Though I’ll be honest, the first few days have been a bit of a nightmare. I even wondered if I’d made a mistake. In fact there were a few tearful moments when I thought maybe I wasn’t a dog person. Maybe I didn’t have what it takes to rescue a dog. I mean, seriously. Harry moults hair every-where, digs holes in the garden, destroys all his toys and howls if he’s left alone. I’ve been trying to get him to sleep downstairs, but without much luck. Last night he chewed up his dog bed and wouldn’t go to sleep until I let him sleep on my bed. And I still can’t get the smell of sick out of the rental car, from when he threw up on the back seat.

But then this morning I took him for his first walk and we met this old man, and it was only when I got home that I realized I’d had the first real conversation with someone since moving here – and it happened because of Harry. And it got me thinking. Maybe it’s not me rescuing Harry, but the other way round. Maybe Harry’s the one rescuing me.

x

A Moment of Truth

‘This car smells funny.’

‘Really? I can’t smell anything.’

A few days later I drive into town to the local branch of the rental car company, to return the Fiat and lie through my teeth.

‘Hmm . . .’

Ajay has the distrustful air of a sales agent who has seen, heard and smelled it all when it comes to customers and the lengths they will go to in their subterfuge to conceal dents, scratches, missing wing mirrors and worse. Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he pushes his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and ducks his head further inside the car.

I watch with trepidation as he takes a deep inhale of the upholstery.

‘It smells like . . .’ He pauses, searching for the right word.

‘A floral fragrance with citrus top notes,’ I jump in, smiling broadly. What’s that saying: smile and the world smiles with you?

Ajay, however, does not appear to know that saying and re-emerges grim-faced.

‘Vomit.’

‘Oh.’

This is excruciating. I should have told the truth, but I can ill afford to lose my deposit.

He glances down at the clipboard in his hands, which has my paperwork. ‘Mrs Brooks.’

‘It’s Ms . . . but, please, call me Liv.’

‘Ms Brooks,’ he repeats again, firmly, ‘have you had a dog in this car?’

It’s less an accusation and more a statement.

I clutch my chest theatrically. ‘A dog? No, whatever gives you that idea?’

As if presenting an exhibit in court, he holds up a rubber bone in his left hand and squeezes it. It gives a loud squeak.

I’d wondered where it had gone. I’d taken it for Harry when I went to pick him up from the rescue shelter, but he completely ignored it. It must have got wedged between the seats.