Page 46 of The Good Boy

Kelly pushes two bunches of nylon hair at me.

“Are you kidding? Blond all day long,” I say, taking the wig. “Everyone knows they have more fun.”

Chapter Seventeen

“No way,” Rory is saying in utter fascination as he talks to Kath Simpson from number 33. He sees me, wig in hand, and calls me over. “Hey, Genie, did you know that Kath goes swimming in the sea every day for at least ten minutes whatever the weather? Just like we do!”

I shove the wig in my handbag.

“I didn’t know you were a cold swimmer, Genie,” Kath says. “I’m in a club—only ladies allowed, I’m afraid, Rory, but you’d be welcome to join us any time, Genie.”

“Oh, well, I... er... um... thank you,” I say. “It’s more Rory’s thing, really—I’ve only actually got in once.”

“Yeah, but that was before,” Rory says. “Now that I, a human, live with Genie, she is going to get in the sea with me every day. Why don’t you allow men, Kath?”

“It’s just more relaxing without them,” Kath says. “Most of them are awful, but I think we might make an exception for you, Rory.”

“That is brilliant! Really?” Rory claps his hands. “I’d love that, Kath. Me and Genie are definitely up for that. What time do you meet?”

“Normally about fivea.m.,” Kath says.

“Oh yeah, no, that’s way too early for us.” Rory shakes his head. “We don’t get out of bed until eight-thirty a.m. even on a workday. I would, but Genie says morning people are bastards.”

“That’s not exactly the word I used,” I say, glancing over at Miles where he is listening very intently to how much Neil Parsons loves his 1978 Ford Capri. He must feel me watching him, because he looks up and smiles. I feel better knowing he’s in the room.

“Yeah, it is,” Rory says. “Remember when that delivery guy knocked at the door really early one Sunday? You said he was a stone-cold bastard and you hoped he burned in hell.”

“But I definitely am not a morning person.” I smile at Kath, who stifles a giggle. Miles comes to join us, just as Rory spots another instant friend.

“Hi, Steven!” is how Rory greets the guy from number 45. “How’s your toy poodle, still evil?”

“So evil,” Steven says, completely unoffended, and as if he has known Rory all his life. “I’m at my wits’ end, to be honest. Yesterday she bit me on the nose and wouldn’t let go for three minutes. I mean, I know she’s only tiny, but three minutes is a long time to have a bitter poodle hanging off your nose.”

“I told you dogs are more violent than cats,” Miles says softly in my ear.

“Poodles are the exception that proves the rule,” I whisper back. “Them and Chihuahuas. Like someone put cat energy in a dog body just to mess with us.”

Miles chuckles, the top of his arm brushing against me with a friendly nudge.

“Have you thought about toothache?” Rory tells him. “Hetty’s always complaining about toothache. No one likes going to thevet, am I right?” Rory looks around the room for affirmation. “But if you pop a bit of lavender oil on her collar and get someone to check out her gnashers I am pretty sure she would chill right out. I mean, obviously she’d still want to prove her supremacy in battle over all other creatures, but in a more chill way, know what I’m saying?”

“Not entirely,” Steven says, “but you know I haven’t even thought about her teeth. That’s a really good idea, Rory.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t realize you were a specialist in dog psychology,” Steven says. “Study their body language, do you?

“Not exactly,” Rory says. “But I do know what dogs are thinking a lot of the time.”

“Like a dog whisperer?” Steven asks.

“Mostly just like in a normal voice,” Rory says.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Susan says, catching Miles just before he gets to me and Rory. “And you, Genie. It’s so nice to move into such a welcoming community.”

“Oh, pleasure,” I say, reaching the end of my small-talk capacity at alarming speed.

“Delighted,” Miles says, arriving at the end of his just after me.

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