Page 49 of Blindsided By You

GeordieandIliein silence, our breathing amplified by the fear in the air. Footsteps come up the stairs—steady, deliberate—and they’re heading this way.

“Bathroom,” I hiss, pointing at my ensuite. “Get your clothes.”

I hear frantic scrabbling, the rustle of fabric, the dull thud of one cowboy boot colliding with another. My heart slams against my ribs.

Please, please let Dad not hear that. Let him not worry I’m sick again and just walk in—because if he does, one flick of the switch and he’ll find Geordie naked, the room drenched in the scent of sex. And, if Geordie makes it to the bathroom, please let him gain control of his breathing. Right now amongst the panicky gasps, I swear I can hear his heart pounding, too, but it’s probably my own.

Geordie moves with remarkable stealth for a man of his size. In the dim light, I watch him slip across the room and into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him with a soft, controlled click, even though I bet every instinct screams at him to slam it.

A few breaths later, there’s a quiet knock.

“You OK love.”

“Yeah Dad, I’m OK.” It takes all my mental effort to sound normal.

“Thought I’d bring Andy. To cheer you up.”

The door notches open. Shit. I snatch my dressing gown from the floor, hoping to drag it on in time to spring to the gap and meet him there. The last thing I want is my father setting foot in the room, the air itself evidence. One flick of the light switch—my hair a wreck, my bed destroyed—and he’ll know.

But, before I’ve had a chance to cover myself and make the intercept, a small black shape darts in.

“Here he is then,” Dad says, in his warm rasp. “Snuggle up with him and get some sleep, eh?”

“Will do. Thanks Dad. You too.”

“Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

The door glides shut.

I exhale relief, reaching for the lamp. Its glow reveals Andy, frozen like a statue, one questioning paw raised, head tilted in curiosity, beady eyes narrowed in suspicion. He sniffs the air, and his wiry beard bristles.

He knows.

A low, menacing growl rumbles from his throat. He turns towards the bathroom, advertising his next move. I leap from the bed, but I’m two seconds too slow. Andy launches at the bathroom door in a frenzied explosion of barking and clawing.

“Andy!” I give a frantic whisper yell. Panic claws up my spine. Surely Dad must hear this riot even without the help of his hearing aids, which he usually tucks away in their case the moment practiceis over. Please let tonight not be the night he’s deviated from this small protest at their necessity.

My brain fires into action. Last time I duped Andy away from a seek and destroy mission, I used the haggis soft toy. It sits high on a dressing table, a little worse for wear, but still intact enough to serve as a suitable distraction for the little shit.

“Andy,” I call softly, snatching the toy

When I toss it at him, it bounces off his back. He whirls, a look of canine outrage on his hairy face. If he could talk, he’d be saying, “How dare you use me for target practice?” But the barking stops. He no longer slams his body against the door as if possessed by a demon. His jaws snap open in glee, and he pounces, baby shark teeth clamping down with a victorioussqueak. He flops to the floor, mauling his prize with growls of satisfaction.

One problem solved. Now how to get Geordie out of the bathroom without bloodshed?

They say necessity is the mother of invention, and god knows I’ve got a desperate need here. Making cooing noises, I approach Andy warily. He’s never bitten Dad, or me, or any woman, in fact. His favourite victims are blonde-haired men, but I still don’t trust him. However, I need to be brave if my favourite blonde-haired man is going to get out of here unscathed.

Andy releases the toy for a moment, grinning up at me with pride. I snatch it away, wiggle it tantalisingly, and then launch it across the room. Understanding the game, he leaps and grabs the stuffie, worries at it with his teeth accompanied by a satisfied growl, then releases it, looking at me expectantly, stubby tail wagging. Guilt stabs at me. I’ve never actually played with Andy before. Mum always did, even in her last weeks. He must miss her.

With each round of the game, I strategically move myself closer to the bathroom door, eventually arriving hard up against it.

“Geordie,” I breathe, hoping he can hear me over the slurping sounds of dog drool.

“What the fuck are we going to do?” he hisses back. There’s a hysterical note in his voice.

“I want you to stand back a little.” I force myself to sound calm, like I’ve got this under control. “When the door opens, I’m going to toss a toy in, lure Andy in there. You get out past him and we shut the door.”

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