Page 17 of Mad Mabel

I don’t hear from the police again. Life continues as before. Joan scurries away every time she sees me. Persephone makes a pest of herself. Peter is as affable as ever, which I find baffling, considering what I’m certain he knows. He even brought over a fluffy dog bed and dog feeder for Nugget (both bought on special at Aldi, obviously), which I initially refused because I had no intention of keeping her. I tried putting the dog out on the street and she stood on my doorstep, barking. Finally, to avoid her crapping in my roses, I let her inside and called the animal shelter.

“You’re atcapacity?” I cried. “But you’re a bloody shelter.”

“Yeah,” the guy said. “Even shelters run out of space, I’m afraid.”

“But I’m an elderly woman. The dog is bereaved. I’m not equipped.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“What would happen if I came and left her on the doorstep?” I said. “You’d have to take her then.”

“Unfortunately,” the man said, “the dog would have to be euthanized.”

I looked at Nugget, at my feet, who had the good sense to stop barking.

What’s happening?Daphne mouthed.

“If you could keep her for another week or two, I promise I’ll find her a spot.”

“Two weeks,” I said. “Tops.”

Yesterday—two weeks to the day—I called again, only to be told it would be another two weeks.

“Seven days,” I said. “After that, I’ll euthanize the dog myself.”

Daphne laughed. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“With everything you know about me,” I said to Daphne, “do you really believe that?”

One afternoon, when I venture onto my porch to let Nugget do her business, I find Persephone in the laneway with a purple iridescent Hula-Hoop around her neck. She attempts to make it spin by jutting and retracting her chin rhythmically, but the hoop remains motionless. Odd child.

“Elsa!” she cries when she sees me. I might have found her excitement endearing had she not tossed her hoop into the air with excitement, sending it hurtling into my rosebushes. “Want to play Uno?”

For the love of God.

“No,” I say. “And get that Hula-Hoop out of my rosebushes.”

But she’s already seated at my wrought iron table, pulling the cards from her pocket.

“Is Nugget yours now?” Persephone says, as she concentrates on dealing. Her tongue sticks out as she does it, which is something approaching—but not quite—endearing.

“Don’t be absurd, child.”

“What will happen to her?”

I glance into the street for someone to palm her off to. But everyone is wiser than me. “Sausage factory, I expect.”

“What?”She looks up, eyes wide and brokenhearted. Mother of God.

I have an idea.

“Unless… I don’t suppose you want her?”

“Me? A dog?” Her face morphs from confused to utterly delighted. “OMG OMG OMG.” Her face falls. “But my mum would never let me.”

“I’m sure I could help you convince her,” I say.

“Really?” Persephone abandons the cards and kneels on the porch. “You think?”