Free Rebound by Aga Lesiewicz Page B

over?’ asks Pia.
    ‘Just look at her, she wouldn’t be able to jump over two bricks stacked on top of each other, and I mean Lego bricks.’ I know I’m unfair to my little puppy.
    ‘So how did she do it?’
    We take another good look at the fence, the back wall, the overgrown shed.
    ‘There’s no way she could’ve done it,’ says Pia categorically. Those Danes, they don’t beat around the bush.
    ‘But she did escape and Tom caught her in the main street.’
    ‘Well, maybe you should ask Tom, then.’ Pia puts her empty mug down and picks up her edging shears. As far as she’s concerned, there is no way Wispa could have escaped from the
garden, so there is no problem. But it gets me thinking. How on earth did my fat little sausage manage to get out of a garden surrounded by a solid fence and adjoining gardens, and end up in the
street? A doorbell interrupts my puzzling over the issue.
    It’s Sue, my old friend, a production manager known, because of her extraordinary organizational skills, as
Sue-
perwoman. Her work stories are always outrageous and, indeed, she
doesn’t disappoint this time either, launching straight away into the story of her recent shoot in Beirut. Apparently the cameraman, a burly gay guy named Hank, was obsessed with grinder.
    ‘A power tool?’
    ‘Not a grinder, Grnder,’ she corrects me. ‘A geosocial networking application.’
    ‘What the hell is that?’
    ‘It’s an application you get on your phone and it lets you locate other gay men within close proximity – from the nearest to the farthest away.’
    I suddenly feel totally technologically challenged, like one of those old ladies who refuse to learn how to use the Internet because, as they claim, ‘it would waste their time’.
    ‘How do you keep up with all this apps shit?’
    ‘I don’t. I just keep an eye on other people. Talking of which . . . I think I saw James the other day.’
    ‘My James?’ Ooops, an unfortunate slip of the tongue. ‘You mean my ex?’
    ‘Well, I hope he’s your ex, because he had a rather dishy blonde on his arm . . .’
    ‘Really? He’s dating someone?’ I realize I’m not upset; on the contrary, I’m rather relieved I don’t have to feel guilty about dumping him any more.
‘Good for him.’
    We’re interrupted by the doorbell. It’s Michael, followed by Alden, whom I invited yesterday on the spur of the moment. I haven’t mentioned my Garden Sunday to Tom and
Samantha. I’m still getting used to the idea of someone knowing something so intimate about me, without even being close to me. My doorbell rings again and I decide it’s time to open
the first bottle of Prosecco.

Twelve Days Earlier
    Monday morning and I think I’m ready to go back to the Heath. Wispa watches me in disbelief when I put my jogging gear on. Eventually she gets up from her bed, stretches
herself and goes to wait for me by the front door. I open the door and can’t believe my eyes. There is a bouquet of red roses lying on my doorstep. No wrapping paper, no card, just beautiful,
long-stemmed, lush flowers. All fifteen of them. I go back in, find a suitable crystal vase and put them in water. I leave the vase on the kitchen table, thinking I’ll find a better place for
it when I get home in the evening.
    Both Wispa and I are a bit rusty and it takes us a while to get into our stride. We’re turning off into Fitzroy Park when another jogger overtakes me, slows down and turns towards me.
It’s Tom. Wispa greets him like a long-lost friend. What a coincidence.
    ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
    ‘Not at all. Although we might be a bit too slow for you. I haven’t jogged for a week and I can feel it. We both can.’ I look at Wispa, who is panting happily. Tom laughs and I
notice how white and straight his teeth are. Then I remember he’s a dentist.
    ‘I really enjoyed your little get-together, thanks for inviting me over.’
    ‘It was a pleasure to have you. Both Sam and I are very excited