Page 42 of One Summer

As I get closer, I see that I’m wrong.

It’s the man from the house.

He’s no longer wearing the tissue nostril plugs, thank heavens; he is, however, still wearing his green beanie, along with jogging bottoms, a matching zoodie – unzipped all the way down – and still no T-shirt.

When he sees me, he turns and drops to his knees.

‘Ted!’ he shouts in evident joy, as Ted yanks the leash so hard that it slips out of my hand and slithers on the ground behind him like a red snake as he runs.

Ted jumps up on his hindlegs and begins licking the man’s face and neck, who consents to it for a few seconds and then shudders, as if a spasm of ticklishness has got the better of him.

He stands up, and I can’t seem to stop looking at the line of hair that leads down to his waistband. Why are all the men on this island so gorgeous? Even Halloon has old Hollywood movie star looks. It’s been a while since I had sex, but it’s as if my whole body is flooded with teenage girl hormones and I can’t seem to think of anything else.

‘Why do you have Ted?’ he wails at me, as Ted returns to his place at my side and I pick up the end of his leash again.

‘I took him for a walk,’ I say. ‘You asked me to go to the shop for supplies, so I took Ted with me.’

‘Ted doesn’t even know you.’

This is frankly rude. Ted and I might be new friends, but we have established a bond. We trust each other. We’ve had a nice time together on the beach.

‘I’d have left you a note, but I couldn’t find a pen or paper,’ I say. ‘Sorry.’

‘You almost gave me a heart attack.’

‘I didn’t even think you’d notice. You were snoring quite loudly.’

Snoring so loudly that it sounded as if a low-flying fighter plane was passing directly overhead.

‘I woke up and thought Ted had wandered off and gone over the cliff, or got lost in a badger den.’

‘A badger sett,’ I correct him, before I can stop myself.

‘Whatever. God, you can’t just take an animal and not tell someone. It’s like taking someone’s kid. It’s basically abduction.’

I scoff at this. ‘No, it isn’t.’

‘Hang on,’ he says, readying himself for a violent sneeze. He takes a tissue from the pockets of those low-slung joggers and blows his nose.

‘You don’t understand,’ he says, mopping up residual snot. ‘Ted is not one of those needy dogs who suffers from separation anxiety. He’s very independent. If he wants to take a stroll and the door is open, he’ll just go. He won’t wait for a human companion. He’s very self-reliant.’

I also had that impression, but it seems like a ridiculous way to talk about an animal that’s small enough to be zipped into a medium-sized handbag.

‘All’s well that ends well,’ I say, unable not to use a patronising tone. ‘Your dog is home, safe and sound.’

‘What?’ he says, irritably. ‘Ted’s not my dog. He comes with the house. You’re looking after him.’

‘No, he doesn’t,’ I say, feeling my eyes widen. ‘I can’t look after a dog.’

Nemo would be seriously displeased.

‘Then you shouldn’t have taken the job because Ted is part of the gig.’

No dog was mentioned in the advert or the emails I received. Of that much, I am absolutely certain.

‘Nobody told me about a dog.’

‘It was sort of a last-minute thing. He was supposed to be going on a European tour with the owners, but they had to leave him behind.’

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