A Christmas Tail: A heart-warming Christmas romance. Cressida McLaughlin

I’m setting up Facebook and Twitter accounts.’

      Joe took a moment – Cat thought he was probably counting to three – before looking up at her. She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, her laptop balanced on her knees. ‘Read it again,’ he said.

      She did. ‘So, what do you think?’

      He nodded, lips pressed together. ‘I’m impressed. Hardly any flippancy at all, a bit of humour, striking the right balance between friendly and businesslike.’

      Cat grinned. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Apart from the name, of course, which could still do with some work.’

      ‘But your suggestions were worse than ours!’ Cat said. ‘This one feels right.’

      It had been a week since Pooch Promenade had been born, though it had taken a further four days to come up with the name. Polly had texted her suggestions from work: Doggy Daycare, Wonderful Walkies, Puppy Perks. They had interrupted favourite television shows, and Cat had woken in the middle of the night when an idea pushed its way to the surface. Joe had even got in on the act, though Cat wasn’t sure the Post-it note he’d left for her to find when he’d gone out for a run had been a serious suggestion. It said Bitchin’ Walks, next to a brilliant cartoon of a dog, lead in mouth, looking pleased. Cat had stuck it on the wall above her dressing table.

      Polly had come up with Pooch Promenade while they were watching a period drama, the main characters strolling in the grounds of a grand stately home, parasols shielding them from the sun.

      ‘Does Magic Mouse have a Twitter account?’ Cat asked Joe.

      ‘Yup.’

      ‘So you’ve got lots of local followers?’

      ‘Yup.’ His head was back down, his fingers wrapped around his coffee mug. Cat made a face at him and started searching for it online.

      ‘I saw that,’ Joe said.

      ‘Good,’ Cat murmured, her attention drawn to the 2,500 followers Joe had managed to accumulate. ‘Wow.’ She began scrolling through them, clicking ‘follow’ on any that were obviously local to Fairview or Fairhaven. She recognized a couple of names, businesses mostly: Spatz Restaurant, the local library, Capello’s Ice Cream Parlour – Not Just for Sundaes. She found the nursery, hovered over the ‘follow’ button and then clicked on it. Alison could find out how proactive she was being.

      She scrolled down through photo avatars and the occasional cartoon picture. Magic Mouse Illustrations was represented by a simple cartoon of a mouse – half computer, half cheese-eating. It made Cat smile every time she saw it, and she wondered if she could convince Joe to draw something for Pooch Promenade. Her company would be so much more recognizable if she had a cute cartoon dog as the logo.

      ‘You can’t just follow people,’ Joe said, ‘you need to say something useful.’

      ‘I will. But there’s no point saying it if nobody’s listening.’

      ‘Very philosophical.’

      Cat was trying to come up with a witty reply when her eyes snagged on a familiar name. Jessica Heybourne. Why did she know that name? She clicked onto her page, where there was a photo of a glamorous blonde, probably a few years older than Cat, smiling warmly at the lens with a confidence reserved for the frequently photographed. She had pale skin, heavily lined eyes and fair hair piled and teased like a cloud of candyfloss around her face. She had 22,000 followers, and her bio read: Bestselling cookery writer, total foodie, love my Westies and living by the sea. THE HEART OF FOOD out now.

      That was it! Westies.

      Elsie had told Cat that Jessica Heybourne should be at the top of her list of potential clients. She was a well-known author, popular in the community as well as further afield, and had three West Highland terriers and the potential to provide Cat with more word-of-mouth custom than the Fairhaven Press. And, as Elsie had told her gleefully, she lived at number one Primrose Terrace.

      Cat had walked past it often, her eyes lingering over the elegant primrose paint, the large porch and the gleaming glass extension that was just visible from the side of the house. Cat sat back and sipped her tea, wondering how she should approach her. Jessica would never notice a general tweet – she probably didn’t have much time to read Twitter, though she used it to promote her books and hook her adoring public. She’d have to send her a direct tweet. She could always follow it up with a personal visit.

      Abandoning her laptop, Cat walked to the window. The rain was falling in a solid sheet, the terrace barely visible beyond the raindrops slaloming down the glass. It was a typical March day, and Cat didn’t mind it – she would have to embrace all weathers if she was going to be a successful dog walker – but she wouldn’t give a good impression if she knocked on Jessica’s door looking like a bedraggled Great Dane.

      She returned to her computer, followed Jessica and began composing her tweet. Half an hour and two bitten nails later she clicked the ‘tweet’ button, sat back and waited.

      ‘What are you looking so nervous about?’ Joe picked up her empty mug.

      Cat shrugged. ‘Nothing. Just…looking for some clients.’

      ‘Inside your computer?’

      ‘That’s where it’s at these days,’ Cat said breezily, just as she remembered Joe’s insecurities about traditional illustration being sidelined by digital design. He disappeared into the kitchen and Cat heard the mugs hitting the sink with excessive force. ‘Shit,’ she whispered, then called out, ‘but how do you do it? You’ve got so many followers.’

      Joe appeared and leaned against the door frame. He shrugged, his blue eyes fixing on Cat. ‘I put stuff out there – what I’m working on, links to clients’ websites and work I’ve done for them, chat to people when they ask a question. Just be open, friendly and professional, funny sometimes. And always talk about key things – mention Fairview a lot, and dog walking. Gradually people will pick it up, find out about you through searches or retweets.’

      ‘Oh,’ Cat said, surprised by Joe’s openness and lack of sarcasm. ‘Thanks, that’s really helpful. Funny?’

      ‘Funny’s good. Funny will get noticed much more than a straight tweet. And I know you can be funny.’

      ‘But…funny to you, maybe. Not intentionally.’

      ‘I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. Try it, see what happens. I’ve got to get to work.’

      Cat listened to him pad gently up the stairs. His office was at the front of the house, above the living room, as it had the biggest windows, the most natural light for him to work with.

      Once he’d gone, Cat felt the silence like a weight. She wasn’t used to being at home during the morning. And Joe thought she was funny? She rubbed her forehead, reached out for her mug that was no longer there, and hit the ‘load new tweets’ button.

      Jessica Heybourne had followed her – and replied! Cat bit her lip. @PoochPromenade: A dog walker in Fairview? Are you new? I need to know more! Message me. Cat’s triumphant squeal filled the room, echoing off the high ceiling, and she thought she heard Joe’s office door open, wait a beat, then click shut.

      Twenty minutes later, against a darker sky and even heavier rain, the doorbell rang. It was a high, optimistic trill and Cat rushed to answer it. In a series of direct messages, Jessica’s enthusiasm for Cat’s new business had almost surpassed her own, and the celebrity author had insisted on visiting her personally, right away. Cat had changed out of her dressing gown into a cream ruffle-collared shirt and smart jeans, run a brush through her short hair and framed her large dark eyes with mascara.

      She opened the door to see Jessica – even more attractive than her photo – smiling up at her from beneath the hood of a wide-belted navy trench-coat, a cloud of white, soggy fur at her feet.

      Cat