Margot crouched down and held out her hand. ‘Hello,’ she said softly. ‘Do you want to come and say hello?’
This would have been Percy’s cue to fly at Margot with claws unsheathed and teeth bared but Blossom merely lifted her head.
‘Oh, you are so pretty,’ Margot cooed, and it was the greatest validation she’d ever received when the little dog slowly stood up and tremulously approached. ‘What a special, precious little girl.’
Blossom had big brown eyes that looked as if they’d been ringed with thick kohl by a top make-up artist. They were fixed on Margot warily as she came right up to the bars and tentatively stuck out her tongue to lick Margot’s proffered fingers.
Margot stroked the dog’s cheek and Blossom rubbed against the bars of her cage as if she was desperate to get closer to her. Margot didn’t want a Staffy. She wasn’t convinced that they were great family pets and they were hardly fluffy and portable. But Blossom was staring up at her with soulful brown eyes and it wouldn’t do any harm to take her out of her kennel for a little walk. Just so she could stretch her legs.
‘I’ll stay behind,’ Tracy said with a frown. ‘But, remember, no rash decisions.’
‘Absolutely,’ Margot agreed as Sophie clipped a lead on to Blossom’s collar.
Blossom was very skittish as they ran the gauntlet of the other dogs, who all upped their barking at the sight of one of their number staging a breakout. She tried to hide behind Margot, her head bumping into the back of her legs, until they got outside.
The kennels were on the edge of woodlands and once they were out of earshot of the barking, Blossom walked beautifully alongside Margot, pausing occasionally to look up at her with those cartoon-like eyes. She was built like a barrel, all shoulders and ribcage, resting on short legs that seemed delicate by comparison; her slightly bandy back legs resembling a fragile wishbone. She wasn’t all white either. Her snout was white but the top of her head and her floppy ears were fawn. Her back was fawn with white splodges, one of them in the shape of Italy, and her tail was fawn too, apart from the tip, which looked as if it had been dipped in a can of white paint.
But still, she was in a pitiful condition. She had bald patches on her flanks and though she was built solidly, Margot could see every single one of her ribs through what fur she had.
‘What has happened to you, little one?’ Margot asked. The dog didn’t answer, but trotted obediently at her side until they came to a fallen log and Margot sat down. Immediately, Blossom plopped down by her feet then rested her chin on Margot’s knee so she could keep staring at her. As if Margot was the one thing that she wanted to look at for the rest of her life. It had been a long, long time since anyone had gazed at Margot with such rapt wonder.
The feeling was mutual. Margot couldn’t stop staring at Blossom. She really was extraordinarily pretty with her heart-shaped head and those liquid eyes.
‘Oh! Oh dear!’
All those dates. All those men. All those years spent trying to find someone who wasn’t afraid to love Margot, despite all her contradictions and complexities. And just as all those men had never felt that spark, that connection, the recognition that came from finding your other, so Margot hadn’t either. Not if she was being really truthful. Until now.
Now, she felt as if she was going to burst into sudden but intense tears, even as her heart seemed to swell to three times its size. Margot wanted to throw her arms around Blossom, smother her with kisses and promise her that she never had to feel scared again.
Margot wasn’t an expert, but she thought that this could be love at first sight.
‘Blossom’s the dog for me,’ she told Sophie and Tracy when they got back to the kennels. ‘We were destined for each other.’
‘Blossom really deserves a loving home,’ Sophie said, reaching down to stroke Blossom’s snout. ‘Once she feels settled and safe, she’ll be a completely different dog. Shall we go and fill in the paperwork?’
‘Are you sure about this?’ Tracy asked. ‘I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t do anything rash.’
Margot nodded emphatically. ‘I’ve never been more sure. Let’s get the paperwork sorted and then I’ll be back to pick her up next week.’
‘You can’t take her now?’ Sophie queried as Blossom was put back in her hated kennel with one last forlorn look at Margot.
‘I really can’t,’ Margot explained when she was sitting in front of Belinda, the Head of Adoption Services. ‘I told you when you did the home check that I have to go away for work tomorrow.’ Desperation made her voice squeak. ‘I’ll come straight from the airport to pick her up on Sunday morning.’
‘Blossom can’t tolerate another week in kennels,’ Belinda said firmly. ‘I’m not going to put her on reserve for you, because someone might come in tomorrow who can take her immediately.’
I am a great dog owner. The universe was not transforming Margot’s affirmations into reality.
‘But Blossom is meant to be my dog,’ Margot pleaded, her hands actually clasped in the prayer position. ‘There must be someone who can look after her for the next week?’
4
Will
Will pulled up outside the kennels in the work van. He didn’t usually do deliveries, but somehow, over the last few months, he’d become the go-to guy for whatever needed doing in the family floristry business. Whether it was negotiating contracts for the events side of the company, overhauling the website or delivering a bouquet of seasonal flowers to Sandra in Barnet who’d finally passed her driving test on the fifteenth attempt.
He’d googled rescue kennels while waiting for his mother to put the finishing touches to Sandra’s flowers because he’d just received his weekly message from Roland, even though he was no longer, officially, on Roland’s books.
Just checking in. I want to reiterate that forging new emotional connections can only have a positive impact on your mental health. Signing up as a volunteer at a rescue kennels would be a great start. (Your Thursday evening slot is still free, if you want to rethink the pause.) Regards, Roland
He was going to make this quick. Find a dog in need. Be both giving and receiving of emotional sustenance. Take a picture with said dog, send it to Roland, then head off into town for a meeting with a high-end PR agency who were tendering a contract for a florist to provide flowers for all their events.
Will hadn’t taken more than two steps through the door when he was met by a young woman with neon orange dreadlocks, a navy-blue T-shirt with the rescue organisation logo on it and a resolute look on her face.
‘I’ve come to take out one of your dogs,’ he said, raising his voice over the sound of frenzied barking coming from the door behind her.
‘Oh, have you had a home check? What’s your name?’ she asked, her gaze moving to another door marked private. ‘I’ll go and look you up.’
‘I’m not a volunteer,’ Will admitted. ‘I just wanted to hang out with a dog for a few minutes.’
‘Well, we don’t really allow walk-ins.’ The woman folded her arms. ‘You’d have to be properly vetted first. We could do that now . . .’