‘It’s from the man who’s got my dog,’ she told Derek, who blanched slightly as if he couldn’t bear for Margot to hit him with the highlights one more time. ‘Maybe he’s got round to replying to the last message I sent him.’
‘One of your mammoth text messages that has chapters and a subplot?’ Derek closed his eyes and tilted his head back. ‘When will I learn that at my advanced age, last night’s drinking is never worth today’s hangover?’
‘You weren’t saying that when you were dancing on the bar,’ Margot reminded him. ‘And, excuse me, but not all my text messages are massively wordy.’
Derek grunted in reply and Margot turned her attention back to her phone. Maybe there was another photo of Blossom looking absolutely adorable, though Margot had experienced a sharp pang at the sight of her curled up on Will’s sofa. After some analysis of the pang, she’d decided that she was a little jealous. She’d wanted her sofa to be the first sofa that Blossom curled up on. Still, there’d be plenty of time for that.
We need to talk before the handover. Shall we meet in Highgate Woods, on the playing field right in front of the café? See you there at 10 tomorrow?
Will obviously wanted to give Margot the inside track on Blossom. Her likes and dislikes, any weird little habits or triggers. What other earthly reason could they have for a pre-handover chat? Though maybe he wanted to see Margot again because there had been that frisson at the rescue centre, even though his texting etiquette left a lot to be desired.
Still, it was hard to shake the feeling of unease that settled on Margot for the rest of the day as she unpacked, did her laundry and in honour of her own hangover, ordered a pizza and garlic bread.
The next morning, as she hurried down Southwood Lane on the ten-minute walk to Highgate Woods, Margot was still feeling uneasy. Maybe Blossom had mange or fleas or something far worse and incurable? Maybe she wasn’t house-trained? Maybe she’d bitten someone?
Each maybe was worse than the last, and so when Margot finally arrived at their rendezvous, out of breath because she’d set out late as usual, she’d convinced herself that only catastrophe lay ahead.
So it was quite a surprise, a pleasant one, to see Will and Blossom waiting for her. As Margot speed-walked across the grass, Blossom saw her first. She pricked up her wonderfully soft, floppy ears. Margot’s heart lifted and she waved at Blossom, which was ridiculous, but Will, who was sitting on a bench, raised his hand in greeting.
‘Hello! Hello!’ Margot called out, even though she’d promised herself that she’d keep her cool no matter what the news was. Who was she kidding? She’d spent her entire life devoid of all cool. ‘Hello, my precious, have you missed me?’
‘Somehow, I’ve managed to survive,’ Will said, and Margot could not work out if he was flirting with her or mocking her. He was very hard to read, so she simply repeated her affirmations in her head (‘I am happy. I am positive. I draw happy, positive people towards me’) and sat down. Immediately Blossom lifted her paw onto Margot’s knee.
Blossom looked much better than the last time Margot had seen her. She was bright-eyed and alert, though still painfully thin and covered in bald patches.
‘Oh my goodness, you’re looking so beautiful.’ Margot turned an accusing gaze onto Will. ‘You might have properly replied to my messages.’
‘Replying to your messages properly would have been a full-time job and I do have to work for a living, you know.’ He didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. On the contrary, if Margot never had any cool to keep, then it seemed as if Will was one of those people who hung onto his cool and never let go.
Not the kind of cool which was knowing the hot, new places to eat or reading all the novels on the Booker longlist before the longlist had even been announced, or getting his clothes in an exclusive shop off Savile Row which had been opened by an ex-GQ editor. No, it was the kind of cool that gave the impression that Will was up there, Margot glanced at the clouds puffing slowly across a clear, blue sky, and Margot was down there with the mud that was churning up the grass after last night’s rainfall.
He wasn’t remotely interested in putting her at ease or even saying hello. He just sat there, eyes fixed on the middle distance where a group of frolicking dogs and their non-frolicking owners were congregated.
Whatever. Margot wasn’t here for Will. She was here for Blossom.
‘I missed you so much,’ she told the dog, who stared at Margot with those deep, soulful eyes as if she understood. ‘We are going to have so much fun together.’ Now that important message had been relayed, she turned to Will, who she could have sworn had scoffed faintly at her promise to the dog. ‘So what was it that you wanted to talk about?’
He’d been sitting cross-armed and cross-legged but now he unfolded himself, leaned forward and put a proprietorial hand under Blossom’s chin so she immediately gave him her full and undivided attention.
‘There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just be blunt.’ Margot was pretty sure that he was never anything else. ‘Blossom and I have bonded while you were away, and I want to keep her.’
Margot had his number. Will’s MO was obvious. He must have known that it was going to come as a shock, which was why he’d ripped off the plaster so quickly. He’d probably imagined that Margot would cry. Call him a few choice names. Declare that it was never going to happen. Then she’d come round to Will’s way of thinking. It followed the pattern of several dumpings she’d experienced in the past. But that was before Margot had grown a much thicker skin. Besides, she might have let someone steal her cat but no way, no way in hell, was she letting someone steal her dog too.
So Margot didn’t cry. Although she couldn’t help that her mouth dropped open, giving her the appearance of a slack-jawed simpleton. Then she straightened up, set back her shoulders and tilted her head so Will could see her steady, absolutely not tearful, gaze. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘She’s my dog.’
‘You haven’t thought this through,’ Will said, which made Margot flare her nostrils like a dragon about to breathe fire. ‘You obviously have to go away for work.’
‘Only twice a year, and when I go away again in spring, I’ll have sorted out a dog-sitter,’ Margot said immediately, because she’d had a whole week to think about how to adapt her life around Blossom.
‘I can take Blossom to work with me every day,’ Will pointed out ‘And if I have to go out—’
Margot had to stop him right there. ‘You’re a florist, right? That’s what you said at the rescue centre, so I bet you have to do loads of early morning starts going to Columbia Road flower market . . .’
‘Trade doesn’t go to Columbia Road, only Instagrammers . . .’
‘Then on weekends, I expect you have to do wedding flowers, set up the church or registry office or what have you,’ Margot went on, cutting through his sentences like they were made of butter.
‘I’m not a florist. I manage my family’s floristry business. It’s a big difference,’ Will bit out, as if Margot had accused him of running his own meth lab.
Margot didn’t really care what that difference was. ‘Well, you sound far too busy to look after a dog, and if you do want a dog, then no one’s stopping you. Go and source your own.’ Then she patted the bench and Blossom, the little darling, jumped up and sat down next to Margot, on the far side from Will.