Page 52 of The Good Boy

“There you go, then,” I say, desperate for this conversation to be over.

“There you go,” Miles repeats. “Thanks for the clarification.”

“Who’s that hot dish?” It’s a relief when Sally, the blond, pigtailed, young local dog walker comes to join us, pointing at Rory as he sits right on the daisy-studded grass surrounded by a circle of excited, barking, sniffy dogs.

“I know!” I hear Rory say. “I was pretty shocked too, and let me tell you, you know that big white drinking bowl in the bathroom? That’s not for drinking out of...”

“My lodger,” I tell Sally. “He’s Australian.”

“Oh,” she says as if that explains everything. “He really loves dogs, doesn’t he? It’s a very attractive trait in a man. Hello, I’m Sally.” She waves at Miles; he bows slightly back.

“I’m Miles,” he tells her.

“Well, Genie, you’ve brought all the talent to the meetup today.” Sally giggles, nudging me in the ribs. “You dark horse, you.”

Rory rolls onto all fours, and is engaged in an enthusiastic game of tug-of-war with an old English sheepdog called Dusty, thankfully not using his teeth.

“He’s so cute with them,” Sally says, gazing at Rory. “It’s like all the dogs are really listening to him.”

“He knows a lot about dog psychology,” I say.

“Dog psychology, huh?” Sally says. “I’d lie on his couch any day of the week.”

“He’s not into girls,” I tell her, without even thinking about it.

“Just my luck,” Sally says.

“Meh, men, who needs them?” I say, just as I glance at Miles and his so kissable almost-smile.

“Me,” Sally says, “but then, I am in my twenties, and it’s all about sex at my age.”

“I’m only just thirty!” I protest. “I like sex too!”

“Do you?” Sally looks very surprised.

“Yes,” I insist, looking at Miles, who has taken a deep interest in a cloud. “I have sex. I have fine, fine sex.”

What I mean is two years ago I had a one-night stand, and when I say it was fine I mean a howling void of misery and despair, but still.

“How about you, Miles?” Sally asks. “Are you on the market?”

“I’m not,” Miles says firmly, which, when I think about it, is probably the right way to go about handling Sally’s questions.

“Shame,” Sally says as Rory suddenly takes off, followed by six or seven dogs, just running for the sake of it. “I don’t really want a boyfriend. I just want some really hot sex. But I suppose that’s what the apps are for.”

“Yeah, totally,” I say.

“The initial flirtation, the buildup, the naughty sexting, the skin on skin, the orgasms, the afterglow. You know, that really satisfying feeling of have a stubble burn in all the right places?”

I’m still reflecting on “orgasms,” plural. My brain seems to have shut down, and all I can do is stand here, my mouth flapping up and down like an out-of-sorts goldfish. Miles has wandered away several feet and seems to be closely examining a tree. Beforelong he will be having orgasms with Claudia. I could have said, Don’t do it, Miles. Claudia-from-work isn’t the girl for you, I am! But I didn’t. And that’s why I don’t do quests because quests are for people with hope and who can stand to fail. I don’t have either of those qualities.

“Stubble burn...” I mutter to cover my misery.

“Sorry,” Sally says. “Mum’s always telling me I’m a bit much.”

“Pfffft,” I say with a devil-may-care wave of the hand that secretly agrees with her mum.

“Well, he’s certainly a tonic.” Aida, at least a comforting twenty years older than me, arrives and nods at Rory as he leads the excited yapping pack round and round the park in one great crazy chase.

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