She Got a Dog

She Got A Dog

It was five o'clock and already quite dark. The streetlights were on, glowing orange, the cold air smudging their light. The pavement was shiny with frost, and the concrete reflected the light. The ice was almost tangible in the air. Tiny sparkling ice crystals shone in the headlights of a passing car. Connor pressed his hands deeper into the pockets of his long, black coat and pushed his chin under the collar.
"We're here, said Flint, putting a gloved hand at Connor's back and guiding him into the bright light of the café. As soon as they were inside, before the door had closed, Connor was unbuttoning his coat, and Flint was removing his scarf. There was nobody else in the café, and nobody behind the counter. The door sounded a bell as it closed, and as it did so a face appeared from the back of the kitchen.
"What do you want boys? called the woman as she moved forward. Connor looked at the menu on the counter.
"What do you want? asked Flint.
"Just a tea.
"Two teas, please, Flint told the woman. "Is that apple pie? He pointed to an apple pie behind the counter. Why did he ask? The woman just nodded. "I'll have a piece of apple pie, too, please.
"Warm or cold?
"Warm, please.
"Cream or ice-cream.
Flint thought and shook his head, "No thanks.
"Three twenty-five, then, please, love. Flint paid. He had the exact change. "Take a seat, I'll bring it over.
Flint gestured to Connor to choose a table, and he moved over to the window. It was the furthest table from the counter. Both men removed their coats and laid them on the two outside chairs, taking the seats nearest the window. There was a current of cold air that ran along the window from the door, but the rest of the café was so warm, it was almost pleasant.
"Is that a new coat? asked Connor.
"Second-hand. Cost a fiver.
"Nice. This cost me a hundred-and-fifty.
"No, the gloves cost more than the coat.
They sat in silence. Connor looked over towards the kitchen. Flint looked out the window, but all he could see was a reflection of the empty café. From across the road the waitress brought a tray with their order. "There's sugar in the bowl there, she said, needlessly, as she placed the bowl of sugar on the table. Neither man took sugar, but they let her leave it anyway. "Thank you, said Flint as she left.
Both men raised their mugs to their mouths at the same time. Connor held his up to his moth with both hands, blowing gently. Flint took a sip, and put the cup back on the table, turning his attention to the pie. He broke the pastry, and steam rushed out from the hot apple inside. He wished he had asked for ice-cream with it. Tentatively he put a small amount of pastry into his mouth, worried that it might be too hot. It was delicious. The thick, sweet pastry melted in his mouth.
"Any good? asked Connor.
"Not bad, replied Flint. "The pastry's okay.
"It looks good.
"Why don't you get some? Have ice-cream with it.
"I'm not hungry.
"What's up?
"Things aren't too good between me and Sal at the moment.
"So what's new?
"No, this time I think it's really serious.
"She been having a go at you?
"No. That's the problem. She's been really quiet the last few days. Hardly said a word to me all week. She won't even tell me what I've done.
"Sounds pretty normal to me.
"You know women, Flint. But you don't know Sally.
Flint returned his attention to the pie. He would wait until Connor asked before he gave any advice. He knew Connor would ask. Connor just lowered his gaze and stared into his cup of tea. Flint picked at the apple pie. Without tasting it he knew the apple was still too hot to eat. He didn't want to eat too much of the pastry without apple. He took a small mouthful from the crust. He let it sit on his tongue. He wasn't too hungry himself. He didn't like to see Connor in this mood.
"Where's it going? Flint knew Connor wanted to tell him. Connor didn't know if Flint wanted to hear.
"I think it's over between us.
"Really?
Connor nodded.
"And you want that?
"I don't know what I want, Flint.
"Then I can't help you. There was another silence. Connor started to think about what he really wanted. Flint wondered what Connor would really want. "If I were you, I'd get out now. While you can.
"It's not that easy, Flint.
"She's not pregnant?
"No. Nothing like that. Connor smiled, partly at Flints suggestion, partly at himself for what he was about to say. "I think I love her.
"What? Flint laughed, a single short burst that could have been mistaken for a cough. He didn't often smile, but now he did. His white teeth gleamed between the stubble that surrounded his mouth. His thin lips sometimes made him look like he didn't have a mouth at all.
"You heard. Connor didn't want to repeat himself. "I wouldn't expect you to understand.
Flint just shrugged. He considered that opinion a compliment.
"I've got it bad, Flint.
"You're not in love. You're just getting comfortable. If it's taken three years to think about it, you're not in love.
"Who made you so wise?
"Trust me. I know a thing or two.
"So what do you think?
"Can you get away with killing her?
"I'm serious. What do you think?
"A few years ago I thought I had it bad. Remember Jenny?
"Which one?
"Jenny K.
"You weren't that serious with her were you?
"You'd be surprised. We had it all planned out. Lots of our friends thought we'd end up married. We talked about it, you know. What we wanted out of life. The house, the jobs. We were going to have two cats.
"How old were you?
"We were seventeen, eighteen, I can't remember. Too young to be talking about getting married, anyway. I got a letter off her the other day. She's married now, you know. Five years last month. She's got a dog. A fucking poodle. Do you believe that? We talked about getting cats, and now she's gone and got herself a fucking poodle.
"Maybe her husband likes dogs.
"Have you ever met a man that likes poodles? It's hers. All that time, she was having me on. I can't believe I fell for it.
"So what? You were kids.
"Hardly a day goes by when I don't wonder what would have happened if we'd got married back then.
"You would have hated it.
"I might not have realised it, though. Life would be different, that's for sure. Looking back now, I'm glad I escaped. But I didn't think that then. But if she'd wanted a fucking poodle¦ Flint left Connor to work out the implications for himself. "You learn from your mistakes. But it's better to learn from other people's mistakes and don't make any yourself.
"Are you telling me I should leave Sally?
"How do you see the two of you in five years?
"She's allergic to dogs. She won't get a poodle. Connor laughed at his own joke, but his smile faded when he saw Flint didn't find it so funny. Flint had loaded his spoon with apple pie. He was about to put it in his mouth when he paused. "Think about it. Why are you staying with her? He put the pie in his mouth and started chewing slowly.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just comfortable. Is that so bad?
Flint nodded as he swallowed the last of the mouthful of pie. He took a sip of tea, then said, "It's bad when you realise you're not so comfortable any more. Two years further down the line, you realise you could be even more comfortable somewhere else.
"Is that why you've not settled down. You're afraid of missing out on something better.
"It's one reason. I'm just waiting for the right time.
"Is that what it is? The right time?
"The time, the right place, the right woman.
"Do you think you've met her?
"Of all the women I know, there's probably two I could marry, and none that I should.
"Did you ever ask them? Flint's glare answered Connor's question. "No, I didn't think so.
"Do you ask questions for the sake of it? Flint was either angry, or just trying to change the subject to one he felt more comfortable with. "Look, if you're wondering if you'll ever meet anyone else, the answer's yes. Of course you will. You're not that old. People get married later these days. Are you getting pressure from the family? Connor gave a non-committal shrug. "It's normal. But look at Auntie Cathy. Thirty years she was married to Stuart. We all thought they were going to get buried together. Then, after their kids got married he disappeared with his secretary, and she met a barman when she was out trying to forget him. Never been happier, apparently. Thirty years of marriage, turns out they never really loved each other that much.
"I suppose you're right, said Connor, finishing the last of his tea. "Shall we?
Flint left a small piece of pie in the bowl. He looked at his watch. He took a sip of tea. He grimaced. "That's cold. He left the half-full cup. "Let's go.
Connor and Flint went to work.