The man nodded. ‘Yup. I’ve been following him for a while now, looking at his work. He – Joe, is it? – seems very talented.’
Cat glanced behind her, but she still couldn’t see him. ‘He is. He’s got a real skill for cartoons as well as graphic design – his work’s really versatile.’
‘We’re thinking of having a regular cartoon strip in the paper. It’s still just an idea at the moment, but…you know him well, then?’
‘He’s a friend,’ Cat said. Was that true? She hoped they were more than just housemates. ‘And – sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’
‘Phil.’
‘Do you think, Phil, if you get a chance, that you could mention today, maybe say a little bit about—’
‘Pooch Promenade?’ He gave her an easy, open smile. Was he really a journalist? ‘I think that can be arranged. Good-news stories are always great for the paper. Give me your number and I’ll look at it on Monday, ring for a quote.’
Cat’s heart leapt. ‘That’s fantastic!’ She handed him a Pooch Promenade card with her number on. ‘Thank you.’
‘And thanks for the info about Magic Mouse. I’ll be in touch.’
Cat directed them towards the Pavilion, the park’s dog-friendly café, run by George, that was hosting her event. She waved at a family with an Alsatian puppy straining on its leash, a young boy laughing as he was dragged along behind, his father with a protective hand on his shoulder.
‘Twenty names,’ a familiar voice said close to Cat’s ear. She spun round to see Polly waggling a clipboard. ‘Twenty people have registered to receive the Pooch Promenade newsletter, and it’s only eleven o’clock.’ Polly was wearing a pink T-shirt and white shorts, her long blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, her freckles just starting to emerge in the sunshine. Her pale blue eyes were alive with excitement.
‘That’s incredible,’ Cat said. ‘And the local paper said they’d put something in about today. At this rate I’ll need to hire more people.’
‘I’m going to try and spend a bit of time walking the dogs,’ Polly said. ‘I don’t have much spare, but I’m being swallowed by revision and I need to make sure I get some fresh air or I’ll be a gibbering wreck when the exams start. Can I help out?’
‘You’re serious?’ Cat flung her arms round her friend. ‘Oh, Polly, that would be amazing. I feel like I’ve barely seen you since I moved in!’
‘I know, it’s been rubbish. But my exams are three months away and then I’m free!’
‘Except you have to start doing the thing you’ve been training to do for so long.’
‘Daniel at Fairview vet’s says he’s really pleased with what I’ve done, that there’s money and demand for another nurse.’
‘So you can keep working there?’
Polly nodded, her lips pressed together, trying to hide what Cat could only assume was a huge grin.
‘Oh God, Polly, that’s brilliant! Why haven’t you told me already? We need to celebrate! You’ll be a fully qualified veterinary nurse.’
‘And maybe I’ll actually have a life!’
They hugged again, Cat feeling a swell of pride that her friend had worked hard and got to exactly where she wanted. It was impressive, and something Cat couldn’t imagine doing. She’d felt settled at her last children’s nursery in Brighton, had fitted into their spontaneous ways, but her job as nursery assistant in Fairview had lasted less than three months, and Cat had turned her back on that career path.
But Pooch Promenade felt right. She had always loved dogs, and couldn’t remember a time when she was so happy, walking people’s pets round Fairview Park and the sandy beach, getting to know the locals at the same time. Now that Polly was nearly qualified, all they had to do was drag her brother out of the post-break-up dumps, and their household would be the happiest on Primrose Terrace.
‘Where’s Joe?’ Cat asked. She stroked Chips’s ears, checking that the collie hadn’t turned to a statue at her side. The dog nuzzled her nose into Cat’s hand.
‘He’s on the veranda, giving out the cards with your rates and contact details on. I think I saw Jessica prowling around there too.’
‘Ah.’ The friends exchanged a knowing smile. A few weeks ago, Jessica had held a party at which Joe, work-at-home hoody enthusiast, had put on a sharp suit and ended up kissing the hostess. He’d assured them it was a one-off, but Cat had spoken to Jessica and wasn’t sure the author was quite so ready to forget it. ‘Do you think he needs rescuing?’
‘It wouldn’t hurt to see how he’s getting on. I’ll take Chips for a bit.’ Polly approached a tall, burly man with a boxer, what looked like a piece of bread sticking out of the dog’s mouth. Maybe it was a Street Sweeper, picking up any snack she could find on her route around the park. ‘Hello,’ Polly said, ‘welcome to the Pooches’ and Puppies’ Picnic. If you’ve got any questions I’d be happy to answer them.’
Cat gave her Chips’s lead and snaked through people and dogs towards the café. It was cooler under the awning, but only just, and Cat spotted Joe at a table with a glass of iced water. There was no sign of Jessica. He was wearing a grey T-shirt and dark cargo shorts and, despite being blonde and blue-eyed like his sister, he had tanned arms. Cat had imagined that, with all the time he spent hidden up in his office creating illustrations, he’d be as pale as a ghost. He didn’t look like a ghost.
‘How’s it going?’ she asked. ‘Not regretting giving up your Saturday to spend it with your least favourite animals?’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘There are worse ways I could be spending my weekend.’ He grinned, and Cat was surprised how relaxed he seemed.
‘That’s very magnanimous of you.’ Ever since she’d moved into number nine Primrose Terrace, they’d had a battle of wits about her new business and ultimately – although she wasn’t sure Joe knew this yet – about when Cat could have a dog of her own. Joe had made his feelings about dogs perfectly clear, and had put an obstacle firmly in the way. That obstacle was grumpy and ginger, liked Whiskas and went by the name of Shed. ‘Is all this contact starting to turn you, Joe? I mean, look how cute this one is!’
Joe sat up and peered over the table at where Cat was pointing.
‘Hello, what’s your name?’ She crouched down and the tiny dog trotted up to her. It was white and tan, with eyes too big for its pointy face, and huge ears that had their own furry tassels. ‘You look like a princess, don’t you? Your ears look like those hats.’ The dog looked up at her, as if expecting her to clarify. ‘Oh, you know. Joe?’
Joe frowned, thinking. ‘A hennin. That cone-shaped princess hat, that’s what it’s called.’
‘Exactly. See? You’re a princess. Who do you belong to?’ The dog sat in front of her and put her paw over her nose, just as a man with white hair and half-moon glasses bustled through the crowd. ‘Is this little dog yours?’
The old man nodded and sat down opposite Joe. ‘Hot, isn’t it? Phew. Shouldn’t have layered up like I have. Hard to break a habit and go without a vest, though.’
‘It is quite warm,’ Cat said, suppressing a smile. ‘What’s your dog called?’
Joe disappeared inside the café, and Cat turned her attention to her new visitor.
‘Paris,’ he said. ‘She’s a papillon. Marie Antoinette’s favourite breed. There’s a Papillon House in Paris, still. Seemed appropriate.’
‘She’s very well behaved.’
’She’s a perfect little butterfly. But sadly, a miserable one.’
‘A