‘Will you keep still?’
Tess wriggled out of reach before doing a neat about turn, right under Ella’s nose, as she made another grab to towel dry the last muddy paw. They’d been out for their daily walk, a quick circuit around the village – and so far Ella had successfully avoiding running into Bets again.
It was like trying to do the cha-cha-cha with the blinking animal. ‘I did not sign up for this.’ Good thing Magda was on a boat in the middle of the ocean, far out of reach. At that moment, Ella would happily have pushed her overboard.
As the dog danced backwards again, her back leg skidded on an official brown envelope.
Ella picked it up, puzzled to see her name in the window of the envelope. Then she remembered that Gavin, her old boss at the art supplies shop where she’d worked part-time, had asked for her address to send on her P45.
As she took the stairs up to the loft room, she ripped open the envelope, glad that she’d had the sense to get her mail forwarded here.
Reading it, she took her seat at the easel table that she’d set up. A Statement on Account. A request for seven thousand pounds. She tossed the letter to one side. That was a laugh. She barely earned enough to pay tax. There had to be some mistake.
A beam of sunlight brightened the desk, reminding her rather appropriately that she needed to get some work done. Cuthbert’s delight in his new fez just about came across in his dancing antics. A rare burst of enthusiasm after Bets’ fangirl moment had produced this but it still wasn’t right. She sighed. It would have to do. Her deadline loomed. She might not be much of an artist but she was at least professional.
What to do about Englebert? His character still eluded her. The antithesis of his naughty brother of many hats, he was supposed to highlight the difference between the two but without being a self-satisfied do-gooder. So far he looked like a smug rat bastard. There had to be something she could do with him. Oh God, this was such hard work!
But not quite as much hard work as trying to paint proper pictures. Over the last few years, she’d tried so hard it almost hurt. The ideas were there but formless and floating like spiderwebs out of reach, too flimsy to capture. Frustration tingled in her fingers. Why couldn’t she do it? It had been so easy years ago, fresh out of art college. The ideas came thick and fast, and like making candyfloss it had been effortless to take a slender tendril of an idea and whip it into shape.
Those early canvases shimmered in her head: the night of her first and, as it turned out, only show. The night Patrick first kissed her.
When had it all gone wrong? The early promise that had split the critics in two camps fizzled out. Taking a paid job in the art supplies shop had been a necessity and then ironically her silly illustrations of mice took off.
She jumped when a wet nose poked into her thigh.
‘Urgh! Don’t do that!’ She unpeeled herself from the chair, a muscle in her shoulder screaming as she straightened up. She’d achieved sweet Fanny Adams, apart from yet another wastepaper basket brimming with ripped up sheets of cartridge paper. Today had not been a productive one. She couldn’t afford to lose another day. Bloody Cuthbert and his bloody fez and smugly annoying Englebert.
She rose heavily and went downstairs into the kitchen, with Tess trotting behind, and went straight to the fridge and hauled out a bottle of Pinot Grigio. The dog whined and scratched at the pantry door. Clearly if Ella wanted a drink in peace she was going to have to feed Tess first.
The first mouthful slipped down a treat, without her even checking the time on the clock. Five o’clock be damned. She deserved this. And sod it, she reached for the packet of Marlboro hidden out of sight on the shelf with the cookery books.
She sat down at the kitchen table and pushed the cigarette box around with her index finger. She had willpower . . . she didn’t have to have one . . . but she wanted one, so she was going to.
Lighting a gas burner, she ducked her head towards the flame, careful not to singe her fringe again. As the end of the cigarette glowed, Tess began to growl. ‘What,’ Ella looked down at the stupid creature with a scowl, ‘you’re the nicotine police now?’
The dog jumped up, barking. Ella waved the cigarette in the air. ‘If I want to smoke, I will.’ Honestly. ‘Did my mother put you up to this?’ Tess gave her a look and slunk off, tail between her legs, casting reproachful looks as she padded out of the room.
In defiance Ella took a long deep drag of the cigarette and promptly choked. ‘Bugger.’ Coughing and spluttering, she stubbed the rest of the fag out on the nearest thing and the butt smouldered straight through the cigarette packet.
Jeez, what was the world coming to?
The dog had better not be on Magda’s sofa. She jumped up and went to check the lounge. As she walked in, Tess slithered off the cream linen cushions, not meeting her eye.
‘Bad dog. You’re not allowed on there.’ Ella didn’t care if Magda let her, she didn’t want dog hair all over her clothes every time she sat down. The dog slunk into the corner, casting looks up as if to say, I still think I should be allowed on there.
Suddenly the strident beep of the smoke alarm cut through the air, the dog began barking furiously and Ella could smell burning.
‘No!’
As she rushed back towards the kitchen, smoke curled up and out of the door. She’d only gone and set fire to the whole bloody cigarette packet. The alarm screeched in her ears, so she threw the front door open to let some fresh air in, wafting it towards the alarm situated in the centre of the hall ceiling. Smoke carried on swirling out of the kitchen and she ran in coughing as she was wreathed in cigarette smoke.
The box on the table belched nicotine-infused smoke, bringing water to her eyes. Ella grabbed the nearby bottle of wine and poured the whole thing over the fag packet. The smoke stuttered and died, leaving a soggy pile of cardboard and tobacco. What a waste of money and virtually a whole bottle of wine.
She looked up to find Tess in the doorway with the closest approximation to a doggy grin that she’d ever seen.