Just a walk in the park

She’d suggested the walk, said they’d become too wrapped up in their online worlds and they needed to connect. He’d agreed and got up from his office chair and rubbed his chest over where his heart lay buried. The dog, big, blond and dumb bounded back and forth between them and the backdoor as they got their wellies on.

“He loves it, when we both come,” she said, fastening the lead over and under one shoulder.

“He always acts like that,” he replied,straightening in small slow movements.

“No he doesn’t, he only goes that loony when we both come - he’s pleased he doesn’t have to be parted from either of us.”

“Why are you taking the lead?” He rolled it between his thumb and first finger.

She jerked her shoulder back, so his fingers were left floating. “You always say that. Just in case.”

“Of what?”

“You never know, a cross country race or something.”

He shook his head. “Come on.”

They left the house, the dog running on ahead, and walked up the lane for about 100 metres before turning right onto a tree lined avenue, which sloped upwards to Katherine’s Rise.

“See. He’s till super excited,” she said, as the dog bounded across the path and onto the thick, wet grass.

“You’re anthropomorphising him.”

“I’m not. Look at him. He’s...”

“Doing a shit.”

“Oh yeah. I haven’t got a bag,” she said, skipping on ahead and turning to face him.

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled one out.

“That’s not like you,” she said, as he walked on past her to the steaming turd.

“What’s not?” he replied, his voice weakening as he bent forward.

“Giving in. I had a bag too.” She pulled it out and waved it.

He shook his head and smiled at her, the bag dangled from his fingers. “You can carry it.”

“Oh no. The one who picks it up finds the bin.”
She marched ahead of him, her hands dug into her pockets. He came up beside her, she flinched sideways. “Don’t think you can stuff it in my pocket.”

“I wasn’t,” he said. The tied up bag banged against his leg.

She threaded her arm through his. “You OK?” Up ahead the dog approached two elderly ladies sat on a bench the sunlight filtering through the trees, picking out their candyfloss hair in shimmering halos. She smiled at them and tightened her grip on his arm. “I said, you OK?”

“Uh, huh,” he said as a cloud shut-up the sun, leaving the earth cold.

“You’ve been very quiet, lately. What’s up?” The ladies were patting and rubbing the dog. He had his head in the lap of the one with the brown furry boots and cherry rouged cheeks. She pointed at him. “Look at him getting a love-in. He’s such a tart.”

“He is... you’re right... it’s time I -

“What’s he called?” The voice enunciated each word like a scalpel.

-told you...”

“Alfie,” she called back, her hold on his arm loosened. He stumbled on the hard ground as she let him go, his arms flapped in mid-air. She was nearly level with the bench by the time he finished his sentence.

“...that I’m leaving you.”

Beside the ladies were plastic tubs of blackberries. He could see her pointing to them and hear her talking about maggots. He shuddered and his teeth ground together. The sun suddenly shouted and sweat erupted on his forehead and down his sides. The other lady, with the huge mole on her chin and wide mouth, asked what sort of dog Alfie was. He folded his arms and shifted his weight onto his other foot.

“He’s a labardoodle.”

“I said I saw poodle.” The mole moved up and down.

“She said labradoodle, not poodle, that’s right isn’t it, Dear?”

“Half Labrador, half poodle,” she said.

“Well I never.” The mole shook.

“They originated in Australia,” she said, her words faster and a little higher. “A guy there wanted to breed a non moulting guide dog for people with allergies and poodles don’t moult.”

“So he doesn’t moult then?”

She laughed. “Yes, yes, he does. Great balls like cotton wool, everywhere. But then he’s first generation. His dad was a white standard poodle and his mum a lab retriever. If we bred him with another doodle, chances are their puppies wouldn’t moult.”

She saw stars of sunlight in the trees.

“Well I never.” They said together.

She turned to look at him, but her gaze lifted over his shoulder. “He’s got the look of a doodle,” She said, pointing.

He turned to see a fluffy black dog a third of the size of Alfie lolloping towards them. Alfie brushed past his leg, his coat Albatross-white, in contrast to the sleek, oil black curls of the smaller dog. They approached each other, face on, tails wagging and then went into the welcome ritual, nose up bum, becoming one creature.

“What is he?” she called to the woman, wearing a black tunic over black trousers.

She slowed and swerved towards them, her body still pointing in the direction she had been headed. “A cockapoo.”

“I thought he was similar,” she said to the two women. “A cockapoo is a mix between a cocker spaniel and toy poodle, that’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yes. That’s right,” the woman agreed.

The black dog ran up to them and jumped onto the bench, falling onto its back between the two women. The conversation continued. Alfie trotted up to him. He crouched down and stroked the dog and talked softly to him; she turned and raised her eyebrows. The woman and the black dog took off down the path. He waited.

She broke away and came towards him. He rubbed his eyes and began to walk. She fell in step beside him, her hand pushed into his, her fingers woven with his.

“They were nice,” she said.

“Eccentric.”

“Interesting.”

“Batty.”

“Unusual. What were you about to tell me, back then, before the interesting ladies took my attention?”

“Nothing. Not really.”

“Tell me. You said; it’s time I told... and then I got distracted. Sorry.”

She shivered as the shadow of a cloud rolled over them and tugged her coat together at the front.

“It was nothing, really. It can wait.”

“Please. I hate it when you do that. I want to know. You’ve been quiet recently. It’s not an affair is it? Are you and Janice doing it on the desk?”

He laughed. He laughed so much he cried.

“What’s so funny? Stop it. Stop it! You’re worrying me now.”

He stopped, wiped the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs and then he took her face in his hands and she saw the deep wells of blackness under his eyes. She turned her head to the left and kissed the edge of his little finger. She tasted his salt and something sour, a smell that was not him.

“I wish it were true,“ he said.

“Why? Why would you wish that?” Her voice was high and tight.

The sun fell on them; its warmth soaked their bodies. He pulled her too him, his lips close to her ear. A tear fell onto her shoulder and left a dark grey spot. “Because I’m leaving you and I can’t help it.”