Hero the greyhound (Simon's Hero)

Hero the Greyhound (Chapter 19)

Gareth poured himself another glass of cheap red wine. It was Friday evening and he had just finished a week's freelance work. He was a very capable IT engineer and the money he'd earned would help pay the bills for another month. He hated living hand-to-mouth but since leaving his permanent job, after the racetrack disaster, he'd found it difficult to concentrate and any interviews he'd had, had not gone well because he was so depressed about Hero's accident and had no idea what had happened to the dog. There had been no repercussions after his call to the Dogs Trust; nobody had come looking for him so he decided to leave well enough alone and concentrate on getting a job and possibly getting his love life back on track. He registered with an agency that sent out IT qualified engineers on an ad hoc basis, a few days or weeks at a time. He also registered with a well-known online dating agency, posted a reasonable photo of himself smiling at the camera with a glass of champagne in his hand and crossed his fingers someone would send him a 'nudge' and want to chat.

His phone pinged. Someone wanted to chat, that was quick! He sat down with his glass of wine and opened up the e-mail. A girl smiled out from his phone screen; dark hair, nice eyes, slim. This was looking good so he had a look at her profile. Her name was Angie, she was thirty-four and she worked as a manager at a well-known supermarket. He clicked 'Yes' and sent a one-liner, pre-written for him by the dating agency. 'I think we could be a perfect couple, let's talk' and waited for her response.

Two days later, he found himself standing outside 'The Greyhound' pub (oh, the irony), feeling quite nervous about his first date with Angie. What if he couldn't think of anything to talk about? It had all been so easy with Donna; he could bang on about Hero, his racing stats, how much he'd won in prize money recently and to be honest, Donna did most of the talking in any case. She'd been a 'user' but he still missed her and her high pitched Rhondda accent, her obsession with EastEnders and the way she pulled his leg when he tried to comb his hair over his bald patch.

Then, he spotted her. Angie. Oh no! She was at least ten years older than her photo and what's more, she was not the slim, dark-haired girl he'd first seen on the dating website. Well, her hair was very dark but unfortunately, her roots were not and they gave her away immediately. She was at least five stone heavier in real life and he froze. What to do? Run? Hide? She'd obviously seen him because she had broken into a disconcerting trot and in between making 'puff, puff' noises, she was trying to shout "Cooeeeee". People were staring at her and he just wanted the ground to swallow him up. "Puff, puff, puff...hello...puff, puff, puff...I'm Angie...puff, puff...you must be...puff, puff...Gareth...puff, puff..." "Erm, hi" he stammered "yes, that's right, that's me, the very same. Erm, shall we?" and he pointed to the pub door, hoping she would take an instant dislike to him and want to go home early.

The date lasted an uncomfortable hour and a half, most of which Gareth spent staring into his pint glass and wishing he was at home, watching telly. Instead, he had to listen to Angie bang on about her auntie's budgie's broken beak, her incredibly boring job and how she would retire to Tenerife if she won the lottery. "I don't buy a ticket or nuffink" (Angie screeched with laughter at her own jokes) "but I've always liked the idea of living in the sunshine and lounging around the pool all day." Gareth was tired and he was fed up and just as he felt Angie was settling in for the whole evening, he did something quite out of character. He asked her why she had posted such an old photo of herself. "Well, 'scuse me" she said, her eyes glittering dangerously, "is that the only fing wot's important to you? Looks?" He baulked and started back peddling, he didn't really want to fight with her, he just wanted her to leave so he could go home and he could have bitten his tongue for being so stupid. "Erm, well, you look nice now of course but you look quite erm, different from the way you looked back then. I just wondered why you didn't post a current photo?" Angie threw her drink over him, burst into tears and stormed out of the pub. Unfortunately, her rather large frame meant she got stuck in the swinging doors and had to be released by a passing barman before she could escape.

Gareth sucked his teeth; what was he doing here? Why didn't life just throw him a straight ball from time to time? Other pub customers were staring at him, he was covered in yellow gloop (Angie had ordered a double Advocaat and Lime) and he couldn't have looked more pathetic if he'd tried. It was only half-past seven but he drank the remainder of his pint, stood up, gave a lop-sided smile at the barman and walked towards the door. "Floor show's over folks" he shouted as he left the pub and got out his car keys. He might have to sell the car if things didn't look up soon but for now, he managed to get himself home on the thimbleful of petrol he'd put in earlier that day. He decided to take the shortest route home, he usually drove past the garage to buy some cans of beer but he was pretty sure the petrol wouldn't get him home if he took the detour this evening. It was June and still light outside. Somehow, getting home when it was still light felt wrong. He should be out, partying like he used to in the good old days. He sighed, turned the key in the ignition and set off home.

He stopped at the red traffic light, put on the rather dodgy handbrake and fiddled with the car radio, trying to find some uplifting music to cheer himself up. He heard the 'Beep beep beep' as the pedestrian light turned green and glanced up to see whether anyone was crossing. There were two boys, both in their teens and walking slowly in between them was a big, black greyhound. A big black greyhound with four white socks. Gareth's heart skipped a beat. The dog was walking as though its back legs weren't working properly. The traffic light turned green and the driver behind beeped his car horn very loudly. "OK, OK" said Gareth, "keep your wig on" and he slowly turned the car to the right instead of going straight on towards his flat, hoping it didn't look as though he was following the boys and their dog. He prayed they would arrive home soon, (he knew the fiver's worth of fuel wouldn't go very far) and then, he could clock the house number and maybe call by to see if it really was Hero. He couldn't think of any good reason to call on a family he didn't know but he would think of something.

The boys stopped walking and started chatting to one another so Gareth pulled his car over, pretending to be looking for directions on his phone. He wound his window down and heard the older boy say "Right, see ya' tomorrow then" and the younger one respond "OK, see you tomorrow" before opening the garden gate to number seven. The property had a very small driveway which housed a battered old maroon coloured car. It was badly scratched at the back, he guessed the driver had scraped it on the low wall a few times. A woman waved at the boy from the lounge window and then, opened the front door to him. The other boy had walked off so clearly, he didn't live there. He wondered whether there was a man living at the property, he didn't want to have to deal with a big, burly husband but he had to know whether the dog was Hero.

"Think, think, thinkGareth. What to do now?" he muttered to himself. The dog's height, unmistakablewhite socks and blaze down his chest told him it had to be Hero and his backlegs didn't look right at all. He would go home and have a think about how toapproach the people who lived at number seven. He drove home, poured himself asmall glass of wine, sat on his uncomfortable sofa and planned what to do next.If it was Hero, he would so love to see him again, to stroke his silky head andto say how sorry he was for abandoning him in his hour of need. He just neededto find a reason to go tapping on the front door of number seven.