A Christmas Tail: A heart-warming Christmas romance

‘Talk to people you don’t know. Approach them, launch into a conversation. I saw you with that woman earlier – I’ve seen you with lots of people.’

Joe shrugged and put his arm along the back of the sofa. ‘You have to treat it like your one opportunity, and not give a shit what people think. Say what you want to say, and if they like it, they’ll keep talking to you. If they don’t, they’ll walk away and you never have to see them again.’

‘But how do I know?’

‘You don’t. You could get a Jessica Heybourne or a Mr Jasper.’

‘Ugh,’ she shivered. ‘Don’t remind me about Mr Jasper.’

‘Or you could get someone in between,’ Joe said, his voice softer. ‘Like me. I’m not always that hard to live with, am I?’ He raised his eyebrows in what Cat thought – but would never tell him – was an excellent impression of a lost puppy. A Labrador.

‘No,’ she laughed. ‘Not always.’

‘Good advice from your housemate, don’t you think?’ Elsie patted her knee. ‘If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out. If not, then you’ve only lost a sliver of self-confidence which will come back anyway.’

‘Right, yes.’ Cat examined her knees. ‘Brilliant advice. Thanks, Joe, thanks, Elsie. I just…it’s hard, launching in. How do you bring up the subject of dogs at a party like this? I know the Westies are here somewhere, but…’

‘So host your own event,’ Joe said. ‘Organize a dog get-together, invite owners to come and find out about Pooch Promenade. But not at ours,’ he added quickly. ‘Somewhere large and dog-friendly. Maybe the café in the park. George likes dogs, doesn’t he?’

Cat stared at him.

‘What?’ he shrugged. ‘Look, if it’s a crap idea—’

‘It’s an amazing idea,’ Cat said, her eyes shining at the thought. ‘It’s perfect.’

‘There you go, then. Tell people that you’re having a great time and that you’re hosting an event soon, and the dog bit will follow naturally.’

‘You’re a genius, Joe!’ Cat squeezed his arm.

‘Knock them dead.’ Joe gave her his steady, blue-eyed stare. ‘You already do in that dress, so…go for it.’

Cat nodded, stood, and walked purposefully amongst the warm bodies. Joe was right – they all were. She was proud of her dog-walking business, and she was attracted to Mark. If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out.

She was going to talk to people about Pooch Promenade,and she was going to find Mark.

Half an hour later she’d spoken to six people she didn’t know, had mentioned Pooch Promenadeto a couple who lived nearby and had two retrievers, and discovered that nobody had seen Jessica or Mark for the last hour.

‘Try Jessica’s study,’ Boris said, skewering an olive with a cocktail stick. He was tall and willowy, dressed in a green three-piece suit, his hair a shock of vibrant but (according to his eyebrows) natural orange. He ran the boutique bed and breakfast at number three Primrose Terrace with his partner Charles and two French bulldogs. He’d promised to follow Cat on Twitter and introduce her to Dylan and Bossy, and was now imparting invaluable advice about what she should do next.

‘Won’t she mind?’

‘Just knock. Jessica knows how to put on a party – if it’s not locked then it’s not out of bounds. First floor, end of the corridor.’ He pointed his glass towards the staircase.

Cat climbed it slowly, her sweaty palm slipping on the bannister. She shouldn’t be doing this; she should wait until they reappeared. But if she could get one glance, one sign that they were definitely together, then she could stop thinking about Mark and avoid the embarrassment of being rejected. The staircase curved and the hallway below disappeared from sight as Cat found herself at the end of a corridor. There were black-and-white photographs on the wall, mostly of Jessica herself, and the thick carpet was the same pale green as the rugs downstairs.

The door at the end was ajar, a glow of light coming from inside. Cat took a step towards it, then another. Voices and laughter drifted up from downstairs. She took another step, heard a familiar shuffling sound and looked down to see Valentino, his tail wagging like a metronome, black nose angled up towards her.

Panic flared in her chest. She crouched and stroked the dog behind the ears. ‘Shhhhh,’ she whispered. Valentino was panting slightly, dancing backwards and forwards, happy to have found his friend. ‘Stay here,’ Cat said, pointing her finger at the carpet. Valentino sat down. ‘Good dog.’

Slowly, so slowly, she stood and took another step towards the study. Something bumped against her leg. It was Coco, trotting beside her, and as soon as Valentino saw his brother he disobeyed Cat’s instructions and came to join them. Cat repeated the process, stroking, praising, and telling them both to sit. She scrutinized the corridor, but there was no sign of Dior. ‘Stay here, puppies,’ she whispered. The dogs looked up at her, clearly thinking it was part of a game. Cat would have to find a treat for them; she wondered if they liked horseradish.

She took the last two steps towards the door, silently thanking Jessica for her thick, sound-absorbing carpets. She peered through the gap.

Jessica and Mark were sitting side by side on a low cream sofa, bending forwards, looking at a folder that was open on the table. Mark’s elbows were on his knees, his face a mask of concentration.

Cat couldn’t hear what Jessica was saying, but they weren’t snuggled together, shoulders and knees not pressed close. Their body language didn’t scream Secret Tryst. And if they were a couple, if they spent their days locked in each other’s embrace, why pick the middle of a party to look over documents? It wasn’t conclusive, but Cat felt her anxiety lift, her shoulders unknot. She wasn’t stepping on Jessica’s toes. She could allow herself to be attracted to Mark and maybe, maybe pluck up the courage to do something about it. But not now. Now she was going to…

‘Valentino!’ Jessica said. ‘What are you doing in here, darling? Do you need to go outside?’

Cat inhaled and stepped back just as the door swung open. Coco raced into the study to greet his owner, and Mark and Jessica looked up at the same time. Cat was frozen in the doorway, unable to move even when Dior, following in the footsteps of the other two Westies, sat on her feet and started yelping.

Look who I’ve found, he seemed to say. Aren’t I a clever dog?

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‘Darling Cat,’ Jessica said, ‘what are you doing? Is anything wrong?’ She half stood, but it was Mark who was up and in front of her in a second.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You look terrified.’ He put his hand softly on her bare arm and a shiver snaked up it, her attraction towards him winning over the terror of the situation.

‘I-I’m fine,’ Cat stammered. ‘Dior was whining, he seemed upset so I – I was looking for you, Jessica. I’m so sorry to intrude.’ Dior chose that moment to be an unreliable sidekick by rolling onto his back, legs in the air, waiting for his tummy to be tickled.

‘Oh, they get like that, don’t you, poppets?’ Jessica rubbed noses with Valentino, holding his front paws in her hands. ‘I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, he was probably just after attention.’

Cat nodded, aware that Mark was still looking at her, still touching her. ‘Oh, th-that’s fine then,’ she said. ‘I’ll be off.’ She turned to go, but he squeezed her arm.

‘Why don’t you come in? Jessica was helping me out with a few contacts.’

‘Really?’ Cat hoped she sounded interested – all she could hear was the hammering of her heart.

‘An author friend’s having his book adapted for the small screen,’ Jessica said, sliding back onto the sofa and crossing one leg over the other. ‘It’s still very hush-hush, but it’s quite exciting. Mark’s looking for a producer for his latest screenplay, so I was passing on some contacts.’

‘You’re a television writer?’

‘Film,’ Mark said. ‘One indie success under my belt – critical acclaim but cult viewing figures – and one complete flop. I’m hoping for a resurrection with number three, and while my agent’s on the case, it’s always good to be on the lookout for other avenues.’

‘Wow!’ Cat said. ‘That’s exciting. Amazing, really. I didn’t know you were a writer.’ She thought of George’s fears, Mark spying on people and making notes in the café.

He laughed. ‘Why would you? I haven’t mentioned it before.’

‘What kind of films?’

‘Horror.’

‘Ah,’ Cat said. ‘Dawn of the Dead. Chips the dog. You love horror films.’

‘Exactly.’ Mark looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected her to remember. Maybe she should have pretended to forget. ‘George Romero is one of my heroes.’ He smiled down at her, and for the first time Cat couldn’t see amusement or challenge in his eyes, just warmth and genuine interest. Should she ask now?

‘We shouldn’t be up here.’ Jessica stood and shooed her dogs out of the study. ‘I got carried away. It’s unthinkable of a hostess not to be present at her own party.’ She indicated the door, and Cat followed the Westies into the corridor. ‘Are you having fun, Cat? You really shouldn’t worry about the dogs tonight – they’re utter divas. They’ve had me to learn from, after all.’ She wrapped her arm around Cat’s shoulder. ‘I meant to ask you about your housemate, Joe?’