0062388290 by Sophie Hannah

Author:Sophie Hannah [Hannah, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780062388315
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-04-25T21:00:00+00:00

“Neither name means anything to me,” says Olwen. “I don’t know any Ingreys or Donbarrands.”

“Donbavands.”

“Or them. Who are they? Doggy people?”

“It’s nothing to do with dogs.”

“I was going to say: if they were Bedlington breeders or Crufts people I’d know them, but I don’t know all kennel owners.”

“No, I wouldn’t assume you did. Oh well, never mind. It’s not important.” I try to sound like someone making an ordinary chatty phone call.

“Do they want puppies?”

“Who?”

“These people—Donbavands and Ingreys.”

“No. Really, it’s . . . unrelated.” Clearly Olwen finds it hard to conceive of pockets of the universe that don’t center around dogs.

“Fair enough,” she says. “It’s just that I don’t think I’ll have another litter until this time next year. Are you all right? You sound tense.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Figgy giving you the runaround? It takes a bit of getting used to, you know. Especially for novices like you and your husband. But stick with him and Figgy’ll make a lovely family pet. Beds always do.”

“He’s already a lovely family pet,” I say defensively, remembering the way George said “A game for all the family!” so enthusiastically, like someone in an advertisement. “We’re managing really well, I’d say. He’s been having fun going on long walks, nosing around in shrubbery and long grass.”

“Walks?” Olwen sounds wary. “He shouldn’t be out and about until ten days after he’s had his second jabs.”

“You said it was okay for him to be in the garden,” I remind her, omitting to add that he’s also been to school.

“Well, yes, but . . . you said long walks.”

“We have a big garden.”

“Big enough for a long walk?”

Fantastic. This is exactly the sort of conversation I want to be having with a woman who lives in a small end-of-terrace next to London’s North Circular. No way for me to come out of it well. “Yes. Eighteen acres.” Plus, it’s possible to walk around it more than once, and in different directions. Not that it’s any of your business.

Does she think I’m lying?

“Eighteen acres? So you live in a stately home?”

The conversation is plunging headlong into the unacceptable. Ellen has appeared in the kitchen, which might be the only thing that stops me from telling Olwen to stick her questions where the sun doesn’t shine. “Remember the Germander/Speedwell thing I told you about?” I say instead. “Speedwell House is where I live. Google it. It’s a registered historic building in Devon. If you think I’m lying about living there, let me have an email address and I’ll scan and send you a copy of the deeds.”

Ellen, from the sofa, twists her face into a cartoon-like expression that says, “Weird conversation much?”

“Justine—forgive me,” Olwen says. “I’m being silly. And rude. Of course I don’t doubt you. I panicked when I heard you say Figgy had been out on long walks, and you did sound slightly . . . well, odd at the start of the conversation. You asked so insistently about those two names, as if you thought I ought to know them, then you changed tack and said it didn’t matter at all.

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