One Man and his Dog

They had crossed paths four days in a row. Each time they’d stopped, just as they did now, standing feet apart while their dogs sniffed each other’s acquaintance. His was a boisterous black labrador and hers an excitable black-and-white mutt from Battersea.

At last one of them spoke. Him. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Red,’ Becca replied then, to clarify, ‘You know, as in the joke what’s black, white and read all over?’

He looked blank. Then he raised one eyebrow, inviting the answer.

‘A newspaper.’ She wished a small hole would open in the ground and swallow her. ‘What’s yours?’

‘Harvey. As in Wallbanger.’ His turn to look embarrassed. ‘Ex-girlfriend,’ he muttered as if that explained everything.

As Harvey circled Red, Becca concentrated on his owner: forty-ish, eyes the colour of a Greek sky and fringed by the darkest of lashes, straight nose, generous mouth on which a smile was hovering. Her only question: why hadn’t her Internet dating site thrown up anyone quite as, well … appealing, as this?

Red was ready to play, haunches in the air, tail beating, front legs extended on the ground. Opposite her, Harvey had adopted an identical pose. For a second they stared each other out, motionless, then Harvey broke rank and raced off, Red in hot pursuit.

‘Love at first sight,’ she said.

They laughed and exchanged a few more words. Jack was a rock-climbing instructor, she was an upholsterer. Yes, he came to the park every day. So did she, usually later, but for the last few days she’d been working on a bergère chair and needed the early break. They hesitated as the dogs skidded to a halt in front of them, Harvey tumbling over Red almost to knock Becca flying.

‘Harvey, come.’ Jack snapped on a lead. ‘See you,’ he said.

‘Hope so,’ she replied, wishing for the second time that she hadn’t been so obvious.

As they walked in opposite directions, Red hung back, looking after Harvey until a brisk command from Becca brought her to heel.

The following day, a biting wind and blustery rain meant their daily walk was curtailed as Becca skulked round the edge of the park not wanting to be seen by him in her unflattering anorak and rainproof trousers. But as the week went on, the sun reappeared and with it, her hopes and spring wardrobe. Wearing her best jeans, a T-shirt and a thin jacket bought to impress, she left home with a positive spring in her step. Their walk was timed precisely.

Just as they passed the rose garden, Harvey hurtled up to Red eager to play. But Red turned away, ears back, growling quietly. Surprised but undeterred by this change in attitude, Becca rough-combed her hair with her fingers and smoothed her lipsticked lips together, straightened her jacket, prepared for the appearance of Jack.

Harvey was insistent, chest to the ground, giving a series of high-pitched barks but despite Becca’s encouragement, Red continued to rebuff him. After fifteen minutes, Becca abandoned the wait. But as she and Red walked away, Harvey tagged along, unwanted.

The tag on Harvey’s collar carried a single phone number. Sitting on a bench, Becca dialled it. To Red’s evident displeasure, she absent-mindedly scratched the lost dog’s head while anticipating the gratitude of his owner. A drink would certainly be in order. Her eyes closed as she simultaneously imagined them at a candlelit table - her new dress would be perfect - and directed the voice in her ear to where she sat. Perhaps they would move on from a drink to dinner. And then … who knew.

The sound of a throat being cleared lifted her from her fantasy and into the grim reality of the city park. The first thing she noticed was the gold corduroy trousers. At their knee was an ecstatic wagging Harvey. Red was forgotten.

Her eyes travelled up over the paunch (was that there before?) to the waxy green Barbour. A hand slipped a phone into its pocket. Finally she settled on the face, remarkable only for its unremarkableness, and one she didn’t recognise. He removed his cap and smiled, revealing a mouthful of uneven teeth.

‘My dog, Algie.’ He nodded at the black labrador, as identical to Harvey as his owner was different from Jack. ‘He ran off on the other side of the park. Can I say thank you over a cup of coffee?’

As he held out his hand, Becca’s daydream shattered into tiny fragments. With as much grace as she could muster she agreed and they walked together to the kiosk surrounded by metal tables and chairs. The two dogs kept their distance from one another. The coffee was stewed, the seats were chilly and the conversation strained. They wouldn’t meet again.

With her hopes for revitalising her love-life rewound to zero, Becca walked in the direction of the park gate, wondering whether the time had come to update her online profile. Random facts about me … That needed thought.

She was concentrating on what she had to offer (warm-hearted, gsoh – surely she could come up with something more original), when, without warning, Red raced off towards the road.

‘Red! Here!’

Her shout ignored, she chased after. Soon out of breath (extremely unfit) she stopped, bent double, anticipating the awful screech of brakes. Instead:

‘Yours, I think.’

Red-faced and sweating (unattractive), she looked up to find a smiling Jack holding onto Red by her collar. If only she’d kept her resolutions to go to the gym, he wouldn’t have found her in this state.

‘I was hoping we’d meet again.’

Her heart beat louder (romantic).

Unnoticed, Red slipped her collar and danced off after a joyous Harvey.

‘I’ve got a sofa that needs covering.’ Jack hesitated. ‘I thought we might discuss it in the pub. They allow dogs.’

As a chat-up line, it was rubbish. But it worked for Becca. She would revise her online profile another time.