‘Oh, wow, look at you – you’re gorgeous.’

Instantly dropping to her knees on the floor, she begins fussing over Harry.

‘He can be quite nervous.’

‘It’s OK – I volunteer at the local rescue, I’m used to the shy ones . . . But you don’t seem that shy, do you?’ she coos, smiling.

The transformation is remarkable.

‘Wait a moment . . .’ She stops tickling Harry to look up at me. ‘I remember this dog.’

‘And I remember you,’ I say, as it suddenly registers. ‘From the car park: you were collecting money for the charity.’

‘That’ll be me.’ She grins proudly and her whole face lights up.

‘You’re the reason I adopted Harry.’

‘I am?’ She looks pleased, then frowns, knitting her perfect eyebrows together. ‘Hang on, were you the woman who said you weren’t a dog person?’

I smile. ‘Yes, that was me.’

‘So what happened?’

‘I saw Harry and changed my mind.’

There’s a pause as she takes this in.

‘I suppose we could try one lesson.’ She shrugs. ‘See how it goes?’

‘OK,’ I nod casually, but I want to punch the air. ‘Let’s see how it goes.’

Text Message: Ajay, Car Rental Man

Good news. Accounts have finally responded regarding your deposit and the refund was actioned this morning, so it should be in your account by the end of the day. An extra £25 has been added as a gesture of goodwill. I want to extend my apologies regarding this matter and hope this conclusion is satisfactory.

Furthermore, on a personal note, I wondered if you would like to go for a drink with an officious jobsworth twat sometime?

Ajay x

Only a Number

‘You’ve been asked on a date!’

It’s Friday evening and I’m on the sofa again in front of the fire. I’ve ordered some logs from a local delivery place and started making the effort of having a fire every night. I wouldn’t go to the trouble just for me, but I know Harry likes to warm himself in front of it. Plus I’ve discovered a certain satisfaction that never came with simply flicking a switch on the gas fire in London.

‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’

‘Why is it ridiculous to go on a date?’

‘It’s a drink, not a date.’

I’m on the phone to Naomi, while nursing a glass of wine. It’s not even six o’clock yet, but I’m taking the approach that it’s six o’clock somewhere. Harry’s already zonked out for the night. I think about how Friday nights in London used to involve dinner in a restaurant, meeting friends for drinks or tickets to the theatre. It feels like another lifetime.

‘What’s the difference?’ she demands.

‘A date is between two people who could potentially be in a relationship. A drink can be between anyone.’

‘Is that an actual dictionary definition?’

Curling my feet up underneath me on the sofa, I take a large mouthful of wine and slosh it around my teeth like mouthwash. I don’t know why I feel so thrown. It’s only a text.