Page 73 of The Good Boy

“To violent death,” Rory says.

“Cats,” I say. “They bring him out in hives.”

“I’m Australian,” Rory says.

“Oh, I had planned to serve cocktails in here,” Claudia says, “but not to worry, come through to the kitchen and we can leave Matilda to her throne room.”

“Miles is right, you are dazzling, Genie,” Claudia says, looking me up and down. “I’d never have the nerve to wear all that color but you really carry it off.”

“Thanks, guys,” I say, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Rory picked the clothes out.”

“But Genie makes them work,” Rory says.

“Ah,” Claudia says. “You have very original taste, Rory.”

Again, the kitchen is just like mine, except no one has knocked down the wall between it and the front room. There is a small, square, standard-issue table, nicely laid with linen napkins and a posy of fat pink roses in the middle. There’s just enough room for us to sit around it and for Claudia to attend to dinner on the hob.

“What are we having?” Rory asks Claudia, going to where she is stirring, to peer over her shoulder. “Smells good.”

“Mushroom risotto,” Claudia tells him. “Very garlicky and luxurious! With a fresh baby-leaf salad and parmesan dressing.”

“Nice,” Rory says. “And then what?”

“Oh!” Claudia laughs. “Italian meringue for dessert.”

“Right,” Rory says. “And then what?”

“We brought some chocolates,” I say, handing Miles a packet of more-or-less-unopened After Eights that I got from the One Stop especially. Rory tried one before spending several minutes retching and staring at me with a look of startled betrayal.

“Yeah, we bought them because they are disgusting,” Rory says. “I mean, who thought that chocolate, which is a really good thing, should go with toothpaste, which is a really bad thing?”

Miles takes the chocolates and puts them on the side.

“Wine?” he says, picking up a bottle that is waiting in an ice bucket. The price label is still stuck to the side, and that doesn’t surprise me. Miles is not the sort of person to have a wine bucket on the off chance.

“Take a seat, take a seat.” Claudia bustles, handing four cornflower-blue plates to Miles. “It is ready to serve!”

She seems a bit nervous as she dances around us, spooning risotto onto our plates and garnishing each serving with the leaves. I’d like to think it’s because she finds me cool and intimidating, but it’s much more likely that she is flat-out desperate to impress Miles. If I were Miles, heck, if I were me, I would be impressed. She looks gorgeous in a pastel-pink dress and the food smells delicious. Finally, Claudia takes her seat and raises her freshly filled wineglass.

“To my new life in Scarborough and new acquaintances, who I hope will soon become dear friends.” She glances shyly at Miles. “Very dear friends.”

Miles returns her glance with a sweetly encouraging smile.

Our glasses clink, and before I remember to stop Rory from drinking any he’s gulped the whole thing down.

“Rory!” I say, laughing nervously. “You are supposed to sip wine.”

“Sorry, I was thirsty,” he says, smacking his lips like he’s just sucked on a lemon. “Huh, that is actually pretty nice.”

He slides his glass toward Miles, who looks at me. I shrug and he refills it.

After all, I know I feel the need to get drunk tonight. It would seem churlish not to allow Rory the same outlet, especially with his sworn enemy in the next room. Besides, if he is to learn to live life as a human, he will need to learn to live with a hangover now and again.

And yes, Reader, you are entirely right. I have not thought this through, and I am aware that there are many, many things that could go wrong when your recently human former dog is under the influence. At this point, though, things going wrong is my default setting. In some ways I’d rather just get it all out of the way in one go.

“So, did you guys become friends because you lived next door to each other, or was it the other way round?” Claudia asks as she eats her delicious food with the sort of gusto that’s impossible not to admire.

“Bit of both,” Miles says, smiling at me. “I met Eugenie on my first day at school. I was getting a bit of flack, new kid on the block and all that. Eugenie stormed over, flattened all my would-be bullies with a few choice words, and sort of took me under her wing. I’ll never forget the first time I saw her. There was a no-makeup policy at school, but she had red lipstick on and bright blue hair. She looked like a punk avenging angel.”

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