In the Doghouse
“So, what have you done this time?” Sophie asks, raising her eyebrows over her large green eyes as she strides across the grubby patio and onto the lawn towards Tyler, who’s naked and chained up like an animal, kneeling in front of the old wooden doghouse at the bottom of the wild and secluded garden. As she strides towards him, like a model along a catwalk, with a light, confident bounce in each step, she’s buttoning up her vintage knee-length wool coat over her black V-neck jumper, grey wool skirt and thick winter tights, against the icy wind, which is causing the branches of the leafless trees and the rickety old fence panels to creak and groan. Her long red hair is twisted into a neat coil at the back of her head and held in place with a black plastic hair clip like a pair of clasped hands. There’s a warm and almost ethereal glow to her porcelain white skin.
“You’ve got to help me, Sophie,” Tyler pleads, through chattering teeth. “I’ve been out here for days, now.”
Reaching him, she folds her arms and fixes him with her pale green eyes, saying: “You don’t honestly expect me to get involved in your marital spat, do you?” She frowns, shaking her head from side to side. “I’d have to be mad, wouldn’t I? It’s none of my business.”
“Please, Sophie, at least tell Isabella how sorry I am. I’m freezing to death out here.”
“First, tell me what you did to deserve your current stint in the doghouse?” Sophie asks, taking a packet of cigarettes and a Union Jack lighter out of the left pocket of her coat. “The minute we arrived, she forbade us to even mention your name. So, it must be something pretty awful?”
“I forgot our wedding anniversary,” Tyler says, hanging his head and seeming to shrink with shame as he says it. “It’s the second year in a row, I’ve forgotten.”
“Then, you’ll get no sympathy from me,” Sophie says, taking a long and slender cigarette from the packet, before returning the packet to the pocket of her coat. “In fact, I think, you’re getting off rather lightly, don’t you? If you were my husband, I would have taken you straight to the local kennels and left you there for good, or I might even have taken you to the vet and had you put down.” She grins.
“I didn’t mean to forget,” Tyler says with a tear slithering down his cheek. “I wrote it down and everything, so I’d remember; but, then, what with everything else that’s been happening, lately, I completely lost track of the days.” His blue eyes, which are glassy and bloodshot, are gazing up at her. “Please, Sophie, you’ve got to help me. I love Isabella more than anything. You know that? It’s the worst feeling in the world, knowing she’s so mad at me.”
Is that true? Sophie wonders. Does he genuinely feel sorry for upsetting Isabella or is he simply thinking of himself, trying to curtail his punishment for being such a bad husband?
“Please, Sophie? Please help me?”
“It’s not my place, though, is it, getting involved in your marital business?” Sophie lights the cigarette, then blows a cloud of sepia-white smoke up into the air. “How Isabella chooses to discipline her husband is purely a matter for her. And like I said, in my opinion, you deserve a good deal worse than a few days out here, chained up like the dumb animal, you are.”
“I get that, and I’m really, genuinely sorry, but how can I make amends, when she won’t even talk to me? All I’m asking, is for you to put in a good word for me? Please, Sophie? Please?”
Sophie glances at the dark brown mud, caked onto the rounded toes of her knee-length winter boots, suddenly remembering the time that Tyler came with Isabella to one of her dinner parties, and he found one of her hairs on his plate, and he looked like he was about to vomit; then, he hardly ate or drank a thing for the rest of the evening.
He drives poor Isabella mad with his constant obsession with germs, she thinks. She’s always complaining, she can’t put a cup down or leave a crumb on a worktop without him sighing and making some ridiculous comment under his breath. If he were your husband, you would have whipped that out of him, years ago. It’s a testament to her patience and her kindness that she’s tolerated it for so long. So, why not get a little revenge on him, whilst teaching him a small life lesson about not being so ridiculous about things, that can’t possibly harm him? When you were a girl, you used to make mud pies and eat them all the time. It never did you any harm, did it? And if you did speak to Isabella on his behalf, you’d be going out on a limb; so, he really ought to do something for you, first, before you even consider it.
The tip of Sophie’s cigarette burns brightly between her pink lips as her pale green eyes gaze down her nose at Tyler. She exhales a sepia-white cloud up into the air. Above them the vast clouds are creeping across the autumnal sky, seal grey and leaden with rain.
“I’ll tell you what,” she says, sliding her left foot across the ground towards him, “if you clean my boots for me, get them looking like new, I might consider having a quiet word with her for you?”
“Clean them?”
“Yes, with your pretty little tongue: I want you to lick them clean for me.”
A look of pure disgust contorts Tyler’s handsome face. He’s shaking his head.
“OK., fair enough,” Sophie says, turning her back on him. She starts walking across the lawn towards the house. “I’m going to go and stand somewhere more sheltered, out of the wind, to finish this. Then, I’m going back in the warm.”
“No! Wait! Please! You can’t just leave me, Sophie. I need your help. Please, Sophie! Please!”
“You’ve got my terms,” she says, stopping, halfway across the lawn and turning back around to face him. “If you want my help, first, you have to clean my boots for me. It’s not exactly a big ask, is it?”
“But, they’re filthy? They’re covered in mud?”
“If they weren’t dirty, they wouldn’t need cleaning, would they?” The tip of her cigarette burns brightly between her soft pink lips; she exhales a cloud of sepia-white smoke into the air as she peers at him, watching him squirm, enjoying the comforting feeling of pure, unadulterated power. “It’s your choice, but decide quickly. Once I’ve finished my cigarette, I’m going straight back inside, in the warm.”
He looks like he’s really struggling not to retch, Sophie thinks, grinning, watching Tyler’s tongue, lapping doggedly at a stubborn lump of gritty brown mud, stuck to the instep of her left boot. Though, credit where it’s due, he is doing his best to get them really clean for you. She flicks the filter of her cigarette with her French manicured thumbnail and a smouldering ball of soft grey ash falls through the air, before tumbling across Tyler’s back and onto the whispering grass beside him. It’s almost like a form of aversion therapy for him. You’re making him a better person by forcing him to face his silly fears.
She looks up at the silver branches of the trees, creaking in the wind, thinking: it’ll be Christmas, soon. You’ll have to start dieting for the office party. She feels her stomach tighten. This year, you should go away, somewhere warm and luxurious, book yourself a room in a relaxing country hotel, so you don’t have to put yourself through the dreadful misery of having to visit your mother in that awful nursing home on Christmas morning, sitting there, trying to get her to remember the brilliant woman, she once was, as she stares blindly at you, like you’re a total stranger. That’s going to be you, if you’re not careful: dying alone in some lonely place. If only your taxi hadn’t been late that day, so you’d arrived at the pub before Isabella. Maybe you’d be the one married to him, and she’d be the one going home to an empty house every night. She’s peering at Tyler, who’s now working the tip of his tongue around the outer side of her left boot, remembering him on his wedding day, kneeling at Isabella’s feet as she locked his metal collar around his sinewy neck, before looking into his eyes as she casually threw away the key. She doesn’t know how lucky she is, does she? For all his faults, he’s a decent man. What does it matter if he forgets their wedding anniversary when he loves her with his whole heart every day?
“OK., that looks pretty good to me,” she says, flicking fresh ash into Tyler’s short dark hair. “Now, I want you to roll over onto your back for me, so I can clean the sole, before you start on the other one.”
Tyler rolls over onto his back. He’s lying motionless on the long, verdant grass, his blue eyes staring up at her.
“Stick out your tongue for me.”
He takes a breath and his mouth moves as if he’s about to speak; then, he reluctantly pokes out his tongue.
“Anyone would think, I’m making you do something awful,” she says, smiling, lifting her left foot up off of the ground, so she’s balancing on her right foot. She begins to wipe the muddy sole of her boot on Tyler’s trembling tongue. His eyes have half-closed as if he’s trying to think of something else. There’s grit and mud on the end of his nose and his chin and around the edges of his mouth. She puts her foot back down on the floor, saying: “OK., you can start cleaning the other one for me, now.”
Tyler rolls onto his knees; then, he bows forwards and starts licking the mud from the toe of her right boot.
An attenuated ripple of laughter is wafting across the lawn from the house. She turns her head and looks over her shoulder, across the patio and through the French doors. Yasmin is on her feet, waving her fleshy hands wildly above her head as Isabella and Margo sit doubled over on the sofa, covering their mouths with their hands as their bodies tremble with mirth.
They must be wondering where you’ve got to, she thinks, blowing a cloud of sepia-white smoke up into the air. She flicks the filter of her cigarette with her French manicured thumbnail, raining smouldering ash down on the back of Tyler’s head. They probably think, you’re being antisocial. Margo will make some vicious comment, the second you go back inside. She’s glaring at Margo, who’s wiping tears from the corner of her eye. Why does she always have to pick a fight with you? It’s probably because she feels so threatened and insecure, because her own life is such a steaming mess.
“You were much quicker with that one, weren’t you?” she says, peering at the clean, moist and shimmering toe of her right boot as Tyler comes to kneeling on his haunches in front of her. “You must be getting the hang of it. Now, roll over onto your back, so I can clean the sole.”
A soft breathless moan escapes from Tyler’s lips as he rolls onto his back on the verdant grass.
She laughs. “Oh, if I didn’t know any better,” she says, lifting her right foot up off of the ground, “I might just think, you were starting to enjoy this, after all.” She’s balancing on her left leg, with her arms slightly outstretched, wobbling from side to side, wiping the sole of her right boot on Tyler’s tongue.
Large droplets of rain have begun to fall from the seal grey clouds, hovering above them.
“Oh, I think that might be my cue to go back inside, don’t you?” she says, putting her foot back down on the ground.
Tyler rolls onto his knees as she crushes the stub of her cigarette under her left boot.
He’s gazing up at her.
“Right, let me see your tongue.”
Tyler opens his mouth, then pokes out his tongue, which is mottled dark grey and brown with dirt and mud.
She laughs. He’ll be able to taste that for weeks.
“Are you going to speak to her?” Tyler asks through chattering teeth as he hugs his shivering torso. “You said, if I cleaned your boots for you, you’d speak to her for me?”
“Well, I can’t promise to get her to forgive you, can I? Though, considering, you did keep your end of the bargain, I’ll keep mine. That’s only fair, isn’t it?”
“Thank you, Sophie! Thank you!”
“I’ll have to bide my time, though, won’t I, and catch her in a good mood?” she says, turning and striding briskly back across the lawn towards the house as heavy droplets of rain begin to pour down, heavier and heavier by the second, striking the ground and filling the air with the sound of muffled applause. “Don’t worry, though: I’m sure, I’ll find an excellent opportunity to speak to her, if not this week, then maybe next, or the week after that.” From the top step, she blows him a kiss. “Thank you for doing such a splendid job of cleaning my boots for me. Now, I’ll know where to come, whenever I need a pair of shoes cleaned, won’t I?” She darts into the house, out of the rain, slamming the French doors behind her.
