Tinsel and Terriers. Cressida McLaughlin
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did he?’ Jessica smiled and flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder.
‘If you are – and there’s no pressure, I promise – I was wondering if I could combine it with something? Can we have a proper chat some time?’ Dior was standing with his front paws on Cat’s legs, and she bent and ruffled his ears.
‘Tonight,’ Jessica said, clapping her hands together. ‘Come round here this evening. We can have wine, a few snacks, and a brainstorm – like a Christmas committee. Who else?’
‘What?’
‘Who else can be on the committee? I’m not sure it’s Mark’s thing.’
‘I can ask,’ Cat said, but she thought Jessica was probably right. She couldn’t imagine him getting enthusiastic about tinsel and mince pies, perhaps not even on the day itself. ‘And I was going to speak to Polly.’
‘Bring her, and anyone else you can rope into it. Seven o’clock. I must dash now, but I’ll see you later.’ She kissed Cat on the cheek. ‘I think with you and me leading the way, whatever we come up with will be pretty unstoppable.’
‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ Cat said.
Cat turned in the direction of the vet’s surgery. There would be nobody at home, and Mark had spent the last few days immersed in paperwork. She didn’t feel like sitting quietly and waiting for him to notice her. Besides, Polly had been a huge supporter of Pooch Promenade from the beginning, and Cat wanted to share her good news.
She pushed open the door into the clinical white reception area. They’d obviously decided that late October was too early for decorations.
‘Is Polly on her lunch yet?’ she asked the receptionist.
‘About ten minutes, I think. Take a seat and I’ll let her know you’re here.’
She sat next to a woman with short, carroty hair, a Barbour jacket, and a small cream dog on a lead. A Cairn terrier, Cat thought.
‘He’s adorable, can I stroke him?’
‘Of course,’ the woman said.
Cat bent and ran her hands along the dog’s shaggy back. He turned to her and sniffed her boots. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Bisto,’ she said. ‘One of my kids came up with it. I like it for him – he’s bold and stocky, so it suits him – but they’re far too keen on food-related names. They’re trying to name all our neighbour’s puppies things like Popcorn and Curry.’
‘Your neighbour’s just had puppies?’
‘Very unexpectedly, poor love. Her little mongrel has somehow managed to have her wicked way with another dog, and there’s five healthy pups, just born.’
‘What’s she going to do with them?’ Cat asked, her eyes wide.
‘Well, she’s eighty-nine, and she doesn’t want any more dogs. I’ve spoken to lovely Polly here, and she’s going to put a sign up, see what else she can do. They’re cute pups, cream and brown, a little scruffy, but utterly loveable. I’m a firm believer that dogs aren’t just for Christmas, but they’ll be ready to leave Mum mid-December, and I’m sure they’ll be snapped up. Here.’ She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, scribbled something on it and handed it to Cat. ‘If you’re interested, just get in touch with me and I can introduce you.’
‘I will,’ Cat said. ‘Thank you.’ She read the details on the piece of paper. Five mongrel pups, three male, two female, ready 20 December. Followed by a name and phone number.
Cat was still staring at it when Polly appeared, her long blonde hair tied back, nurse’s dark-green scrubs on under her duffle coat.
‘Cat,’ she grinned. ‘How are you?’
‘I’ve come to take you for lunch. I have news.’
Polly glanced behind her. ‘I can’t. I only have half an hour, then I need to be back here. I was going to grab a sandwich.’
‘OK, so how about this evening?’
‘I thought you’d be at Mark’s. Owen’s coming over.’
‘Ah.’ Cat grinned. ‘Well, how do you both fancy coming round to Jessica’s to help us work on the plan for Christmas at Primrose Terrace?’
‘Why do we need a plan?’ Polly sounded wary, but Cat could see the excitement in her eyes.
‘To make this the best Christmas ever. Are you in?’
‘I’ll have to make sure Owen doesn’t mind.’
‘Brilliant! Seven o’clock.’
‘But, Cat, I need to ask Owen first.’
‘When has Owen ever said no to anything?’
Cat left Polly rolling her eyes and, with an extra spring in her step, returned to Primrose Terrace.
‘You know you’re welcome to come,’ Cat said, following Mark from the kitchen to the living room. ‘The more heads the better.’
‘I’m not sure my head’s tuned to Christmas yet. It’s not even November.’ He sat down and scribbled something on a printed letter, still doing the paperwork.
‘November’s two days away, and the shops are bursting with Christmas stuff already.’ Cat peered over his shoulder but could only make out part of the logo – something Lawyers.
‘That’s not necessarily a good thing.’ He gave her a quick smile and turned back to his work.
‘I can see I’m going to have to do some de-Scrooging here,’ Cat said, ‘Christmas is the best time of the year.’ She tried to ignore the voice in her head that was reminding her how much Joe loved Christmas, the picture he had painted of hibernating from the cold with the people he cared about. She sat on the sofa beside Mark and reached her hand up, running it through his hair, but her nail caught on his scalp and he moved his head away, turning to her with an irritated expression.
‘Look, Cat – ’ His face softened. ‘Sorry, I just – I’m a bit busy. But I can’t wait to hear what ideas you come up with. It’s you and Jessica and Polly?’
Cat nodded. ‘Owen too, I think. And Elsie, because it would be impossible to do anything worthwhile without her input.’
‘It sounds like you’ve got everyone you need – I’m sure I’d just get in the way anyway.’
‘Oh no,’ Cat said weakly, shaking her head. ‘Of course you wouldn’t.’ But it wasn’t Mark’s absence she was concerned about. Cat thought of the ideas that had been jumbling in her head for the last few days, and knew that Joe would have been able to organise them and better them, and come up with a final, perfect plan. She didn’t know how they would cope without his creative input, and she didn’t want to think too hard about the fact that he wasn’t back yet, or how acutely aware she was of his absence at number nine Primrose Terrace. She was sure Shed was pining too.
‘I have to go, or I’ll be late.’ She kissed Mark on the cheek, raced to the door and turned, but he was already engrossed in the documents again, his script or lawyer contracts. Feeling a flush of relief that he found whatever it was more worthwhile than Christmas, she headed out into the cold night.
Cat, Elsie, Polly and Owen sat around the huge table in Jessica’s luxurious kitchen. The bank of windows looked out over the back garden, which was in darkness save for white fairy lights woven through the branches of an ash tree. In soft lamplight, and with bottles of spiced red wine and a cinnamon-flavoured candle, Jessica had instantly got them in the festive spirit, and was putting the Michael Bublé Christmas album on to complete the effect.
‘So,’ Elsie said, ‘Christmas at Primrose Terrace. What are the options?’
‘I’m having a party,’