Page 41 of Meet me at the Seaside Cottages

‘You were hanging out with Lowell Thomas at the quiz!’ says Jean. ‘We all noticed. Good for you! He never goes out, I don’t think I’ve seen him for a long time.’

‘Why?’ says Janey. ‘Did he bury his wife under the patio? Has he been seen buying a lot of spades and stuff?’

‘No, but she definitely left him, though,’ says Jean. ‘Took the lass as well.’

‘Why?’

Jean shrugged. ‘Dunno; they didn’t live here very long. Bought the old schoolhouse as a fixer-upper, I think – not sure what they did with it. I’m surprised he’s even still here; I haven’t seen him in so long.’ She frowned. ‘I wonder who’s cutting his hair?’

‘Nobody, by the looks of him,’ says Janey, remembering the thick mass of it.

‘Why? You like him?’

‘I don’t like anyone,’ says Janey. ‘I think I’ve frozen up from the waist down. Apart from having to pee in the middle of the night.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ says Jean, who is dating the retired head of the tiny airline, so is feeling very proud of herself. ‘There’s years in you yet!’

‘Um, thanks?’ says Janey.

‘And it’s never too late.’ Jean smiles to herself, and Janey feels both a little jealous and a tiny bit hopeful.

Jean starts tearing up the foils.

‘Think Jennifer Aniston,’ orders Janey.

‘Yeah, she’s single too,’ says Jean.

19

Essie brings over the kitchen scales to weigh the pups. It’s incredible, the rate they grow; she can’t get over it. Janey won’t get over losing the kitchen scales either; she’ll keep missing them and forgetting to buy new ones.

The pups are squirming and wriggling, and one of them, the largest, white and grey, with the tiniest, most beauteous, gorgeous pointed ears starting to show, is moving around on its tiny paws, clumsily bumping into things. Essie has bought some puppy milk and has put out a bowl shaped like a doughnut that the baby is trying to get to, to lap at. She cannot resist picking him up, one hand under his warm little belly. He eeps and Felicity looks up, but she is only mildly concerned, because it’s Essie, and soon the baby has its snout burrowed in the milk trough, absolutely delighted.

‘That will take the pressure off you, eh, old girl,’ says Essie to Felicity, whose nipples look swollen and sore. Felicity does her huge tail-thump, and gracefully accepts a snack from Essie, who is revelling in being able to give a dog as many snacks as she wants. A sunbeam comes through the window and illuminates them all, warm and soft, and Essie feels something bubbling, and it might be . . . well . . . happiness, of a sort. She must prepare that job application, though.

Alasdair turns up, and is full of animal know-how ina frankly rather annoying way. He and Dwight exchange nods.

*

‘We’re naming them,’ says Essie, holding up the bag of differently coloured soft Velcro collars they got at the pet shop.

Al frowns. ‘You shouldn’t get too attached.’

‘No, that’s the Velcro,’ says Essie. ‘We just need to tell them apart. And stop thinking you’re the animal expert.’

‘That’s right – how could having a degree in animal husbandry make me any kind of expert?’

‘Shut it.’

‘Well, maybe give them fairly basic names to start with,’ says Al.

‘We could name them alphabetically,’ says Essie, picking up the two smallest bitches.

‘How about Argyll?’ says Dwight.

‘Not bad,’ says Al, as Essie snaps a pink collar on Argyll and a yellow one on . . . Bute, she decides.

‘Good choice for this one; she has a massive butt.’

---