The Trainer Pt. 01

"You can't buy those here. It came from the States," Lucas sounded genuinely sad when Amy miraculously managed to lay the towel over the dog's body and gently pressed down with her hands to stroke it reassuringly.

The dog seemed content enough to let her do this so after a while Amy said: "Okay, baby, let's get you in the car." At this, the dog gave the tiniest twitch with the tip of its tail, as if it understood that Amy had its best interest at heart. Or perhaps it was just too exhausted from being scared and stressed to resist any longer.

To the soundtrack of another whimper from Lucas, she gently picked the dog up in her arms, wrapping it completely in the beach towel, and put it in the back of her car.

"How is he doing?" Amy asked the vet anxiously, after a thankfully uneventful drive to the clinic and a brief examination.

"Well, he is a she, and she's pregnant," the vet said, carefully probing the underside of the dog's belly. "As it stands she's too weak to carry these pups to term, if they are even still alive. She's got the usual cocktail of ticks, fleas and probably some other parasites. And then there's the tar, but other than that she seems to be doing okay. We'll know more once we do a full examination."

"Tar?" Somehow amongst the shock of all the things this poor dog had going on in its life, and the casual way in which the vet said she was otherwise fine, Amy's brain decided to focus on the exact substance the dog was covered in.

"Yes, the stuff they put on the roads. You can smell that that's what it is."

"But how did that end up on her?" Amy hadn't thought about that part too much. Part of her had perhaps pictured a rather comical scene in which the dog had knocked over a bucket of paint precariously balanced on top of a ladder.

The vet shrugged, still fairly casual, although Amy could see well-concealed emotion in his eyes. "Best bet? She got in the way. Someone got angry with her and wanted to make sure she didn't come back. Perhaps even her owners. Didn't want to deal with a litter of puppies; that kind of thing."

"Someone deliberately did this to her?!" Amy exclaimed in shock.

"It happens a lot. Not this specifically, but we often deal with the results of owners wanting to get rid of their animals and getting very forceful in ensuring they don't come back. Dogs are loyal and forgiving creatures. You have to be quite persistently horrible to them to make them forget that. We get dogs with broken bones, burns, even gunshot wounds."

Amy wasn't aware of the tears running down her face until she saw the vet's expression change when he looked at her. "You did good bringing her in. We'll take excellent care of her and hopefully she'll find a good home and something like this will never happen to her again," he said kindly.

"What happens next?" Amy sniffed.

"We'll need to give her a full examination and treatment for the ticks and fleas, check on the puppies, and then we'll start cleaning her up. Why don't you give us a call in a few days and check on her?"

Amy nodded and thanked the vet. Realising there was nothing else she could do, she gave the dog a final pat on its sticky head and went outside, where Lucas was waiting for her. He didn't even berate her for crying all over his shirt.

* * * * *

"I'm here to help with the tar dog," Amy told the receptionist at the vet clinic needlessly. It was Sunday and the clinic was closed. The receptionist had come in especially to open up the clinic, Amy knew.

As suggested, she had called up a few days after dropping off the dog. The vet assistant had told her that the dog was doing okay. She was responding well to her parasite treatment, had been eating well, and had gained some strength. Sadly they'd had to abort the puppies as the pregnancy had appeared to be unviable in her weakened condition. Amy felt sad about this, but, they guaranteed her, it was for the best. There was a high chance of the pups ending up on the street or being euthanized if no home could be found for them.

When Amy had asked about the tar, she'd been told they hadn't been able to start cleaning her yet because they needed volunteers to help. It would be a time-consuming process to get everything off her fur and skin. Without thinking, Amy had offered to help. She had no idea how to do it but if it was time and a pair of hands they needed, she'd be there.

"One of our regular volunteers is already picking her up from the back. You can wait in here," the receptionist said, showing Amy to an empty examination room.

Amy looked around nervously. What have I signed up for?, she thought. She didn't know what to do or how the dog would react to her, essentially a stranger. Part of her hoped the dog would recognise her and be glad to see her, but more likely it would just be scared and wondering what had become of its life.

The door opened and the receptionist walked in, followed by a familiar figure, looking decidedly un-jazzy, yet decidedly cute, again in ripped denim shorts and a black tank top. Amy tried to compose her facial expression, while Charlie led the little tar-covered dog into the room on a lead. Of all the people on this island, why did it have to be her? Amy would have to spend who knows how long in a room with asshole-girl? This was going to be torture.

Amy focussed her attention on the dog instead. It had its tail tucked between its legs and looked from one person to another, unsure of itself. The fur on its back was completely matted into a smooth, solid-looking surface. Like a road, Amy thought bitterly. Further down, where the dog could reach itself, were some bald spots where it had clearly tried to lick, scratch or bite some of the tar off. And on top of all that, she'd just lost her puppies. Amy could feel her eyes welling up again. She took a quick breath. Don't cry now. Not in front of her.

Her eyes crossed Charlie's when she took them away from the dog. A look of recognition crossed over the girl's face when she saw Amy. That was progress at least.

"Hi Charlie," Amy said drily.

"Hi," the girl responded. It was clear she didn't remember Amy's name. Or pretended not to remember, a little voice at the back of Amy's mind pointed out. Asshole.

"Oh you know each other?" The receptionist asked in surprise, before saying to Charlie: "Amy has offered to help clean this girl up." Way to help Charlie save face. Now she could pretend she knew Amy's name all along. And she did.

"That's nice of you, Amy," she said, but her facial expression didn't quite seem to match her words.

"I'll leave you two to it. Amy, Charlie will show you what to do," the receptionist said, completely obvious to the tension in the room, leaving Amy to her fate.

Charlie lifted the little dog onto the examination table in the middle of the room and talked to it soothingly in the local Creole language. Just when Amy was starting to feel excluded whilst being the only other human in the room, Charlie handed Amy a pair of plastic gloves and brought out a large bottle of sunflower oil and a pair of scissors.

"So, here's what we're going to do...," she started, factually. "I've experimented a bit yesterday and looked up some stuff online and this seems to be the best way of getting this stuff off..." She showed Amy step-by-step how to rub a generous amount of sunflower oil onto a patch of tar to try and loosen it from where it was attached to the dog's skin. The oil also made the tar come apart a little, where the layer wasn't too thick. Any tar on the fur the oil didn't get rid of needed to be cut off with the scissors, so that the skin underneath could breathe. Once they'd done that, Charlie explained, they'd have to wash her with a strong degreasing soap to get the oil off.

"I hope you're not in a rush. This will take a while," Charlie concluded.

"I have all day," Amy responded, feeling inexplicably hostile towards the other girl. Did she think Amy was just here for a bit of fun?

"It might take longer than that. We'll have to see how long this little one can take us messing her around."

At that they started working in silence. Amy thought again about how rude Charlie was for not remembering her. Twice. She glared at the other girl but saw that she was only focussed on the little dog. She worked calmly and patiently, occasionally petting the dog or talking to her. If she was aware of Amy's grumpiness towards her, she didn't show it.

Amy started to feel a bit petty. Maybe she had misinterpreted Charlie's business-like demeanour. Maybe the other girl wasn't feeling the same annoyance about being in a room with a girl she'd had awkward interactions with in the past. Maybe she wasn't even thinking about their past interactions. Or maybe she didn't even consider them awkward. Was it really such a big deal that she didn't remember Amy? To Amy it had certainly seemed like they'd had a good time when they were dancing; good enough to remember. So yes, she was disappointed that Charlie didn't remember. And the girl had been so blasé about it too. She could at least have the decency to be apologetic. But Charlie did not seem like the apologetic type.

"So, you're still here then?" Charlie broke the silence after a while.

Since she was speaking English and at a normal volume rather than a soothing murmur, Amy concluded she was finally talking to her and not to the dog. Did she mean here in the room, cleaning the dog? Or here on the island? "Why wouldn't I be?" She replied.

"I figured you were on holiday."

On the island then. That would have been a pretty long holiday. Did Charlie take her for the type of rich person that could take a few months off work without any issue? "What gave you that idea?"

Charlie looked up at her and smiled. No, smirked. "Oh, I don't know... The paleness of your skin? The size of your mosquito bites? Your 'deer in the headlights' look at this little girl?"

"I was the one who brought her in," Amy said defensively. "I found her." Thinking back at that moment nearly brought tears to her eyes again and she looked away quickly.

If that was new information to Charlie, she didn't show it, but her voice had softened when she said quietly: "It's good that you did. She wouldn't have survived for very long on the street. She would have overheated with this stuff on her."

"I just can't believe someone could do this to her," Amy said, trying to keep her voice calm.

"You haven't seen anything like this before, have you?"

The question wasn't mocking or patronising. Charlie's pale grey eyes just looked at her calmly, without any expression Amy could recognise, but certainly friendlier than before. Amy admitted she hadn't.

"You will. The longer you stay here... You'll get used to it. That's the harsh truth. It doesn't make it any better but it makes it slightly easier to deal with."

Amy couldn't believe she could be so calm about it. Especially as someone who clearly cared for animals. It was the same calm resignation she'd seen in the vet when he told her about how people treated their animals.

"How can you stand it?" She asked, sounding perhaps more critical than she intended.

Charlie stopped what she was doing and looked at her intently. Amy now sensed a ripple in that calmness. She'd hit a nerve.

"Honestly? I can't. When I look around me it's the same shit every single day. Every day I see dogs that are neglected, abused, malnourished, dead. No matter how many we rescue and rehome. No matter how many we train to be more like the well-behaved, easy-going dogs people expect them to be. No matter how many people we educate... It..." She paused and sighed with frustration, her calm facade slipping at last. "It makes me sick. It makes me ashamed to be human. We don't deserve the love animals give us. We don't deserve to be around them."

She held Amy's gaze and there was such venom in her eyes that Amy instantly regretted asking the question. As the only other human around, she felt personally held responsible for the cruelty of her entire race. She didn't know what to say, not even what emotion to convey in the gaze she returned. After what felt like an eternity of them just staring at each other, she averted her eyes and went back to work. She felt Charlie's linger for a moment longer before she picked up the bottle of oil and started treating a new patch.

Amy focused on her work, but was starting to feel uncomfortable under the continued silence. She talked to the dog a bit but was aware of Charlie hearing and understanding her every word. She didn't have the cover of another language so she soon felt self-conscious and stopped, limiting herself to reassuring pats.

"What are you going to call her?" Charlie eventually asked, clearly much calmer now.

"What do you mean?"

"It's a bit of a custom here that whoever rescues a dog gives it its name."

That was news to Amy. That was quite an honour. And a big responsibility, somehow. It needed to be a good fit.

"If it's a litter, people usually stick to a theme," Charlie continued. We've had planets, Pixar, football players... There was the Star Wars litter: little Chewie was my favourite. But she's on her own so it can be anything you want. You can even name her after your girlfriend if you want."

This was accompanied by a slight smile that caught Amy by surprise. Was she trying to catch Amy out? There was amusement in that smile. Did she find the notion that Amy would have a girlfriend that unlikely? Or was she trying to ascertain if she did indeed have one? The small reference to Amy's personal life was so uncharacteristic for the other girl that it threw Amy. What was it to her? As much as Amy was dying to confront her and find out where that comment came from, she wasn't going to indulge Charlie.

"I think I'll call her Jamie. She looks like a Jamie." She left Charlie to guess if she indeed had a girlfriend named Jamie, which of course she didn't. Amy wasn't sure where the name came from when it popped into her mind, but it seemed to fit.

"It's a good name," Charlie agreed, before turning to the dog and saying, in English: "What do you think, Jamie?"

The dog gave a small tail wag, probably more at being spoken to in general than at her new name, but either way they took it as an approval. It struck Amy again how lovely Charlie was with the dog, even if her people skills needed some work.

Whether she was warming up to Amy or merely getting bored of the silence, Charlie didn't wait as long before speaking again. "So if you're not on holiday, what brings you to the island?"

"I'm a business consultant. I'm here to help with the digital transformation of the tax administration. I've been here since early January doing that."

Charlie whistled between her teeth. "Tax? That sounds..." She paused for a moment as if trying to find the right word. "... really boring!" she concluded, not being able to stop herself from bursting into a snicker that was such a contrast with her former serious and business-like demeanour that Amy had to laugh too.

"It's more interesting than it sounds," Amy tried but she knew it was hard to believe.

"Oh, I'm sure it's riveting," Charlie said with a broad smile that made her whole face light up. Amy remembered seeing that smile for the first time across the dance floor; how enthralled she'd been by it. Seeing that smile now had the strange side effect of fading the memory of all that had happened between them since. Amy forced her brain to focus. It took more than a pretty smile to be forgiven for past misdemeanours. Yet, Amy had to admit, with a face like that, this girl could get away with murder.

"But at least you get to do it in the sunshine, hey?" Charlie added, unaware of Amy's internal battle.

"It definitely beats being in the UK. Although I spend much of my time in the office so I don't get to enjoy the sun as much as I'd like."

"It doesn't help if you spend your Sundays inside a vet clinic," Charlie teased. "You could be on the beach right now."

"And miss out on this amazing company?" Amy couldn't help but retort. Why was she indulging this girl by bantering along?

Charlie laughed. "You're talking about Jamie here, right?"

"Obviously. Although I'm impressed you at least recognised me this time." Amy wasn't sure why she said that. She'd intended for it to sound like a joke, but it was passive aggressive at best and she wasn't proud of that. She'd thought she didn't really care much about that anymore, having concluded that Charlie probably didn't care either. But clearly, she'd underestimated her own desire to be memorable.

Charlie regarded her for a moment, as if trying to read her mind. Or trying to remember what Amy was talking about.

"You helped me with my van," she said pensively, reminding Amy of someone coming out of a coma in a movie and slowly regaining their memories. Her memory couldn't really be this bad though. For some reason she was trying to make it look as if she didn't remember anything else. There was a hint of a smile on her lips. Was this her idea of a joke? Amy rolled her eyes.

"And we danced together," Charlie then said. When Amy looked up, surprised that she suddenly admitted remembering that, she added quickly: "That's what you said, right?"

"Yes," Amy said, annoyed. Still denial then. Or it really hadn't made any lasting impression on Charlie, in which case she was still an asshole. Amy contemplated pointing out that she'd also seen her at the coffee shop but thought better of it. That would just make it seem as if bumping into Charlie was a most memorable highlight of her day, which it certainly was not.

Charlie must have picked up on her annoyance. "I'm sorry I didn't recognise you after that."

At last, an apology, but Amy couldn't help but say: "It's okay. You probably do that all the time, hah? Too many girls to keep track of?" Amy cursed herself for sounding so petty. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she just keep up the pretence that she didn't care either?

Charlie chuckled as if to an inside joke. "Sure..." She looked like she was going to add something or explain for a moment and then simply said: "It wasn't personal, anyway."

Amy wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of commenting or asking any more. It wasn't personal that she was completely and utterly forgettable. That was all she was going to get, and she would make her peace with it. Why would she care what Charlie thought about her anyway?

"Right, I think we better call it a day because this little girl has had more than enough of us being in her business," Charlie said then, clearly done with the other topic. She was right. Jamie had been extremely patient and had endured everything with only the tiniest of winces whenever one of the girls pulled just a little too hard, but now she seemed to be asleep on her feet. Her head kept drooping and her tail was between her legs.

They took her outside and washed her down with soap using a garden hose. She was looking a lot better already after their efforts but there were still plenty of spots they hadn't even touched yet.

"I think she'll be sleeping well tonight," Charlie said as they stood outside the kennel and watched Jamie curl up on an old cushion. She looked at the animal with the love a mother feels for her child and again surprised Amy with her obvious level of care and concern. "I'll come back tomorrow and carry on." She looked at Amy questioningly. Was she asking for Amy's help? She really hadn't found today awkward and uncomfortable at times then?

"I have to work tomorrow," Amy said. Despite the awkward moments today, she actually felt sad about leaving the work half done and not being able to get Jamie completely tar-free. She would put up with another day of Charlie's company to see the job through if she could. Perhaps it would give her an opportunity to find out more about the seemingly contradicting parts of the other girl's personality, which just didn't add up in Amy's brain: was she an asshole or was she a loving and caring person?