The vet looks from me to Wally and back again. Finally, he exhales. ‘He’ll need to be given small sips of water every hour for the next few days. I’ll also give you some electrolyte powder. If he isn’t keeping anything down, give him ice cubes to lick. I’d like you both to bring the dog back in a couple of days so I can see for myself that he’s being taken care of. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Wally and I say in unison.
‘Make an appointment at the front desk. Two days.’
We both nod. And a few minutes later, reluctantly, the vet releases Alfie into our care.
On the way home, we stop at Rose’s to pick up Alfie’s food, lead and water bowl. Then I call Rose. It goes better than I expect. Rose is calmer once she knows Alfie is all right. She apologises for being frustrated and says she blames herself – she should have checked Alfie into the kennel like she planned. I tell her that I’m taking Alfie back to my flat and will keep him there for the rest of the time Rose is away. I’m not sure why I didn’t suggest that when Rose asked me. I wish I could remember.
‘How is Owen?’ I ask.
‘He’s great. He says to say hello.’
‘Tell him I say hello back.’
‘I will.’
‘So, you’re having a good time?’
‘A perfect time. Just wonderful. I’m missing you, though.’
‘I miss you too.’
I wrap up the phone call quickly, partly because I expect that Rose will be busy with Owen and partly because it feels like it might be rude to chat while Wally is sitting right here in the car. When I hang up, though, I’m still feeling heartsick about the whole thing. It could have been so much worse. Just another few hours and . . .
‘Stop thinking about it,’ Wally says.
‘I can’t.’
‘The important thing is that Alfie is okay, right?’
‘For now,’ I say.
‘For now?’ Wally laughs. ‘Are you planning on hurting him?’
You don’t always have to plan it, I think.
‘I don’t remember Rose asking me. It doesn’t even ring a bell. That’s what scares me the most.’
‘Well,’ Wally says, ‘maybe she forgot to ask? She was preparing for an overseas trip – she probably had a million things on her mind. It probably slipped her mind.’
I shake my head. ‘Rose doesn’t forget things.’
‘Do you forget things?’ Wally asks.
‘Yes. With great regularity.’
‘That surprises me.’
It surprises me too, I think. All the time.
‘It can be distressing at times,’ I admit. ‘Always worrying about what I might have forgotten, or what I might do wrong if left to my own devices.’ This is more emotional than my typical conversation, and I don’t feel entirely comfortable with it. I wonder if it is a side effect of being on a date.
‘What makes you think you’d do anything wrong?’ Wally asks.
‘Past experience,’ I say, as we turn into my street. I point to my block. ‘This is my place here.’
Wally parks in front. He pulls up the handbrake and then pushes his glasses back up his nose, something that is fast becoming a trademark of his. ‘How do you live your life with that fear?’
There’s no good answer for this. ‘I just . . . do. What choice do I have?’
‘Wow,’ he says. ‘That’s brave.’
I don’t know what to say to that. It feels like a good time to change the subject. ‘Did you mean it when you said you would watch Alfie for me while I’m at work?’ I ask.
‘I don’t say things I don’t mean.’
‘Well,’ I say. ‘In that case . . . see you Monday morning? Nine am.’
Wally agrees and I slide out of the car, Alfie in my arms. As I watch him drive away, I realise I feel something akin to content. It makes me worry for a world where someone like me can feel content after what I did.
I fall asleep quickly, but I wake with a gasp.
I am instantly oriented. There is no buffering period, no momentary confusion. I know where I am. I know it was a dream, even if I can still feel the cool wet flesh beneath my hands, the kicking and writhing, my fingers gripping so tightly that they tremble. I also know it wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory. A warning. Most of all, it’s a reminder. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Fern. Remember what you’re capable of.
As if I could forget.
I glance at the alarm clock – 3.43 am. There are still a few more hours until daylight. If I roll over and go to sleep quickly, it’s possible I might still get some sleep. God knows I need it. Three more weeks without Rose.
Will I survive it?
JOURNAL OF ROSE INGRID CASTLE
I’m living in a dream. Owen met me at the airport with open arms – and a bunch of peonies. You know how couples often have a song? Well, we have a flower, and it is peonies. He gave me a bunch on our first date, and I carried them in my wedding bouquet. Over the years – four years this spring – whenever there has been a special occasion – a promotion, a birthday, an anniversary – it was always celebrated with peonies.
After dropping my bags at his Fulham apartment, we went straight to dinner – a really fancy place in Chelsea. When we got back to his place afterward, I checked the medicine cabinet and the sheets in the laundry for scents of perfume. Clear on both counts. It feels too good to be true. Owen said all the things I had hoped for: that he missed me, that he had been miserable without me, that he wanted to try ‘us’ again. We made love the first night, and the next morning, and the night after that. The sex was better in London, we both agreed. Something about the Northern Hemisphere. Everything was perfect.
Except for the Fern situation.
I blame myself. I should never have
