Love is a Four-Legged Word: The romantic comedy about canines, conception and fresh starts Read online

  Love is a Four-Legged Word

  Michele Gorman

  Copyright © 2016 Michele Gorman

  Cover images © Maria Starus and Teddy and Mia

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Also by Michele Gorman

  Match Me If You Can

  The Curvy Girls Club

  The Curvy Girls Baby Club

  Perfect Girl

  Life Change

  The Reluctant Elf

  Christmas Carol

  Single in the City (The Expat Diaries I)

  Misfortune Cookie (The Expat Diaries II)

  Twelve Days to Christmas (The Expat Diaries III)

  Weightless (a Romantic Comedy Short Story)

  A Note

  In writing this book I worked with Penaran Higgs, a qualified counsellor in pet behaviour problems and the owner of Pet Shrink (www.petshrink.co.uk). Pen holds a Post-Graduate Diploma in Companion Animal Behaviour Counselling from Southampton University and is a full member of the APBC (Association of Pet Behaviour Counsellors), a member of ASAB (the Association for the Study of Animal Behaviour) and a member of the CABTSG (Companion Animal Behaviour Therapy Study Group). Pen helped me with the behavioural techniques throughout the book and hopefully I haven’t misrepresented them. Any errors in this area are mine alone.

  This novel is written in British English instead of American English, including all vocabulary, spelling and grammar.

  Chapter 1

  Scarlett barely had time to register the furry flash of red before it rugby-tackled her in the park. One second she was talking to the dog owners and the next she was staring up at the grey March sky through the bare branches of the horse chestnuts.

  ‘Oh, bugger, I’m so sorry!’ called the man running towards them. ‘Murphy, no! Bad dog! Bad dog, Murphy.’

  But the Irish setter humping Scarlett’s shin was too intent on his lovemaking to be put off by his owner’s shouts.

  Struggling to her feet, Scarlett managed to gently pry the dog off her jeans. She couldn’t help feeling sorry about the profoundly desperate look on his face.

  None of this was what she’d pictured when she’d first found out that being a dog behaviourist was an actual thing people got paid to do. In her head she was the love child of Doctor Doolittle and Sigmund Freud, a fairy dogmother who transformed pet owners’ lives across Greater London. In reality she spent a lot of time being drooled over in the mud.

  Scarlett bet Sigmund hadn’t had problems like that with his clients.

  ‘He slipped his collar,’ said the man, circling Murphy’s solid neck with his arm. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, don’t worry about me,’ she said. ‘Occupational hazard. I’m flattered that Murphy wants to make me his girlfriend.’

  A few of the dog owners gathered around giggled nervously. Nobody quite knew how to react to the dog-on-girl action they’d just witnessed.

  Scarlett’s face flamed. How was she supposed to exude canine expertise with Murphy giving her those come-to-bed eyes? A lot of people didn’t take her seriously as it was, thanks to that celebrity Dog Whisperer on the telly. She could tell them till she was blue in the face about her masters in Companion Animal Behaviour Counselling or her undergraduate degree in psychology. They still suspected she was a dog walker with aspirations above her station.

  She gathered her flyaway blonde curls back into a ponytail. Ponytails meant business. ‘Hiya!’ she said to the dozen people before her. ‘Thanks loads for coming! Today’s an introduction, where we’ll check that group training is right for your dog. A few might be better off with one-on-one sessions, but no one should feel embarrassed or worried that their dog is a hopeless case.’

  She glanced at Murphy, who’d slipped into a post-coital glow.

  ‘Seeing as we’ve sort of met Murphy,’ she said to the man scratching his red setter’s ears, ‘maybe you can tell us a little bit about you both?’

  Murphy’s owner gave everyone a friendly wave and gathered them all in with his huge smile. Despite the early spring chill in the air he was wearing just a tee shirt with his jeans. Scarlett didn’t see any gooseflesh on his tanned biceps, and she was definitely looking.

  She twisted her wedding ring. It wasn’t like Rufus would mind her having a peek. Neither of them were the jealous type and anyway, after nearly five years together, they weren’t so much in the honeymoon phase as the honey-shall-we phase. Still trying to make an effort, though.

  Besides, the other women were staring, too, and no wonder. He was about three steps to the right side of gorgeous. Mid-thirties, with a full head of wavy brown hair and one of those dimply boy-next-door faces that made one think about knocking on his door for more than a cup of sugar.

  Judging by his cocky smile, he knew it. ‘Alright, I’m Max.’ His voice was surprisingly squeaky, given those arms. ‘And this is Murphy. He’s three, and he’s very fond of the ladies.’

  Everybody laughed.

  ‘That’s why you’ve brought Murphy today?’ Scarlett asked.

  ‘I had to do it,’ he said. ‘He hates the lead so I need to be able to walk him without one, but he jumps on anyone who moves, dogs or people. Even males. He’s open-minded like that.’

  ‘Have you thought about having him neutered?’

  Max winced. ‘No way, not if I don’t absolutely have to.’ He shielded his own crotch in solidarity. ‘I won’t have to, will I?’

  ‘Well, we’ll see what we can do.’ Though she already knew Murphy would need to have individual sessions. Humpers were too disruptive in a group class.

  Just as she was about to ask a raven-haired young woman to introduce herself, she noticed the paunchy middle-aged man standing uncomfortably close to her. If he stared at the woman’s chest any harder, he’d strain his eyes.

  ‘Excuse me, can we help you?’ Scarlett snapped.

  The guy practically had his nose in the poor woman’s cleavage.

  ‘I’m here for Ruff Love.’ His face bloomed red.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you have to have a dog to join us.’

  For a second he looked confused. Then he said, ‘Oh! I get it. You mean role play, like collars and leashes and the like? I’m usually less S and more M, but I can do submissive. Someone can be my owner.’ He stared again at the young woman, who pulled her jacket more tightly around herself.

  Scarlett sighed. Why couldn’t people read the advert properly? That Fifty Shades had a lot to answer for.

  ‘Can I ask where you heard about Ruff Love?’ she asked.

  ‘My mates told me.’ He looked like he was working out that he may have been lied to. At least he’d stopped ogling the pretty girl. ‘This isn’t a sex club, then?’

  ‘No, I’m really sorry. It’s a dog-training course. Ruff Love. As in ruff, ruff,’ she barked. The proposition got Murphy’s attention.

  ‘I did wonder about meeting in the park,’ he murmured, backing away. ‘Sorry.’

  A few seconds later they heard him shout into his phone. ‘You wanker!’

  Scarlett clamped her hand over her mouth, but a snort squeezed out anyway.

  ‘I’m sorry if anyone else is here under false pretences,’ s
he said. ‘Let’s carry on… not carry on.’ She made a childish mrewr noise straight out of primary school. ‘You know what I mean.’

  The pretty girl relaxed once the sex pest left. She was just about to speak when a blonde woman in a black velvet tracksuit interrupted. ‘Excuse me. I’m sure this is all very interesting, but will it take much longer? I thought we were here to train our dogs.’

  ‘The assessment session is an hour long,’ Scarlett patiently explained. ‘And yes, we’ll start with the training once I know who everyone is.’

  So there she was. Every class had one – the client dangling at the end of her tether – and Scarlett did try to sympathise. It was maddening to live with a dog who wouldn’t listen. Still, she hated being treated like the hired help just because she was hired to help.

  ‘Well, if it’s mostly talking,’ Miss Jogging Bottoms said, ‘then I might as well come back during the week. I can’t stay long on Saturdays. I have Pilates.’

  With that she turned to go while everyone stared at her. The word Juicy stretched across her arse. Even her schnauzer looked embarrassed for her.

  ‘Have fun at Pilates,’ Scarlett called to her retreating back. She wouldn’t come back. Pet owners like that never did, once they worked out that the class wouldn’t revolve around them. This was exactly why she always did an introductory session first, even though she barely had time.

  When she smiled at a stocky, pleasant-looking young man, he took the cue to introduce himself.

  ‘I’m Charlie. Hi everyone! Meet Barkley. He’s a five-year-old yellow lab.’ He lowered his voice and turned away from the dog, who was sitting on his ample haunches. ‘Barkley has an eating issue. Don’t stare at him, though – it makes him self-conscious.’

  Barkley panted at Charlie’s back with interest. When he lifted his head to gaze with gentle brown eyes at Charlie, furry rolls appeared at the back of his neck.

  ‘I inherited him last year from my mum when she died.’

  The dog’s ears perked up at hearing Charlie say ‘mum’.

  ‘Is it just a matter of feeding him less?’ Scarlett wondered.

  When Charlie shook his head a thatch of blonde hair flopped into his eyes. ‘If only. Barkley hoovers up everything he can find off the ground. Honestly, he’s a nightmare to walk. He’s been to the vet twice already because of it. He ate my iPhone plug. Not the cable. The plug. That was three nights at the vet’s. I suppose his problem is that Mum spoiled him?’

  Oh, good – mother issues! Barkley was going to be an interesting case.

  But then most dogs were interesting. That’s why she loved her job.

  When she first started her course she was sure she’d screw up her own dog. After all, if she’d been a trainee hairstylist instead, she’d have wanted to give the whole family highlights, right? It was the same sort of thing.

  Oscar had been ten by then, so to be fair, any damage was probably already done. Still, she made a conscious effort not to scramble his poor old Labrador brains.

  She stole a glance at the young blonde woman hovering at the edge of the group. She was tense, and sort of folded in on herself like one of those origami fortune tellers with the four little pyramids that you put your fingers in to decide if someone likes you.

  When Scarlett walked towards her the Jack Russell at her feet started madly barking. ‘Are you with us?’ she shouted above the din.

  ‘No, I’m just waiting for Charlie.’ She leaned down to stroke the dog. ‘It’s okay, Hiccup, nobody’s going to hurt you.’

  ‘Actually,’ Scarlett said, ‘if you don’t mind a little advice… Patting Hiccup when she’s being aggressive like that rewards her for her behaviour. If you want to walk her away a bit, she’ll feel less stressed. I don’t want to back up because that’ll make her think she’s a very brave dog who’s scared me off.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I can come back.’

  Charlie’s eyes followed the woman as she left and Scarlett continued her usual spiel about meeting in the community centre for the evening classes and there in the park on weekends.

  As everyone wrote down their details in the signing-in book, she noticed a middle-aged woman pleading with her cocker spaniel from the end of a long retractable lead.

  The spaniel was trying to weave everyone in the park together with her lead.

  ‘Oh, please won’t you come here, Biscuit?’ the woman begged. ‘There’s a good girl.’

  Biscuit was having none of it. She wove another figure of eight, neatly tying together two more people and a dog.

  ‘Biscuit?’ Tentatively the woman tugged the dog’s lead. ‘Please come?’

  Biscuit stopped her lanyard-weaving long enough to unleash a tirade on her owner.

  ‘Hiya,’ Scarlett said, approaching carefully. ‘Are you with us?’

  ‘I am! I’m sorry, I’m so bloomin’ hopeless! Come here, Biscuit, please!’

  Biscuit ignored the request.

  ‘Be sure to add your details so I can send you a questionnaire, okay Mrs…?’

  ‘Margaret. I’m just Margaret.’ Her auburn hair was cut into a chin-length bob with stylishly flippy-outy bits around her ears. And the deep laugh lines surrounding her mouth gave her face a friendly look. Scarlett recognised the Boden duffle coat she wore – her mum had the same one – but judging by the woman’s pearl earrings and chunky gold necklace, she probably didn’t get hers at the charity shop like Mum had.

  She started walking towards Scarlett, but got tangled up in Biscuit’s lead. ‘Oh, what am I like?!’ Hopping on one leg she managed to reel her dog in a few feet. ‘I’ll get her under control eventually. Sorry everybody!’

  They waved away her apology. Everyone was in the same doghouse there.

  ‘Honeyyy, I’m home!’ Rufus called over Fred and Ginger’s distinctive melody of jingly collars and tapping toenails on the floor tiles.

  They’d bought their house because of those tiles. They were gloriously Victorian – the Blenheim pattern, the estate agent had told them, like there was a Monet painted on the floor – and they made Scarlett smile every time she saw the colourful diamond and flower design. The rest of the house was held together with sticking plasters and hope, but those tiles would survive World War III.

  ‘How were my dogs?’ Scarlett shouted from the kitchen.

  She could hear Rufus kicking off his boots. They’d sit in the middle of the hall until she shoved them under the church pew. ‘My dogs were very well-behaved, thank you,’ he said.

  Neither of them claimed Fred and Ginger when they barfed up shredded loo roll.

  Two streaks of white hurled themselves towards her feet.

  ‘Fred has a new trick,’ said Rufus as he crashed into the kitchen after their Westies. His joints always seemed more loosely hinged than most. He looked like a marionette coming into the room.

  His blond stubble buffed Scarlett’s chin when she puckered for a kiss.

  ‘C’mere, Fred,’ he said. ‘Watch this. Watch. Are you ready? Sit, Fred.’

  When Rufus showed Fred his palm, Fred raised his paw.

  ‘Did you see that? High five! Good boy!’

  ‘More of a middling two than a high five, I think. I hate to break it to you, but he already shakes paws.’

  ‘What are you talking about? This is miles better than paw shaking. Didn’t you see the extension there? It was definitely a high five.’ Rufus considered Fred, who looked quite pleased with himself. But then, West Highland terriers usually did. ‘It still needs some work, granted.’

  ‘I’m glad to see you’re spending your time productively in the park,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t teach him. It must have been Shannon.’

  Saint Shannon: their best friend and Scarlett’s business partner. Which reminded her to check her text from earlier. ‘Does Ginger do it, too?’ she asked, scrolling through her phone.

  ‘Nope, just Fred,’ he said as he started pulling veg and meat from the fridge
for their usual weekend stew. ‘She’s probably teaching Ginger a different trick. Maybe ask her on Monday.’

  ‘You can ask her,’ Scarlett said. ‘I’ve got evening training, remember? I should be home by eight or so.’

  Strictly speaking, they didn’t need a dog walker – there was a dog flap leading into the garden that Fred and Ginger could use. But it was nuts not to use Scarlett’s own company’s services. Besides, they knew from experience that leaving West Highland terriers alone to make their own fun wasn’t a good idea.

  She sidled up to Rufus, looping her arms around his lean torso from behind. She loved the solid feel of his chest. ‘I’ve got to send out the Ruff Love questionnaires and then I’m all yours for the rest of the night. Do with me what you will.’

  He turned from the sink, where he was splashing more water on the worktop than the vegetables, and stared deeply into her eyes. ‘Darlin’, I know exactly what we should do.’

  The excitement in his expression made Scarlett’s nether parts start to wibble. Finally, they were on the same page… or at least in the same book. She didn’t mind skim-reading ahead to get to the good bits if she had to.

  ‘Let’s watch a box set. The new Game of Thrones series?’ He pecked her on the nose and turned back to the sink.

  For god’s sake. What did a woman have to do to sleep with her husband?

  Scarlett’s sigh caught Ginger’s attention. At least someone noticed. She poured herself a glass of wine and went into the living room to text Shannon back.

  Chapter 2

  ‘Seriously, Sampson?’ Shannon mumbled, pulling the bulldog away from the wheel. But it was too late. ‘I’m so sorry!’ she said to the woman giving her evils.

  Sampson wasn’t sure what to make of the interruption. His leg stayed cocked as he hopped away from the pram. It was one of those old-fashioned ones that cost more than Shannon’s first car, the show-offy kind that only people with an enormous front hall could fit in their house.