Margot nudged Will with her elbow. The first time he’d seen her at the rescue kennel, he’d thought she was soft. Too soft. Now, the power of her nudge nearly winded him. ‘Did you just say chonk?’
He had. Out loud. ‘You have no witnesses and I’ll deny it in court,’ he said firmly and Margot rolled her eyes.
‘I can’t believe you just called Blossom a chonk when she isn’t, she’s just big-boned. Like me.’
There was something different about Margot today. At first Will had wondered if it was because they were doing their best to not fall into the familiar pattern of bickering in front of Blossom. But it wasn’t just that Margot in relaxed mode was different – Will realised that she looked different.
Usually, she was in jeans, wellies and a top with a feminist message. More recently in a voluminous padded anorak that could be repurposed as a tent. Her curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, face set in a querulous expression.
He’d only ever seen Dog Walking Margot, and today he was with Work Margot, who was wearing a dress: something black with flowers on it that swished when she walked, with green tights and black ankle boots. No muddy trekking through the woods or across the Heath today but sticking firmly to the tarmac paths.
Her hair was still pulled back but her eyes seemed larger, her skin rosier, her lips . . . her lips looked very . . . nice. Will had been around enough women to finally twig that today Margot was wearing make-up. She looked perfectly fine without make-up, but with it, she looked really fine. And if she were big-boned, then being big-boned was really working for her too.
‘You look all right to me,’ Will muttered, then wished he’d kept quiet, because it wasn’t like Margot had asked for his opinion on what she looked like, so there was no need for him to offer it. Also Will had lived on the earth long enough to know that when a woman did want your opinion on how she looked, ninety-nine times out of a hundred it was a trap and your answer was going to get you into a world of trouble.
‘Then why are you staring at me like that?’ Margot demanded, elbow poised again, but she took pity on Will and his ribs and decided not to deploy it for a second time. ‘Anyway, this needs some serious thought. I have so many favourite things about Blossom that I don’t want to reel off the first one that comes to mind, then realise later that I’ve missed out on something vitally important. But for the record, I love that she smells like warm corn snacks,’ Margot said dreamily. ‘Especially when she’s been curled up and sleeping. Sometimes I sniff her belly, is that weird?’
There was no point in dissembling. ‘So weird.’
‘Nothing wrong with a little bit of weird,’ Margot said, with a fond look at Blossom, who’d stopped pulling in favour of walking with her nose on the ground. ‘Oh, Jim says that she’s not meant to do that either.’
‘I think we’ve had enough excitement and correction for one walk.’
‘You’ve got that right,’ Margot agreed, as they continued to amble downhill towards the park exit.
‘You could always message me when you’ve narrowed down your favourite things about Blossom,’ Will suggested. The devil on his shoulder made him add: ‘With bullet points.’
Margot put a hand to her heart as if he’d struck her a killer blow. ‘So mean,’ she complained, but it was without a scowl or a darkening flash of her blue eyes. Instead, it was like they were playing a volley, lobbing balls back and forth. Not to score points or catch the other one out, but for the sheer pleasure of keeping the ball in the air. ‘One of those messages you never, ever reply to?’
‘I’d feel guilty about that, but then you only reply to about twenty-five per cent of my messages.’ Will knew that they both had to do so much better when it came to their electronic communication. ‘It’s just as well that we’ve decided to spend more time together. For Blossom’s sake.’
‘Yes, we’re only doing it for Blossom,’ Margot agreed, a little too eagerly for Will’s liking. He wasn’t that awful to be around. ‘And talking of which, I also love the way that she’s always so pleased to see me, even if I’ve only nipped out to get a pint of milk from across the road.’ Margot gave a small, sad huff. ‘Although sometimes I wonder if it’s just relief that she hasn’t been abandoned again.’
‘It’s hard to know what she remembers and what she doesn’t. When we get the broom out to sweep up in the shop at the end of the day, she runs and hides,’ Will admitted guiltily, though it was no reflection on him.
‘Yeah, and when we see the bin men throwing rubbish sacks into a dustcart, she goes absolutely crazy,’ Margot shared. ‘Much worse than when she’s seen a squirrel. Poor Blossom . . . I know they say that dogs live in the moment, but they obviously have some memories of their past.’
‘But we’re helping her build new memories every day,’ Will said firmly, because it did no good to keep reliving the past again and again. It didn’t change anything. The past had still happened; shaped you, or rather, pulled you into a shape that was twisted and bent, and then you were left to try and right yourself. But if the past left its marks, then he had to believe that so did everything that came after, especially if it was good stuff. ‘We’re almost back at your place.’
They’d left Primrose Hill and were now walking back along Regent’s Park Road, the smudgy grey building where Margot did her fashion stuff in view.
It was time for Will to hand over the lead. ‘Well, this hasn’t been too painful,’ he said, and Margot’s face fell. ‘Not that I expected it to be painful.’
‘In that case, shall we do a walk together on Saturday, if you’re not going to be too busy in the shop?’ Margot suggested.
She still seemed to think that Will worked in the shop. That the business was just one flower shop and Will only worked there, taking money and wrapping bunches of mixed blooms and advising customers of what was in season, as he had done when he worked school holidays and weekends when he was a teenager. And yes, true, he did all of that, but he did so much more.
Probably wasn’t the time to get into that now. He still got that feeling, like his insides were plummeting to the ground, like a lift that had snapped its cables, when he thought about the circumstances that had led him backwards rather than onwards to further glory.
‘We’re not actually that busy on Saturdays,’ was what he did say. ‘Fridays, yes, everyone wants flowers for the weekend, but Saturday, they can spare me for the afternoon. Shall I come to yours for twelve?’
‘Perfect,’ Margot said. They’d reached Ivy+Pearl now and she tapped a code into the security pad on the wall. There was a buzz and she pushed the door open, so she was half in, half out.
There was one brief moment of exquisite awkwardness as they both considered the appropriate way to say goodbye.
Will bent down to pat Blossom’s side. ‘Bye, Blossom,’ he said, then straightened up. ‘See you Saturday.’ He held up his hand in a brief salute and Margot smiled and waggled the fingers of one hand, until Blossom had had enough of both of them and dragged Margot through the door.
19
Margot