A Christmas Tail: A heart-warming Christmas romance. Cressida McLaughlin
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bare chest. ‘It started out well enough. I had a Rhodesian ridgeback, Elsie’s mini schnauzers and the three Westies—’ She stopped.
‘Jessica’s three,’ he confirmed for her. ‘It’s in the past. Go on.’
‘Right, thanks. We were trotting happily along, and then they spotted a squirrel, and then I might as well have been a rag doll at the mercy of a pack of huskies, I was that effective.’ She felt a flash of the panic that had engulfed her earlier and shuddered. ‘Ugh. Anyway, I had to be rescued by a handsome stranger.’
‘Oh? Someone you know?’
‘No, due to the fact that he was a stranger.’
‘Fair enough.’ He gave a sheepish smile. ‘So he was your knight in shining armour?’
‘Complete with collie.’
‘He has a dog? Of course he does.’ Joe scratched his jaw and glanced out of the window. Neither of them had got round to pulling the curtains, and Cat realized they must be clearly visible from the road, the lit room glowing like a beacon in the dark. ‘And have you recruited his dog?’
‘No. Well, not yet. But I think he must live close by, so I’m going to see if I can find out a bit more.’
‘Oh, no.’ He turned back to her. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Nothing at all.’ She kept her tone light, knowing he would see through it in an instant.
Joe put his glass on the table. ‘It took you two months to wreck your job at the nursery, and that was because you decided to upset the natural order. You knew what was allowed, and you did the opposite.’ His voice was rising, his blue eyes hard. ‘You’re not even one week into your new job – your business, I might add, nobody to lose out except you – and already you’re plotting something. You’re going to mess it up before it’s even got going.’
‘I’m trying to get more clients, that’s all.’
‘You’re after this guy?’
‘I’m intrigued by him.’ That was true, and she wasn’t after him, especially not if he was already with Jessica.
‘If you like him, why not just invite him for a drink? Then you can find out more by asking him.’
‘It’s more complicated than that. I need to know some things first.’
Joe took his glass into the kitchen. ‘Not everything has to be complicated,’ he called. ‘And sometimes, often, in fact, simple is better.’ He dropped his voice so Cat had to strain to hear him. She got the impression he was no longer talking to her. ‘Most of the time, simple is far less bloody trouble.’
‘Poor Joe,’ Cat said to Shed, who was still at her feet. ‘Not a happy bunny, is he?’
‘Who’s a bunny?’
‘Nobody. I was just saying to Shed that he’d probably quite like to chase a bunny.’
Joe narrowed his eyes. ‘Shed’s far too lazy to go after a rabbit. Sometimes he finds going after a bowl of Whiskas too taxing.’
‘Joe, would you like me to walk him for you?’ She grinned. ‘Walking cats isn’t that weird – I bet quite a lot of people do it.’
‘I’d love that.’
Cat frowned. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yes, I would love to see you try and walk a Rhodesian what’s-its-name, three Westies and my fat cat. I would video it, and it’d go viral in about three days – three hours if a squirrel got in on the act.’
Once he’d gone for his shower, Cat put the kettle on. She felt a small glow of satisfaction. Maybe she hadn’t completely ruined her relationship with him, maybe he could be worked on, made cups of tea, chipped away at until the real Joe – the Joe before Alex Duhamel and Rosalin – came back, emerging from the layers of misery. Maybe she could have her cartoon dog and Pooch Promenade website after all.
As March turned into April, Fairview Park transformed into a carpet of colour, of daffodils and marigolds and bluebells, the sea had more blue days than grey, and Cat and Pooch Promenade gained more confidence and more clients. Elsie’s recovery was slow, and while she had begun to take Chalky and Disco around the block, they still needed more exercise. Along with Bertha and the Westies, Cat had a couple of poodles to walk twice a week, and a Border terrier called Huey whose owners worked full time. Meeting new clients and picking up the dogs, she was learning different routes, getting to know Fairview better, and finding that she liked the cheery seaside town more and more.
This morning she was doing a simple, three-Westie walk. Jessica was off to Brighton to do some filming for a regional ITV programme about this year’s summer flavours, and had asked Cat to take her ‘little darlings’ out for an hour. Cat loved picking them up, loved the titbits of Jessica’s life that she was given, allowing herself to fill in the gaps. She knew that Jessica was ‘most definitely’ staying in Fairview, but had yet to establish what had made her change her mind – if it had anything to do with a certain dark-haired man. It was none of her business, but she couldn’t help trying to join the dots.
Did they know each other? Was Mark the reason for Jessica’s recent enthusiasm? Did Mark just have a flirtatious nature? Cat had been told on many occasions that her curiosity only ever got her into trouble, but it was a switch that was set permanently to on. And while she kept telling herself that she was only looking out for Jessica, it had been a long time since a man as attractive as Mark had shown an interest in her. If she discovered that they were only friends, or didn’t even know each other, what possibilities did that open up?
She left number nine, strode out into a bright, blustery morning and drank in the elegant terrace, the verges which were a sea of delicate primroses, the wide pavements drying quickly after the night’s rain. As ever, Cat slowed her pace as she reached number four. It was a rented property and didn’t look as polished as Elsie’s or Jessica’s houses or the boutique bed and breakfast at number three. The paint on the windowsills was cracked, and the front steps were beginning to crumble at the edges, but the front door was a bright, seaside blue with a gold number ‘4’. As she approached, a sleek-looking Audi pulled up outside, and the object of her curiosity climbed smoothly out of the driver’s seat.
Mark opened the back door and Chips bounded up the front steps. Cat found herself coming to an automatic halt. She’d been right, at least, about where he lived.
‘Cat,’ he said, folding his arms and leaning against his car, amusement in his barely-there smile. ‘The Cat who loves dogs.’
‘It’s Catherine, actually. But my friend Polly said that – that Cat was easier.’ Mark didn’t need to know that her best friend had given her the nickname because she was so endlessly curious. ‘How are you?’
He was wearing dark jeans, sturdy boots and his leather jacket, this time with a dark grey scarf wound tightly round his neck. It looked incredibly soft. Cat had daringly decided to embrace spring and dig her royal blue bolero jacket out of the closet. She was feeling the wind at her throat as a result.
‘Good, thanks. I’ve just taken Chips to the cliffs above the lighthouse. Lots of grass to run on, incredible views, clear, fresh air.’ He breathed in deeply. ‘Do you ever go there with your dogs?’
‘No, I don’t have a van, and it’s too far to walk.’
‘And dogs falling off cliffs is harder to recover from than dogs up trees?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘The park does provide fewer obstacles.’
‘But