Читать книгу A Christmas Tail: A heart-warming Christmas romance - Cressida McLaughlin, Cressida McLaughlin - Страница 9

Cat set out early into weather that had been summoned to test her resolve, wearing a black double-breasted jacket and skinny jeans, neither of which was waterproof enough. But not even the rain could dampen her spirits. She had done it. She had got two clients besides Elsie, and she was officially walking dogs. It was the first step, but hopefully the first of many with her four-legged friends.

As she’d picked up Disco and Chalky, Elsie had given her a shoulder squeeze and a meaningful look as if she was heading into battle. Then she’d collected the three Westies. Jessica had answered the door wearing a coral dressing gown, and had been much less forthcoming than the first time they’d met, her mind on an upcoming event or her editor’s latest notes, she supposed. Cat imagined her leaning on a marble countertop, ingredients laid out around her, typing on a sleek MacBook Air as she created a delicate, exquisite dish, the dogs lying at her feet. It was an elaborate daydream, but one which Jessica fitted perfectly into, and Cat preferred thinking about that than the sadness she’d seen in the author’s eyes as she’d hinted at a less than happy past.

Cat buried her head in her collar as she negotiated the dogs past a woman with a pushchair, the hood pulled low to prevent the baby from being splattered with rain.

Cat’s second client was a man called Terry, who lived in one of the large seafront houses, and his Rhodesian ridgeback Bertha. He wasn’t likely to be a frequent customer, but while his mother was in hospital he was having to spend a lot of time in Dorset, and couldn’t keep dragging Bertha backwards and forwards only to leave her outside the hospital, confused and alone. Cat knew it was a risk, taking such a large, strong dog out with five smaller ones, but she wasn’t going to turn down business so soon. Once she had a few more dogs she could stagger her walks, match the pets up like a dating agency – who was most suited to walk with who.

With all six dogs on their leads, she turned away from the churning, foaming sea, the seaside car park all but deserted, and towards Fairview Park. The Westies were very well behaved, only occasionally straying into the path of a passer-by, and Bertha was at the back, gliding on her long legs, with Chalky trotting along beside. Disco was causing Cat the most trouble, but only because – with five other dogs to be excited by – she had reached maximum bounce. She was yapping constantly and bounding in all directions, barging into Valentino and getting under Cat’s feet. The Westies were good-natured, but Cat didn’t think they would ignore her for ever.

The sky was low, the spring colours muted as she turned into the park, and it took Cat a moment to realize that her control would be short-lived. All six dogs recognized this as their stomping ground, and Cat knew that Bertha and Chalky were often allowed off their leads within the gates. Not today though. Cat was hoping – on her first walk at least – to return with the same number of dogs she’d started with.

Suddenly Bertha was at the front of the pack, the other dogs skittering along behind. Only Chalky remained alongside her, and when she glanced down he looked up at her with dark, mournful eyes. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she whispered, quickening her pace to try and keep up with the pack. ‘It’s going to be fine. Doggies,’ she called, ‘come on, doggies! Slow down a bit.’

They ignored her.

Cat trotted down the path, past a young family, the eldest boy riding a bike with stabilizers, and an old couple walking hand in hand, wearing matching woolly hats. She could see a pair of red setters in the distance, their sleek coats standing out against the gloom, and a sprightly collie chased a tennis ball across the grass.

She took a deep breath and pulled on the leads. ‘Bertha! Valentino, Coco, Dior! Slow down!’ And then, hopeful of receiving some loyalty from the dog she knew best, ‘Disco, treat time!’ Disco’s bounding changed direction and her little paws were suddenly on Cat’s shins, her tail wagging. Cat came to a halt and grinned at the puppy, her breathing calmer. The other dogs slowed and then stopped, and she suddenly had the attention of six pairs of eyes.

‘Good, good dogs,’ she panted. ‘Excellent dogs. Phew, thank God.’ She reached into her pocket and gave each dog a treat. They chewed them down and looked expectantly up at her, ready for another.

‘Having a bit of trouble, are we?’ Cat froze at the words which, while perfectly friendly, came in a voice that was not.

‘I’m fine, thanks, Mr Jasper.’ He was standing a few feet away, his arms folded across his short, rounded frame. He was smiling, and only his dark eyes and the tone of his voice betrayed what he thought of her and her dogs.

‘Did you know that over one hundred people a year are injured in accidents that can be directly attributed to dogs, within Fairhaven alone?’

Cat gritted her teeth. The dogs strained at their leads and Dior whimpered softly. ‘I didn’t, but I don’t really have time—’

‘Dog walkers are a menace,’ Mr Jasper whispered, leaning in towards her, his features contorted like a gargoyle. ‘You can’t keep control of that many dogs. They’ll get loose and they’ll terrorize people. You are a menace, and I will put a stop to this.’

‘To what? To people earning a living, dogs getting exercise?’ Mr Jasper turned and strode quickly away. She called after him. ‘Are you going to stop people using the park altogether, so you can preserve it as some kind of natural relic?’ He didn’t turn, but picked up his pace.

‘OK,’ she said to her pack, ‘ignore him. Let’s try again. But I’d like you all to take a moment to consider how difficult this is for me, how I’m prepared to admit that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, and that you can either hinder or help me. And we don’t want to give Mr Jasper any more ammunition, OK?’ They stayed where they were. ‘That’s it for now. One treat now, one at the end. Those are the rules. So…’ She waited. The dogs stayed still, apart from Disco, who was trying to destroy her left boot. ‘So…GO!’

The moment she said it, she realized it was a mistake.

Now she wasn’t walking, or even trotting, but was running to keep up with the dogs, the leads rubbing against her palms, wearing the skin sore. Chalky, his older bones not used to the pace, started whining. The Westies looked like summer clouds at her feet, Bertha like a small pony tearing out in front, and she couldn’t even see Disco. And then, like a flock of birds, their direction changed, and their barking got louder. They pulled her past the Pavilion café, and Cat thought she saw George staring at her, a tea towel in his hand, but she couldn’t be sure because she was focusing on not getting dragged behind the dogs like one of the tin cans on a wedding car.

They pulled her towards a clutch of trees at the edge of the park, and Cat saw the reason why. Was it possible for your heart to sink and beat out of your ribs at the same time? Cat thought it must be as she watched the grey, furry target bouncing across the grass like a Slinky, its tail a giant dandelion clock.

A squirrel.

Of all the bad luck in all the world, she had to find a squirrel on her first outing as a professional dog walker. ‘Come ON!’ She dug her heels into the grass, but they slid in the mud and she narrowly avoided ending up on her bum. ‘Come on, puppies, please!’

They’d reached the trees. The squirrel had hopped up the trunk of a large oak, so at least Cat could try to get her breath back while all the dogs – Bertha included – tried to climb up after it. Cat could feel the disapproving gaze of every other person in the park burning through her coat, tickling the back of her neck.

‘Please,’ she coaxed, ‘please stop. The squirrel won’t come down while you’re here, you can’t get up there and I promise you – I promise you –’ holding the leads in her left hand, her arm muscles burning, she managed to pull the bag of treats out of her coat pocket – ‘squirrel does not taste as nice as these.’ She shook the bag. The dogs didn’t notice.

Cat swallowed down a wave of despair.

‘Look, Disco! Chalky! Valentino, Bertha! Squirrel meat is tough, and it’s all gristle with no flavour at all. Treats are better than squirrel.’

‘Are you speaking from experience?’ a voice said. ‘I’d love to know when you’ve eaten squirrel.’

For a second Cat thought that Mr Jasper had followed her, but the voice was different and the strain on her arm disappeared as a hand gripped the leads, taking all the pressure. She risked turning her head, and found herself staring into the eyes of a man who, it seemed, had come to rescue her. Cat felt a jolt of recognition. She’d seen him and his dog before, had seen him watching her through the park railings the day she’d lost her job.

‘How else do you suppose I get them to stop trying to climb the tree?’ She should be grateful, but his flippancy when she was so flustered made her instantly defensive.

‘You think that they’re going to listen to your culinary advice?’

He was walking backwards, forcing her to move with him as the leads were still wrapped round her hand, and as he did so, the dogs, resisting at first, realized the game was up and turned away from their conquest. Disco bounded up to Cat’s rescuer and put her paws on his jeans. He let go of the leads and lifted Disco into his arms, just as his collie dog, tongue lolling, trotted up and sat at his feet.

Cat felt her annoyance rise. His dog didn’t try and antagonize Bertha or the Westies who, tired out by their chase, gave the new dog a cursory sniff and settled down on the grass. Here, they were sheltered by the trees, the rain still falling beyond their natural canopy.

‘What are you?’ Cat asked. ‘Some kind of dog whisperer?’

He laughed, and while Disco struggled in his arms, Cat had the opportunity to look at him up close. His black-brown hair was expertly dishevelled, just asking to be ruffled, and his leather jacket – the same one as before – was worn at the elbows. He had the beginnings of stubble and there was amusement in his dark eyes. Was that amusement aimed at her? She was sure he’d been watching her before, and now here he was again, stepping in to help her.

Her irritation was swiftly replaced by curiosity.

‘I’m Cat,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Thank you for…for that, back there. With the squirrel.’

‘No problem.’ He smiled at her and took her hand. ‘I’m Mark. And this –’ he nodded towards the collie – ‘is Chips. We’re new to the area.’

‘Chips?’

‘After Chips in Dawn of the Dead. The remake, obviously.’

‘You named your dog after a zombie? That’s not very kind. How long have you been in Fairview?’

Mark blinked at her and ran a hand over his jawline. It was quite pointy, quite determined, Cat thought, if jaws can be determined. ‘A few weeks. You’ve not seen it, then, Dawn of the Dead?’

Cat shook her head.

‘Chips is the dog, unsurprisingly, rather than a zombie. She’s a hero – she saves the main characters from certain death. I’m splitting my time between here and London – it’s lovely round here, very…peaceful.’

‘Are you training your dog to survive a zombie apocalypse? What happens to her when you’re in London?’

‘Chips wouldn’t need training, she’d know exactly what to do.’ He grinned at her with white, even teeth.

Cat decided his jawline wasn’t determined, it was smug, but he was a potential punter all the same. This was too good an opportunity to miss. ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ she said. ‘I could always look after Chips for you when you’re back in London – feed her, take her for walks.’

‘That’s a very kind – and unexpected – offer. She’s fine with me – she can cope on her own for a few hours if I’m working. Do you always go around offering to look after strangers’ pets, or am I special?’

‘Oh, oh, no, I mean…’ Cat felt heat rush to her cheeks. ‘It’s what I do. I wasn’t just…offering.’ She shrugged.

‘Ah.’ Mark nodded. ‘So all these dogs aren’t yours, then?’ Disco was burrowing into the crook of his arm, her stumpy tail wagging as if her life depended on it.

‘No,’ Cat said. ‘I’m walking them.’

‘Sure it’s that way round?’

Cat gritted her teeth and gave him a tight smile. ‘This is just…I’m still working out the best combinations, the easiest way to run things. Big dogs and little dogs together are a bit of a handful.’

‘They are,’ he agreed. ‘I’m not sure Primrose Park knows what’s hit it. And who’s this little guy? Come out, buster.’ He lifted Disco up, and the puppy started licking his chin. ‘Hey.’ Mark laughed and put her on the ground.

‘She’s a girl. Disco,’ Cat said. Something flashed in her mind, making her do a double-take. She looked at Mark, but he was intent on the puppy and all the love she had to give. ‘And Chalky’s the older mini schnauzer and the Westies are Valentino, Coco and Dior. That’s Bertha.’ She pointed at the largest dog, who was staring out across the park, looking noble.

Mark pressed his lips together and looked at the ground.

‘I didn’t name them. God, I wish I’d never said anything now.’

‘It’s an impressive outing,’ Mark nodded, unable to hide his smirk. ‘And you’ve done well, considering.’

‘Considering?’ Cat shot back.

‘Considering how unruly they are.’

‘Well, I’m glad I’ve met with your approval.’

‘I’m very happy to give it.’ He was entirely unruffled, which had the opposite effect on Cat.

‘Are you always like this?’

‘Like what?’

‘Incredibly patronizing.’

‘I wasn’t aware that I was being. I saw you were struggling, came over to help, and—’

‘Yes, thanks for that, I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine now that squirrelgate’s over. Nice meeting you.’ She tried to walk coolly off, but Disco was intent on spending more time with her new friend, and Valentino had managed to get his lead wrapped round Bertha’s, so her aloof departure didn’t happen. Mark bent down to untangle the leads. ‘Thanks,’ she said shortly. ‘Again.’

‘No problem…again.’ She could hear the amusement in his voice.

Cat turned in the direction of the park gate. Within moments Bertha was once again in front, and Cat’s sore hand stung in the wind. The rain was coming down harder now, running in rivulets off her jacket, her short hair plastered to her forehead. She risked a glance behind her, and saw that Mark was still watching her, Chips sitting at his feet, the tennis ball in her mouth. He was attaching a lead to her collar, but raised a hand when she turned. Cat looked quickly ahead and tripped over Disco, only just managing to catch her balance and prevent herself falling, sprawling, into the middle of her pack of pets.

Cheeks burning, she picked up her pace. She had to admit that, despite her best efforts, her first proper outing as a dog walker had not gone smoothly. Still, she would learn from her mistakes, and next time she strolled into Fairview Park she’d be completely in control, as serene as a swan, even if the bloody squirrel made another appearance. She was torn between never wanting to see smug Mark and Chips again, and hoping that he’d be there to see her moment of triumph.

‘I’ll show them,’ she said to her suddenly well-behaved pooches. ‘I’ll show them just how effective I can be with my dogs. Fairview Park won’t know what’s hit it. I mean,’ she said to Bertha, who was padding alongside her, her short golden coat rubbing against Cat’s leg as they walked, ‘he acts all smug but he doesn’t even know what the park’s called. It’s not Primrose Pa—’ She stopped, the spark she’d felt earlier exploding into clarity. ‘Oh! That’s very strange.’ She glanced behind her, but Mark was no longer there. ‘What’s going on there, I wonder? What do you think, Bertha? Do you think I should try and find out?’ She took the dog’s easy silence as assent, and with her curiosity radar once more set to high, Cat made her way back to Primrose Terrace.

‘It wasn’t as bad as all that,’ Cat said. ‘It was a…lesson in dog management.’ She was sitting on Elsie’s sofa, brushing Chalky’s fur. She’d dried each of the dogs with a towel as she returned them, and the mini schnauzers looked like they’d been through a spin-cycle. ‘They saw a squirrel, and I’m sure the most experienced dog walker would have struggled to control a braying mob like mine.’ Chalky looked up at her and pressed his cold nose against her chin. ‘I wasn’t talking about you,’ Cat whispered. ‘You were a gentleman – almost.’

‘But you made it back, at least, no harm to any of them.’

‘They didn’t bite each other. They all seemed to get on fine, it was me they ganged up on.’

Elsie shook her head and stroked Disco. She was wearing a raspberry-coloured cardigan, her neat white bob perfectly in place. ‘Dogs do sense emotions in humans, much more than I think we realize. I expect they knew that you were nervous, and thought they could have a bit of extra fun at your expense. You need to be more confident.’

‘I need to be left to get on with it, is what I need.’ Cat took a long swig of tea. It burned her throat, but she enjoyed the warmth after such a cold, wet walk.

‘I thought this man rescued you?’

‘He did. But he was smug about it. Ooooh, so smug, Elsie, you wouldn’t believe. Everything about him is smug, his trendy frayed leather jacket, his stubble, his jawline.’

‘He has a smug jawline?’ Elsie looked sceptical.

‘It’s the most smug thing about him. But …’ Cat narrowed her eyes.

‘But?’

‘What do you know about Jessica?’

‘Jessica the author? Owner of your Westies?’

Cat nodded. ‘Is she married?’

‘Divorced, a couple of years ago now. She’s clearly unsettled, because the house has been up for sale several times since then, but it always comes off the market again. I suppose she might not be around for much longer.’

‘She did say she’d had a hard time recently. She was quite honest about it, considering we’d only just met.’ Cat thought of Jessica’s sad eyes, and then the Westies. Their soft white fur, their open, eager expressions. They hadn’t been that bad today, and who could hold a grudge against such pretty dogs? Already she would miss them if they weren’t there. ‘What about now?’

‘Came off the market again two weeks ago,’ Elsie said with a smile, clearly happy that she had the answers to Cat’s questions.

‘Which means…?’

‘She’s found a reason to stay in Fairview?’

‘Exactly!’ Cat leaned forward, her voice rising, making Chalky jump. She held onto the old dog, unprepared to relinquish his warmth.

‘What do you mean?’ Elsie asked.

‘Mark.’

‘Smug Mark in the park?’

‘If you have to use his full title. He said he was new here, and the “To Let” sign recently came down outside number four.’

‘Good detecting,’ Elsie said. ‘But why do you suppose he’s the one who’s moved in there? Have you seen him?’

‘No, I’ve only seen him a couple of times, in the park. But he said something that makes me think he and Jessica know each other.’

‘Which was?’

‘He called it Primrose Park. Have you ever heard anyone call it that? I mean, it’s not even on Primrose Terrace – it’s a road back – so why would you give it the wrong name?’

‘No idea. What has this got to do with Jessica?’

‘Guess who else called it Primrose Park.’

Elsie’s eyes widened. She sipped her tea thoughtfully. ‘That does seem quite coincidental. Good for Jessica. I don’t know her well, but by all accounts she’s had a rough time – there was a lot of speculation in the press about her ex-husband. She deserves some happiness.’

Cat nodded, her hands going over Chalky’s ears again and again. He was asleep now, his breaths turning to snores, his back leg twitching as in his dreams he caught the squirrel. ‘And Jessica said things were looking up – she hinted that there might be someone else. But then he didn’t seem to recognize her dogs, or maybe he was pretending not to. I wonder…’ she murmured.

‘Wonder what?’

‘Well, Mark seemed so smug and flirtatious. He seemed like he’d be…I don’t know. If she’s had a bad break-up, if she’s had her heart broken…Maybe I should – should find out a bit more about him.’

‘Cat.’ There was a warning note in Elsie’s voice.

‘She seemed so lovely and trusting when I met her. She gave me spare keys to her house after five minutes. You’d think someone in the public eye would be more cautious and I just…I don’t want her to get hurt.’

‘You barely know her.’

‘But I’m going to, if I’m going to be walking her dogs, and I think that Mark might…’

‘Might what? Not be right for her? Cat, how on earth can you think that after having met each of them for five minutes? You’re inventing things.’

‘I’m trying to be helpful.’

‘Don’t you want to focus on building up your business walking dogs to begin with, rather than inserting yourself into your clients’ private lives?’

Cat sat back on the sofa, her mind whirring. ‘But I’m in the right place to find things out. I can easily do a bit of investigating…’

‘No, Cat.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because, as I’m sure you already know, it’ll end in tears.’

With the relaxing warmth of an extra-long bath working its magic on her limbs, Cat was in her rose-print pyjamas on the sofa, struggling to stay awake. She’d spent the afternoon plotting out the pages for the Pooch Promenade website, and now just needed somebody expert to create it. She wasn’t sure after yesterday that Joe would want to be that person.

Darkness had descended, and the front room of number nine Primrose Terrace was cosy. Cat loved this time of year: the early sunsets, chilly in the evenings so that you could wrap up, but with vibrant flowers peeping up through the soil, the promise of summer around the corner. Her wrists and shoulders still ached, but her initial dismay at the disastrous walk had faded, her thoughts focused on how she could prevent it from happening again.

Shed padded into the living room, eyed Cat suspiciously and walked towards where her toes dangled enticingly over the edge of the sofa. Cat whipped her feet under her just as the front door banged open and Joe, breathing heavily and in full running gear, went straight past her and into the kitchen. Cat pretended to look at her website notes, listened to the cold tap running, the washing machine door opening, and tried not to feel so uncomfortable.

‘Hey,’ she called. ‘Good run?’ It felt lame, but she had to say something.

‘Cold,’ he called back. ‘But that wasn’t unexpected.’

‘Still raining?’

‘Yup.’

Great. Making an enemy of Polly’s brother was not on her to-do list. She took a deep breath.

‘Joe, I’m sorry I—’ She stopped as he appeared in the doorway stripped down and bare-chested in just his shorts. Cat could see that underneath his jeans and hoodies, Joe clearly kept himself very fit. ‘I shouldn’t have let the dogs in yesterday,’ she said quickly. ‘Jessica sprang the visit on me, and I didn’t realize she was bringing her dogs, but I…I couldn’t turn away – t-turn her away.’ Cat wasn’t sure where to look; there was something about Joe’s ripped torso that was making her feel a bit hot under the collar. She fumbled awkwardly as he stood there half-naked, fixing her with a steady gaze. His blond hair was dark from the rain, his blue eyes bright after his exertion.

She tried again. ‘What I’m saying is…’

‘I know what you’re saying. I know it was an awkward situation, and I’m sorry if I seemed unreasonable. But I don’t want dogs here, and I was surprised you’d let them in.’

‘I am really sorry.’

‘I know,’ he nodded. ‘Apology accepted.’ He gave her a hint of a smile, retrieved his glass of water from the kitchen and sat down opposite her, his elbows on his knees. His breathing had just about returned to normal, but Cat found herself fixated by the rise and fall of his chest, his slender but toned arms, and the six-pack. She looked away, thought of Mark, of his dark, amused eyes, his easy charm. She studied the individual orange hairs of Shed’s tail. She should go upstairs.

‘You looked a bit soggy when you came in earlier,’ Joe said eventually. ‘Were you walking the dogs?’

Cat nodded, reached for her cold cup of tea. ‘My first official walk as Pooch Promenade.’

‘And how did it go?’ She sensed him thaw a little, felt the slip back into a familiar routine.

‘Well,’ she said, trying to ignore Joe’s bare chest. ‘It started out well enough. I had a Rhodesian ridgeback, Elsie’s mini schnauzers and the three Westies—’ She stopped.

‘Jessica’s three,’ he confirmed for her. ‘It’s in the past. Go on.’

‘Right, thanks. We were trotting happily along, and then they spotted a squirrel, and then I might as well have been a rag doll at the mercy of a pack of huskies, I was that effective.’ She felt a flash of the panic that had engulfed her earlier and shuddered. ‘Ugh. Anyway, I had to be rescued by a handsome stranger.’

‘Oh? Someone you know?’

‘No, due to the fact that he was a stranger.’

‘Fair enough.’ He gave a sheepish smile. ‘So he was your knight in shining armour?’

‘Complete with collie.’

‘He has a dog? Of course he does.’ Joe scratched his jaw and glanced out of the window. Neither of them had got round to pulling the curtains, and Cat realized they must be clearly visible from the road, the lit room glowing like a beacon in the dark. ‘And have you recruited his dog?’

‘No. Well, not yet. But I think he must live close by, so I’m going to see if I can find out a bit more.’

‘Oh, no.’ He turned back to her. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Nothing at all.’ She kept her tone light, knowing he would see through it in an instant.

Joe put his glass on the table. ‘It took you two months to wreck your job at the nursery, and that was because you decided to upset the natural order. You knew what was allowed, and you did the opposite.’ His voice was rising, his blue eyes hard. ‘You’re not even one week into your new job – your business, I might add, nobody to lose out except you – and already you’re plotting something. You’re going to mess it up before it’s even got going.’

‘I’m trying to get more clients, that’s all.’

‘You’re after this guy?’

‘I’m intrigued by him.’ That was true, and she wasn’t after him, especially not if he was already with Jessica.

‘If you like him, why not just invite him for a drink? Then you can find out more by asking him.’

‘It’s more complicated than that. I need to know some things first.’

Joe took his glass into the kitchen. ‘Not everything has to be complicated,’ he called. ‘And sometimes, often, in fact, simple is better.’ He dropped his voice so Cat had to strain to hear him. She got the impression he was no longer talking to her. ‘Most of the time, simple is far less bloody trouble.’

‘Poor Joe,’ Cat said to Shed, who was still at her feet. ‘Not a happy bunny, is he?’

‘Who’s a bunny?’

‘Nobody. I was just saying to Shed that he’d probably quite like to chase a bunny.’

Joe narrowed his eyes. ‘Shed’s far too lazy to go after a rabbit. Sometimes he finds going after a bowl of Whiskas too taxing.’

‘Joe, would you like me to walk him for you?’ She grinned. ‘Walking cats isn’t that weird – I bet quite a lot of people do it.’

‘I’d love that.’

Cat frowned. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes, I would love to see you try and walk a Rhodesian what’s-its-name, three Westies and my fat cat. I would video it, and it’d go viral in about three days – three hours if a squirrel got in on the act.’

Once he’d gone for his shower, Cat put the kettle on. She felt a small glow of satisfaction. Maybe she hadn’t completely ruined her relationship with him, maybe he could be worked on, made cups of tea, chipped away at until the real Joe – the Joe before Alex Duhamel and Rosalin – came back, emerging from the layers of misery. Maybe she could have her cartoon dog and Pooch Promenade website after all.