Free Waiting for Doggo by Mark Mills

not necessary.’
    ‘You reckon? For all I know, she’s flown off to New Zealand to shag some director or other and he’s beaten her to death and buried her body in the hills.’
    The silence hangs between us like a wet blanket. ‘Thanks for that, Dan.’
    ‘Screw you, Fiona. I’ve been going half mad here.’
    ‘She made me promise not to tell you.’
    ‘Then screw her too.’
    Childishly, I hang up before she can reply. Her text arrives a few minutes later:
She did what she needed to do. Maybe you should ask yourself why that is
    Jennifer Aniston sheds some tears on the TV while I tap away on my phone:
Here’s the deal – I’ll take your self-righteous crap if you tell me Will knows about Otto.
Will is her boyfriend, Otto an architect at the practice where she works. I want her to know that I’m in the loop about her brief fling; I want her to know that Clara is far from being the discreet and loyal friend she assumes her to be. There will definitely be consequences for their relationship. Cuckolded, cut adrift, I’m beyond caring. Let them slog it out. Here you are, the two of you, taste a little bit of the deceit, the pain, and see how it feels, because frankly, my dears, I don’t give a damn.
    I’ll hate myself for it later, but right now it makes me feel a whole lot better about my roll in the hay with Polly. So much better, in fact, that I seriously consider calling her back and asking for the address of that hotel in Aberystwyth.
    ‘Hey, Doggo, you want a weekend in Wales?’
    He doesn’t even glance at me; he’s too intently focused on Jennifer, who’s now looking gorgeously glum while dragging the back of her hand across her eyes to wipe away the tears.
    I don’t make the call to Polly. I can’t blow Grandpa out, even though he has no idea I’m coming to visit him, even if, as happened last time, he struggles to place me in the fuzzy pantheon of family and friends who drop by the nursing home from time to time. The thing is, I love Grandpa, I always have, and his brain is going fast. I’ll never forgive myself if the next chance I get to visit I find it’s gone altogether.
    The film ends, the credits roll, and Doggo does something he’s never done before: he barks. I once heard him give a strangled sort of yelp when I accidentally trod on his paw in the kitchen, but this is the real thing, surprisingly deep and resonant given his size – like an apple-cheeked choirboy opening his mouth and belting out ‘Ol’ Man River’ in a basso profundo.
    ‘Doggo, shhhh.’ But he doesn’t let up, even when I find another movie to entertain him. He can’t really have fallen that hard for Jennifer Aniston, can he? It’s a frivolous thought, but as the racket continues, I figure it’s got to be worth a shot. I pull up Film4+1, which runs exactly the same schedule an hour later. The moment we land back in the middle of the movie, Doggo falls silent and settles down, his big bug eyes glued to the screen, to Jennifer, who is hurrying along a pavement, yakking away to someone on her mobile.
    I laugh and lay a tentative hand on Doggo’s back. He’s too distracted to protest.
    ‘Good choice, you horny little devil.’

Chapter Eleven
     
    R ALPH IS IN raptures when the team returns to the office late on Friday afternoon. It seems Patrick outdid himself selling the concept to the suits at KP&G. Tristan was also present at the pitch and feels it went well.
    ‘Compared to what?’ asks Ralph, which sounds like a swipe at Tristan’s lack of experience.
    We won’t have an answer until next week, but Ralph insists that the five of us – six including Doggo – decamp to the terrace bar at the Sanderson Hotel. He’s keen to point out that we’re not celebrating our success, just a job well done. ‘No one can say we haven’t given it our best shot. It’s important to mark the small triumphs too.’
    I understand his thinking; I’m made the same way. Edie and Tristan look less convinced. They’d