I recently went through a really bad breakup and had sworn off relationships forever until I got a phone call out of the blue. I intended to go to bed early, with a good book, and my Rottweiler warming my feet.
He was the only good thing to come out of my last relationship, and we share custody. I care for him in the week, and my ex boyfriend looks after him the rest of the time.
”Oh please . . . it will be boring on my own, and it will be a laugh,” my best friend said. ”It will only be a few drinks and you can go back home. I’ll drive . . . you could have a drink, and have a break from watching Corrie.”
”Okay . . . but no funny business,’ I say.
She doesn’t say much apart from, ”see you in half an hour.’
I throw on a pair of jeans, t shirt, and put boots over my warm socks. Terry, my Rottweiler gives me a look, as if to say, where are you going. I give him one last belly rub, and wait outside for my friend to pick me up.
My neighbour, and friend of ten years, saunters up to me. ”No Terry tonight.”
”Going out,’ I say, but before I can say anymore, my mobile rings. I answer it, and my friend has cancelled on me.
”looks like I’m not going out after all.”
”Do you fancy getting Terry, and we’ll take the dogs out for a walk. We could pop by the restaurant on Grantham Street. I hear they do a mean taco and I could do with a cold beer.”
”Yea, why not.”