Page 40 of New Beginnings at the Little Christmas Inn
‘What’s she like?’ Livvy asked, trying not to get drawn into the idea.
‘Little bitch springer called Angel. Coming up to eleven, bit arthritic,’ Pete said.
‘What happens to Angel if she isn’t rehomed?’
‘I can answer that,’ Lucie supplied. ‘Some beaters aren’t very sentimental about their animals.’
‘I get it,’ Livvy said bitterly. ‘Having worked for him all her life, now she’s no use that’s it.’ It was no good. She already wanted to rescue little Angel.
‘Not that simple, girl.’ Pete huffed. ‘Norm rehomes his. He’s just waiting for the right place to take her. He’s got a kennel full of gun dogs. One in. One out, like. But he can’t afford to keep a dog that don’t earn her keep.’
‘I can see that but I’m not sure I can take on a dog.’ Livvy was desperately backtracking, but she knew a stitch-up when she saw it. ‘Not with all my other commitments. I mean, is she even house-trained?’
‘Oh ar.’ Pete reached a hand down to check Skip was there and caressed his ears. ‘He trains his dogs. She’ll be more used to kennels, like, but he’ll have her house-trained. Apart from a walk a day, I don’t think Angel will be too much trouble. Reckon she’ll make a beeline for the rug in front of the fire and sleep there most of the day.’
‘If it helps, I’d take her out,’ Mark offered. ‘I could do with some exercise. The George’s good food is beginning to have an impact on my waistline.’ He patted his completely flat stomach. ‘She’d be company for you,’ he persisted. ‘Particularly at night. And every pub has to have a pub dog.’ He grinned, disarmingly.
‘I’ve always said if I get to come back, that’s what I’d like to be reincarnated as, as a pub dog!’ Lucie said, on a giggle. ‘Angel sounds like the perfect solution, Livvy.’
‘We’ve already got a pub dog. Sort of.’ Livvy glanced doubtfully at Skip currently looking as if butter wouldn’t melt.
‘It would be nice to be greeted by something other than a snarl and breath so rank it could fell a tree,’ Mark said.
‘Oi! Watch your words,’ Pete defended. ‘When you’re as old as Skip here, you’ll be bad-tempered too.’ He scratched Skip’s head, making the dog grin, tongue lolling.
Livvy reeled back as she caught the full blast of Skip’s breath. ‘Skip’s not so bad. Pork scratchings are the answer.’
‘See, you’re a natural with dogs,’ Lucie said. ‘Why not go and meet Angel and see what you think.’
‘This is all so unfair. You know exactly what will happen if I actually meet her. What colour is she?’ she added, intrigued despite her misgivings.
‘Black and white,’ Pete said. ‘Sweet-natured little bitch. Soft as anything, like.’
‘Stop it!’ Livvy put her hands over her ears. ‘This is emotional blackmail.’
‘True,’ Mark agreed. ‘But if you had her, you’d be doing me a favour too. I’ve got too many commitments at the moment to take on a dog, much as I’d like to. If you let me, I could share ownership with Angel. Do the early morning walks, that sort of thing. It doesn’t sound as if she’d need much more. And you’d have another living being in the house at night. Springers aren’t guard dogs as such, but she’ll have a good bark.’
Livvy finished her wine. ‘You,’ she said, pointing to Mark, Lucie and Pete in turn, ‘are all incorrigible.’
‘Can’t speak for the others but I know I am,’ Mark agreed without rancour. He saluted her with his beer. ‘I’m also very good at getting my own way.’
‘Come on, Pete,’ Lucie said, as she took the man’s arm. ‘I’ll join you for another drink and we’ll share some salty snacking goodliness with Skip. He’s welcome to a few crisps but I draw the line at pork scratchings.’
‘I’ll bring them over,’ Livvy said. As she prepared their drinks, she pictured a cute black and white springer sleeping on the end of her bed, snuffling contentedly. Walks on the beach to clear her head would be good too – she couldn’t work all the time. He gaze returned to Mark, who was now having an animated discussion with a couple wearing office clothes but who were heavily festooned in tinsel, possibly on their way back from an office party.
He’d offered to help. If he did a few early morning walks and then popped in for something to eat in the evening, she’d see much more of him. For a second her heart lifted with joy at the thought. Then she remembered they were just friends. Friends who might be about to share the responsibility of dog ownership. It could work. Couldn’t it?
CHAPTER 23
Gingerbread latte – strongly brewed coffee, warmed milk, added spices and whipped cream. Perfect for warming up chilly guests. Serve with Christmas shortbread.
The letter arrived two days later, enfolded inside an imposing, embossed Christmas card. The card featured a carriage and four horses snorting outside a snow-covered coaching inn. A woman in a Victorian-looking coat and hat, her hands hidden in an enormous fur muff, stood expectantly.
It made Livvy laugh as it reminded her how her mother was always ready for any journey a good twenty minutes too early. She would then stand around nagging her father into a panic-induced fluster.
Livvy added the card to the growing collection hung above the bar, making sure it had a prominent central position. She knew her mother would check.
As she unfolded the letter, she thought how typical it was of her parents to write a formal message when a phone call or text would do. Livvy questioned whether they actually knew when their business life ended and family life began. At least they hadn’t put it through the office franking system: it bore a proper Christmas stamp with a cheeky red-breasted robin. She tore it off the envelope and popped it in the pot on the bar. The George, along with its support for the RNLI, was collecting used stamps for the hospice in Bridport.
