Every Second Counts

Chapter Eight

IT'S JUST AFTER 10 WHEN I ARRIVE at the dog park and I'm surprised to find Carter Johnson lurking underneath a tree. Again, a flash of apprehension. But it disappears when he sees me and waves out with a smile that has to be genuine. I let Floppy off his leash and he bounds around like an idiot. Carter walks over to me. 'Your dog?' I ask.

He points over to where Floppy is sniffing around a golden Labrador. 'Shep,' he tells me. And once again I am surprised this man owns a dog. Today, he's wearing a navy blue pin-striped suit...red tie, white shirt.

'Your employer is very supportive of you,' I tell him. Then I gesture sweep my hand from his shiny black shoes which have tiny bits of dewy grass clippings on the heels, up his three piece suit to his gelled to an inch of its life hair.

He smiles. 'Freelancer, that's me. Hours are my own.'

'So, what do you do? And can I have a job with you?'

We laugh and are silent for several minutes watching Floppy and Shep race around excited with their new friendship.

'I can see you're in a better frame of mind today. Your demons all sorted?' he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

'Getting there,' I tell him. And the minute it falls out of my mouth for some unfathomable reason I tremble all over.

'Hey, you OK?' he asks and concern washes over his face.

'Yeah,' I lie. He pats my arm and I cannot believe the tug of war emotions that erupt in my stomach. 'Abhorrence' fights with 'I want him to love me.' OK he's gay. But a gay guy can love a gal in a sister way and I reckon that's what I want. I want a brother who can look out for me. We chat for a while and I chew over my weird feelings. I know I look pretty wimpy but I have kept up with my training and know what I am capable of. So, the idea that this prim and proper gay guy can look out for me is fucking ludicrous. I smile inwardly and I cast out the idea that I need or even want Carter Johnson as a brother. To even allow that sort of idea to enter my head, I realise I am seriously fucking mental.

When Floppy has had a decent run I call him, attach his lead and we are all set to go. But Carter takes ages. Awkward is the best way to describe how Carter is trying to hold Shep while he attempts to clip the leash onto his collar. Once again, I can't help thinking how this man and his dog are mismatched. It's not that Carter is a spindly guy, far from the truth. He's a solid 6ft something or other. It's just that he seems so unfamiliar with the dog and I wonder whether the dog actually belongs to his partner.

His phone starts to ring. 'Sorry, I've got to take this.' Shep meanders toward Floppy without his lead attached and Carter walks further away from me and talks into his cell, 'Got it. I'll get right onto it. Yeah. OK.' He switches his phone off and turns to me. 'Sorry, I've got to go. I've got a client I need to see every Wednesday afternoon.'

And there it is. Wednesday afternoon. My trembling is not trembles. It's tension. Friday night is looming. I watch Carter race around trying to get Shep back on his lead and if I was in a better frame of mind I'd have thought it hilarious. The guy has no idea! But, as it is, I am consumed with the dreaded session I'll be having in two days-time.

Floppy strains at the leash as we walk back to Red's apartment. My heart misses a beat when a Black Sedan drives slowly past me. By the time I have my head in gear, the number plate is out of view.

Paranoid, I run the last two blocks back home and stand at my dining room window for a long time, staring down into the busy street.

Get yourself together.

Floppy heads to his bowl to be fed and I head for the cupboard and a glass. I make up my mind I will just have one drink, just to calm my nerves and then I'll carry on trying to find out where Reuben Aberdeen lives.