Margot even caught Tansy absent-mindedly stopping to pet Blossom on her way to the fabrics cupboard and when Margot and Blossom got back from their lunchtime tug of war on the Friday, things had resolved themselves.
Under Margot’s desk was a very chic, houndstooth dog bed. In the kitchen was a ceramic water bowl with Blossom’s name on it and on the company Instagram there was a picture of Blossom and a brief introduction to ‘Ivy+Pearl’s Chief Puperating Officer’.
14
Will
Will had been hoping to make the handover as brief as possible to minimise Blossom’s distress and also because he and Blossom were expected for Sunday lunch.
Margot, however, had other ideas. She’d arrived first and was waiting for Will on what was their usual bench, with a petulant expression on her face. It was a close cousin to a scowl; her delicate eyebrows pulled together, her generous mouth, small and pouty. Which was a pity because usually she looked so pretty, and also because it meant that Will had obviously displeased her in some way.
‘Please stop pinging me all those really long articles that imply I don’t know how to look after Blossom,’ was her opening salvo, which was hardly fair.
‘You message me too, with bullet points,’ Will said in his defence. ‘I don’t need a play by play of Blossom’s bowel movements.’
‘If you were a committed dog owner, you would,’ Margot countered. ‘You didn’t even care when I sent you a picture of the fluff that’s growing on her bald patches.’
‘I said that I couldn’t see any fluff, but if you were concerned, you should take her to the vet’s.’ Will squatted down to say hello to Blossom, who was much more pleased to see him. Not only was her tail wagging this time, properly wagging, but her whole bottom was wiggling in delight. Will had rarely made anyone’s bottom wiggle with delight. ‘Hello, gorgeous girl.’
‘Me or Blossom?’ Margot asked drily, which was a surprise, as Will had been convinced she didn’t have a sense of humour. ‘Anyway, look at her bald patches now!’
Will looked. Then he looked again. Turned Blossom round just to make sure. Where there had been long strips of dark skin on both of her sides, they were now only a faint outline surrounding her newly grown fur. ‘Wow.’ He let out a low whistle. ‘That happened in a week?’
‘More like overnight.’ Margot smiled far too smugly for Will’s liking. ‘She’s obviously very happy with me. And talking of overnight, have you been letting her sleep on your bed?’
He hoped that Margot would think he was choking in outrage rather than panic. ‘Of course not!’ Will insisted, because when in doubt, deny, deny, deny. Besides, he wasn’t lying. Blossom didn’t sleep on his bed. She slept in his bed, tucked under his duvet, her head on her own pillow. ‘Really? Do you really think I would let her do that? Didn’t I send you that paper published by Washington State University about pack behaviours and how the hierarchical structure—’
‘Stop! Please, stop.’ Margot clapped her hands over her ears to make her point. ‘Enough with all those boring articles. What Blossoms needs is love, not the findings of a load of boffins in a laboratory that have probably never even seen a dog.’
Blossom batted her gigantic head against his knee and looked up at him, and Will thought that there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for her, but that wasn’t love. Dogs by their very nature were co-dependent. What did Margot have to offer her? Apart from all this so-called love? A walk in the morning, some scant attention in the evening, then day care for the rest of the time. It was hardly worth her having Blossom at all.
‘Did you sort out day care for her, because I’m not sure that . . .’
‘No day care. She comes to work with me,’ Margot said. ‘She’s been busy winning hearts and minds, haven’t you, Blossom?’
Instantly, Blossom transferred her affections to Margot, even though officially it was now Will’s week.
‘I’m not sure I like the idea of her having to commute . . .’ he began, but Margot held her hand up in protest.
‘It’s twenty minutes on the bus. It’s hardly arduous,’ she said. ‘Anyway, she’s started pulling on the lead. It’s murder on my shoulder and—’
Will had heard enough. ‘She doesn’t pull with me,’ he bit out, ‘and this is now officially my week that you’re cutting into so . . .’
Margot stood up, cheeks flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the wind that tore across the playing field and lifted her hair this way and that. She really was very pretty.
‘Oh my God,’ she sniped. ‘So sorry for stealing ten minutes of your precious time.’ Unfortunately, pretty only got a woman so far and then she had to rely on her personality, and Margot’s personality left a lot to be desired.
Finally, she was going, stopping for one last tweak of Blossom’s ears and Will and Blossom were alone at last.
Not that Blossom seemed to appreciate that she was back with her main man. She strained at her harness; her body a quivering arrow pointed in the distance to where Margot was now disappearing further and further from view, until she slipped between the trees and was gone.
It took all Will’s powers of persuasion, half a bag of fish skins and a really firm hold of her lead before Blossom agreed to start walking across the field and through the woods and home to where his mother, who was now referring to Blossom as her ‘grandfurchild’, was peeling two extra potatoes just for her.
Blossom slotted back into Will’s life and routine as if she’d never been away. Whenever possible she was glued to his side, and when it wasn’t possible she was happy to hang out in the back of the shop with Mary.
It rained for most of the week and it quickly became apparent that Blossom was not a big fan of rain. She was, however, a big fan of digging her paws in and refusing to walk any further once she’d done the necessary. She spent most of the week much preferring Mary’s company to Will’s. Probably because Mary had now taken to carrying a bag of dog treats in the pocket of her apron.
Just as it was hard to refuse Blossom when she was taking up space on his sofa, in his bed and even demanding the food from his plate, so it was hard for Will to deny Mary anything she wanted. Whatever made his mother happy was fine with Will.
So, on Thursday morning when he’d finished doing the deliveries and popped back to Blooms’, he found the shop quiet and Mary in the back room.
‘Do you think I can persuade Blossom out now that it’s only drizzling?’
Will glanced over at Mary, expecting her to crack a joke about Blossom who was snoring away under the workbench, but she was silent, her profile rigid, fingers clutched around a pair of secateurs.
‘Are you all right?’ Will asked in genuine concern. ‘Has Ian done something to upset you because if he has then . . .’
‘I miss them, Will. I miss Mum and Dad,’ Mary choked out, the first tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘I’m lost without them. I’m not cut out to be in charge.’
Will cringed, inwardly and outwardly. He was not the person for this job.
Mary’s shoulders were heaving now with the strain of tamping down the sobs and Will placed a tentative hand on her back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said helplessly. ‘You’re doing a great job. Everyone thinks so.’