‘Johnny, no one has everything. We have a lot. And I tell you something else,’ she went on, barely knowing where the words were coming from, ‘I’m taking the rest of that sabbatical. I’m going to find out everything I possibly can about low sperm count problems and we’re going to get help. And we’re not giving Bertie back either.’
‘But what about your job?’ Johnny looked confused but relieved.
‘We’ll work something out.’ Natalie felt her whole self lift up as Johnny suddenly put his arms around her and hugged her tightly to him. ‘Now, I don’t want to sound panicky,’ she added into his ear, as he kissed her hair and neck. ‘But we’ve still got to find our dog.’
He let go at once, his face serious. ‘Right. He might have found his way out by now.’
They set off at an urgent trot towards the wood, Johnny calling Bill on his mobile as they went. The main track split into two paths, down each side of the trees, and as they approached it, Johnny pointed towards the left.
‘You head down that path and I’ll carry on along the main track. You’ve got his whistle, haven’t you?’
Natalie nodded, although Bertie hadn’t responded to it ever. Her spirits sank as she strode across the rutted ground, sweeping the undergrowth for signs of a white tail or brown ears. Branches scratched at her arms and legs, but she barely noticed.
‘Bertie! Bertie!’ she yelled in between blasts of the whistle. She could hear Johnny yelling on the other side, through the pine trees, and horrible images crowded into her mind.
Just let him be safe, she thought, as tears coursed down her face. If Bertie’s safe, then things will be OK. Johnny and I will be OK, if he just comes back.
It felt as if she’d been walking and yelling for hours when suddenly she saw a flash of white and brown in a clearing, and something clicked inside her.
‘Johnny! Over here!’ she screamed, crashing through the undergrowth. If that was Bertie he wasn’t moving, and as she got closer, Natalie’s relief curdled into horror; there was a sticky red trail of gore plastered over the snowy whiteness of his throat and muzzle.
27
Natalie didn’t know how she scrambled so fast across the bushes, but she couldn’t get to her dog fast enough.
As she got closer, she realised that he wasn’t on his own.
Bertie was lying down next to a boy, who was sobbing miserably – big chest-aching sobs that shook his small frame. His bare arms and legs were covered in scratches, and he cradled Bertie’s big head on his lap for comfort. The blood all over Bertie’s mouth and nose didn’t seem to have come from any bite on the child’s body, and the way he was hugging the dog didn’t suggest Bertie had attacked him.
Oh, my God, thought Natalie. He must have put his nose in a trap and broken it! She couldn’t imagine what sort of agony the poor creature must be in.
The Basset was lying quite still, but when he saw Natalie, his tail gave a faint wag. It wasn’t his usual sofa-thumping strength, and she wished passionately that she could have the pain instead of him.
Natalie fell to her knees next to Bertie and the little boy. She couldn’t help it; her instinct was to comfort the dog first, pressing her head close to his, and reaching out for the boy at the same time. He threw himself into her side, clinging on tight with both arms. He seemed familiar – Natalie racked her brains as to where she’d seen him before. At the kennels?
‘Is he OK? Are you OK?’ Natalie choked back her tears. Bertie! What had happened? What had this poor kid seen? ‘It’s all right, it’s all right. Shh . . .’
Johnny charged breathlessly through the undergrowth, and a few seconds later Bill came running over, with Lulu following, bouncing over the branches like a fluffy deer.
When the boy saw Bill, he started crying even harder.
‘It’s OK, Spencer,’ said Bill, kneeling down next to him. Gently, he moved Natalie aside, ostensibly so he could examine the boy, but really so Johnny could examine Bertie without Natalie seeing. ‘No need for the waterworks, chap. Are you hurt? Or just a bit scratched up?’
Johnny was leaning over the dog now, trying to shield him from Natalie’s view. ‘Don’t look, Nat,’ he said. ‘Look after Spencer.’
‘I want to see!’ she sobbed. ‘What’s wrong with him, Johnny? Should I call the vet?’ She pulled out her mobile with shaking hands.‘He’s down there now . . . Oh God, I don’t have George’s number.’
‘What happened to Bertie, Spencer?’ asked Bill, in the calm doctor voice. ‘Did you see?’
‘He chased me.’ Spencer hiccupped so hard he could barely breathe. ‘And then I fell over. And then he tried to get in my bag, and he . . . he . . .’
‘Natalie,’ Johnny began, in a serious voice. ‘You need to see this.’
‘And then he ate my sandwich!’ Spencer dissolved into tears, looked up tragically at Bill, and then vomited copiously all over him.
Johnny held up two large bacon sandwich wrappers, both smeared with the tomato sauce that was now coating Bertie’s white bib. ‘You’re going to have to teach Bertie better table manners if we’re going to keep him, Nat,’ he said gently. ‘But ten out of ten for his acting.’
Zoe’s mobile rang just after Megan had asked everyone there to look for a seven-year-old in a white ‘Ben 10’ t-shirt.
‘Are you missing a son?’ Bill asked.
Zoe could have fallen to her knees with relief. He gave her directions and she hurtled down the path to the woods, where she met Bill, Johnny, Natalie and Spencer coming out, with Lulu and a sheepish Bertie in tow.
Natalie and Johnny looked drained, and Bill was covered in vomit, all over his new shirt and jeans and suede trainers. Spencer, on the other hand, had one small splash of puke on his t-shirt.
‘Oh, my God, what happened?’ she cried.
‘Spencer. We think you’ve eaten something you shouldn’t have, don’t we?’ Bill turned his head sideways to check Spencer’s expression, and Zoe couldn’t help thinking that he was even more amazing, covered in sick. ‘Some berries, did we think they were? And you were a bit upset too.’
Spencer nodded unhappily.
‘But we’re going to get you back to the surgery and checked out,’ Bill went on, apparently unconcerned about the state of his clothes. ‘With the special vomit tester.’
Spencer’s face picked up a bit at that.
‘What did you eat?’ Zoe asked anxiously. ‘Didn’t I tell you we don’t eat things off the ground, Spencer?’ She was trying not to cry, but the sheer relief of finding him safe was making it very hard. ‘I was so worried!’
She held out her arms, and he ran into them, shoving his head under her arm with puppyish malcoordination. When they’d hugged enough for Zoe to regain control of her face, she held him a little way from her, so he could see how worried she’d been. ‘Where were you going, Spencer? What were you doing in the woods?
His lip wobbled, then wobbled harder. ‘He ate my bacon sandwich! Both of them, and I had none to take with me!’
Natalie crouched down and put her arm round Zoe’s heaving shoulders.
‘We think what happened was that Spencer had very sensibly decided that if he was going to run away, he’d need some supplies.’ Natalie’s voice was matter-of-fact, like Bill’s. ‘So he’d got two bacon sandwiches from Freda, and put them in his bag, but we know someone else who likes bacon sandwiches and going for a wander around, don’t we?’ She glared at Bertie. ‘Someone who thinks it’s OK to put his head in other people’s bags and have a rootle? He must have wandered around the orchard, found Spencer and followed the scent of bacon.’
Bertie said nothing, but Zoe could see the traces of tomato ketchup on his jaws and the faintly guilty air.
‘Anyway, we’ll leave you to it. We need to get back to Rachel.’ Natalie exchanged a meaningful glance with Johnny. ‘We need to talk to her and Megan about something.’
‘Thanks,’ said Zoe. ‘I owe you two an ice cream. And you,’ she added to Bill, trying not to notice the mess her son had made
of his shirt. By the way Natalie and Johnny were staring at him, even they seemed shocked that he wasn’t making more of a fuss about it.
‘Can we get an ice cream?’ asked Spencer hopefully.
Zoe steeled herself. She knew she had to face the troubles her baby boy was struggling with, even if she wasn’t sure how to fix them. She wanted him to know she was trying. ‘Won’t be a moment, I just need to have a quick word . . .’
‘Sure,’ said Bill, embarrassed. He waved the lead at the black poodle. ‘Lulu! Lulu, come here!’
‘Spencer, look at me.’ Zoe lifted his chin up, so he could see her face, and how upset she was. ‘What’s all this about? Why were you running away?’
Now it was just them, his bravado fell apart. ‘I don’t know what I did.’ He buried his face in her shoulder and she could barely make out the words.
‘When?’
‘What I did that Daddy doesn’t want to live with me and Leo. Why he only wants to see us at the weekends.’ He lifted his streaky face up, and she could tell he’d been wrestling adult logic as best he could. ‘Callum from school says Jennifer’s going to be our new mummy. And you’re going to find a new daddy, and then you’ll only want us at the weekends and where will me and Leo go?’
Zoe’s heart broke. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, no, no, no, no. That’s never ever going to happen.’
‘Why can’t we be a proper family?’ His mouth turned upside down, like a cartoon dog.
‘We are a proper family.’ Zoe pulled Spencer onto her knee, and hugged him hard. ‘Me and you and Leo and Toffee. And then Daddy and . . .’ she made herself say it, for his sake, ‘Jennifer. Families are people who love you! And we all love you.’
‘Are you going to get us a new daddy?’ He looked at her with his clear eyes, and Zoe felt the terrifying mother love pulling them together like magnets. Spencer would always be able to look right into her head.
She remembered something her mum had once told her, when Spencer was very little – that she should be careful what she said in front of him, because kids stored up remarks like a tape recorder.
‘You’ve only got one daddy, and that’s Daddy,’ she said. ‘But one day, I might meet someone special, and he might want to come and live with us. But he would have to love you just as much as he loved me, because you and me and Leo and Toffee, we’re a team, aren’t we?’ She squeezed him again. ‘Aren’t we?’
Spencer nodded.
‘And you’ll always be my special big boy. And Leo’s best friend. And now Toffee’s best friend too.’
She looked over Spencer’s head and saw that Bill was still hovering by the tree, pretending to train Lulu with some biscuit or other. While they’d been talking he’d wiped some of the sick off his shirt with grass, but Zoe felt bad for his nice shoes, the ones he’d probably only got so he could ask her opinion about them.
He’ll never get the smell of sick out of the suede now, she thought. You never knew sick-removal tips until you had kids.
Bill let Lulu jump for the treat, then smiled, tentatively, raising his eyebrows as if to say, ‘All OK?’
What kind of man let your son puke all over him, and then hung around to escort him back to the surgery? The sort that probably wasn’t going to mess you and your family around, even if they didn’t have much track record by way of childcare.
‘How’s your tummy?’ she asked Spencer. ‘Shall we go with Bill to the surgery and get you checked out?’
‘I’m hungry,’ said Spencer. ‘Can we get some ice cream? Why does his dog look like a sheep? Why is it so fuzzy? Bill says Lulu is a friend of Toffee’s and that you go out walking the dogs on Saturday when me and Leo are at football. Is that right? Can we come too? Actually, can I have another sandwich?’
Zoe stood up, and Bill immediately came over.
‘I think he’s recovered,’ said Zoe. ‘Enough to want a replacement bacon roll, anyway.’
‘Do you want a lift back?’ enquired Bill, and as Spencer nodded, he bent down and swung him onto his shoulders – a brave move, Zoe thought, given Spencer’s nervous stomach. Spencer let out a quick squeal of delight, and grabbed hold of Bill’s curly hair.
‘I’d like a sandwich too,’ said Bill. ‘And a bath.’
‘I’ll wash your clothes,’ said Zoe. ‘I’m so sorry, it’s the least I can do.’
Bill glanced at her, and Zoe was pleased Spencer was too busy shouting at Lulu to see the mischievous look that passed between them.
‘You can’t keep dropping things off at the surgery,’ he said. ‘Flowers are one thing, but a shirt? People will talk.’
‘Good,’ said Zoe, and kept her eyes firmly forward as they headed back towards the orchard.
If being rushed off her feet meant the day was going well, Rachel reckoned that her blistered heels made it a raging success.
There was a lot of interest in Four Oaks’ official boarding facilities, but it was the rescue that everyone wanted to see. Megan had arranged short visits, so as not to over-excite the dogs, and they’d been taking it in turns to show people round, explaining how it worked, and tugging shamelessly at the heartstrings.
Much to Rachel’s relief, the dogs had been great – they were getting short walks around the orchard with the volunteers, proudly sporting ‘I need a home’ leads – and the little tags on the kennels were almost worn out with reading.
Natalie had vanished unexpectedly, and Rachel had to handle most of the sponsorship-pushing herself. Despite her worries that she didn’t have Natalie’s knack, it had gone really well, and she’d found herself answering all sorts of doggie questions she’d normally have palmed off onto Megan. They’d run out of sponsorship forms by two o’clock, and Rachel had dashed into the office to print out some more, so great was the demand. By half three, ten out of the fifteen rescue runs were spoken for, and they’d had promises of supplies, transport, newspapers, foster homes, homecheckers – it was overwhelming.
The only fly in Rachel’s ointment was that George hadn’t appeared. He’d sent Darren, the graduate vet so newly qualified he looked about twelve, to act as the emergency services, and though Darren had come equipped with a donation cheque from Fenwick Armstrong Associates, Rachel wasn’t impressed. She wanted his time, not his money.
It would have been nice, she thought crossly, if George had been there to back them up. He wasn’t to know how much hung on today – but then maybe that was the point. She had to make a decision to go or stay based on real life, not on best behaviour.
‘He’s probably on call,’ said Megan, reading her mind as they finished showing out a team from the council, who were ‘more than satisfied with the new arrangements’. ‘I’m sure he’ll get here as soon as he can.’ She let Yoshi, one of the newest Jack Russells, out and popped a lead on her. ‘Now I’ve got Freda matched up with Oskar, my next target’s George and one of these lads. Easy to pop in a Barbour pocket, don’t you think?’ She lifted the little white terrier up to demonstrate, and it licked her ear eagerly.
‘George says he doesn’t have time for a dog.’
‘Yeah, right. ’Course he does. That’s just what he used to say to Dot when she tried to set him up with untrained dogs. He got into the habit of saying no.’ Megan put Yoshi down and looked at Rachel. ‘If he’s going to have a baby, he can have a dog, right? You can look after another.’
Rachel twisted up the corner of her mouth. There was something plain-speaking about Megan that she felt inordinately grateful for, when everyone else was tiptoeing around her hormonal outbreaks.
‘Doesn’t that break our own rule about rehoming dogs to pregnant women?’
‘Gem’ll keep any new dog in line.’ She hesitated. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but the thing you’ve got to remember about George is that he’s been his own boss for so long, and you get into habits when you’re on your own. Dot used to say that to me. You suit yourself, because it’s easier. He’s a great guy and you’re a great couple, but he’s going to need house-breaking.
’
Rachel sighed and put a hand on her tiny bump, which she hoped the jeans weren’t making too obvious. ‘I don’t have time to house-break a man. I need a fully trained one. Now.’
‘Good job you’re trained yourself,’ said Megan. ‘Listen, I need to scoot, I’ve got something really cool to arrange. Are you going to be outside in about quarter of an hour?’
‘I can be.’
Megan beamed with delight. ‘Coolio. Can I borrow Gem?’
Gem was sitting in the office basket, his head on his paws, waiting for the next instruction. As Megan spoke, his ears pricked and he leaped to his feet and followed her out.
Rachel checked her clipboard and wandered over to the fire doors, to look in on the dogs. She didn’t have any tours booked in for twenty minutes, the runs looked clean and the phone wasn’t ringing.
God, I am exhausted, she thought suddenly. How am I going to cope when I’m properly staggering around with a bump? And then a baby? Why can’t someone come and look after me, as well as the bloody stray dogs?
‘Cup of tea,’ she said aloud to dispel the rising panic.
‘How kind of you to ask!’ said a familiar voice. ‘Milk, no sugar.’
Rachel spun round so fast she nearly lost her balance.
Standing behind her, looking utterly incongruous in his grey suit and handmade shoes next to the sacks of kibble, was Oliver.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she demanded.
It wasn’t the opening gambit in any of the monologues she’d rehearsed with Gem, but it was the one that sprang to her lips first.
To his credit, Oliver didn’t flinch. ‘I’ve come to rescue you. This is a rescue shelter?’
Rachel’s treacherous heart thumped hard in her chest as longing flooded over her. Oliver in a suit. His jaw clean-shaven and his hair freshly cut by some Chelsea stylist. His dark eyes contrite and hopeful in his handsome face and his hand – she swallowed – he was stretching out his hand to her, and the wedding ring that had mocked her for years had gone from his finger.