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Daffodil
A Question of Love
Behaving Badly bookcover - U S version
 
link to publishersBehaving Badly published by:
Mira Books July 2006
ISBN: 0-7783-2318-8

Chapter Two

Maybe Sinead was picking up on Fiona's frustration, I thought as I prepared to set off for Caroline Mulholland's house half an hour later. Maybe she was even trying to have a baby for her, who knows. I mean, dogs do imitate us, because they love us - they want to do all the things that we do. We sit - they sit. We sing - they howl. We vacate the driver's seat - they jump right in. We get broody - maybe they get broody...? That's the thing about being a behaviourist: you have to work out what's going on with the owners before you can begin to sort out their pet. I checked my appearance in the mirror, retouched the concealer below my eye - I need less now - then ran a brush through my hair and left. Daisy was right about the Mews being friendly I realised, as Susie, the osteopath, gave me a cheery wave. Caroline Mulholland lived in a village called Little Gateley, five miles from St. Albans; I guessed it would take an hour and a quarter if the traffic wasn't too bad.

As I drove through Archway I passed Alexander's road, heart pounding like a tom-tom, my mouth as dry as dust. Masochistically, I glanced down Harberton Road - for the first time since 'it' happened - and felt a wave of distress. But, once I'd got through the queues in Finchley and Barnet, I was soon coasting down lush country lanes; and as I wound down the window and saw the intense yellow of the rape and the fields of green corn I relaxed - Daisy was right. This was a turning point; the start of a new phase in my life and I was determined to make it work out. Fifteen minutes later I came to St. Alban's where I soon spotted the village sign. I passed the green with its horse chestnuts, laden with waxy pink candles, then just beyond the church I saw gates. 'Little Gateley Manor' was carved on one of the pillars. I signalled right and turned in.

The house was just as I expected - straight out of Country Life. Georgian, painted white, and with a circular drive, sweeping up to an imposing, wisteria-smothered front door. As my wheels crunched over the gravel, I heard a deep throaty barking, saw a silver flash, and the Weimaramer came bounding up. Then a woman appeared, running after it, visibly flustered.

'Oh Trigger! You naughty boy! Come here! Hello, I'm Caroline,' she said slightly breathlessly as I got out of the car, and the dog jumped up at me. 'I'm so grateful to you for coming out.' I'm normally circumspect when I meet someone new, but I immediately took to her. She was thirtyish, with dark blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail, and she was attractive in a non-glossy way.

'I'm so grateful to you,' she repeated. As we went up the steps I inhaled the scent of the wisteria. 'I've been at my wits' end. You see we adore Trigger but he's such a handful, and in particular he's horrid to my two Westies - Tavish and Jock.' I looked at them, scuttling round her feet in the black and white marble-tiled hallway, casting anxious looks at the bigger dog.

'And they were here first, were they?'

'Yes. I had them before I got married last year. But then my husband decided that he'd like a proper 'man's dog'' - she giggled - 'and so I got him Trigger for his birthday, but sometimes I think I made a mistake.'

'He's certainly beautiful' I said as I followed her into the large drawing room. 'They're such individual looking dogs aren't they?' I gazed at his coat, the colour of pale pewter and at his unearthly, intense, amber eyes.

'Oh yes,' she agreed. 'They're gorgeous-looking things.'

'But they're also strong-willed and need firm control.' Caroline laughed.

'Well that's precisely where we've slipped up.' She sank into one of the sofas and Trigger tried to clamber onto her lap. 'Stop it you naughty dog! Get down! Get down will you!' One of the Westies then jumped up at her, and Trigger snapped at it viciously. She smacked his behind. 'Oh do stop it you bad, bad boy! Do you see what I mean?' she sighed. 'I wasn't exaggerating was I? It's hopeless. Anyway, let's have a cup of tea first.'

As she disappeared, all three dogs running after her, slithering on the marble tiles, I glanced around the room. It was gorgeous - twenty foot ceilings, with egg and dart coving, in one corner a baby grand; two apricot coloured knole sofas, a scattering of mahogany tables, and an enormous fireplace with a marble surround. There were gleaming oils on the walls, and on the mantelpiece several photos in silver frames, including one of Caroline on her wedding day. I looked at it, then looked away, glancing into the flower-filled garden. A solitary magpie swooped onto the lawn, chattering loudly. 'One for sorrow', I said to myself quietly. Then I looked at the photo again...

There was something strangely familiar about Caroline Mulholland's husband, but I couldn't for the life of me think why. He looked mid-to-late thirties in the photo, and his hair was receding and already quite grey. But he was certainly handsome - they made a good-looking couple; I found myself wondering what he did. No doubt he was a successful banker, or a captain of industry - perhaps I'd seen him on the news. Yes.... that must account for my sense of déjà vu I thought: I'd seen him in the media somewhere. Caroline reappeared with a tray, then suggested that we had the tea outside so that I could see Trigger 'in action'. But I'd already identified the problem - he was an over-indulged alpha male. He felt he should naturally be number one in the pack. He needed to have his status reduced.

'He's desperate to dominate,' I explained as we sat on the terrace, watching him with the other two dogs. She put her tea cup down.

'Is he?'

'Yes. This might sound harsh, but he what he needs is to be knocked off his pedestal.'

'Really?' I nodded. 'But how?'

'By taking far less notice of him. He's a chronic show-off - if he's got your attention he's thrilled. And the more you shout at him the more he likes it - because then he knows you're focussed on him. You're actually rewarding his 'bad' behaviour by reacting to it.'

'I am?'

'Yes - you're inadvertently indulging him.'

'Oh. I see.'

'Every time you shout at him, he actually thinks you're praising him, so that's going to make him worse.'

'I see,' she said again thoughtfully.

'I don't like to anthropomorphise animals,' I went on. 'But let's put it this way. If Trigger was human, he'd be driving round in a red BMW - which you'd probably bought him for his birthday - barging people off the road, ogling girls out of the window, then going to some party and getting horribly drunk.'

'How awful,' she said, with mock seriousness. 'Like some silly 'It boy.'

'Exactly.'

'He'd embarrass us,' she said, playing along. 'He'd bring disgrace on the family,' she added gravely. 'He'd be getting into fights.'

'I'm afraid he would. He'd be kicked out of school, he'd struggle to hold down a job and - I don't want to alarm you - he might even take drugs.'

'Really?' She looked genuinely stricken. 'Well,' she added purposefully, as Trigger bounded joyfully about, barking his head off, 'we've got to nip this in the bud.'

'And we will. I won't be able to 'cure' him today,' I pointed out. 'But I can show you how you're accidentally reinforcing his negative behaviours, then you'll be able to work with him on your own. But you'll need to be committed.' She looked at me seriously.

'Okay. Tell me what to do.'

I explained that the best punishment for Trigger was not to be yelled at - but to be totally ignored.

'Dogs can't stand it,' I explained. 'It's the worst punishment in the world for them to be denied their human's undivided attention - but that's what you've got to do. And if he behaves really badly - say if he bites one of the other dogs - then he has to have some time out. Because if he's tethered and the other two are free, that'll really take him down a few pegs.'

'I see.' Trigger suddenly snapped at one of the Westies, then pinioned it to the ground.

'Oh you beast!' Caroline had rushed up to him and grabbed him by the collar.

'No, don't say anything,' I said. 'Simply tie him up somewhere.'

'Tie him up?'

'Yes. I know it sounds unkind, but it's not.' So she got his lead and tethered him to the gatepost, in the shade, with a bowl of water.

'Now we'll leave him there while we stroll around with the other dogs, off the lead. He won't be able to stand it.' By the time we untied him five minutes later Trigger was shaking and trembling.

'Look how his body language has changed,' I said. 'He can't understand why you did that to him. He found it incredibly humiliating. He's upset and subdued. Look - he's really grovelling.' He was. He was practically sitting on Caroline's feet, looking up at her imploringly, whimpering softly.

'Wow,' she breathed. 'I see what you mean.'

'If you really want his behaviour to improve, then you've got to make him feel less secure. Basically, he's a bully,' I said, 'and like most bullies he's a coward, so if you're firm you'll put him in his place. He's got to have his desired position as top dog taken away,' I reiterated. She nodded.

'I just didn't realise all this, because I've never had a difficult dog before.'

'Well does it make sense to you?'

'Yes.' She seemed surprised. 'It does.'

'What you need to do is to carry out a dominance reduction programme, both outside, and inside the house.' As we went in again I reminded her that dogs are pack animals, and need to know their place in the hierarchy otherwise they feel unhappy and confused. 'They're like young children,' I went on. 'Children are happier when they're given firm boundaries - and that's what you've got to do with him. So you mustn't let him sit on the sofa,' I added, 'or get on the bed - otherwise that means he's at your own height. Don't let him go through doors before you, and make him wait until you've eaten before he gets fed. In fact, feed the other dogs first.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Show him that his status is not as high as he'd like to think it is.'

'And how long will it take for him to learn?'

'Well, he's very intelligent, so maybe just a few weeks. But you'll have to stick to it religiously,' I said as we returned to the drawing room. 'I know you love him, but making him learn how to behave well is actually the kind thing to do. And if he's aggressive to the other dogs, then tether him for a few minutes; he'll gradually make the association and stop.'

'I feel so much better now,' Caroline breathed as she scribbled down notes. 'You've explained it all very well. Now, I must pay you.' As she went in search of her handbag I gazed again at her wedding photo. I hadn't seen her husband on the TV. I'd met him. Definitely... There was no question. But where? Suddenly the phone rang, and I heard Caroline pick up.

'Oh that is disappointing,' I heard her say. The hall was so large, her voice echoed. 'Well, don't worry I quite understand. I don't know who else I'll find at such short notice, but if that's the situation it can't be helped. Thanks for letting me know,' she concluded, regretfully. I heard her footsteps, then she reappeared, looking thoughtful.

'That's a nuisance,' she said. 'We've got the village fete here on Saturday in aid of the PDSA. We're having a dog show as part of it and Trinny and Susannah had agreed to judge it - it includes a fancy dress competition - but Trinny's just phoned to say that they're now filming that day and can't. What a drag,' she groaned as she got out her cheque book and began to write. 'It's going to be very hard to find anyone else and I'm so busy as it is and-.' Her pen had stopped and she suddenly looked at me. 'I don't suppose you'd do it, would you?'

'Me?'

'Yes.'

'But I'm not a celebrity.'

'Well, Daisy told me that you've been on TV. And as an animal behaviourist you'd have tremendous authority, plus, quite frankly,' - she grimaced - 'don't take this the wrong way, but I'm desperate. Would you?' she pleaded.

'Well...'

'I just don't have time to ring round with everything else I've go to do, and in any case I know you'd be brilliant, Miranda, and it's in such a good cause.' That was true. 'I'd be so thrilled if you said yes,' she added. Why not? I thought.

'What would you need me to do?'

'Judge three of the four different categories. We're going to have the Waggiest Tail, the Dog Most Like Its Owner, the Fancy Dress competition, and finally, Canine Karaoke...' She handed me the cheque.

'Canine Karaoke?'

'Yes, it's a total scream. Literally,' she added with a meaningful grimace. I smiled.

'All right then,' I said. 'Why not? But can I bring my Dachshund?'

'Of course. Oh thank you so much!' She exhaled, smiled broadly, then clapped her left hand to her chest. 'That's such a relief. It kicks off at two-thirty and we're expecting a big crowd so if you could come half an hour before that would be great.'

'Okay,' I stood up. 'Well, I'd better get going.' And I'd just picked up my bag when I heard the crunch of wheels on the drive.

'Oh there's my husband. He said he'd be back early. Do come and meet him.'

As we walked down the steps a dark blue Jaguar pulled up next to my old Astra, then Caroline's husband got out. Trigger and the two other dogs raced up to him, firing off a volley of excited barks. He bent down to stroke them, then straightened up. And as he did so, then walked towards us, I realised why it was that he'd looked so familiar. I felt as though I'd been pushed off a cliff.

'Hello darling,' he said to Caroline, kissing her, as he glanced obliquely at me.

'James, this is Miranda Sweet.' Now he looked at me directly, with nothing more than polite curiosity, his face a pleasant, inscrutable mask. But in his grey eyes, unmistakably, was a spark of recognition. In that instant sixteen years fell away.

'Miranda's just worked wonders with Trigger,' I heard Caroline say warmly. 'Now don't blush,' she laughed. 'It's a fact.' My face was aflame; but not out of modesty. 'Thanks to Miranda, I now know how to stop his bad behaviour, darling.'

'Really?' he said. 'Well, that's... great.'

'He's got a dominance problem apparently,' she said with a giggle.

'Has he now?'

'He's got to have his status reduced.'

'I see.'

'We've got to make him feel less secure.'

'Is that so?'

'No more being top dog.'

'Uh huh.'

'Well... I've got ...another appointment to get to,' I lied, my heart banging so loudly I was afraid they could hear it. 'I'd better be on my way.'

'Thank you so much for coming out,' Miranda said as I fumbled in my bag for my keys. 'So we'll see you on Saturday, then?' I felt my insides twist. 'Miranda's going to judge the dog show for us, James. She's stepped in because Trinny and Susannah from What Not To Wear had to cancel. Isn't that nice of her?' Now I bitterly, bitterly regretted having agreed to do it.

'Oh... Yes,' he said with a thin smile. 'That's great.'

'About two o'clock then,' Caroline repeated cheerily, as I got in my car. She waved at me; I gave her a feeble wave back, then, sick to my heart, I drove slowly away.

******

My hands trembled like winter leaves as they clutched the steering wheel. Jimmy. Jimmy Smith - not Jimmy Mulholland. He'd changed his name. As for his appearance - he was transformed. No wonder I hadn't recognised him in the wedding photo. I could have passed him in the street and not known. The mass of blond curls and the light beard he'd had at twenty-one had gone and he was now clean-shaven, receding, and grey. His frame had filled out, and the frayed jeans and jumpers had become Savile Row suits and striped shirts. Only the voice was the same: the smooth, pleasant voice, and the insolent expression in the pale granite eyes.

As I turned out of the gates, my heart still beating so erratically that I felt dizzy, I recalled Daisy's words: 'This is the start of a new phase in your life, and I just know it's going to be good'. But how could it be, I thought sourly - how could it be - when I'd just been ambushed by my past? And now I was oblivious to the colours of the landscape as I cast my mind back with a deep sense of shame.

It was half my lifetime ago, but it had remained seared on my mind, like a brand. I still remember every detail of that spring morning with photographic clarity, 'though as the years had gone by, I'd thought of it less. For there was nothing I could do about it, and no-one I could tell; so I'd simply suppressed it, and tried to move on. The fact that I'd had to study so hard had helped in blocking out the pain - even so, it had haunted me for years - and still does. And, strangely, I'd been wondering about him recently, almost obsessively - and now, sixteen years on, here he was. Here he was, the epitome, apparently, of affluent respectability. I laughed a bitter little laugh. As I drove through the grey terraces of North London I wondered what he did. Probably something crooked, I reasoned - how else could he have become so rich? Now I thought about his wife, and wondered whether he'd ever confessed to her the awful thing that he - no, we - had once done.

When I got back to the mews Herman was happy to see me - I knew this because his whippety tail was wagging and he wasn't actively looking anxious. His pointy little face was in neutral gear. And as we walked up the hill, stopping for the usual friendly exchanges with other dog-owners - 'Ooh, look, a sausage dog!' 'Sweet!' 'Does he speak German?' - I decided what do. I'd ring Caroline and tell her that I was sorry, but I wouldn't be able to help with the fete after all. I hated letting her down, not least because I'd liked her, but there was now no way I'd be able to go. And as I unlocked the front door, trying to work out which of my three excuses - mum ill/dog ill/car problems - would sound most convincing, I saw the light flashing on the answer-phone. I pressed 'Play'.

'You have. Three. Messages,' intoned the robotic female voice. 'First message sent. Today at. 4.45. P.M.'

'Hello darling!' It was Mum. 'Just ringing for a chat. But don't ring me back as I'll be busy with the boys. I'll try you again later.' Click. Whirr. The machine spooled on. 'Hi Miranda!' My heart sank. 'Caroline here. I just want to thank you again, so much, for helping us out on Saturday - you've saved my bacon. But I also wanted to let you know that I've just told two of my friends that you're doing the judging, and they'd both heard of you, from 'Animal Crackers'. So you shouldn't be so modest - you obviously are a bit of celebrity. Anyway, we're all really looking forward to seeing you here on Saturday. Bye for now!' Click. Damn. 'Hello Miss Sweet,' said a male voice. 'It's Detective Sergeant Cooper here.' Detective Sergeant? I panicked wildly for a split second, then remembered who he was and calmed down. 'Just to let you know we'll be sending you those forms I mentioned - I do apologise for the delay - but you should get them by the end of the week.' Oh. Right. The forms. I'd completely forgotten.

'This is too much,' I muttered to Herman as I opened the back door and let the early evening sunlight flood the kitchen. 'I've enough pain without this.' I sat down, and breathed very deeply to calm myself, but this only gave me a sharp twinge in my rib. Then I went to my computer, and typed 'James Mulholland' into Google. A whole slew of entries came up.

'Welcome to James Mulholland's Website,' I read. 'James Mulholland has been M.P. for Billington since May 1997...' Good God - he was an M.P.! I felt as though I'd been struck by lightning. 'Links | Fighting for Billington | Billington Labour Party | News | James Mulholland was born in 1965 and was educated at Walton Comprehensive, Peterborough...

I opened the site, heart racing - there was a photo of Jimmy, smiling smoothly. 'Click here to find out the latest on James Mulholland.' I clicked again.

'James Mulholland has been MP for Billington since 1997. During the 1997-2001 Parliament he was a member of the European Security Committee and the Foreign Affairs Committee. He is now Minister of State for Education (Lifelong Learning).' Christ, he was a Junior Minister! My eyes skimmed down the page. 'Before going into politics James was a local radio producer and reporter ...' So that's what he'd done. 'He was educated at Walton Comprehensive, Peterborough and Sussex University ... where he took a First in Natural Sciences. In 'real life', I read on, 'James enjoys walking in the Hertfordshire countryside, and relaxing at home with his wife, Caroline, and their three dogs.'

But where did the amazing house come from? He'd been a journalist, not a banker, and M.P.'s aren't loaded. I scrolled through the other entries - mostly promotional guff - then clicked on the 'Guardian Unlimited Site.' There was an anonymous profile. Entitled 'His Master's Voice', it wasn't exactly flattering.

'Son of an insurance salesman ...early years provide little evidence of his later ambition... Walton Comprehensive, Peterborough... Sussex university... 1987 joined Radio York ... in 1993 he interviewed Jack Straw... so impressed, he invited him to be his parliamentary researcher... quickly rose through the ranks. At 37 Mulholland is on the fast track... good looks, charm, communication skills...'on message' ... journey from radical left to centre right. 1993, PPS to Geoff Hoon, then selected to fight the safe seat of Billington in Lancashire... In the summer of 2000 married the Hon. Caroline Horbury heir to the Horbury property fortune...' Ah. '...frequently entertain at their grand country pile ... smart townhouse in Billington... elegant apartment in Westminster... he now puts her money where his mouth is...'

So that explained Little Gateley Manor. He hadn't made money - he'd married it. It all made sense. As for the journey 'from radical left to centre right' - that fitted too. I remembered again the Jimmy I'd known, and tried to square it with the suave pillar-of-the-establishment-exterior I'd encountered today. I remembered too how charismatic I'd found him, and, ironically, how principled. That's what had drawn me to him - his passionate beliefs. How misguided I was, I thought bitterly. What a dupe. And 'though I was only sixteen, and he was five years older, I was, at best, culpably naïve. Now I wondered whether he'd ever felt the slightest pang of conscience about the terrible thing that he'd done.

I'd always known that he'd escaped prosecution, because if he'd been arrested he would have named me. I remembered his voice on that awful March morning, as I'd stood in his flat, hyperventilating from exertion - I'd run all the way - and from shock.

'I've just ...found out,' I gasped. 'I've just found out.' I could feel my face twisting with rage. 'I overheard someone talking about it at the bus stop. How could you!!' I croaked, my throat aching. 'How could you! You... you ... hypocrite.' I burst into tears. He folded his arms, then turned and looked out of the window onto the street below. I could see a muscle in his jaw tense and flex.

'I should keep quiet if I were you,' he said. I was amazed at his self-possession.

'Keep quiet?' I wept. 'Keep quiet?' I was crying so much that my ears hurt. 'No. I won't bloody well keep quiet! I'm going to tell everyone what you did!' He turned and faced me.

'No, Miranda. What you did. It was you after all. Wasn't it?' he said quietly.

'No. It wasn't - because I didn't know.' He gave me an indolent smile.

'The police won't care about a detail like that. In any case they've already got your number, Miranda. Haven't they? After your trip to the butchers a few months ago. And then there was your little adventure at the fur coat shop. They won't believe you. Will they?' I felt sick. 'In any case,' he went on smoothly. 'If you name me, I'll tell them that you did know. I'll say we did it together. So I really do suggest that's in both our interests for you to keep your sweet little trap firmly shut. Unless you want to go to Holloway, of course.'

It was as though I'd been plunged into a bath of ice water, and I saw, with dreadful clarity, that he was right. So I did keep quiet - for sixteen years - to my shame, and never saw him again. Until today...

I lay on my bed for more than hour - Herman lying beside me, like a tiny bolster - just staring through the skylight as the hot blue of the evening sky turned pink, then mauve, now deepening to liquid indigo, and some kind of plan began to form in my mind. I would go to Little Gateley this Saturday - and I'd find some opportunity to speak to Jimmy alone. I'd quietly confront him and I'd get him to acknowledge me, and to admit - at last - that he'd done something so wrong. And I'd make him apologise to me, for what he did - because he'd damaged a part of my youth. God knows what other, physical damage he'd caused, I thought bitterly. I'd never been brave enough to find out. And now, Alexander quite driven from my mind, I went to sleep, dreaming of fire.

******

 

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