Page 14 of The Good Sister

‘His water bowl’s dry,’ Wally continues. ‘Where can I find the hose?’

I don’t reply. Wally looks around and finds it himself.

‘We need to take him to the vet,’ Wally says to me, filling the bowl. When I don’t reply, he says, ‘Fern? Fern, I need you to listen to me, okay?’

This appears to be a circuit-breaker, and I snap to attention. ‘Yes. Okay. The vet.’

Wally places the filled water bowl in front of Alfie. When he doesn’t drink, Wally cups water in his hands and holds it to Alfie’s snout. After he’s had a drink, he picks up Alfie as if he were a newborn baby.

‘Fern,’ Wally says. ‘Can you get the car door?’

I do. Once I’m strapped into the passenger seat, Wally passes Alfie to me, positioning him so Alfie’s head is supported by my elbow. The whole process means that Wally is required to touch me several times, and while I am aware of it, I don’t recoil.

The vet has thick grey eyebrows. I am staring at them as he tells us Alfie is lucky. He’s dehydrated apparently (Alfie, not the vet), but he has been rehydrated on intravenous fluids for hours and he’s doing much better now. In fact, most of the vet’s concerns are about how the mix-up happened in the first place. He tells us that in these sorts of cases he usually calls the RSPCA, who then check to ensure the dog is in an adequate home, but Wally manages to convince him that Alfie will be fine in our care. He is impressively convincing. By the time he is finished, even I almost believe him.

‘I assure you,’ he says, ‘it was all a misunderstanding. Alfie could not be in better hands.’

I look at my hands. When I look up again, the vet is looking at me.

‘Do you work, Ms Castle?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’m a librarian.’

‘So you’re out of the house most of the day?’

‘Yes, but–’ I say.

‘I’ll be with Alfie when she’s at work,’ Wally cuts in. ‘I’m the dog-sitter. Alfie won’t be alone for a moment.’

I look at Wally in surprise. He studiously avoids my gaze.

The vet looks from me to Wally and back again. Finally, he exhales. ‘He’ll need to be given small sips of water every hour for the next few days. I’ll also give you some electrolyte powder. If he isn’t keeping anything down, give him ice cubes to lick. I’d like you both to bring the dog back in a couple of days so I can see for myself that he’s being taken care of. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ Wally and I say in unison.

‘Make an appointment at the front desk. Two days.’

We both nod. And a few minutes later, reluctantly, the vet releases Alfie into our care.

On the way home, we stop at Rose’s to pick up Alfie’s food, lead and water bowl. Then I call Rose. It goes better than I expect. Rose is calmer once she knows Alfie is all right. She apologises for being frustrated and says she blames herself – she should have checked Alfie into the kennel like she planned. I tell her that I’m taking Alfie back to my flat and will keep him there for the rest of the time Rose is away. I’m not sure why I didn’t suggest that when Rose asked me. I wish I could remember.

‘How is Owen?’ I ask.

‘He’s great. He says to say hello.’

‘Tell him I say hello back.’

‘I will.’

‘So, you’re having a good time?’

‘A perfect time. Just wonderful. I’m missing you, though.’

‘I miss you too.’

I wrap up the phone call quickly, partly because I expect that Rose will be busy with Owen and partly because it feels like it might be rude to chat while Wally is sitting right here in the car. When I hang up, though, I’m still feeling heartsick about the whole thing. It could have been so much worse. Just another few hours and . . .

‘Stop thinking about it,’ Wally says.