Lily didn’t seem to mind being passed around like a parcel; her main concern was how Pongo was taking to being ‘abandoned’ every day.
‘Did he look sad when you left him this morning?’ she asked Anna, as they walked down the high street towards the bookshop. Her bag was weighing down one shoulder, but she wouldn’t let Anna carry it; it contained Mrs Piggle and her new all-American pig, Piggy-Jo, a gift from Sarah. ‘How sad did he look, out of ten?’
‘Two. He was fine,’ said Anna. ‘He’d got a busy day planned – trip to the park at lunchtime, film in front of the telly this afternoon, back to us for supper.’
‘Does Pongo have his own bed at Juliet’s? And who does he like most out of Minton and Coco? Does he have a best friend there?’
Minton and Coco were Juliet’s own dogs; Pongo didn’t express a preference for either, loving everyone enthusiastically, but Lily was obsessed with best friends. Anna was painfully aware that Lily didn’t seem to have one herself.
‘You’re his best friend.’ She wasn’t sure she should be encouraging Lily’s obsession with anthropomorphising everything from Pongo to Mrs Piggle but at least it got her talking. Any questions about school usually resulted in a worryingly unspecific answer.
‘I know,’ said Lily. ‘But he’s allowed to have one best dog friend too.’
‘Maybe he has a girlfriend,’ suggested Anna, ‘like Missis Pongo?’
‘No,’ said Lily decisively. ‘There aren’t any other Dalmatians round here. He’d have to find one on the internet. A special internet Dalmatian dating site.’
‘Perdita just arrived, didn’t she? In the book.’
Lily wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t remember that bit in the film.’
‘Well, she was just wandering around when Pongo and Missis needed some help with the puppies. We could read that part together,’ she suggested, then played a sneaky trump card. ‘Maybe Pongo would like to join us? He could listen too.’
They were nearly at the shop now, and Lily stopped walking. Anna stopped too, thinking Lily had seen something pretty in the window of Home Sweet Home, but she hadn’t. She just wanted to get Anna’s attention.
‘That would be nice for him,’ Lily said very seriously. ‘I think he probably misses us. He’d like to have some one-on-one time, and a story. Poor Pongo. Maybe he doesn’t speak the same language as Coco and Minton. What if he speaks Dog French, and they speak Dog Italian?’
Anna’s heart caught in her throat at the barely disguised sadness in the huge blue eyes, but Lily’s acceptance of her suggestion to read together was a real leap. Her attempts to read Ballet Shoes had fallen on stony ground; Lily hadn’t wanted to listen to girls ‘showing off like Chloe’ on stage.
‘Then let’s start tonight,’ she said, trying not to sound too excited. ‘We’ll have a reading party! You, me, Mrs Piggle and Pongo.’
‘Good,’ said Lily, the sunshine returning to her face with the usual family speed that Anna found so disconcerting. ‘Ooh, who’s that boy talking to Becca?’
‘Which boy?’ Anna looked where Lily was looking – through the big plate-glass window of the bookshop – and saw Becca behind the counter, chatting animatedly to Michelle and Owen.
Becca looked a lot more awake than Anna had seen her recently, and kept twirling the end of her plait round and round as she spoke, glancing up and down shyly.
She must have come to discuss the Saturday job, she thought. Chloe had more or less dropped her nagging about it after Phil had caved in and increased her weekly allowance instead of risking her grades, but Becca seemed keen to help. She probably fancied the quiet atmosphere even more than the cash.
Anna squinted. She was looking very keen at the moment. Very keen indeed. Owen was flicking through a paperback and laughing, and Becca was laughing too, trying to make him stop and read the bits she was pointing at.
‘That’s not a boy, that’s Michelle’s brother, Owen,’ she started to say, but Lily was already barging in through the door, pushing it hard to make the bell clang as loud as she could.
Michelle looked pleased to see her and Becca sprang up from the counter, blushing. Owen’s demeanour didn’t change. He carried on looking cool, skinny and relaxed.
‘Ah, Anna, just the woman,’ said Michelle. ‘Meet your new Saturday girl.’
‘Yay!’ said Becca, half raising her hands in a self-conscious gesture of celebration. She shot a sideways glance at Owen as she did it, and Anna suddenly remembered the complex teenage formula to looking cool in front of cooler boys. It made her feel glad she didn’t have to do it any more.
‘Was that an interview I just missed?’ she asked. ‘Because I was going to ask some testing questions about whether she would keep the shop tidier than her room, and so on.’
‘All done. I couldn’t have picked a more ideal assistant. Becca’s going to give Owen a hand with the website too, when things are quiet,’ said Michelle. ‘Home Sweet Home needs some copy and I thought we could put something online for this place, just to give it a marker, you know.’
‘A marker? What, until we get a proper site going?’ asked Anna. She was going to ask more, but there was a rustling behind her and Lily bustled forward.
‘Hello,’ she said, sticking out her hand towards Owen. ‘I’m Lily Rose McQueen. Who are you?’
Anna felt a sudden surge of protectiveness; Lily was normally the shyest of the three, and Owen didn’t seem the type to be used to talking to little girls. She held her breath, but to her surprise, Owen took Lily’s hand solemnly and shook it, holding her gaze the entire time.
She looked transfixed.
‘Hello, Lily,’ he said. ‘I’m Owen Bristol Nightingale. Don’t laugh.’
‘Bristol?’ Becca spluttered. ‘Was that where your parents—?’
‘Becca,’ warned Anna.
‘No, it was not. My dad’s a car dealer. Bristol’s a make of car. Have you ever asked Michelle what her middle name is?’
Anna turned to Michelle. ‘No?’
‘It’s private,’ Michelle protested, turning red. ‘Owen, don’t . . .’
‘Michelle Lotus Corniche,’ Owen finished with relish.
‘I never knew that.’ Anna put her hands on her hips and added, only half joking, ‘There’s so much I don’t know about you, Michelle.’
‘For good reason,’ she muttered.
‘Most of the family only found out at her wedding,’ said Owen. ‘Good job Harvey’s middle name was Neville. Balanced out the laughs.’ He helped himself to the bowl of mints on the counter, ignoring his sister’s furious glare. He winked at Becca, who blushed again.
‘So, the website for the bookshop,’ said Anna quickly. ‘What can I do? How about putting some of the ‘‘We Love . . .’’ cards on the site? I’ve done quite a few myself, and I’ve been putting cards in with purchases, with a stamped envelope, so we’re getting some back.’
She hoped Michelle had noticed how many there were, dotted around the shelves. Anna loved pinning them up; she felt it was bringing the shop to life.
‘I don’t mind doing some more reviews,’ said Becca.
‘Me too!’ said Lily.
‘That’ll mean reading some books first,’ Becca reminded her.
‘I don’t mind.’ Lily’s eyes were wide with enthusiasm. ‘Pongo and I are going to read one tonight, aren’t we, Anna? We can do a review together, for the website?’ She looked over to Owen, who nodded.
‘I’ll give it priority on the front page,’ he said. ‘How is Pongo’s typing? Becca tells me he’s a real klutz.’
Anna wondered how long Owen and Becca had been chatting for her to start filling him in on her dog. Getting conversation out of Becca was normally like getting blood out of a stone. But then something about the bookshop did seem to get people chatting, not just in the small reading group they’d started, but in the queue and the back room.
‘I’ll help him,’ said Lily.
‘Well, if you email them to me, I can put them into
the beta site,’ said Owen. ‘Do you want to give me your email address?’
He was talking to Becca, and Anna saw a brief frown flash across Michelle’s forehead as he reached for his phone to take down the details. Did she think Becca was going to distract him from the job in hand? It was more likely to be the other way round.
‘Owen, just remember Anna’s in charge in this shop,’ Michelle said, pointing at her. ‘Get everything from her so she has a chance to moderate it.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure Becca’s reviews will be perfect,’ said Anna. ‘Better than mine, probably. She’s predicted a Grade A in English.’
Becca made a mumbling noise and stared at the pile of Harry Potter books on the counter.
‘Impressive,’ said Owen. He looked impressed, too. ‘Are you off to university soon, then?’
‘Becca’s got a place to study Law at Cambridge,’ said Michelle, again looking quite pointedly at Owen. ‘She’s got enough to do with her revision and her job here, so . . . no distracting.’
Becca did her usual eye-rolling display of embarrassment mixed with secret pride; Anna felt like hugging her.
‘We can have a chat about the website now, if you want?’ Anna suggested, moving towards the coffee machine. ‘I’m here until six. We don’t seem to be very busy and I’ve got lots of ideas.’
‘That’d be great,’ Owen started, but Michelle didn’t give him a chance to finish.
‘Tomorrow, maybe,’ she said, steering him firmly towards the door. ‘I want Owen to finish off the Home Sweet Home site first. Gillian’s been setting up some Valentine’s Day gift shots for us with the new season stock.’
‘Gillian’s setting up stock shots for you?’ Anna raised her eyebrows. Normally Gillian ordered Kelsey to do menial tasks like that.
‘Gillian’s been very helpful,’ said Owen. ‘She says I remind her of her son.’
‘Grandson,’ said Anna. ‘Darren. He did the website before you.’
‘She’s old enough to have grandchildren?’ Owen said, astonished.
The studied immobility of Michelle’s eyebrows told Anna that she was trying very hard to control her face. Clearly Owen had worked his charm magic on Gillian, too – a feat of some magnitude, since Gillian’s ‘all-time hero’ was Cliff Richard and she thought men shouldn’t wear any jewellery apart from wedding rings.
‘Well, if you need anything,’ said Anna, ‘I’ll be here till six.’
‘And so will I,’ said Becca casually.
‘Great!’ Owen raised a hand in farewell as Michelle escorted him from the shop with an apologetic backward glance.
‘Can I have a biscuit from the special tin?’ asked Lily, turning her attention from Owen and back onto food.
‘Help yourself.’ As Lily thundered through to the staff room biscuit tin, Anna watched Becca absent-mindedly stacking and restacking the books in front of her. ‘Becca, you don’t have to hang around here – go home if you want. I thought you were seeing Josh tonight?’
Josh was Becca’s boyfriend, a red-headed scientist-to-be who’d run the gauntlet of a couple of dinners at the McQueens and still hadn’t been put off trying to take Becca out to Longhampton’s limited social venues. Phil had just about decided to trust him, on the grounds that he was too shy to get up to much and played the oboe in the school orchestra.
‘I know what the football team’s like,’ Phil had muttered in her ear while they were washing up, ‘and I don’t remember there being any oboeists in it.’
Becca twisted the end of her plait. ‘Um, probably not. I’ve got an essay to finish. Me and Josh are . . . You know.’
‘Everything OK?’ Anna asked. She didn’t like to pry, but sometimes Becca would ask her things she didn’t want to ask her mum, especially now Sarah had apparently gone into overshare mode in her new life.
‘Fine,’ said Becca. ‘Well, no . . .’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes Josh can be a bit . . .’ Her voice trailed off again and she pulled a despairing face. ‘Irritating?’
‘They’re all like that,’ said Anna. ‘They don’t change. You just learn to manage them better.’ She paused, thinking of the marked, somewhat martyred silence Phil had adopted about the baby issue. And the luxury shed brochures that had appeared on his bedside table. ‘Although it takes a while.’
Becca picked up a book from the desk – The Railway Children – and as Anna poured herself a coffee from the filter jug, she thought how lucky she was that Becca was the oldest, and not Chloe. It could have been so much harder.
Becca did her best, at school and at home, because she wanted to please everyone. She bore the weight of Sarah and Phil’s massive expectations without complaint. She put up with Chloe’s self-narrating singing and sat through Lily’s multi-toy productions of scenes from Glee. Her only real failing was her sneaky use of Anna’s expensive skincare products, and an obsession with low-fat cottage cheese.
‘Why don’t you relax for a bit?’ said Anna. ‘Keep an eye on Lily in the back room and do me a review. Here, take this coffee.’
Becca took the mug with a smile and headed to the back of the shop, utterly unaware of how graceful she was, her plait swinging down her back as she walked. Then she turned and went back to Anna, putting down her coffee to give her a quick hug.
‘Thanks, Anna,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the job, and thanks for talking Dad into letting me do it. I appreciate it.’
‘My pleasure,’ said Anna. It felt so sweet to do something for the girls that was all hers. ‘Really.’
Later that evening, after baths and teeth-brushing, Anna took her copy of One Hundred and One Dalmatians into Lily’s room, and let Pongo follow her in.
He was amazed to be allowed upstairs without a fight, and sniffed around Lily’s room, investigating each fluffy toy individually. Anna’s heart sank – if Lily decided to introduce him to each one, they could be there until the small hours – but instead Lily patted the space next to her on the bed.
‘Come and listen, Pongo,’ she said, as he curled round and round, trying to get comfy, while shooting nervous glances at Anna. ‘Anna’s going to read you a story about dogs.’
She looked at Anna, cueing her to join in with the dog conversation.
‘Um, yes. Settle down, Pongo,’ said Anna. ‘Are you going to leave any space for me? Good. Now, the best way to let the pictures come into your head is if you both close your eyes and listen.’
‘OK,’ said Lily. She wriggled under the pink princess duvet and closed her eyes. Anna wasn’t sure how long that would last, but she started reading anyway. Pongo put his head on his paws and went into standby mode.
In Anna’s fond daydreams about reading to her imaginary children, they didn’t interrupt quite as much as Lily did (‘Why is he married to Missis, not Perdita?’ ‘Why doesn’t Mrs Dearly have a job?’ ‘Where is Regent’s Park? Is it bigger than the park here? Does it have ducks?’ and so on) and it took a long time to get going.
But after a while, Lily stopped fidgeting and was drawn in by Anna’s soft voice as it rose and fell in the semi-darkness. Anna also got lost in the story, wishing herself into the cherry-tree perfection of the Dearlys’ household, with Nanny Cook and Nanny Butler and their intelligent pair of Dalmatians, who owned them with such love.
She was glad Lily’s eyes were closed when she reached the part about Missis’s pups arriving, and poor starving Perdita being found on the road to help feed them. As an adult, Anna had never been able to get past that bit without dissolving into tears. She wasn’t sure whether Lily was still awake or not, but she carried on reading anyway, about Perdita tentatively looking after two of Missis’s pups as tenderly as if they were hers, and then she choked, too emotional to go on.
‘Are you crying?’ asked a small, sleepy voice.
‘No,’ said Anna. A fat tear fell off the end of her nose.
‘Yes, you are. Why are you crying? Isn’t it nice that Perdita got some puppies to look after?’
‘Yes,’ s
aid Anna. ‘It is.’
‘Like you. You got to look after us.’ Lily sounded pleased with that solution. She yawned, her mouth pink and wide like a puppy’s.
‘I think that’s enough for tonight,’ said Anna. ‘Night night, Lily. See you in the morning.’
‘Can Pongo stay here?’
‘He’ll be happier in his basket,’ said Anna firmly, pointing to the floor as Pongo opened one eye. He slid off the bed and padded across to the door. ‘Night night.’
Lily was asleep.
Anna pulled the door almost shut and nearly jumped when she saw Chloe on the landing behind her, slouching her way out of the bathroom in one of Phil’s old dressing gowns, and Ugg boots. They didn’t match her full make-up.
She’d obviously spent the evening perfecting her smoky eye technique rather than finishing her History essay, but Anna decided not to take it up with her. So far today, she was ahead with two McQueen children. That was a good record and she didn’t want to spoil it.
‘Anna,’ groaned Chloe. ‘I’ve got a headache and there’s no Nurofen in the bathroom.’ She clutched her forehead. ‘I’ve got sooo much work to do tonight. I haven’t even started.’
‘Have you tried drinking a pint of water? And logging out of Facebook?’
Chloe made a teenage noise. ‘I need drugs. Medicinal drugs.’
‘Fine. There’s some in my bathroom,’ said Anna. ‘I’ll go and get them. Stay there.’
Chloe turned on the McQueen charm long enough for a sweet ‘thank you’ to emerge from the kohl-y murk, then she subsided into adolescent suffering again.
In her bedroom, Anna ignored the piles of clothes Phil had left by – not in – the laundry basket, and opened the cabinet in the en-suite bathroom. She reached in to get the paracetamol and her eye fell on the space where she normally tucked her Pill. The clinic had sent her a reminder letter, requesting that she come in for a check-up appointment, but following her earlier resolution, she had decided to ignore it.
Looking at the space in the medicine cabinet now, though, what she felt was a twinge of guilt. A voice in the back of her head said she should have discussed it again with Phil, but a louder voice, coming from somewhere less rational, insisted that, effectively, they had discussed it. They’d discussed it at length, and they’d come up with a decision they’d both agreed on. He’d grumbled a bit in the car at New Year, but he hadn’t said categorically no. He knew what her plans were.