A Gift to Remember (9 page)

‘You ordered pizza, Darcy?’ he queried, reaching the top of the stairs. ‘How come you’re not at work today . . . and hey, who’s the big guy?’

The waiter spotted Bailey inside circling Darcy’s Christmas tree and slipped into the apartment uninvited, as if he’d been there a dozen times.

Uh oh.

‘Hey Ricardo,’ she sighed as he slid the pizza box on her kitchen counter. She was exhausted, her feet ached, her limbs were sore, and right then all she wanted to do was slump onto
her cosy sofa and eat. The smell of warm tomato and basil, rising dough and freshly bubbling cheese assaulted her senses and her stomach rumbled.

‘Come here boy,’ the waiter commanded, dropping to his knees as Bailey barked excitedly, circling him with a harmless growl before leaping into his lap. Ricardo sat back on his
haunches, tickling him behind the ears and clearly earning a friend for life.

Darcy winced at the noise, hoping the neighbours wouldn’t hear and complain to the landlord. ‘You’re pretty good with him,’ she remarked to Ricardo, turning on a couple
of low-level lamps and flicking a switch. Her little Christmas tree (the smallest the street vendor could find) and the homemade ornaments decorating it immediately came to life; fairy lights
illuminating her tiny living room and its packed-in furniture, and overloaded shelves all weighed down even more by the plethora of tinsel and festive garlands.

‘My brother-in-law has two Huskies, each one crazier than the next. You got lucky; yours seems pretty calm.’

‘He – he’s not mine,’ Darcy improvised quickly. She washed her hands and reached for a slice of thin-crust margherita, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain. But
Ricardo was patient, waiting for her to finish chewing as he stared at her with questioning dark eyes. ‘I’m . . . I’m watching him for a friend from work. Just for a couple of
hours.’ She hoped he wouldn’t mention the dog’s presence to his boss who was also Darcy’s landlord.

‘Cool.’ He looked at the Christmas tree. ‘What are those, key-chains?’

She smiled. ‘No, they’re books. Well, actually, they’re matchboxes covered in coloured paper, but each one represents a different book.’ She picked up one at random,
turning it over to read the title. ‘See, this one’s
Moby Dick
. And that one’s
Northanger Abbey
. And that one’s
The Great Gatsby
. . .’

‘I get it, I get it; you don’t have to read the whole tree to me. It’s no secret you have a thing for books.’ He looked around and she tried to see the room through his
eyes: the bookshelves filled to brimming, tottering piles of read and tobe-read titles positioned in various places around the living area – beside the sofa, beneath the TV-stand, blocking
out the weak winter light on the windowsill. She smiled, proud of her collection, and only sorry that she didn’t have room for even more.

Having polished off her first slice of pizza Darcy quickly reached for another, and hesitantly offered one to Bailey, not sure if such stodge was healthy for dogs, but by the way he scoffed it
down in one go, she figured it didn’t really matter. She then offered a slice to Ricardo, trying to be polite, but he made a disgusted face. ‘Pizza without meat is like spaghetti
without sauce,’ he lectured.

‘Spoken like a true Italian,’ she joked, going to the fridge. There wasn’t much in there, but she knew she had some beer left from when she’d had Ashley and Joshua over
for a pot luck Thanksgiving.

Darcy paid Ricardo for the pizza and waited until she heard his sneakers pounding down the stairs to turn back to her doorway, only to find Mrs Henley poking her head out into the hallway.
‘What’s all the racket?’ she asked, her face pinched with annoyance.

‘Just getting a pizza delivered,’ Darcy smiled, forgetting her door was wide open. ‘Sorry about the ruckus.’

‘Was that a dog I just saw in there?’ Too late, Darcy realised her error and slid the door closer to her back. Mrs Henley pointed a bony finger towards the apartment.

‘A stuffed one?’ Darcy tried to joke.

‘Hmm . . . stuffed dogs don’t breathe, or poke their heads out between your legs.’

Suddenly, Bailey was there at her ankles, sniffing the hallway, looking up at Mrs Henley and giving her one of his by now trademark yowls. Darcy took a deep breath, expecting fireworks, a
lecture on building codes and no pet policies, but instead, the older woman was suddenly smiling, waggling her long fingers as if flirting with her schoolyard crush.

‘What a gorgeous pooch,’ she said, catching Darcy completely offguard. ‘I had a dog, many years ago back in Queens before my husband dragged me to the city. We had no yard, and
one day he just let the dog run free. I thought it would come back, but . . .’

Darcy stood there, her mouth agape. It was the most her neighbour had ever said to her in the three years she’d lived here, by about a hundred words! Bailey’s big paws padded along
the hardwood floor of the hallway as he sniffed at Mrs Henley’s housecoat.

The older woman knelt slowly, reaching a wrinkled hand out to pat the Husky’s silky grey crown. ‘What a good boy,’ she said, her voice gentle, as if speaking to a child.
‘What a good, good boy.’ Bailey edged into her hand, sneezing twice before turning around and skittering back across the hall into the apartment.

‘Thank you,’ Darcy said, accepting the compliment as if Bailey really was her dog.

The two women stood there awkwardly, nothing to say any more without Bailey slinking between them. ‘Well, goodnight,’ Mrs Henley said then, abruptly shutting her door but, Darcy
noted, not slamming it.

Going back inside, she was surprised to find Bailey lying contentedly on the rug beneath the bookshelf, curled into himself like a mink stole and looking for all the world like he belonged
there.

‘Maybe slumming it isn’t so bad after all, eh, buddy?’ Darcy whispered, reaching down to caress his silky head before grabbing another slice of pizza.

Bailey woke her early the next morning; impossibly early, it was still dark out.

She nuzzled beneath the covers, simultaneously moaning and marvelling at his energy, bounding and leaping about as if it was the best game in the world.

‘Go away,’ she murmured, trying to pull the covers over her head, but again, the dog just thought it was another game.

Darcy rose, the Husky circling her legs like a cyclone so that she had to take short steps for fear of tumbling over. It was only as she was using the bathroom, Bailey staring at her resentfully
from the doorway, that she realised the poor guy hadn’t gone all night.

Dressing quickly, she grabbed her ski jacket and the dog’s red leather leash. Then, remembering the reason he was here in the first place, she took out her phone to see if Bailey’s
owners had called looking for him yet, but there were no missed calls at all.

She guessed that Aidan Harris’s family probably had enough to deal with after the accident, but she did think at the very least a courtesy call would be in order, checking to see if Bailey
was OK. But perhaps the message with her number hadn’t got through to them yet? She made a mental note to keep her cell phone close by at work today.

Work! What on earth was she going to do with Bailey while she went to work? She couldn’t very well leave him alone in the apartment all day. For one thing, he was much too large and it
wouldn’t be fair to keep him cooped up, and for another, what kind of chaos would she be facing when she came back? In the few hours she’d had him, he’d already shed a massive
amount of his grey fur, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine the level of damage those sharp claws (or indeed teeth) would do if he was alone and bored in the apartment all day. But she
couldn’t very well take him to work with her either. Could she?

But at that moment, the only place Bailey was focused on going was outside.

Leash on, he practically dragged Darcy through the door, whining the whole way downstairs, through the front entrance and out into the street. Then at the first fire hydrant he saw, the big guy
lifted a leg and let out a steady stream. Darcy was amazed; dogs really
did
that.

‘Who’s your friend?’ asked a familiar voice from the doorway of the restaurant.

Damn
. Darcy winced and her heart pounded with nerves as she turned to face Luigi. In his late fifties, her landlord was wiry and thin, with close-cropped grey hair under a battered red
and green chequered cap.

Bailey, now finished with his business, rushed to sniff around Luigi’s legs.

Already dressed in his apron and cook’s whites for the long day ahead, Luigi immediately had the Husky jumping up and down at something in his right hand.

‘I’m . . . I’m dog-sitting for a friend,’ Darcy mumbled, aware that her landlord would likely give her an earful for harbouring a temporarily orphaned dog. ‘Is that
OK?’ she added tentatively.

Much to her relief, he chuckled. ‘Would I be offering him a piece of pepperoni if it wasn’t?’

So that was what Bailey was practically leaping to the height of the second floor for. Luigi doled out a few fragrant slices of the rich, red meat one at a time, backing toward the front stoop
and sitting down until the dog was resting against his leg, happy and full.

‘Is that good for him?’ Darcy asked, reminding herself to head straight to the Pet Care section at work that morning to get a better sense on what to expect from Bailey’s type.
She didn’t want Aidan Harris’s pure-bred canine to have clogged arteries by the time he got him back.

Her landlord shrugged, his salt and pepper moustache twitching. ‘It’s been my breakfast since I was about knee-high, and look at me now.’

‘Thank you,’ she said distractedly, remembering she didn’t have anything even remotely resembling dog food in her kitchen. Another thing she had to worry about.

Darcy hadn’t even had her first cup of tea and already she was exhausted.

They both walked inside, Luigi to the pizzeria and Darcy back up the stairs; Bailey full of pepperoni and straining at the leash, again eager to get wherever he was going as fast as
possible.

A shadow filled the second-floor landing, and Darcy was surprised to see Mrs Henley standing at the window in her pink slippers and fluffy housecoat.

‘Morning,’ she said, looking down at Bailey. ‘I see your friend’s already done his business.’

Darcy blushed, unsure of the rule on letting a dog pee all over a fire hydrant. ‘Boys will be boys,’ she chuckled nervously.

Mrs Henley nodded, her grey hair curled tightly against her head. ‘Aren’t you working today?’

‘Yes,’ Darcy sighed, looking down at Bailey as he nosed around the door of Mrs Henley’s apartment. It was open just a hair’s breadth and the sniffing inched it open
wider. Darcy noticed that unlike her stuffed-to-the-gills living room, the inside of her neighbour’s was as sparse and spare as a hospital room.

Mrs Henley stood back, her mouth a thin slit but her eyes definitely warmer than usual. ‘If you’re leaving him here, I could keep an eye on him if you like.’

Darcy was floored. ‘Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly . . .’ But still she had mixed emotions about Mrs Henley’s offer. On the one hand, it would make her day, not to
mention her life, a whole lot easier, and her apartment potentially a whole lot safer, but on the other she was responsible for Bailey for now, whether she liked it or not.

‘Nonsense, dear,’ said the old woman, colour rising in her cheeks. ‘It’s been years since I cared for anyone, let alone a dog. I rather welcome the challenge. And like I
said before, I know a little thing or two about taking care of dogs. He’ll be in good hands with me.’

Before she could think about it for too much longer, Darcy handed over the leash. ‘Well, if you really don’t mind, thank you – it would save my life, I can’t exactly take
him to work – and I’ll pick him up directly after my shift, I promise,’ she continued, babbling. She looked again at her neighbour, taken aback by the complete change in
temperament Bailey seemed to have brought about. ‘I really appreciate it, Mrs Henley.’

‘It’s not a problem, and please,’ insisted the old woman, struggling to keep Bailey from dragging her back into her apartment. ‘Call me Grace.’

‘Grace . . .’ Darcy repeated, thinking to herself that it had taken her three years to learn her neighbour’s first name.

With a final whine, Bailey stuck his snout back out again, looked up at Darcy and happily wagged his tail before disappearing quickly inside.

So much for loyalty, Darcy thought, faintly chagrined that the dog was happy to go off with anyone. Here was she, thinking they’d struck up some kind of special bond.

She showered and dressed quickly, and having wrapped up warm and fastened her safety helmet, tentatively got back up on the bike, the first time she’d done so since the accident yesterday.
She was pleased to find that there was little damage to it, save for a few missing spokes and a faint clicking with each rotation of the wheels. And once her initial nerves had subsided, she soon
got back into her stride. It was just like riding a bike, she laughed to herself.

The morning streets were blustery and colourful, and as she passed by Bouchon’s Bakery, she could smell the croissants rising, buttery and flaky, and inhaled the scent of fruity infusions
from Limoncello’s tea rooms. With less than a week to go till Christmas, every store she passed that morning on her way uptown had a blinking sign or festive lighting, making the street
glitter in the early-morning light. Customers walked through doors to the sound of Christmas music, sometimes fun and funky, other times jangly and traditional, but always cheery.

‘Thank God!’ Joshua gushed, as just under half an hour later she came through the door of Chaucer’s, having locked her bike out back. ‘How are you feeling? Does your head
hurt? You could have taken today off too, you know, although I’m glad you’re here all the same. It was kinda busy yesterday with the holidays just around the corner, and Ashley not
available because of exams, so I’m a little bit behind.’ Today he was dressed in fashionably ripped grey jeans and a bright red sweater, which hugged his narrow torso like a second
skin. On his head, a matching red Santa cap with a bright white fur dot on the end trembled every time he moved.