Page 67 of Safe Hands

The dogs ranged ahead, their leads crossing and uncrossing until Carly stopped to untangle them. Lauren let her. Carly looked like she needed something practical to do with her hands.

“Berkeley seems comfortable with you,” Carly said.

“With Reggie?”

“With you.”

“He’s a good dog.”

“He is.”

“Does he miss your dad?”

Carly didn’t answer straight away. Lauren nearly apologised for asking, then didn’t. She wanted to know.

“Yes,” Carly said eventually.

“Reggie missed Paige last night,” Lauren said. “Different thing, obviously. But he sat by the door for ages, like she was just running late.”

Carly watched Berkeley investigate an oak tree. “He used to fetch his lead at the same time every morning. Then Dad couldn’t walk him anymore, and he stopped asking.”

“That must have been hard to watch.”

“It was practical.”

Lauren looked at her.

Carly’s mouth tightened. “Sorry. Habit.”

“You don’t have to apologise to me for habits. I’ve got about nine hundred. Most of them annoying.”

This time, the almost-smile stayed a fraction longer. “I think it was harder for Dad. When Berkeley stopped asking. He’d never have said so.”

Lauren just nodded, and was glad to have been told.

Back at the café, a barista was setting out chairs despite the cold, and the smell of coffee drifted over.

“Do you want another?” Lauren asked.

Carly glanced at the empty cup in her hand. “I’m fine.”

“Course you are.”

Carly narrowed her eyes. “Meaning?”

“Meaning you say that a lot.”

“I am fine a lot.”

“Hmm.”

“That was a terrible impression of not judging me.”

“I wasn’t judging. I was observing.”

“Observing is what people call judging when they want to get away with it.”

Lauren gave in and grinned. “Fine. I was observing judgementally.”