The Artful Dodger

Kitty and Claire’s bulldog, Bingo, keeps escaping to the neighbour’s garden for some love – but how?

ICAN’T understand how this dog gets out,” said Kitty Davis with a scowl. She held the gate open while calling her waddling bulldog.

“She’s a beauty, Miss Davis,” said her neighbour as he shepherded Bingo along the pavement. “I have no idea how she ends up in my garden but she’s welcome.”

Kitty closed the gate behind Bingo, who beamed her toothy bulldog grin at her and headed for her basket and a nap.

“Thank you for bringing her back, Mr Kentridge. At least I know she’s in good hands with you,” Kitty replied with a small smile.

“I do miss my bulldogs,” said Alan Kentridge. “My daughter wouldn’t let me bring them when I came to live here. I was thrilled to spot Bingo right next door!”

Running his hand through his thick greying hair, Alan Kentridge turned to go. “I mustn’t keep you from your work.”

Then a cheerful voice rang out, “Oh, there you are, Mom! I was just making tea with some of those lovely biscuits you baked this morning. Mr Kentridge would love a cup, wouldn’t you?”

Claire Davis waved at Alan, leaving her mother no alternative but to acquiesce as Claire disappeared into the house.

“Please come in, Mr Kentridge. I hope my biscuits don’t disappoint. Claire has a high regard for my baking which I’m afraid isn’t always justified.”

FOLLOWING Kitty into the house Alan gazed, astonished, at the huge paintings adorning the walls of the light, sunny sitting room. The room took up the entire side of the house, with windows letting in light at both ends. The one end was clearly a studio with an immense easel and a stool. Kitty was a sought-after artist, her vast landscapes of soaring mountains were found in the houses of many discerning and wealthy art lovers. Alan found himself standing in awe in front of a painting depicting craggy cliffs which looked as if they were rising right there.

“This is magnificent,” he whispered, gazing transfixed.

Kitty blushed. “I’m pleased you like it. One of my earliest works.”

“Tea!” Claire called out, and they went to sit in the comfortable old armchairs set in front of the fireplace. Placing a cup and a plate on a small table within his reach, Claire offered Alan some invitinglooking shortbread.

“Oh, my favourites!” he exclaimed, biting into a buttery biscuit with relish. “These are delicious, Kitty. You can bake and paint – I’m impressed.”

His profuse praise brought another, deeper blush to Kitty’s cheeks. “A woman of many talents it seems. I thought about art when I was at school but when my mother pointed out that I had trouble drawing a stick man I realised I wasn’t destined for artistic greatness.”

Alan heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes theatrically and Kitty laughed. As they began to relax the chatter flowed and Claire quietly slipped away.

THE next morning Kitty and Claire had to tackle their least favourite job: grocery shopping. This was usually accomplished at close to supersonic speed as they rarely varied their purchases and knew exactly where to find every item. Placing a large bag of dog treats into the trolley, Claire tried a nonchalant stroll to the next aisle as Kitty stopped dead.

“Surely not, Claire? Bingo has plenty. We bought a large bag last week.”

“Goodness, did we?” exclaimed Claire wide-eyed with feigned innocence. “That’s odd! The packet is nearly empty. Are you sure?”

Kitty walked on slowly, eyeing her daughter closely. What was she up to? Bingo’s treats were strictly rationed. Kitty resolved to keep the treats under surveillance.

SPOTTING them arriving home, Alan hurried over to help unload the shopping. As they walked into the kitchen Kitty exclaimed in annoyance, “That door hinge is loose again Claire, and that handyman was so expensive!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll fix that for you with pleasure,” Alan said. And with that he trotted off, soon returning with a large toolbox which he opened to reveal neat

rows of plainly well-used tools. Within minutes Alan had repaired the hinge.

Tightening the screws, he remarked, “My mother was right to deflect my artistic leanings. I did far better as a fitter and turner. I really enjoy working with my hands.” He put the tools back and snapped shut the toolbox lid. “All done!” he said cheerfully. “Thank you, Alan. We really appreciate your help.” Kitty smiled.

“I’ll leave you to your afternoon, ladies.” And with a mock bow he walked away.

“Mom, he was so helpful. You could’ve invited him to dinner at least,” Claire said, hugely disappointed.

“Perhaps another time, darling,” said her mother.

Kitty had never married. All her life Claire had watched her pretty and intelligent mother stay on the sidelines of weddings and celebrations, and despite many flirtatious approaches by pleasant men Kitty’s romantic life was a nonstarter. Claire never understood the reasons until the day, as a 12-year-old, she asked her mom bluntly why she didn’t have a father.

Kitty smiled a little and said, “Of course you have a father, dear. Everybody does. He and I decided before you were born that it would be better if he stayed away. He simply wasn’t father material.” “Couldn’t you have let him try, Mom?” “No, darling. He hurt me too much while we were together and he would never have left his wife for me. I wasn’t prepared to let him hurt you too. I lost faith in relationships after that and anyway, I couldn’t bear to share you with anyone else. Not my little Claire!”

And hugging her tightly Kitty brought the conversation to a close. This tiny snippet of information was the most Kitty had ever divulged about Claire’s absent father and the background to her birth. From then on Claire resolved to help her mom find romance, as somehow she felt responsible for its absence. Several rather clumsy attempts at matchmaking eventually led to Kitty tenderly telling Claire she really was perfectly happy alone.

Undeterred, Claire persevered without any discernible success, although once in a while Kitty would have dinner with someone, smile, say thank you and then return to her towering paintings.

And then came Alan Kentridge. A widower a little older than Kitty, he’d lived next door for six months before Bingo’s first visit. At least three afternoons a week Alan would usher Bingo home after half an hour’s worth of rough and tumble in the garden. Kitty was nonplussed at Bingo’s newfound escapology talents but thank goodness it was Alan she’d chosen to visit and not simply wandered off. Kitty began to suspect the dog treats may hold the clue to this mystery.

SHORTLY after their shopping trip Claire slipped quietly into the kitchen, scooped up a handful of dog treats and put them in her pocket before heading out into the street.

After carefully setting a trail of tasty canine snacks from their gate along to Alan’s, she opened the latch, pushed his gate open and threw a few treats onto Alan’s lawn. Running back to her own house she found Bingo waiting with her stumpy little tail wagging like a piston.

Claire whispered, “Go, Bingo. Work your magic!” as she opened the gate and trotted Bingo off, slurping up the treats as she went. Like clockwork, 30 minutes later Alan arrived with a tired and happy bulldog and rang the doorbell.

Claire pretended not to hear as she sang far too loudly while she prepared a casserole in the kitchen. Kitty answered the door charmingly ruffled and paintspattered to reveal Alan with Bingo and a large bunch of yellow roses.

“Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed. “My favourite flowers. Please come in. Excuse my appearance.”

“You look just perfect,” Alan said as Bingo waddled past.

“Hello, Alan,” said Claire. “Please stay for dinner. I’ve made far too much casserole for just the two of us. Come and sit down.”

Placing a tray with a bottle of red wine and two glasses on the low table between Kitty and Alan, Claire handed Alan a corkscrew and returned to the kitchen.

Hours later Kitty put on an apron to start washing up while Claire tidied the sitting room. Happily she recalled Alan’s attentiveness and how readily she’d agreed to go to an art exhibition with him. Humming contentedly as she tied the apron strings she felt something lumpy in the pocket. As Claire walked into the kitchen Kitty drew out a few dog treats.

Fastening Claire with a stern gaze Kitty asked, “Would you happen to know anything about Bingo’s visits to Alan, Claire?”

Rolling her eyes Claire said, “Mom! Really. As if I would . . .”