‘I was going to say attractive.’ Jafrina turned back to Sarah.
Sarah tried to hide her agitation. ‘I know you mean well, but seriously, guys, I’m not interested. I’m happy living alone. I have no desire to get involved with a man.’
‘Not even the new hot doctor?’
‘Not even him.’ Sarah shuddered. Definitely not him.
Georgia tutted. ‘No taste, some people.’
‘Now, can we please get on with some work?’ Sarah gave them a pointed look and waited for them to leave her office. It was exhausting to keep defending her decision to remain single, but life was easier that way. She liked her space. She liked having control of the remote, and going to bed at eight p.m. so she could flick through antique magazines.
Occasionally she missed company. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t find the bed too cold in the winter, and often found herself talking to herself, or crying for no reason.
Sometimes she even allowed her mind to drift back to a happier time when Josh wasn’t blowing hot and cold and messing her around. But that would only result in more tears and misery, so it was best left in the past.
Time passed quickly for the remainder of the day. She only became aware of the late hour when her colleagues shouted goodbye from the doorway and headed home for the night. She needed to pack up too. She might be off men, but she still had a certain male canine waiting for her at home. A situation she really needed to do something about.
Forty minutes later, she was pushing open the door to her dark and quiet flat, and feeling a sense of trepidation.
‘Fred?’ she called out, wondering where he was. It was her first time leaving him alone in the flat and she half excepted to find mauled cushions, or pee on her expensive oriental rug.
‘Fred, where are you?’ More silence. Had he escaped? If so, how? The flat was secure… unless someone had reported her and the landlord had called around and confiscated him. Panic coursed through her. She couldn’t keep him long-term, but she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to him just yet.
And then she heard scurrying coming from her bedroom. This was followed by a thump, which preceded her switching on the overhead light and seeing Fred’s guilty expression gazing up at her. Coupled with the rumpled duvet, it was all the evidence she needed. ‘Have you been on my bed?’
Fred looked at her, as if to say, Who, me?
‘Yes, you. What did I say about climbing on the furniture, you naughty dog?’
He trotted over, head hanging low, and slumped by her feet. He then rolled onto his back, legs splayed, and made a pathetic whining noise.
‘Don’t think you can fool me with a doe-eyed expression, Fred Basset. I’m made of sterner stuff.’ But then he blinked up at her and she couldn’t stay mad with him any longer. ‘Daft animal.’
His wounded demeanour changed the moment she crouched down. His tail began wagging and he knew telling-off time was over. Talk about manipulative.
As Sarah stripped off her work clothes and put on her jogging bottoms, Fred began barking and scurrying around in circles.
‘Shush, will you!’ She crouched down and tried to quieten him. ‘You need to keep quiet, or you’ll end up at Battersea Dogs Home. You’ll probably end up there anyway, as I can’t keep you, but that’s life. It’s unfair, I know.’
He was too buzzing to stay still. At least he’d stopped barking.
Now all she had to do was get him out of the building without being seen.
Sarah was not cut out for covert operations. As she bundled Fred down the stairs, her pulse was thumping so hard she could barely make her legs work. Waiting until she was sure the guy in Flat 2 wasn’t about to make an unwanted appearance, she sprinted past his door and almost dragged Fred down the stairs.
It was only when she was at the end of the road and heading towards Wandsworth Park that she allowed herself to slow to a walking pace. Fred looked disgruntled. She guessed partly from being dragged down the stairs, but mostly at being forced outside in the cold.
For all Sarah’s threats to take Fred to the rescue centre, she’d still gone out and bought a lead, a dog bowl and a bag of treats. She didn’t need a psychologist to analyse her behaviour. She knew full well that delaying rehoming Fred was as much about filling a gap in her lonely life as it was about saving him from a stint in kennels.
Dwelling wouldn’t solve her issues, so she broke into a jog, only to be pulled back when the lead reached full stretch. Stumbling to a halt, she turned to look at Fred, who had planted his feet firmly on the ground and was refusing to budge. ‘Seriously? You’re not going to run?’
He shook his head – or he appeared to, because dogs didn’t shake their heads; that would be insane. Either way, Fred was not the athletic type, it seemed.
It took all of Sarah’s efforts to get him to walk around the park. She ended up static jogging, trying to run without actually moving, which was challenging to say the least.
Thirty minutes later, having failed to break a sweat, Sarah and Fred were heading home. So much for a nice spot of exercise. Fred was less active than Mrs Kelsey.
When their building came into view, Fred sped up. ‘Oh, now you speed up,’ she said, pulling on his lead. ‘Shame you couldn’t have jogged like that in the park.’