Page 30 of Not That Ridiculous

And what do you think his odds were of being adopted, Suzanne had demanded when she lured me over under false pretences for a local business owner chat and instead pointed out her back office window at the pitiful creature sitting out in the rain.

Phil was hunched on a three-foot-square patch of muddy grass, staring blankly at the fence. His coat was soaking wet, his head was hanging, and rain was dripping off his big nose.

I’d never seen a more miserable looking animal in my life.

He was eight, she said, which meant he only had a few years left, and was Ireallygoing to be able to sleep at night if I turfed him out of the only home he’d ever known? Would I really be able to live with myself if I consigned him to a slow decline in a kennel somewhere, being passed over again and again by young families who wanted a cute puppy, and?—

To cut a long story short, I went home with a new dog, on the proviso that he could continue to hang out with Suzanne during the day.

He came into town with me in the mornings and I poked him through the door of the newsagent’s en route to the coffee shop. If I had the time to jog over the road and grab him for a lunchtime walk in the park I would, otherwise Suzanne did it, and I gave her a spare key so she could drop him home at the end of her day.

We made it work.

So I was considering the opening late idea but I’d have to check in with Suzanne first and see if she could keep Phil with her for longer.

But for now, I turned new customers away from half five, shooed any lingering table hoggers out at six, and by half six was running the second load of dirty crockery and cutlery through the elderly but game dishwasher.

I was truly knackered by the end of the work day. And this, I thought with a snort, was when Jasper expected me to skip off to the gym to do some more hard labour.

I mean, yes. I could have asked Pippa to close. Even on days she wasn’t working, I could ask her to come in and do it. She’d be delighted. She was one of those intimidating women who weredoingthings the whole time. I was sure that she’d enjoy bustling about putting my baby to bed for the night, but…maybe one day.

I escorted the last of my lingering customers out and was turning the sign to CLOSED when someone rushed up and plastered themselves against the door.

I was impressed that I didn’t scream. I was less impressed that I leapt back about two feet like one of those internet cats when confronted with a surprise cucumber.

I stood there, hand pressed to my chest, and glared through the glass at Kevin.

He waved, and jiggled the handle.

I reached out, snagged the corner of the sign, and slapped it to CLOSED.

Kevin didn’t even look at it. His eyes were fixed on my face, and he was smiling wide.

I pointed at the sign.

Kevin tracked my finger. He shook his head.

I nodded.

He jiggled the door handle again.

“Go away,” I said, even though he wouldn’t hear me through the glass. “Closed.”

“Ah, come on, Charlie,” he bellowed, making me flinch again. “Let me in!”

Oh my god. I definitely wasn’t letting him in now.

People were passing in the street behind him and his yelling had turned heads. Traffic was zooming past. If I opened the door and let him in, people would see, and either they’d be all, Oh ho, what’s going on there, then, look at Kevin Wallis getting the special treatment. Or more likely they’d think, Yay, Charlie’s finally opening up later, apparently all you have to do is stand outside and scream at him to open the door.

And all right, Kevin wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t being quiet, either.

He rapped on the door with a knuckle.

I snatched the CLOSED sign off the clear plastic hook suckered to the window and slapped it against the glass right in front of his face.

He couldn’t miss that. All I could see of him was his chin.

He went still, then he ducked sideways and peeked around the edge of the sign.

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