The Nathans were preparing for warfare.

“Well, we can all go back to our grand-parents for a mixed heritage,” said Lesley stiffly. “What do you think, Nathan?”

“I dunno, I dunno,” he said. Nathan pointed an unsteady finger at his wife. “Julia’s always had a complicated love life and she’s not getting any younger.”

Mistress suddenly turned red. The same colour as her hair.

“Well, I think that’s bloody nasty, Nathan!” she shouted. “Your relationship with Lesley is nothing to write home about. The dog and I can hear the pair of you shouting through two gardens in the summer.”

I looked at Archie across Nathan’s shoe. It was tapping. Nathan had a funny sense of tempo: a habit of conducting the many rows he tried to stay out of with his feet.

“Why does she bring me into it?” I whispered to Archie.

“You’re all she’s got,” he replied, with a down-turn to his mouth. That worried me. I have enough problems just living in an art gallery. An art gallery with debts, and dust that is always in my throat. Whereas Marek had become a friend. He understood me and my liking for bacon, and to be honest, he kept Mistress happy for most of the time.

Lesley finished her glass of wine.

“Before I slap you,” she said to Julia rather under her breath, “let’s turn the TV on. I want to watch that programme with the Dog Whisperer.”

Archie gave a sigh. “We are so on the wrong planet,” he said.

Lesley took hold of the remote control which was under her bottom.

“The last one we watched was very interesting,” she went on. “It was about how domestic animals can bring your heart beat down. You remember, Nathan? It’s the first time I’ve ever seen you carry Archie upstairs. Then you lay on the bed gasping. We nearly had to call the doctor.”

I looked at Archie then. His teeth were on edge.

“We will not be repeating that experience,” Archie said to me.

The TV clicked into ‘The Culture Show’. Us dogs sat up. We knew good art when we saw it. On screen was a huge sculpture of a woman and child, tucked one into the other. I don’t have deep thoughts, so Archie tells me, but I did think of my mother then and how I began.

Archie gave a bark of appreciation. “That’s Henry Moore,” he said.
“Marvellous!”

Then, in a lower voice:

“Let’s go for the nuts.”