Page 49 of Duplicity

Before I leave, I lock myself in a toilet cubicle so I can call Tabs and catch up on her day. It sounded largely uneventful, which in my book is a good thing. I tell her how much I love her and promise her that we can go for breakfast tomorrow at a cute little place not far from us. After all, what is a hundred grand a month of blood money if I don’t get to treat my daughter occasionally?

Back at my desk, I check Brendan’s emails one last time. I’ve added a few new rules this week, and it’s helped to streamline the ridiculous, relentless tide of crap that streams into his inbox. It’s in pretty good shape now—good enough for me to close it up and head out, in any case.

I suddenly remember that, in all of my handover discussions with my parents this week, I’ve neglected to nag them about Tabby’s supplements. Vitamin C isn’t going to magically enlarge her pulmonary valve, but keeping up her overall health is of vital importance going into a gruelling operation. I pick up my phone and message my mum, hitting the dictation button as I absently close out of Brendan’s email.

‘Hey, can you get Tabs to take her supplements before you give her dinner, please? They’re on the counter by the sink. Thanks. Love you.’

‘Who’s Tabs?’ a deep voice booms behind me, and I swear I almost fall off my chair in fright. It’s fucking Brendan. Mark is next to him. How the hell did I not hear himandhis dog sneak up behind me?

‘Uh, what?’ I ask, my brain spiralling in blind panic. I bend to stroke Mark and massage his jowls, playing for time.

‘Tabs? You said something about Tabs and dinner.’

My initial reaction is to lash out. Tell him it’s none of his business. But that’s not the way to speak to your boss, and itwould also sound seriously shady. ‘Tabs. Oh, yeah, Tabs. She’s, uh—she’s my dog.’

Thank you, God—and Mark—for that timely moment of divine inspiration. I exhale shakily and keep my head down. The main problem with this entire plan I’ve hatched is that it involves a great deal of deception and I’m a totally useless liar. Like, a red-faced, shaky-voiced, deer-in-the-headlights kind of liar.

‘Your dog?’ he asks, and the sheer delight in his voice has me glancing up at him. He’s positively beaming.

‘Yeah.’

‘You have a dog called Tabs?’

‘Well, Tabby, but yes.’

‘Tabby’s a cat’s name, not a dog’s name.’

Seriously? He’s really going there?

‘Most people would argue that Mark is a human name, but here we are.’

He grins. He looks so unreasonably handsome when he grins, but I really wish he would drop this. Unfortunately, and appropriately enough, he’s like a dog with a bone. He pushes his hand through his hair. ‘What kind of dog is she? Can I see some pics?’

‘Absolutely!’ I say with a perkiness I do not feel. ‘You know what—let me just send one final email and then I’ll come through with my phone in a sec. Okay?’

‘Okay.’ He gives me an easy smile and turns. ‘Come on, Mark. Let’s give the lady some space.’

They trot off together, and I’d enjoy the rear view if I wasn’t so busy spiralling. Fuck fuckfuck.I put my computer to sleep and pick up my phone. Once in my camera roll, I scroll through to the People & Pets section. I still think it’s creepy that my phone is this clever. Sure enough, there are loads of photos of Daniel the Spaniel from over the years. I quickly rename hiscollection to Tabby and do a quick scroll through to make sure there aren’t any photos where he’s lying on his back and showing off his crown jewels. Nowthatwould be tricky to explain.

‘Hey,’ I say breezily as I walk into his office. He’s lounging on the sofa, long legs stretched out, one hand on his flat stomach and one on Mark’s head. The fact that he loves his dog so much makes him a million times more attractive, in my view. Not that he needs any help in that department.

‘Hey.’ He pats the sofa next to him and sits up straighter. I sit down next to him and hold out my phone.

‘So Tabs is a golden show cocker spaniel,’ I force myself to say. So weird. God knows, I am not built for duplicity. ‘My parents bought her for me when I was sixteen, so she’s getting on a bit.’

‘Ahh, she’s gorgeous,’ Brendan says, leaning in to see the phone screen. ‘Look at her! What a beautiful coat. Sorry Mark.’ He caresses his dog’s smooth head. ‘Yours is beautiful, too.’

‘She is gorgeous,’ I agree. ‘And so are you, Mark. The coat is high maintenance, though. It gets so messy, because she loves mud, and she loves puddles. She’s basically Peppa Pig.’

He frowns, confused.

‘Who’s Peppa Pig?’

Okay then.Just another reminder that our lifestyles are galaxies apart. ‘Just a cartoon character who likes muddy puddles.’

But he’s moved on, taking my phone off me and scrolling through the “Tabby” camera roll. ‘Why don’t you bring her into work with you? Mark would love some company.’

Um, because one look at his little doggy penis and the jig will be up. Plus the small fact that Daniel’s not actually my dog.

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