Fiona Gibson 3 Book Bundle. Fiona Gibson

to go, and after that they want three new ones a week so it’s a sort of ongoing thing …’

      ‘What, indefinitely?’

      Kerry chuckles. ‘Sounds like it – till the end of time. God, what a thought …’

      ‘You’re such a grafter,’ Brigid marvels. ‘Twenty hours a week at the library are all I can manage. And I’m glad you’re a dog person now. You know what Shorling’s like – pretty and all that, but not the friendliest place if you don’t quite fit the mould. It can be a bit lonely sometimes.’

      Kerry glances at Brigid. She knows Joe’s dad disappeared years ago, deciding that Goan beaches held more appeal than his newborn son, which struck her as heartless beyond belief. She is aware, too, that Joe isn’t always invited to classmates’ parties, and has seen some of the school gate mothers giving Brigid’s clingy tops and skimpy dresses disdainful glances.

      ‘Same for me,’ she says. ‘Without our walks, my weekends would feel really strange and empty when the kids are with Rob. I suppose that’s why I cram in as many pupils on Saturdays and Sundays as I can.’

      ‘Clown guy coming along okay?’ Brigid grins.

      Kerry laughs as she unclips Buddy’s lead. ‘He’s only had one proper lesson but yes, seems ultra-keen.’

      ‘Keen on you, I bet.’ She raises a brow.

      ‘I’ve told you, I’m not looking …’

      ‘Right, now you’ve got Buddy instead …’

      They stop and perch on the rocks as the dogs potter around together.

      ‘Don’t knock it,’ Kerry laughs. ‘I was all over the place when Rob left and now, well … it’s as if Buddy’s given our lives some kind of shape and order. And it’s great watching him home in on Rob’s crotch like a heat-seeking missile …’

      ‘Kerry,’ Brigid nudges her, ‘I think you’d better call him back.’

      Hell, Buddy has taken off, and is pelting across the wet sand, paying no heed to her calls.

      ‘Buddy!’ she yells, heading towards the sea where he’s leaping through the shallow waves, sending up a spray of water behind him. If he weren’t showing her up – several dog walkers are watching with interest as she calls him ineffectually – she’d delight in his exuberance. He turns inland then, pelting towards the dunes. Kerry spots a small figure in a pink coat who shrinks back as Buddy leaps up at her.

      ‘Buddy, get down,’ she calls out, breathless as she catches up with him and clips on his lead. The woman glares down at the wet splodges all over her coat.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ Kerry exclaims.

      ‘He’s out of control,’ the woman splutters, her small, immaculately-clipped dog – Kerry has yet to be able to identify breeds – sitting neatly beside her.

      ‘I’m really sorry,’ Kerry repeats. ‘He just loves people and—’

      ‘You shouldn’t have a big dog like that if you can’t control him.’

      ‘But he’s only …’ Kerry falters, instantly pinged back to a terrible moment in the Co-op when she’d taken her eye off Freddie – who was just a toddler then – for just long enough for him to clamber onto a freezer, extract a packet of potato waffles and fling them across the store like a frisbee, hitting an elderly man on the neck. Of course, she’d apologised profusely. Sometimes it feels as if she spends her life saying sorry for things she hasn’t actually done. Women like that, she heard the man mutter as he stomped away, shouldn’t be allowed to have kids. Like there was a series of child-rearing tests you had to pass in order to be ‘allowed’ to make them.

      ‘I can control him actually,’ Kerry fibs, glowering at the woman, ‘and there’s no need to be so unpleasant.’

      ‘I think you’d be a little annoyed,’ she splutters, ‘if your coat was dry clean only.’ The white dog twitches its nose at the woman’s feet.

      ‘Tell you what, then,’ Kerry retorts. ‘I live at 82 Ocean Drive. Have your coat cleaned and send me the bill, okay?’

      The woman growls something unintelligible as Kerry marches back to where Brigid and Roxy are waiting by the rocks.

      ‘Take it she gave you a hard time?’ she asks.

      Kerry sighs. ‘Oh, I suppose she was justified. You don’t see any other dogs leaping up at strangers, and her coat is dry clean only.’

      ‘Who’d wear something like that to walk their dog?’ Brigid scoffs. ‘Come on, it’s freezing out here. Let’s grab a coffee and a snack.’

      Kerry hesitates. ‘Buddy doesn’t like being tied up outside and I don’t fancy another scene, to be honest.’

      ‘Oh, I know just the place. We can sit right by the window so he’ll be able to see you. We’re both child-free, aren’t we? Let’s make the most of it.’

      *

      The cafe Brigid has in mind is Luke’s, the sandwich place which came to the rescue with the Egyptian feast, and which has two tables by the window overlooking the narrow cobbled street.

      ‘I love their Emmental and spinach on wholegrain,’ Brigid enthuses, scanning the chalked menu above the counter.

      Kerry glances outside. ‘Just look at him, Brigid.’ She indicates Buddy’s mournful face at the glass. ‘He looks like a pitiful orphan waiting for scraps.’

      ‘Rubbish,’ Brigid retorts. ‘I’ve never seen a happier, healthier-looking dog. Anyway, he’s got Roxy for company. Now, what are you having? My treat.’

      ‘Um … an Americano and a chocolate brownie please.’

      ‘That’s my girl.’ Brigid gives their order to the floppy-haired boy behind the counter – the one who saved Kerry’s bacon with his figs – and carries their tray to the table. Outside, Roxy is sitting politely, almost motionless, like one of those model dogs with a slot in their head where you can post coins for charity. Beside her, Buddy gazes in at Kerry, radiating adoration.

      ‘So I had my first encounter from that dating site,’ Brigid is telling her.

      ‘What – grownupandsorted.com?’

      ‘That’s the one. God, what a disaster that was.’

      ‘What happened?’ Kerry asks.

      ‘Ugh.’ Brigid shudders. ‘Have you ever noticed how off-putting it is to watch a man eating salad? Like, when you’re not eating – we were only supposed to be meeting for coffee – and you’ve got this big, strapping man in front of you cramming lettuce leaves into his mouth …’ She makes a chomping rabbit face, and they’re both sniggering as Kerry’s mobile rings.

      She checks the screen. ‘Damn, it’s the Impregnator … hi, Rob? Everything okay?’

      ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he mumbles vaguely.

      ‘Are the children all right?’

      ‘Uh … yes. I, um … I’m just sitting in Mum and Dad’s back garden having a fag.’

      ‘A fag? But I thought you stopped years ago.’ Kerry throws Brigid an exasperated look.

      ‘Yeah, well, no. I’ve sort of started again.’ He pauses. ‘I just … wanted to call you. Things, er … didn’t go too well over lunch. I’ve had to take Nadine to the station …’

      Kerry takes a moment to process this. ‘Did something happen with her and kids? Did she upset them?’

      ‘No, no,’ he says quickly. ‘It wasn’t that. It was more between her and Mum, they didn’t quite see eye-to-eye—’

      ‘Rob,