Behaving Badly. Isabel Wolff

difficult.’

      ‘—Hmm,’ acknowledged his friend. ‘Let’s hope she’s got the range for it.’

      ‘—And the breathing of course!’

      ‘—Gosh, yes.’

      The orchestra swelled to a crescendo, and the dog started to vocalize.

      ‘Yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yaaap!

      ‘Yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yaaap!

      ‘Yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yap…’

      ‘—Not bad,’ said the connoisseur appreciatively.

      ‘—She’s hitting those top notes pretty well.’

      ‘—She’s not really a coloratura though, let’s face it.’

      ‘—Oooh, I wouldn’t say that.’

      ‘Yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yaaap!’

      ‘—Sounds a bit like Maria Callas, if you ask me.’

      ‘—More like Lesley Garrett.’

      ‘Yap yap yap yap yap yap yap yaaap!’

      Pretzel’s performance was enthusiastically received, then the last contestant, a sheepdog, began to croon along to the strains of ‘Danny Boy’.

      ‘Ow wow wow wooooow…’

      ‘—God, isn’t that beautiful?’

      ‘Ow wow wow wow wow wow wow wooooooowww…’

      ‘—Brings tears to your eyes doesn’t it?’

      ‘Ow wow wow wooooow, wow wow wow wow wow woooooowwwwwwww…’

      ‘—Got a tissue anyone?’

      ‘Wow wow ow WOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWW…’

      ‘—Nice rubato.’

      ‘Wow wow wow wow wow wow wow wooooooow…’

      ‘—He could get a recording contract with a voice like that.’

      ‘Wow wow wow wow wow wow wow wow wow woow woow woooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwww!’

      There was a moment’s silence, then thunderous applause.

      ‘Now’ said Caroline, ‘may we please have your votes?’ Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. I glanced at my watch—it was a quarter to five and the fete would soon finish. I felt my heart race. Where was he? ‘Can we have the votes for Desmond and his cover version of the Paul McCartney?’ I heard Caroline ask. There was a few seconds’ silence while she counted them. Maybe he’d gone into the house. ‘And now a show of hands please for Pretzel and her thrilling rendition of the Mozart…one, two…five…eight, okay…’ I looked towards the garden. ‘And lastly, your votes for Shep the sheepdog, and “Danny Boy”…Oh, that’s a very decisive result! So I’m delighted to announce that this year’s Little Gateley Pup Idol is Shep the sheepdog. Shall we ask him to sing it again?’

      ‘YEAAHHHH!!!!’

      As Shep did his reprise I spotted Jimmy, chatting amiably to the woman running the tombola. ‘Thank you so much,’ I heard him say as I approached. ‘We really appreciate it.’ I hovered for a moment, knowing that he must have seen me on the periphery of his vision, but he pointedly kept his back turned. Then he moved on to a group of people by the refreshment tent. I could hardly interrupt.

      ‘Yes,’ I heard him say. ‘It’s been a wonderful afternoon, hasn’t it? No, we love having it here.’ I pretended to be engrossed in the bric-a-brac stall. ‘So lucky with the weather, yes. And how old are your lovely kids? Four and two? Lovely ages. How sweet.’ Now, as he strolled confidently towards the house, stopping every few yards to speak to someone, I discreetly pursued him, my heart racing. It was all very well confronting him, but what would I say? What words could evoke my feelings about the dreadful thing he’d once done? As he headed for the French windows I followed twenty feet behind, feeling like a stalker, the blood drumming in my ears. I’d go into the house and I’d speak to him. For the first time in sixteen years I’d call out his name.

      ‘Miss Sweet? Excuse me? Miss Sweet?’ I turned. An elderly man with a Jack Russell was standing there, smiling at me. I glanced towards the house. Jimmy had gone.

      ‘I just wanted to say how much I like your TV programme.’

      ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Thanks very much.’

      ‘I watched them all—and I can’t wait for the new series.’

      ‘Well, that’s great.’ I smiled, then turned to go.

      ‘I just wanted to ask your advice actually.’ My heart sank. ‘About Skip here.’

      ‘Er, yes. Of course. How can I help?’

      ‘He keeps digging up the garden. It’s driving me and my wife up the wall.’

      ‘Tell you what,’ I said, fumbling in my bag, and retrieving one of my business cards, ‘why don’t you e-mail me, and I’ll reply.’

      ‘Well it really won’t take long for me to explain now, and I just wanted to catch you before the end of the fete. You see we got Skip six months ago, from Battersea actually, and we just fell for him the moment we saw him…’ I stood there, an expression of polite interest superglued to my face while the man went into grinding detail about Skip’s excavations of the vegetable patch, the rose-bed, and the herbaceous border. ‘We do love him, but ooh, the damage he’s caused.’

      ‘You need a digging pit,’ I said, slightly irritably. ‘Terriers are natural diggers. That’s what they’re bred for, so he’ll never stop. But you can make sure that he’s fulfilling those natural instincts in a way that doesn’t wreck your garden. I suggest you build him a pit, like a sandpit, and fill it with wood chippings, and let him dig to his heart’s content in that. You could hide a few of his favourite toys in there to encourage him to use it,’ I added, trying to be helpful now.

      ‘Well, thanks very much. That’s good advice. A pit,’ he repeated, shaking his head. ‘I’d never have thought of that.’

      ‘Yes,’ I said, nodding. ‘A pit.’

      I glanced to my left. Everyone was leaving the arena; the fete was almost over. People were packing up. I’d have to be quick.

      ‘Right, well thanks very much,’ said the man again.

      ‘My pleasure,’ I said. And I was about to walk away when I saw Caroline coming towards me with Trigger, smiling and waving. Blast. I couldn’t look for him now.

      ‘It’s gone brilliantly,’ she said. ‘I think we’ve raised over four thousand pounds. Thanks for being such a great judge. Here’s a small token of our appreciation,’ she handed me a bottle of champagne. ‘It’s a rather nice one, actually. Vintage—1987. That was a very good year, apparently.’

      ‘Really?’ I said faintly. Not for me.

      ‘James likes to keep a good cellar.’

      ‘I see. Well, thank you,’ I said. I had no intention of drinking it.

      ‘And I do hope you get some new clients out of this.’

      ‘Who knows? I was just glad to help out. It all seems to be winding down now,’ I added.

      ‘It does look like it.’ People were strolling across the lawn towards the gates. ‘Perhaps we’ll see you again some time,’ she added pleasantly. ‘I’ll let you know how I get on with this young man’s “education”,’ she grinned, nodding at Trigger. She was so natural and nice. I found myself wishing that she wasn’t. It made the situation somehow worse.

      ‘Yes. Do let me