Somebody to Love: Sigh With Contentment, Scream With Frustration. At Time You Will Weep. (16 page)

Mark didn’t whoop, once he got to the hall, but he did punch the air. It might be not be much in some people’s book, but to Mark it was monumental. Not only had Karl acknowledged another living thing, he seemed to be becoming aware of the sensitivities of the dog, of the dog’s moods — a wagging tail meant Starbuck was happy, tail down or a yelp meant he wasn’t, particularly when sat on. He seemed to realise that good meant reward, that dogs didn’t all come in the same packaging, which must mean that the world would be a less bewildering place. Karl actually seemed to be learning
from a dog
. Was that possible?

Possible or not, it was a bloody miracle. That dog definitely deserved a treat.

Mark couldn’t help wishing he had someone to share his feelings with as he headed for the kitchen. Someone close, who might confirm what his heart hoped, that his son’s personality might be emerging. That Karl might have a better quality of life. That eventually he’d be able to cope with day-to-day activities without his father constantly beside him.

Mark’s mind strayed to Donna as he headed back to the lounge with jam soldiers — light on the jam to avoid a sugar high — and dog treats for Starbuck. How she’d looked at him that first time in her kitchen when he’d joked he was worth waiting for. The way she’d looked at him in the restaurant, laughter dancing in her pretty green eyes. She’d made his heart feel as if it had wings that day.

What might she be doing today, with her Saturday, he wondered. Shopping on the High Street? He smiled. Then fervently hoped she wasn’t. Maybe he’d try calling again, one last time; tonight when he got off work, which he was going to be late for again, if he didn’t get a move on.

****

‘All done. Easy peasy, Sade. Bidding to start…’ Donna hesitated. Three-thousand and three-hundred pounds for the pocket watch sounded an awful lot of money, but it was valued at three-five. And also not hers, strictly speaking.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. So much for not debating the ethics. She was obviously rubbish at this subterfuge and underhand stuff.

Yes, and Jeremy was rubbish at providing for his own son, emotionally or otherwise. This was for Matt. If Jeremy wanted to argue about it, so be it. Donna was
not
going to be intimidated by him ever again. Shoulders set determinedly, she completed the transaction. Leticia probably paid more than that for her face anyway

Now then, the Beatles collection. Donna had another browse on the Internet. Thirty pounds? She blinked surprised at the screen. For one little vinyl record? Lord,
Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band
was worth forty on its own, and Jeremy had loads of records and albums stuffed in that box.

Maybe she’d just put two or three on? Or four, possibly? Oh, blow it, she’d round it up to five, why not, and save the rest for another rainy day.

There. All done, Donna logged off and dashed for the ringing phone — noted Simon’s number, and swallowed back her disappointment before picking up.

****

Mark wasn’t so sure Karl’s efforts to relate to the dog by peeing on the lawn was such a good idea, but he’d work on that later, he decided, still not quite able to get his head around seeing Karl tucking the quilt around Starbuck when he’d woken in the night.

His son was obviously benefiting from the tactile stimulation offered by the dog, but that he seemed to respond to Starbuck, show him affection — that was almost incomprehensible.

‘Whoa, slow down!’ Mark span around, dropping dog-food onto his shoes as Karl came shaving past in pursuit of Starbuck, and judging by the dog’s galloping gait and swishing tail he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

‘
My
Sam, Starbuck.
My
Sam,’ Karl said, trying to retrieve his favourite Fireman Sam soft-toy from the dog’s mouth.

‘Karl, slow down,’ Mark repeated, as dog and boy went round in circles playing tug-of-war. On the other hand, don’t. Mark’s breath caught in his chest as he watched Karl chuckling softly to himself, which was an everyday occurrence for most parents, but music to Mark’s ears.

Shaking his head in amazement, he continued to spoon dog-food into the bowl. He’d have to start Karl on the feeding and brushing Starbuck regime soon, hopefully teaching him that with dog ownership came responsibility. Introducing him to the idea of walking Starbuck was the first step though. He’d start him on that tomorrow when he wasn’t on duty. Take a trip to the park, maybe, which would give them some space.

‘Come on, guys, food,’ he called over dog and boy still at noisy play. ‘You know the routine, Karl. We have to clear our own breakfast things away, not leave them for Jody.’

Mark clanged the dog’s bowl down on the floor, then winced as Karl bellowed behind him, ‘
Doooon’t
! Don’t
do
that!’

Karl’s voice was hoarse and agitated and Mark realised his mistake straightaway. The noise; a loud, different noise, could destabilise Karl in an instant. ‘Karl, it’s okay.’ He went over to him, to try to reassure him, but Karl squirmed out of his grasp.

‘Don’t do that!’ he grated, backing off with his hands clamped to his ears.

‘Karl, stop. It’s all right. It was just Starbuck’s…’
Hell
, here we go. Mark’s heart sank in anticipation of the inevitable tantrum.

‘No!’ Karl screamed, heading straight for the wall, to bang his head against it — repeatedly against the bloody wall.

‘Karl, stop it!’ Mark chased him, made a grab for him, wrapped his arms around him.

Fell to his knees, and then to the floor with him.

Tried to soothe him.

To hold him.

‘It’s all right, Karl. It’s okay.’ He locked his arms around his son, rocked with him, but still Karl writhed and kicked. ‘Starbuck says it’s all right, Karl,’ Mark tried in desperation, glancing at the dog, and then again in disbelief as the dog came closer — and placed a paw on Karl’s leg.

Mark simply could not believe what his eyes were telling him.

The tantrum stopped dead.

He sucked in a breath, waited a beat, then tentatively relaxed his grip.

Karl stood up. Mark gasped, truly incredulous now. He just stood up as in nothing was happening and walked calmly over to the dog.

‘It’s all right,’ Karl said, patting Starbuck. ‘It’s just Starbuck’s…’ He repeated what Mark had said, including the trail off, then walked casually through to the lounge, Starbuck in tow.

Mark stayed where he was on the floor, blinking stupefied for a second, then looking up as Jody came down the hall, closely followed by Sally, who must have arrived with her. Had
they
seen?

‘Did you?’ He shook his head and stared at them, still in a state of utter amazement. Nothing, but nothing, had ever been able to dissuade Karl from a tantrum before.

Sally smiled. ‘I did mention he was trained to respond to a child’s repetitive behaviour.’

Mark raked his hand through his hair. ‘Yes, but I thought that would be the rocking to and fro and hand-flapping stuff, not…’

‘Banging his head? Stamping his feet?’ Sally gave Mark a knowing look.

Mark nodded. Of course. ‘Christ, that dog is working magic nothing short of miraculous.’

‘He aims to please,’ Sally assured him. ‘And the spin-off is, in ceasing the repetitive behaviours, Karl might interact with Starbuck more, thus becoming more perceptive of the dog’s needs and hopefully transferring those accomplishments to humans. There are no guarantees, of course,’ she stressed, walking across to assist him from the floor, ‘but…’

‘… he’s making progress.’ Mark grabbed hold of her hand, and thanked God he hadn’t been too proud to reach out.

‘You’ve made an awful mess of your uniform.’ Jody nodded at his dog-food-spattered trousers.

Glancing down, Mark laughed. ‘You know, in the great scheme of things, I don’t think I give a damn.’

****

Mark’s good mood evaporated as he spotted Evelyn outside his Dad’s front door.

‘Great,’ he muttered, climbing out of his car. He needed this like a hole in the head. So, did he talk to her or ignore her? Whatever, he was obliged to walk past her. At least she wasn’t here to clobber him again, he supposed, not with her daughter’s child in her arms.

‘Oh, it’s you.’ Evelyn looked him derisively up and down, as he approached the door.

Mark bent to look himself up and down. ‘Yep, definitely.’ He smiled, looking back at her. ‘Sorry to disappoint you.’

Evelyn raised her eyebrows, clearly not amused. ‘I see you’re in uniform. Out to impress the girls, are we?’

Mark decided to ignore that barbed comment. ‘On duty,’ he said. ‘If I’d known I was coming into a hazardous situation, I’d have worn full body armour.’

‘Very droll, Mr Evans. For you information, I’m not in a habit of hitting people.’

‘Glad to hear it. Have you knocked?’ Mark nodded at the door.

‘Yes.’ Evelyn hoisted Jack higher in her arms, who was becoming a bit fractious. ‘He hasn’t answered.’

‘Can’t say I blame him.’

‘Such wit,’ Evelyn said dourly. ‘He didn’t answer when Dot knocked last night, either. You might want to…’

‘
Christ.
’ Mark fished his key out of his pocket and was through the door in five seconds flat. ‘Dad?’ he called, once inside the hall.

‘Dad, you here?’ He pushed open the lounge door, checked out the kitchen and was halfway up the stairs, when the under-stairs cupboard door creaked open.

‘Unfortunately, yes.’ His father emerged, with a world-weary sigh.

Mark exhaled, relieved, and trooped back down.

‘Close the front door, would you?’ Robert addressed Evelyn, with a tight smile. ‘Preferably on your way out.’ He turned to stride to the kitchen, newspaper under arm, torch in hand, and still in his pyjamas.

Stupefied, Evelyn blinked over Jack — who’d also been stunned into silence by the pyjama-clad apparition, and then turned wordlessly to close the door.

‘Ahem.’ Composure obviously collected, Evelyn turned back and proceeded down the hall. ‘My opinion of
you
hasn’t changed, incidentally,’ she told Mark as she marched past him.

‘Right.’ Mark shook his head and wondered whether to stay or make a run for it.

Jack’s wailing before Evelyn got as far as the kitchen made up Mark’s mind. Clearly determined to go nowhere near the monster from the under-stairs cupboard, Jack wriggled, then went rigid and refused to bend in the middle.

‘Here, let me take him,’ Mark offered, sensing a toddler-tantrum coming on.

‘Evelyn,’ he sighed, as Evelyn struggled to hold on to him, ‘I know you don’t rate me, but I do have a child, you know. Do you want to hand him over before he hits floor?’

‘This I’m aware of. As is Donna…
now
.’ Evelyn gave him a look that could curdle milk. ‘We don’t see much of your child when he’s here though, do we?’

‘Which means?’ Mark tried to quash his growing irritation.

‘Nothing, I’m sure. Except, given your father has the luxury of a garden, maybe you should allow the child to act more like a child?’

What the
hell
was the woman on about now? Mark glanced angrily at the ceiling. ‘Thank you,’ he said, looking back at her, his temper in check. ‘I’ll bear your invaluable parenting advice in mind.’

He wasn’t getting into this. If the woman ever wanted a civil conversation, maybe. But, right now, he needed to go to work. And, given Evelyn’s last
un
social call, he wanted her gone before he did.

‘Meanwhile, maybe we should consider Jack’s welfare.’ Mark nodded at Jack, who was now dangling precariously from her grasp. ‘I’ll take him, okay?’

‘Thank you,’ Evelyn managed, though Mark was reaching to take him anyway.

‘Come on, mate.’ He swung Jack up in his arms. ‘Let’s go and see if we can find you some sweets, hey? All right with you?’ He eyed Evelyn questioningly.

‘Fine,’ Evelyn said, marching on into the kitchen. ‘As long as they’re not boiled sweets.’

Mark followed her, Jack still tearful, but somewhat appeased by the ‘sweet’ word. ‘Chocolate,’ he assured her. ‘White. Dad’s personal supply. Don’t worry, I won’t offer him a beer to wash it down with.’

Evelyn gave him a semi-amused glance over her shoulder, then headed over to where Robert was seated at the table, his eyes fixed on his newspaper. ‘I came to apologise for my abysmal behaviour,’ she said, without further ado. ‘I bought you…’ she paused to ferret in her shoulder bag ‘… these.’

Robert glanced over his paper at the box she’d planted on the table, then at Evelyn, bemused.

‘Tea bags?’ Mark looked at her askew.

‘Williamson Duchess Grey, home-delivered by John Lewis,’ Evelyn informed him. ‘Nothing but the best, for someone who’s obviously too high-brow to mix with us prols.’

‘Harrumph.’ Robert rattled his newspaper, now looking unimpressed.

‘It’s a joke, Mr Evans.’ Evelyn rolled her eyes. ‘Clearly you’ve forgotten your sense of humour, as well as where your wardrobe is.’

Robert licked his thumb and turned a page.

‘Good God, have you no manners?’ Evelyn snapped. ‘Can’t you at least accept them with the good grace they were intended as?’

Robert arched an eyebrow at Mark, who was in serious danger of inviting Evelyn’s wrath again and laughing aloud.

‘It’s an olive branch,’ Evelyn elaborated, with a smidgeon of contrition. ‘I think I might have possibly been a touch rude when I last saw you,’

‘You were.’ Robert perused another page. ‘You are.’

‘Well no one can say I didn’t try.’ Evelyn shrugged and turned to Mark to retrieve her grandchild.

‘Sit down.’ Robert downed his paper, obviously somewhat appeased. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

Evelyn turned back, surprised. ‘No. Thank you, but I can’t stop. I’m helping out at St Peter’s Jumble sale in aid of the church roof. Dot’s watching Jack for me, isn’t she, sweetheart?’

‘Choclat.’ Jack beamed, and offered her a sticky palm to lick.

‘Ooh, lovely.’ Evelyn obliged. ‘Come on then, young man, let’s go and play with Dot, shall we?’

She headed for the door, then stopped. ‘You should come round to Dot’s one evening,’ she addressed Robert. ‘She is a bit over-motherly sometimes, but she makes the best apple pie. We could wash it down with a G&T.’