Much Too Soon

Life is funny. Sometimes you just have to go with what it sends you . . .

HE looked like a man who would call a dog Dexter. Not that there’s anything wrong in calling a dog Dexter, but it just happens to be the name of my partner, who is now my ex.

Three days ago Dexter Faraday dumped me. And, since he avoided conflict whenever he could, he took the easy way out and did it by text.

I was mortified, although to be honest I agreed with him about the relationship. It was going nowhere. We had very different interests, and instead of compromising we followed them independently, until we had nothing left in common.

I was into Zumba and he liked walking in the countryside. I liked sci-fi movies and he liked wildlife films. And the list went on.

Dexter was – is – a lovely guy, but he’s not the one for me and I’m not the one for him.

So being dumped didn’t bother me, though my pride was a bit dented that he’d been the one to do it and not me.

News travelled fast around the estate agent’s where I work. I suffered sympathetic looks and offers of listening to my woes.

No-one believed I wasn’t devastated. They thought I was saving face by putting on a smile.

I guess I did miss him, just a bit, in spite of his wimpy dumping method.

On Sunday morning I told Mum.

“Does that mean Dexter won’t be coming for his dinner, then?” she asked, stacking the breakfast dishes into the machine.

“No, Mum. This is final. We both agreed it’s for the best. It’s been on the cards for ages.”

She gave me a withering look.

“He had squiffy eyes, Eliza. You can’t trust people with squiffy eyes. Don’t worry. You’ll meet someone else soon.”

I tried to make her understand but it was like banging my head against a wall, even when I told her that I wasn’t worried and had no intention of meeting anyone else right now.

“He didn’t like lamb and mint sauce,” Mum countered. “Everybody loves my lamb and mint sauce.”

I gave up.

“It’s stopped raining at last. The sun’s out. Shall I take Flash for a walk?” She brightened.

“Oh, yes, love, that would really help me. And you never know, you might make a new friend in the park.”

She winked, but she wasn’t very good at it and the result was scary. Yes, my mother is a mystery. Dad says she’s a lot like me.

****

“Dexter! Come here, boy!”

The rottweiler totally ignored his owner and bounded across the wet grass in search of a fuss.

Dogs sense it when people like them. And I do like rotties. But I soon realised that he was more interested in my dog than in me.

Flash, a spaniel not half his size, is a friendly fellow. He’s a rescue dog and pays us back for giving him a home by unswerving loyalty and a desire to please.

The dogs exchanged sniffs then decided to be friends, chasing off to play together beneath the trees.

This park was perfect for dogs, not too formal and with lots of grass and plenty of shade.

Dexter’s owner jogged across. Up close and personal he was interesting. Anyone who calls their dog Dexter is interesting. It brings to mind country estates and shooting parties.

He was tall with longish dark hair and dark-rimmed glasses behind which his eyes were warm and brown and friendly, and not at all squiffy.

He was a bit oldfashioned, though, in an expensive-looking but shabby tweed jacket teamed with a polo shirt and white trainers. Eccentric. Surely green wellies would be more in his line?

I had decided he must come from a huntingshooting-fishing family who owned a country pile.

But if so, why was he exercising his dog in the park? I liked puzzles, which some people might say was being nosy.

“Jeff Tarry,” he said, offering his hand. “Dexter you’ve already met.”

I took his hand. He had a strong grip.

“I’m Eliza Denton.”

“I think Dexter could do with obedience training.” He sighed. “He’s not my dog. I’m dog-sitting for my brother Piers, who’s on holiday until tomorrow. I’m not really a dog person, although I would like to be.”

“Flash belongs to my parents. I still live at home – can’t afford

my own place yet.”

“Oh, I know how that feels. I’ve just managed to scrape enough together for a garden flat near here.”

“And I work for an estate agent, so there you are.”

It was the sort of nonsensical thing my mother would say. Perhaps Dad was right and I was like her? Jeff looked justifiably confused.

“You obviously know about dogs,” he observed. “I wonder if you could give me some tips on what type to look for? How about we have lunch one day next week?”

Well, he didn’t waste much time!

“Oh, I’m not that experienced. As for Dexter, maybe his owner needs help with him.

“He’s a big dog and needs to know who’s in charge. There are experts who can come out to your home and give you advice,” I went on.

He looked a little crestfallen.

“I’ll tell my brother. But we could still do lunch?”

“Sorry, no. But you have nice eyes,” I replied, once again speaking before remembering to put my brain in gear.

At that moment the dogs returned. Flash treated us to his party trick of crashing between Jeff’s legs.

Jeff didn’t see it coming and went flying, landing full length in a muddy puddle, his glasses askew on the ground.

The two dogs stared in amazement. Dexter grinned and regarded Flash with a new respect. This smaller dog had brought a human down to his own level. Dexter had never done that.

I retrieved the glasses. Thankfully they weren’t broken. Jeff replaced them on his nose and squinted through the clean bits. Once again I spoke without engaging my brain.

“At least you don’t have squiffy eyes!”

He staggered to his feet. “I hope not,” he said. “Sorry, that was so rude of me. Your eyes are rather nice, actually.”

They were, too, like smooth dark chocolate.

Now he looked embarrassed as well as confused.

“Flash isn’t usually so naughty,” I added hurriedly. “He thought you wanted to play. Your coat is ruined!”

“What?”

Keep up!

“Your jacket is covered in mud.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s an old one my brother was throwing out.

“It used to be our dad’s coat for when he was helping with clay pigeon shoots. He gave it to me to take Dexter out.” He grinned. “I don’t actually wear tweed, though I do help with the clay pigeon shoots sometimes.”

I knew there was a country pile connection somewhere.

“I must pay for it to be cleaned,” I offered.

“No, Piers was only going to bin it. It’s not even good enough for the charity shop.”

“If you’re sure . . . Look, I’ll have to go now. And I’m afraid Dexter has run off again,” I added, pointing. “Say goodbye to him for me.”

“I’ve got to catch him first,” he replied mournfully.

I nodded sympathetically. He must think I was slightly mad, but what did it matter?

It wasn’t as if I’d ever be seeing Jeff Tarry or Dexter again.

****

The following week, half an hour before I was due to go home, I was asked to do a valuation on the other side of town.

I regarded the large Victorian terrace in a quiet tree-lined street. I don’t enjoy valuations; you have to be careful not to pass any negative comments, and I sometimes get caught out.

This was an important would-be client, a property developer. I would have to be especially careful.

However, I like Victorian houses and this one had definite kerb appeal. I rang the bell and waited. The man I’d met in the park had said he’d just bought a garden flat . . .

Why did I keep thinking about him and his naughty dog? I had made up my mind it was much too soon for a new relationship.

The door was opened by a man closely followed by a suspiciously familiar rottweiler.

“Dexter, come here!” “I don’t believe it,” I said, sounding like Victor Meldrew.

Dexter ignored him. I got him to sit, then I bent down to stroke him and he rewarded me by licking off what little make-up I had on.

“Mr Tarry?” I said, not knowing whether to stay professional or to give up on the whole idea of doing a sensible evaluation.

“Call me Piers. I’m so sorry about Dexter,” my client said. “I’ve just come back from holiday and I’m afraid my brother let him get away with far too much while he was looking after him.”

“Dexter and I have already met,” I told him wryly.

“Not in the park! You’re the girl Jeff told me about – the one whose dog landed him in the mud? I thought that was so funny!”

“I didn’t,” I said caustically.

“He wanted to give you his mobile number but you disappeared. Come in. Let me show you around, then maybe you’d like a coffee?

“That sounds like a plan,” I agreed.

I made a great effort and put my business head back on, and after a gentle but firm and surprisingly effective word with Dexter we began the grand tour.

****

“I like what you’ve done to the kitchen,” I said as we settled at the oak table with our coffees.

“Thanks. I wanted it to blend in with the Victorian feel of the place but still remain minimal. Have a biscuit.”

“You’ve done well. Someone’s bound to snap this up – though I’d make sure Dexter’s out of the way for viewings.”

“I will. I hope the house does sell quickly. I’m getting married soon and I’d like everything to be cut and dried by then.”

I tried not to look disappointed. Not that I was not looking for a man, but it was hard to ignore blue eyes highlighted by a deep tan and hair bleached by the sun.

“Look, Eliza, my brother really wanted to see you again. He works from home and would love to own a dog.

“He wanted you to go with him to the rescue centre to advise him. May I give you his card?”

I pictured Jeff, more homely than his brother. He didn’t give me goosebumps but he was comfortable to talk to and there was something about him. Call it chemistry.

I slipped the card into my pocket. It was still too early for another relationship, but life was funny. Sometimes you just had to go with what it sent you.

That was two years ago, and tomorrow is our wedding day. n