‘You really are my best girl,’ she said to Blossom, who obligingly turned her head so she could lick Margot too.
Even though there was a wriggling Staffy between them, Margot was suddenly and painfully aware that she was pressed up against Will and he had an arm around her too. He was smiling, not just at Blossom, but at Margot, and when Blossom moved her head so she could lick Margot’s neck, Will was able to press a kiss to Margot’s cheek.
‘She couldn’t have done it without you,’ he said. ‘You deserve a Bronze Good Citizen certificate too.’
Margot really did but she couldn’t take all the credit. ‘Joint effort, I’d say.’ And yes, kissing Will would lead to nothing but trouble, but she couldn’t be in his arms and think of anything else but kissing him. He was so close, and yet, for her own sanity and so she didn’t yank him closer still and force a kiss on him, Margot needed to remove herself from this situation. From this embrace. But God, he smelt amazing . . .
Luckily, as if he knew where Margot’s thoughts were headed and wanted no part of them, Will stepped back so he could gently place Blossom back down on the ground. Then he stepped forward and Margot was in his arms again.
Or was he in her arms?
It was hard to say.
It was also impossible to tell who kissed whom first. But they were definitely kissing. Not even a brief victory peck but the kind of kissing that was too heated, too desperate, for a muddy dog-training area in January.
With no Blossom in the way, Margot was free to press herself against Will, who was hard and lean in all the right places, so for one glorious moment, Margot wished that he’d throw her down right there in the mud and really give Jim something to jangle his keys about . . .
‘Oh!’ Margot felt Will’s hands on her arse and finally came to her senses. It was far too soon for that and completely inappropriate. She gave a little yelp and pulled her head back.
Will’s hands were actually clasping her elbows and it was Blossom who was up on her hind legs with her paws on Margot’s posterior, and some serious side-eye that said quite plainly, ‘Why are you kissing? This is my special moment! Stop making it all about you, Margot.’
‘Someone’s feeling neglected,’ Will murmured in Margot’s ear, which made her shiver slightly. The good kind of shiver was back. He freed Margot so he could scoop Blossom up again.
They stayed for the certificate ceremony and a photo op with Will and Margot crouching on either side of Blossom, who looked proud and noble, as was only fitting. Then Margot sent the picture to the #TeamBlossom group.
Blossom is OFFICIALLY a good girl!
It was time to hand over Blossom, then not hear from Will for another week. She could hardly bear it. Margot waved goodbye to Jim, who’d insisted he knew Blossom would pass all along, and they began the trudge through the park.
‘So, are we agreed that we’re never coming here again?’ Will asked, rubbing his hands together in glee at the prospect. ‘Blossom’s unlocked all the achievement levels that she needs to and there are better ways to spend Sunday mornings.’
‘I suppose,’ Margot agreed with less enthusiasm. Obviously, Will’s Sunday mornings would be improved without Margot featuring in them, so why had he kissed her? Or had she stuck one on Will and he’d kissed her back to be polite? In which case, it was one of the most tragic kisses in Margot’s portfolio.
‘Are you hungry?’ Will wanted to know as they circled the lake.
Always. ‘I could eat,’ Margot conceded.
‘Do you want to get some lunch to celebrate? Your local, the Mitre, is dog-friendly, isn’t it?’
It was, and if they were going to have A Talk, and they really needed to, then at least they were going to do it somewhere that served a very nice Malbec by the glass.
28
Will
Margot kept up a bright, constant chatter all the way back to Highgate. ‘I knew the Husky wasn’t going to pass. He always winds Blossom up. He’s a bit of shit-stirrer, really.’ So they didn’t have to talk about any of the things that they really needed to talk about.
When they got to the Mitre, a former Georgian coaching inn, with a British heritage plaque, olde-worlde wooden beams and roaring log fire to prove it, Will went to the bar to order their drinks. When he came back with menus, Margot was deep in conversation with the family at the next table.
‘. . . and if you are thinking of getting a dog then I would definitely adopt,’ Margot was saying, though she momentarily paused to shoot a grateful smile at Will as he put a large glass of Malbec down in front of her.
Will sipped his lime and soda and watched Margot engrossed in her conversation, her hands gesturing wildly, until her knee lightly bumped his knee under the table by way of apology.
‘So lovely to meet you but we must order lunch before we die from hunger,’ Margot said with a charming smile. ‘If you do get a dog, I’ll be seeing you on the Heath in all weathers.’
‘You’re not doing Vegan January, are you?’ Margot asked as she looked at the menu. ‘Everyone at work is. I don’t mind going meat-free a few days a week, but what even is life without cheese?’
‘I’m doing Dry January,’ Will pointed out, raising his glass. ‘And Dry February, March, April and so on.’
‘I did wonder why you don’t drink, not that there’s anything wrong with not drinking.’ Margot looked down at her glass with a faintly guilty expression, which soon evaporated as she took an appreciative sip. ‘You’ve never drunk?’
‘Once. A very long time ago,’ Will admitted hesitantly; the memory of it was enough to scrub away the warm, cosy pub, the homely smells of Sunday lunch, even the comforting weight of Blossom’s head on his feet as she lay snoring on the floor. He remembered the cold, clammy feel of his skin, the hard bite of a hand on his arm, lifting a bottle to his lips again and again.
I’m raising a man. Not a limp-wristed sissy boy. C’mon, drink!
‘And it was bad enough to have you swearing off booze for the rest of your life,’ Margot decided. ‘I was thirteen when Cerys across the road got married. I got absolutely paralytic on snowballs and threw up on my mother’s hollyhocks as she tried to get me home. “You’ve learnt your lesson, Margot,” she said. “You’ll never abuse alcohol again.” How wrong she was!’
‘Poor hollyhocks,’ Will murmured, and he wished that his own tale of first-time drunkenness had involved the same kind of parental caring. Not being forced to drink measure after measure of whisky until Will vomited all over himself, the carpet, the sofa, and still he’d been made to match his father sip for sip. Even now, the faintest scent of whisky made him retch. ‘I was eleven. It was quite the salutary lesson and I’ve never touched a drop since.’
His voice was as cold as the memory, and Margot glanced up from the menu to Will’s frozen face. She looked contemplative, as if she wanted him to explain further, add in the details, but he couldn’t say another word.
‘So much easier not to drink these days,’ she said briskly. ‘Have you noticed that when you get to your mid-thirties, all your friends have suddenly started running marathons, swerving alcohol and eating plant-based foods?’