Sunshine and Spaniels by Cressida McLaughlin

but there was somewhere else she needed to go first.
    Silver Street ran parallel to Primrose Terrace, but instead of counting the houses and trying to work out which one backed onto Elsie’s, she had asked her neighbour for Captain’s address. Silver Street was on a slightly smaller scale, and without the elegant curve the terrace had. But what they lacked in size, these houses made up for in postage-stamp front gardens. Captain’s was a small square of neatly mown grass, framed by a border of busy Lizzies in pinks, purples and whites.
    ‘Captain,’ she said, when the old man opened the door dressed in a navy T-shirt and shorts that showed off thin, brown legs. ‘How are you? Could I come in for a moment?’
    He peered at her over his half-moon glasses, then nodded and stepped back, inviting her in. His house was full of light, with white walls and colourful paintings, as if it was a mini art gallery. Cat was drawn in by the numerous seascapes, calm waters with sunsets and moored yachts, tumultuous oceans, one that showed Fairview beach, with the lighthouse standing proudly on its cliff.

    ‘Fancy a drink? Not got much in, but I can offer you instant coffee, or a glass of wine?’
    It was half past ten. ‘No, thanks, Captain. I came to see how Paris was getting on. Is she still under the weather?’
    He stopped in the kitchen. His eyes were wide with sadness, and he shook his head slightly. ‘I’m not sure she’s got long left. She’s just gone into herself, like she can’t bear to be around anyone – not even me. When she’s not in the washing machine, she’s hiding under the cushions.’
    ‘Oh, no, oh, I’m so sorry. Are you sure?’
    ‘I don’t know what to do. The vet’s had another look at her – with your pretty friend, I think – and he’s assured me she’s not ill.’
    ‘Where is she? Can I see her?’ Cat didn’t want to say anything yet, not until she was sure.
    Captain nodded and led the way to the front room.
    At first Cat couldn’t see the little dog anywhere, but then she found her, curled into a tiny ball in one corner of the sofa, half buried under a cushion. Cat crouched, reached forward and gently stroked Paris’s head. She expected her to jump up in shock or run away, but she burrowed deeper into her corner, her whole body shaking.
    ‘Oh.’ Cat felt a lump form in her throat, but she lifted Paris up and held her small, warm body against her chest. ‘Come on, Paris,’ she said, ‘come on, little one.’ She kissed the silky fur. The dog snuggled into her, hiding her head against Cat’s collarbone. Cat couldn’t bear the thought of such a beautiful, gentle thing being so afraid. She ran her hand down Paris’s back. ‘Wasn’t she wearing a collar?’
    Captain nodded. ‘It’s broken. She’s only been going out in the garden to do her…business, then running straight back in. But yesterday she came in without her collar.’ He brought it over and Cat looked at the thin red fabric. It looked as though it had been torn in half, and the little loop where the tiny Eiffel Tower had hung was ripped. ‘I think she must have caught it on a bit of branch, but since then she won’t go out at all, not even to…I’ve had to set up a litter tray and –’ he took a deep breath – ‘I’m at my wits’ end.’

    ‘Captain,’ Cat said, standing and gently placing Paris back on the sofa, ‘I’ve got a theory, but I need to do a bit more work on it.’
    ‘You think you might know what’s wrong?’
    ‘I might. I have to be sure, but – I’ll hopefully know more in a few days. Can I come back?’
    ‘You’re welcome any time, lovely girl. You and your fella.’
    Cat thought she’d leave it until their next meeting to set Captain right about that. After all, Joe might not be speaking to her next time, let alone be treating her kindly enough to be mistaken for her fella.
    Over the next few days the mood at number nine Primrose Terrace continued to be too morose for Cat’s