      Ruby focused on her coffee and tried to think. Eventually she said, ‘Speed and intelligence, mainly.’

      He shook his head. ‘Racing is all about negotiating bends. To negotiate a bend you need balance, coordination and muscular control. But it’s more than that. A dog must have the will to win. It has to have that primitive urge. Some dogs will always be chasers or chuckers. A dog must know how to place itself. It’s got to be crafty.’

      She looked at his hands as he spoke. Brown, clean hands. What did he want? What was he doing?

      He said, ‘I didn’t know anything when I got my first dog.’

      An image shot into her mind of how Donald Sheldon would look naked. She visualized him with an all-over tan and pinky-brown genitals. Not too much body hair. His stomach, slightly saggy, and his breasts.

      He said, ‘All this is leading somewhere.’

      ‘Is it?’

      Of course. He looked at her, grinned, then said, ‘And I think I have a good idea where you want it to lead.’

      His voice sounded suggestive, arrogant, even sensual. He was old. Not that old. She inhaled deeply and stared straight into his eyes. He picked up a fork and shook it for emphasis, ‘I’m willing to sell you that dog.’

      ‘Dog?’

      The one we discussed.’

      ‘Discussed?’ Ruby wanted to rewind this conversation in order to try to make sense of it.

      He dropped the fork, laced his fingers together and leaned forward. ‘She’s trained. She’s in good form. I mean, she’s out of season now and she’s in good nick. She’s registered. She has a race or two lined up at Hackney, but after that it’d be your business.’

      He was trying to sell her something! Donald Sheldon!

      I would never, she thought, holding in her gut, I would never have had sex with him. Never.

      He added, ‘It must be about her fourteenth week since she was in season. She’s probably got a bit rusty while she was rested, but that’s only natural.’

      Ruby tried desperately to remember what she had said to him, how this situation had developed. Had he confused her with someone else? I didn’t even want a job, she thought furiously. Not that kind of job.

      He frowned. ‘She’s put on weight, but bitches often do, even if they haven’t been mated. Her current grading figure isn’t very encouraging, but I’d be giving her to you for nine hundred.’

      She said carefully, ‘To be honest, cash-flow is a bit of a problem for me at the moment.’

      She wanted to laugh in his face. It was all so stupid.

      He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t want the money straight off. A week would do. Six days. If we shook on it now you could take her immediately.’

      He was squinting with sincerity. He sincerely thought he was doing her a favour. If he’d employed her, if he’d fucked her, he would’ve worn that same expression. But he was selling her something.

      Selling her something.

      She had to admire him.

      He waited.

      It was her turn. To do. What?

      She took the easiest option, as was her nature.

      She nodded and shook his hand. His skin was warm and dry.

      He stood up. ‘The dog’s down at the kennels. Here …’ He handed her his card, which she took and inspected.

      ‘My dad’ll be there for most of the afternoon. He’s expecting you.’

      ‘Thanks.’

      I’m not doing you any favours. I’ve had very little luck with this particular bitch. But you expressed an interest and now she’s yours.’

      Ruby tried to smile as she placed his card in the front pocket of her jeans. He turned to go. She watched him as he walked between the tables and up to the door. He pushed it, it swung outwards and he stepped outside.

      She raised her eyes to the ceiling and noticed a large fan up there, turning rapidly.

      Which particular bitch? When had she spoken to him at the track? Had he been holding a dog at the time? Had she been holding one? Had she expressed an interest?

      She felt hot. The fan’s rapid movements were making her feel queasy. She pulled off her jacket and walked outside. It was hot here too. Things were fuzzy. She blinked, unable to tell whether this fuzziness was caused by heat, a heat-wave shimmering on the Sunday roads, or by movements behind her eyes, inside her.

      Vincent pottered around the flat, feeling no particular urge to leave. He tried to assess Ruby on the basis of her personal possessions, but there was little of interest to look at apart from her record collection and her underwear. The record collection was impressive.

      His headache was now a dumb whine at the back of his skull, but tolerable. He found an old Kraftwerk album and put it on – turning down the volume slightly – then wandered about, acclimatizing, inspecting things.

      He had a bath. It felt like ages since he’d had a proper wash. He picked up Ruby’s soap and sniffed it. It wasn’t strongly perfumed – smelled like Palmolive – so he used it freely, grinning to himself, imagining which parts of Ruby’s body it had lathered. The warmth of the water, the rubbing, the foam, gave him a slight erection. He stared at it for a while with a terse and serious expression, then burst out laughing. It bobbed down in the water, submissive again, mournful and flaccid.

      After drying himself, he went into the kitchen, still naked, did the washing up and then returned to the bathroom, where he picked up his clothes, dressed and surveyed himself in the mirror. His whole forehead was a pinky-purple colour. This bruising reached down to either side of his eyes. One eye was black. He inspected the cut more thoroughly. Most of the bump had gone down, but several strands of hair were caught inside the mouth of the gash. He pulled at them, very gently, wincing as some of them came out. He pulled a few more and then gave up, concerned that he might bring back his headache.

      He returned to the kitchen and inspected the cupboards to see what food Ruby had in. Tinned stuff, dried stuff. He’d cook something.

      While some beans were soaking he tidied up the living-room and then moved into Ruby’s bedroom. Her carpet was knee-deep in pieces of clothing. He kicked these into a large pile and then sorted out what was clean and what was dirty. He sniffed, looked, fondled.

      He liked it here. He’d СКАЧАТЬ