Lost and Found on Foxglove Street (The Foxglove Street #9)

Chapter 3

3

An hour after returning home, Grace finally admitted there was nothing else for it—she would have to give Stanley a bath.

The little dog stank to high heavens. Grace could only wonder how long the poor creature must have been roaming around as a stray to end up smelling so bad. His breath was terrible too, although it probably hadn’t helped matters that she’d fed him a can of tuna, which was all she could find in her cupboards that seemed like a reasonable meal for a dog. With his ribs visible beneath his fur, it was obvious he hadn’t eaten properly for a while, and Grace wasn’t about to let the dog go hungry any longer.

Since finishing his plate of tuna, Stanley had been happily panting and burping as he roamed Grace’s kitchen and living room while she tidied up after preparing her omelette and took care of a few chores around the house. The moment she settled on the sofa with her laptop and study materials, Stanley plonked himself down on the floor at her feet, gazing up in apparent adoration.

The waft of tuna dog-breath mixed with the aroma of smelly canine fur made it impossible to get any work done. The sweet look on Stanley’s face as he peered up at her was irresistible, and Grace couldn’t help smiling at his goofy expression.

“If you’re staying the night, we need to do something about your smell, Stanley,” she told the dog as she got up from the sofa. “I bet you’ll probably feel better after a wash, too.”

Stanley let out a yip and wagged his tail.

“There’s nothing I can do about your terrible breath, except regret giving you that tuna to eat, but let’s just deal with what we can, hmm?”

Grace grabbed towels and a bottle of shampoo, hoping her human brand was okay to use on a dog. Stanley put up a bit of a fuss when she put him in the bath and turned on the shower attachment, but soon settled down once the warm water was running over his fur. Grace winced at the grey detritus that was dislodged from his hair before she’d even started shampooing, but the look of bliss on Stanley’s face once she was massaging his grubby fur made her heart melt for the poor animal.

When she’d finished washing and rinsing him and he caught her unawares by shaking vigorously before she had time to rub him with a towel, leaving both her and the bathroom drenched, her sympathy for the little guy inevitably cooled.

“Thanks for that, Stanley,” she said, blinking water droplets out of her eyes as she did her best to dry off the wriggling mutt, who was now determined to get out of the bath. “You’re a bit of a menace, aren’t you?”

Once she’d rubbed Stanley with the towels, he was still damp. Taking a risk, she carried him into her bedroom and turned the hairdryer on him. Canine alarm soon turned to enjoyment once the warm air was blowing over his body and Stanley consented to this additional salon treatment for a few minutes. Once he was bored with the dryer and again wriggling to get free, Grace accepted she’d made as much progress as possible with his hygiene and cosmetic procedures and called it a day.

Stanley hurried downstairs, his little legs scrambling over the risers, and then dashed to the back door where he stood glancing at the handle in expectation. When Grace opened the door, Stanley shot outside, racing across the small patch of lawn and rolling on his back while making funny chuntering noises and then springing to his feet and running in circles, looking very pleased with himself.

“You enjoyed having a nice wash then, I take it?” Grace laughed.

Stanley barked.

From the other side of the garden fence came a sudden volley of barks in reply.

Stanley looked startled for a moment and then rushed towards the fence and launched a return volley of barks of his own.

The peace and quiet of the lovely summer evening vanished as Stanley and the dog across the fence traded barks and yips. As the fence was made of solid slats of wood to ensure privacy between the gardens, it was impossible for the dogs to see each other and size one another up properly, and so the barking simply continued, getting louder and louder.

“That’s enough of that racket, Elsa!” a woman shouted on the other side of the fence. “Where are your manners?”

“Stanley, cut that out!” Grace said simultaneously, hurrying over to haul him away from the fence before the barking got any worse.

As an exchange of grumpy growls was traded through the thick slats, a face appeared at the top of the fence from the other side.

“Well, hello there,” said the woman who’d appeared there.

She was an older lady with a stylish bob of silvery hair and a bright smile. Grace didn’t recognise her, although as she spent so much time at work, and engrossed in her studies while at home, the truth was that she only recognised a few of the faces she saw around Foxglove Street. Making friends with her neighbours hadn’t been high on her agenda.

But surely this wasn’t the woman who lived in the terraced house on the other side of Grace? She might not be great at socialising, but she was certain her neighbour was far younger than this lady. Was this perhaps her neighbour’s mother or a friend or something like that?

“Hello,” Grace replied at last and smiled, hoping to get to the bottom of the mystery of the unknown neighbour who’d appeared across the fence.

“Sorry about Elsa,” the woman said. “There’s never been a dog on either side of this fence before, and I think it took her by surprise to realise one was over there now.”

Grace kept her hands on Stanley’s wriggling body in an attempt to calm him down. “I don’t think he means any harm.”

“Of course he doesn’t. He looks like a nice little fella. What’s his name?”

“Stanley. Well, that’s what I’m calling him for now, anyway. I don’t actually know his real name. I found him wandering around outside on the street and looking lost when I got home from work.”

“Oh, that’s terrible to hear!” The older lady peered further over the fence at Stanley. “I don’t recognise him, and I know many of the dogs who live around here. Hang on, let me ask my friend if she knows anything about this.”

The older lady vanished and Grace heard movement on the other side of the fence, followed by chatter. The other dog—Elsa, she thought the older lady had called her—let out a few more yips of protest at the new dog in its midst, to which Stanley replied in kind. Seconds later, the older lady reappeared at the fence line, this time with another lady in tow.

“This is my friend Carole,” the woman said. “She just moved here to the street a few weeks ago, and I wanted to drop by to say hello and make sure she’s settling in all right. I’m Olive. I live further down the street, and was friends with the previous owner here, too.”

Ah, so that solved the mystery of the unknown neighbour. Still, Grace was a little embarrassed to discover her previous neighbour had moved out and a new one had moved in and she hadn’t even realised it.

Introductions sounded long overdue.

“I’m Grace Burton. It’s nice to meet you, Carole. And you too, Olive.”

“Hello, Grace,” Carole said. She was younger than Olive but older than Grace, maybe somewhere in her late thirties. A striking mane of glossy dark hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail and her face was open and friendly as she gestured to a paint smear on her cheek. “I’m redecorating the kitchen, so please excuse how I look. I’m not as good with a paintbrush as I thought I was.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Grace laughed. “I’m sorry I haven’t dropped by to say hello yet. I didn’t even know there was someone new living next door. I feel bad.”

“There’s no need to feel bad,” Carole said. “Actually, I’ve only just fully moved in here in the last few days. It took a while to move out of my previous house, and I ended up doing it in chunks, so this place was empty more often than not. But it’s nice to be living here now.”

“Moving house is never easy,” Grace said. “I hope you’re settling in well.”

“I am now, and it’s nice to have friends pop in to say hello,” Carole said, giving Olive a smile.

“I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable and that you knew where I was if you needed any help,” Olive said, and then turned back to Grace. “As I said, I knew the previous owner who lived here too, because we were both volunteers at the local history museum. I’d often pop in to say hello if I was passing while out walking Elsa here, who is my next-door neighbour’s dog, not mine, I should add. I just walk her while my neighbour is at work during the day, although Elsa is spending a few days with me at the moment because my neighbour is away. Anyway, when the previous owner who lived here, Stephanie, decided to move, I happened to know that the granddaughter of another friend I know was looking for a place to live, ideally somewhere near here. I know Carole’s grandmother through the tea dances I go to with my good friend Walter, you see. And so I put them in touch with each other and now Carole lives here and I’m thrilled she’s settling in so well.”

Grace blinked at this barrage of information. Despite living on Foxglove Street for a year, she had no idea this intricate network of connections and neighbourly interactions existed amongst the residents. Still, how could she know? She rarely took the time to stop and talk to anyone as she dashed to and from work.

“Anyway,” Olive said, “let’s not forget about poor Stanley. Carole, I know you’ve only just moved into this house, but as this is your end of the street rather than mine, I thought maybe you might recognise this unfortunate little dog that Grace has found wandering around outside her door.”

Carole looked carefully at the dog, but was already shaking her head. “Sorry, no. I haven’t seen him before. I’ve met my new neighbour in the other terrace next door, Tom, but he owns a cat, not a dog. The neighbours in the next terrace down from him, Amelia and Kenny, they have a dog, but it’s a Labrador, and they’re all away on holiday in Devon in their caravan just now, otherwise I’d knock on their door in case they happened to recognise this poor stray.”

As Grace listened, she felt a blush heat her cheeks. Despite only moving to the street a few days ago, Carole already knew more about the neighbours next door to her than Grace knew after a year of staying here.

“Well, I certainly don’t recognise the dog either,” Olive added. “As I’m often out and about walking Elsa, I know many of the dogs in this part of the neighbourhood, but I don’t recognise him at all. What a shame for the poor creature.”

“I bumped into a man who lives on Riverside Road at the same time as I came across Stanley,” Grace explained. “He suggested I take him to the local vet’s practice tomorrow to see if they can scan him for a microchip.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Olive said. “Go to the Whitaker practice over on Park Street. They are superb vets and very caring, too, and I’m sure they’ll know how to help. Actually, one of the vets there, Joe Whitaker, used to live right here on Foxglove Street, in a flat in one of the converted houses just over there. However, he and his girlfriend, who also lived in the same building for a short while, which is actually how they met, well, they recently moved out into a new place of their own together on the other side of Hamblehurst on Victoria Road. If he were still living on the street, I’d suggest knocking on his door and asking if he’d mind helping with an out-of-hours examination to find out if there’s a microchip in this little fella.”

Grace attempted to digest this wave of information about the local vet. How did this Olive lady know so much about the people who lived here?

“It’s not an emergency, so I wouldn’t want to bother someone in the evening when it can wait until tomorrow,” Grace said. “Stanley here seems in decent health otherwise, especially now that he’s had a bath. Although I think he might still be hungry. I’m not sure if I fed him enough when I brought him inside. I’ve never had a dog before and obviously I don’t have any proper dog food in the house, so had to make do with a can of tuna flakes.”

“Well, we can soon fix that,” Olive said. “I have plenty of cartons of dog food in my house for when I’m looking after Elsa. I’ll fetch you some.”

“Oh no, I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

“Don’t be silly, dear, it’s no trouble. I ought to get out of Carole’s hair anyway and let her get back to painting her kitchen.”

“Thanks for dropping by, Olive,” Carole said, and gave the older lady a wry grin. “Although you’re perfectly welcome to stay and get stuck in with a paintbrush.”

“Believe me, Carole, the last thing you want is to let me loose in your house with a paintbrush,” Olive laughed. “Grace, give me ten minutes and I’ll be right back.”

The two women waved and then vanished from above the fence line and Grace heard them walking back inside the house. There was a final yip from Elsa, to which Stanley barked in reply, before the back door to Carole’s house clicked closed.

Grace looked at Stanley who was standing with his head cocked at the fence.

“They’re gone, Stanley,” she told the dog. “But if you’re lucky, that nice Olive lady will be back with some proper food for you in a few minutes.”

As if understanding every word, Stanley hurried back inside her house. Grace grinned and followed the animal into the kitchen. Stanley might have appeared like a whirlwind out of nowhere, causing quite a bit of upheaval to what should have been a quiet night spent studying, but it was hard not to resist his cheeky personality.

Ten minutes later the doorbell rang, sending Stanley into a frenzy of excitement as he dashed through to the hallway, barking his little head off. Grace scooped the mad mutt up into her arms to avoid him launching himself out through the door at their visitor.

“You’re certainly a noisy chap, aren’t you Stanley?” Olive said when Grace opened the door. “I left Elsa back at my house to avoid too much excitement, what with this little lad being a stray and no doubt finding all this a bit overwhelming. I didn’t want Elsa adding to the chaos.” The older lady held up a shopping bag. “I’m here with your food delivery, Stanley. We can’t have you going hungry, can we?”

Grace laughed at the way Olive chatted to the dog, much the same way she’d done herself since finding the scruffy animal out on the street. Stanley had a way about him, a sort of swashbuckling charm that made it hard not to talk to him as if he was an actual person.

“Come in, Olive,” Grace said, still clutching the wriggling Stanley in her arms. “I don’t want to put him down on the ground in case he jumps all over you, and I don’t have a collar or lead to keep him under control.”

“Then it’s a good thing I brought a few extra bits to tide you over while you’re looking after him,” Olive said, stepping into the hallway and following Grace to the living room. The older lady reached inside the shopping bag hooked over her arm and pulled out a collar and lead.

“As Stanley is a stray, and you said you had no experience with dogs, I thought this might come in handy. Since I started looking after my neighbour’s dog, I keep a spare collar and lead at home, just in case. Having these should certainly make it easier for you to transport Stanley to the vet’s surgery tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Olive, that’s really kind of you. How much do I owe you?”

“Good grief, you don’t owe me anything, dear. Once Stanley finds his way back to his own home, you can return these to me whenever is convenient.”

Grace accepted the collar and lead. Stanley sat politely on the floor while she buckled the collar around his neck before he dashed over to sniff at Olive and enjoy having his head patted.

“He’s certainly a well-behaved little dog, and very sweet, too,” Olive said. “I’m sure someone must be missing him. You said he was running around alone outside your house?”

Grace nodded. “I’d just got out of my car after driving home from work when he came tearing down the pavement towards me, all by himself. He was fairly smelly until I gave him a bath, and although he’s looking fluffy now because he’s just had a wash, his ribs are sticking out a bit beneath his skin. I think he might have been on his own for a while, judging by how grubby he was and how thin he seems.”

“Yes, I can see now that he is a little on the thin side,” Olive said, running her hand along his side. “Well, we can soon take care of that. There is plenty of food in this bag to keep him going.”

Olive handed the shopping bag to Grace, and when she looked inside, she saw half a dozen foil trays of dog food, a small box of dry food, and a bag of gravy bones.

“This is far too much, Olive, but I really appreciate it. I’ll sort him a nice bowl of dinner to tuck into. I feel bad for only giving him tuna earlier. It definitely wasn’t enough.”

“If Stanley has been straying for a while, as you suspect, you probably did the right thing by only giving him a small portion of food to begin with. If he hasn’t been eating regularly, then a big feed all at once would almost certainly have risked making him sick.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Grace carried the bag of food into the kitchen and set it on the counter. “There’s probably an awful lot about dogs I don’t know. I hope I’m not doing anything wrong so far. I washed him with regular human shampoo when I gave him a bath earlier. Do you think that’s okay or have I risked harming him?”

Olive laughed. “You did fine, dear. He’s clean and safe and being well looked after, and that’s all that matters. I doubt that being washed on one single occasion with non-canine shampoo will cause him any problems.”

“I made sure to avoid getting it in his eyes.”

“Then it sounds to me like you do know what you’re doing, after all.”

As Grace prepared the meal for Stanley, Olive gave her advice about how much dry food to add to the wet food from the foil tray. By the time she set the bowl on the floor, Stanley was a whirling dervish of excitement.

Grace watched Stanley wolf down the food and lick the bowl clean before looking back up at her hopefully.

“Should I give him some more?”

“Not right now,” Olive advised. “That was a healthy portion and should keep him going until tomorrow morning. You can always give him a few gravy bones if he begs too much later.”

When no more food was forthcoming, Stanley lapped at the bowl of water beside his empty food bowl, then hurried to the back door again. Grace let him outside, and he dashed to the back of the lawn to do his business.

“Oh, and there are a few poo bags to tide you over in amongst the food supply, too,” Olive said with a wry grin, before laughing at Grace’s wincing expression. “I’m afraid that some aspects of dog care are not particularly glamorous.”

“I’m beginning to realise that,” Grace laughed. “Still, he is awfully cute.”

“He is indeed, and you’re doing a good deed in looking after him. Let me give you my phone number in case you have any problems tonight and need some advice.”

Grateful for the idea of having this kind older lady at the end of the phone should she need it, Grace added Olive’s number to her phone. Olive also gave her the house number she lived at, so she could return the collar and lead once Stanley no longer needed them.

“I hope everything works out okay at the vet’s tomorrow when you take him to be scanned for his microchip details,” Olive said once they’d returned to the front door. “You’ll let me know what happens to him, won’t you?”

“Of course. It’s the least I can do considering all this help you’ve given me with a collar and lead and food.”

“I’m happy to help. That’s what neighbours are for.”

With a wave goodbye, Olive walked to the front gate and out onto the street, before disappearing off down Foxglove Street towards her own house.

Grace returned to the living room with Stanley trotting close to her feet.

“Well, Stanley, if that’s all your various needs seen to for the time being, I think I’ll get on with some work if you don’t mind?”

Stanley wagged his tail, then watched as she set up her laptop and study materials and got cosy on the sofa. It was only once Grace sat down that she realised there was obviously no dog bed for Stanley to get comfortable in.

Dogs needed beds to lie in, didn’t they? In the last hour, Grace had come to realise that dogs actually needed an awful lot of stuff to keep them ticking over—food, shampoo, collars and leads, cosy beds, poo bags for goodness’ sake—and that was probably just the tip of the iceberg.

But before she could worry about where the little dog would lie down, he scampered over to where she sat on the sofa, turned three times, and curled up on the floor at her feet. Adjusting his position on the carpet, he nestled closer and rested his head against her leg. The warmth from his furry little body pressed against her made her heart squeeze. The soft sigh he let out as he tucked his head into his paws and closed his eyes only made her heart squeeze all the more.

“Oh, Stanley,” Grace murmured. “You’re an incredibly sweet little rascal, aren’t you?”

His stubby tail thumped once on the floor, but he remained curled up in a cosy ball at her feet. A few minutes later he started snoring, the comical, soft wheezing sound causing a grin to spread across Grace’s face.

Okay, that’s enough of that nonsense, Grace thought as she turned to her laptop screen and the work waiting for her there. Stanley might be cute—okay, very cute—but now it’s time to get on with some serious study.

Grace looked back at her laptop screen, her mind locked onto the task at hand, and she dug into the work that was waiting to be done.