Will didn’t want to find himself suddenly committed to coming back week after week to hang out with dogs. Although objectively there was no good reason why he couldn’t. This was proving much harder than he’d thought.
‘I’d be happy to foster,’ he improvised, because perhaps he could take a dog out then decide that actually he wasn’t cut out to foster, sorry to have wasted your time and I’ll just be on my way, thank you very much. Though, again, there was no reason why he couldn’t foster a dog. Except fostering a dog, an actual living being, was a big commitment and he didn’t want any big commitments. Only small commitments. Very, very small commitments. ‘I have some experience of dogs. We had one when I was a kid. Muttley. He was the best dog in the world.’
Dreadlocks cracked a smile. ‘Everyone thinks their dog is the best dog in the world,’ she said.
‘And none of them are wrong,’ Will added. The barking seemed to increase in both intensity and volume. ‘Apart from the poor dogs who’ve ended up here.’
Her arms were now unfolded. ‘We do need to do some background checks,’ she said.
But Will could tell she was softening. ‘Of course, but while I’m here, can I have a quick look at the dogs?’
Once they were through the door, the noise was almost deafening and there was a stench of ammonia that caught at the back of Will’s throat as he scoped out the dogs hurling themselves at the bars of their kennels.
There wasn’t much cuteness on display. Mostly pain and despair at being incarcerated in these cold, inhospitable surroundings when once they must have been a cherished pet. At least, Will hoped so. He didn’t like to think that these dogs had never known a soft bed, a stroke from a loving hand.
He turned away from a frantic spaniel with desperately sad, pleading eyes, to the next kennel, housing a French bulldog. Everyone loved a French bulldog, but this one was grizzled, had gunky eyes and was making such awful noises, like a motorbike that wouldn’t start, that Will feared it would keel over midway through taking a selfie. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said, reaching through the bars to stroke the top of its head with the tips of his fingers. He could feel himself weakening. If he stayed here much longer, he’d probably agree to foster all the dogs. Every single last one of them. But before Will could do anything hasty, his attention was caught, or rather grabbed, by a commotion at the far end of the kennels.
There was a dark-haired woman on her knees in front of one of the kennels looking up at two other women. ‘This is my soul-dog. We’re meant to be together,’ she was saying, her voice pitching up and down. As Will drew nearer, intrigued to find out what was going on, he realised there were tears streaming down her face.
It was a pretty face. A really pretty face. She had a pretty body to match. She seemed soft and yielding, though he tended to prefer his woman to be harder and unforgiving. That way no one got hurt. Certainly, he couldn’t imagine Dovinda, or any of the many others before Dovinda, crying in public.
‘I have work commitments this week and of course I don’t want Blossom to be distressed in the meantime, but there has to be a solution,’ she said, voice still wobbling, her forehead knitting together as she frowned.
Will and his volunteer shared a look. A look like they were two sensible people who didn’t really care for histrionics.
He was close enough now to see that the woman had been shielding a dog from view; a sad Staffy with velvet eyes, though if it were sad because life had been unkind or because it didn’t like being held in a chokehold while being cried on, Will couldn’t tell.
‘If she’s still here in a week, you can take her, but until then she’s on our priority list for rehoming,’ said the older woman firmly. She had spectacles attached to a chain around her neck, which gave her an air of authority, so Will supposed that she was in charge. ‘She’s being featured on all our social media channels this afternoon.’
Will wondered why the crying woman was so drawn to that dog in particular, but he couldn’t really get a good look at either of them as they’d merged into one crying, shaking whole. The woman’s dark head bent over the dog, her arms wrapped round its stocky frame.
‘Come on, Margs,’ the second woman said softly. She had red hair and was wearing two different kinds of leopard print. ‘It will work out if it’s meant to.’
Margs (what kind of a name was Margs?) raised her tear-stained face. ‘Can’t you take her for the week?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Really can’t. Den’s away until Friday night and dogs aren’t allowed on campus unless they’re registered guide dogs,’ her friend said. ‘There was an incident with a so-called emotional-support ferret. Sorry.’
Will felt a sudden tug on his arm. ‘Didn’t you say you’d be happy to foster?’
‘What?’
Will turned to Dreadlocks who was looking right back at him with a gleam in her eyes. ‘We’re desperate for fosterers. Absolutely desperate.’
‘Oh! You could foster her!’ Now all eyes were on him, especially the big blue eyes, only slightly puffy from all the sobbing, of the woman on her knees. ‘I knew there had to be an answer.’
Will held his hands up. ‘Hang on a minute! I said I was thinking about fostering.’ His initial impression of this woman may have been wrong. She was straightening to full height now and he could see something uncompromising in the set of her face, the way she drew her shoulders back, and the assessing look she was giving him in return.
‘One week out of your entire life,’ she said to him softly, as if they were the only two people in the place, as if her words weren’t sound-tracked by a cacophony of barks. ‘You’ll be getting Blossom out of here and freeing up a kennel for another dog, so actually you’re saving two dogs. That’s pretty good going for one week out of your life, don’t you think?’
He didn’t want to, but Will nodded, because when she put it like that . . . But he was a busy man. Except, he wasn’t that busy, and if he could save one dog from this hell-hole then that had to be a good thing. ‘But don’t you have to do a home check, first?’ he remembered. ‘And I can’t do that today because I’ve got a meeting in Shoreditch at three and it’s eleven now.’
‘We could easily do a home check now, then I don’t mind bringing Blossom round this evening,’ Dreadlocks pointed out. ‘Where do you live?’
This whole situation was spiralling ever further out of control and Will didn’t do well when that happened. ‘Muswell Hill. Look, let’s put a pin in it and—’
‘That’s perfect because I live up the hill in Highgate,’ Margs said and she smiled at Will, radiantly, like sun suddenly breaking through after a heavy rainfall. He returned the smile, or rather he lifted the corners of his mouth in an approximation of a smile because he was out of practice. ‘We’re literally neighbours. Don’t you find that when you want something badly enough, and you put that energy out there, then the universe usually comes through?’
‘Margs, don’t start positively affirming again. This morning has been stressful enough.’
Will immediately wished that he could take his smile back. He knew from bitter experience to be wary of women spouting nonsense about positive energy and manifesting joy. Not a lot of joy to be found when they were shouting at him about his failure to commit.