Page 80 of Fundamentals in Flirting

“Yes, I’m free from eleven,” I finished weakly, unable to come up with any viable excuses. My cranium was an empty, echoing void of nothingness, leaving me wondering what the actual use was of a PhD after all.

She clapped her hands together.

“That’s great news! We could do with an extra pair of hands in the produce tent at lunch time. Could you come over at about midday?”

I nodded and she practically radiated happiness.

“Thank you so much.”

A queue of dogs and their owners was starting to form nearby, and I could see Giles hesitantly wandering our way. Luckily, he was alone.

Fiona contemplated me as I got to my feet, letting out a soft sigh. “You make him so happy – you know that, don’t you? I’ve always worried that he was living in Henry’s shadow, but since meeting up with you again Edward has lit up from the inside.”

Teddy’s treehouse confession rang in my ears. His insecurities had been alive and evident, and yet still so difficult to reconcile with the friendly, charming façade he lived behind. The fact that his mother recognised a small part of this, but was probably not aware of the extent of her son’s feelings, made me want to yell and shout at her, shake her until she could see what was really going on with him. I wanted to tell her all the sad truths he kept buried, ask her to believe in him, to tell him that he was as special and important as his twin brother. But I didn’t. I kept it inside, unwilling to break his confidence with this secret he had entrusted to me.

Instead, I just said, “Ted’s a truly brilliant man in his own right. I’m grateful we’ve rekindled our friendship too.”

“No need to be coy with me, Hannah. I know you two aren’t justfriends,” Fiona said with a laugh while patting my arm gently. “I may be his mother, but I see the way you look at each other.”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t exactly relay the fact that he’d spurned my pathetic drunken advances, then essentially ghosted me this week, and it was as clear as day that he didn’t want me, not the way I was coming to realise that I wanted him. A quick fumble would most definitely get it out of his system but it would never, ever, be enough for me.

“Fiona!” Giles’s outdoor voice, which was loud and intrusive and usually bloody irritating, was like a welcome lighthouse in the fog, saving me from any further squirm-inducing, Teddy-related discussions. “How lovely to see you.”

“Giles.” A bout of air kissing ensued and I wanted to vomit a little. But instead, I stood like an uncomfortable lemon and pasted a smile on my face as they made small talk.

“Hannah’s agreed to help with the judging in the produce tent.”

Have I? Crap! Is that what I’ve signed up for? More bloody judging? In the produce tent?

Christ, it was all Victoria sponges and enormous marrows, wasn’t it? What the hell did I know about that shit?

“Has she?” Giles looked as bewildered as I felt, then gestured at the now very long queue that had formed to our right. “But first you’ve got to pick the dog you’d most like to take home, and that’s going to be tough, isn’t it?”

On safer ground with this, I nodded and scarpered into the centre of the ring, pinning my judge’s badge to my shirt and swallowing nervously as hoards of my clients entered through the white rope gate, all smiling excitedly.

Then I heard it – the distinctive blood-curdling scream of Bentley Ryan, loudly announcing his presence to the entire field of other canines and their owners, who turned as one to stare at a tight-lipped Mrs Ryan in a floral dress and large straw hat as she tried to drag the reluctant dog towards the ring. The appearance of this pair caused my stomach to drop like a giant leaden suppository into my pants. The animosity in her glare was truly terrifying. It was a laser-like stare that focussed on me with complete and utter disapproval.

Well, isn’t this totally splendid.

And then she did something wholly unexpected. Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out a ragged, chewed, and soggy pink tennis ball from a clear plastic bag and offered it to the screaming dog. She knelt down in the grass and stroked his ears as he sniffed this object and tentatively took it in his mouth. The silence that followed was deafening, and the collective dog show participants breathed a sigh of relief, before the furore of excitement from everyone else started all over again.

Dogs of every shape and size were paraded around me, each owner desperately trying to catch my eye. There were purebreds, scruffy mutts, and a fair share of rescues, and the ring was so full it was bursting at the seams. Some of the dogs trotted obediently while others pulled at their leads; some yapped and spun around, and the puppies excitedly jumped up at their handlers; a couple of three-legged dogs and a basset hound in a pram completed the line-up. It’s fair to say it was absolute carnage and my frontal lobe went into meltdown. How the hell was I going to choose between them and not piss off a load of people? I was regretting my decision to judge this class because scientific objectivity would not help me here; it was a purely subjective decision. I had to go with my heart on this.

Glancing out to where Giles was standing, I noticed that Jonathan had joined him. He was smirking, arms folded, clearly not oblivious to my discomfort and blatant panic.

Yeah, well, bollocks to him.

With a little shake of my shoulders, I forced my reluctant face to smile as I tried to ignore the horrified looks of some of the dog owners and began to actively peruse each of the contestants.

“Ok, everyone. All handlers under sixteen years old come over here.” I gestured to a corner of the ring and noticed with a not insignificant amount of satisfaction how everyone jumped to my command. “Great. Now, all rescue dogs over here.” I pointed to another corner. “And dogs under six months over here. Finally, everyone else in the other corner. Excellent, thanks.”

Once they were segregated, I went and examined each of the dogs, now in much more manageable groups. From the rescue group, I selected a nervous border collie cross, who wiggled and wriggled around my feet, gently licking my hands as I stroked her, and a beautiful, graceful ex-racing greyhound. I gestured to Giles to bring the rosettes over. I selected a beagle and a Jack Russell terrier from amongst the puppies – these were two pups that I knew were attending training classes and had been particularly well behaved for their vaccinations recently. Approaching the child handlers, I picked a beautiful greying black labrador who gazed adoringly at the small girl who held him, and a mixed breed dog with three legs that was surely the happiest creature I had ever encountered in my years of practice.

With trepidation, I approached the last group, selecting the basset hound in the pram (because how the hell could I not?). Then, bending down to be on eye level with the rest of the dogs, I caught Bentley’s attention. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth as he dropped the ball on the ground, seemingly smiling at me, and it made my lips quirk in reply. Suddenly he pulled on his lead, slipping from Mrs Ryan’s hands, and bounded over, all flapping ears and drool as he launched his barrel-shaped body at me with gay abandon and knocked me backwards.

“Oh! Dr Havens, I am so sorry.”

A worried-looking Mrs Ryan loomed over me. Her enormous hat was backlit against the bright sun and blue sky above, while I fought off the slobbery attentions of Bentley.

---