Sunshine and Spaniels. Cressida McLaughlin

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СКАЧАТЬ tan, with eyes too big for its pointy face, and huge ears that had their own furry tassels. ‘You look like a princess, don’t you? Your ears look like those hats.’ The dog looked up at her, as if expecting her to clarify. ‘Oh, you know. Joe?’

      Joe frowned, thinking. ‘A hennin. That cone-shaped princess hat, that’s what it’s called.’

      ‘Exactly. See? You’re a princess. Who do you belong to?’ The dog sat in front of her and put her paw over her nose, just as a man with white hair and half-moon glasses bustled through the crowd. ‘Is this little dog yours?’

      The old man nodded and sat down opposite Joe. ‘Hot, isn’t it? Phew. Shouldn’t have layered up like I have. Hard to break a habit and go without a vest, though.’

      ‘It is quite warm,’ Cat said, suppressing a smile. ‘What’s your dog called?’

      Joe disappeared inside the café, and Cat turned her attention to her new visitor.

      ‘Paris,’ he said. ‘She’s a papillon. Marie Antoinette’s favourite breed. There’s a Papillon House in Paris, still. Seemed appropriate.’

      ‘She’s very well behaved.’

      ’She’s a perfect little butterfly. But sadly, a miserable one.’

      ‘A miserable butterfly?’

      ‘Papillon. It means butterfly in French. Don’t you young people go to school any more?’

      ‘That one must have passed me by.’

      ‘But you’ve been to Paris?’

      ‘Once. A long time ago.’ Cat had been with her parents when she was small. She didn’t remember much beyond the endless rain and straining her neck to look up at the Eiffel Tower, bearing down on her like a giant steel monster.

      He smiled, a hazy look on his face. ‘Most romantic city in the world. You should take your chap with you, visit all the sites – Papillon House included.’

      ‘My chap?’

      ‘Your young gentlemen there,’ the man said.

      Joe returned and put a glass of water in front of him.

      ‘Thank you, son, very kind. Seems very well behaved too,’ he said to Cat with a wink. ‘A trip to Paris would be just the thing.’

      ‘Oh, no, no, I—’ She glanced at Joe, saw him silently ask a question and turned back to the gentleman. ‘I’m Cat,’ she said. ‘I run Pooch Promenade.’ She held out her hand, and he took it.

      ‘Oh, yes, I know all about you. I’m Arthur, but people call me Captain.’

      ‘OK,’ Cat said quietly. ‘Can I ask—’

      ‘Why I’m called Captain?’

      ‘How you know about me?’

      ‘Elsie told me. We’re back-garden buddies, we chat over the wall. She said anyone and everyone with a dog would be here today, that I’d better hotfoot it down with my Paris. Don’t know why though, she doesn’t need more walks, doesn’t seem to want to do anything at the moment except hide under the sofa. Butterflies don’t do that, generally.’

      ‘I wonder why?’ Cat crouched and stroked the little dog, who was still trying to hide her nose under an inadequate paw. She started shaking. ‘She’s not unwell?’ Paris had a thin red collar, a tiny Eiffel Tower charm hanging off it in place of a name tag. Cat smiled at the old man’s romanticism.

      ‘Doesn’t seem so. I took her to the vet’s a couple of weeks ago, and they weren’t sure. She’s eating OK, she’s affectionate with me, but it seems she’s got that – arachnophobia thing.’

      ‘She’s scared of spiders?’ Joe peered down at Paris. ‘I guess she is quite sma—’

      ‘No no, not that. Going outside. When you don’t like going outside.’

      ‘Oh,’ Cat laughed, ‘agoraphobia.’

      Joe shrugged and crossed his arms. ‘Arachnophobia is spiders.’

      ‘I am seventy-eight, boy,’ Captain scolded. ‘I can be forgiven for getting a word wrong here and there.’

      ‘Of course, I didn’t mean to—’

      ‘You young studs don’t like to be embarrassed, do you?’ He wagged a finger at Joe and Cat turned her attention back to the sad dog, hiding her smile.

      ‘Maybe I could ask my friend Polly to take a look at her? She’s a vet’s nurse, so—’ Cat was cut off by a loud squeal from somewhere beyond the periphery of the veranda. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, getting up.

      Joe was already ahead of her, and Cat followed him back to where she’d left Polly and Chips. She stopped in her tracks when she saw that her friend was completely drenched, her mouth open aghast, water running off her and onto the hot grass. Chips was trotting backwards and forwards, her fur glistening. Cat thought she’d probably enjoyed the soaking more than Polly.

      ‘What the hell?’ Joe whispered. ‘Pol, are you OK? What happened?’

      Cat took a step forward and then stopped. Mr Jasper was standing at the edge of the crowd that was beginning to form, holding an empty bucket. Mr Jasper, ex-headmaster and local dog hater, had a tendency to let his views be known in sneaky, underhand ways. This was the most public thing he’d ever done.

      ‘Oh my God,’ Cat said quietly, and then, much louder, ‘Mr Jasper, can I ask what that was in aid of? Because the last time I checked it was cats that didn’t like water and not dogs.’

      Mr Jasper fidgeted, dancing backwards and forwards like one of Jessica’s Westies. She could see he was wavering, desperate to run away but knowing he couldn’t. ‘We don’t want this many dogs here!’ he shouted.

      ‘Who’s we?’ Cat asked.

      ‘Lots of us. Lots of people. They’re a menace. Pooing and biting and making a mess.’

      ‘It’s a park! It’s not like we’re traipsing them through the local museum! Where else should dogs go, except the park?’

      Mr Jasper gave a smug little smile. ‘They should be in your homes, in your gardens. Leave the public spaces for the people.’

      ‘Even if that is your opinion – and it’s a pretty unrealistic and narrow-minded one – did you really think the best way to express that opinion was coming here and throwing a bucket of water over my friend? What possible purpose could that serve, except making a scene? It’s an unprovoked attack, it’s got nothing to do with dogs, and you don’t even have a banner!’

      ‘Yes, we do,’ said a familiar voice, and Cat shivered as she realized who it was.

      Alison Knappett, Cat’s old boss at the nursery – otherwise known as Knickers-Too-Tight. Short and prim, her dark fringe low over her serious eyes, she stepped out from behind Mr Jasper and raised a cardboard placard. She was wearing СКАЧАТЬ