George pulled out the chair where prospective new dog owners sat, but didn’t cross one leg over his knee as he usually did. He folded his arms and looked at her, and Rachel couldn’t meet his searching gaze.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said, and pulled a cheque out of his back pocket. He unfolded it, and chucked it into her in-tray.
‘Oh, I’ve had this already,’ Rachel began. ‘Darren gave it to me – very generous. We’ll get a special plaque for the Fenwick kennel . . .’
‘It’s a different cheque,’ said George, without unfolding his arms.
Rachel didn’t look up as she reached out and picked it off a stack of sponsorship forms. It was a personal cheque, on the account of George R. W. Fenwick, for one hundred thousand pounds.
‘I can’t take this!’ she said automatically.
‘You can.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can. Stop being so bloody stubborn.’
‘I can’t . . .’ she started, and suddenly remembered something Megan had said – how Dot had ‘got into the habit of saying no’ to things. She was just the same, guarding her privacy, in case anyone discovered her secret life with Oliver, or intruded on her bachelor life, where she did what she wanted. But really it was because being alone was easier. It was a masochistic form of selfishness, dressed up as independence, and it was fiendishly hard to break.
She looked up from the cheque to George’s broad, windswept face, pink where the day’s sun had caught him out, and told herself that she was mad to say no. Mad, and selfish.
Her instinct was to turn George’s offer down because she didn’t want anyone to have control over her life, but it was too late for that now. The tiny dictator inside her was already controlling her moods, her appetite, even her balance. And if anyone was going to be let into her life, then who better than a man like George? Who’d be able to wrangle this baby just like he wrangled calves and dogs – and Rachel herself. She felt hot at the thought of him, the way he knew exactly how she worked.
‘I . . .’ she began.
He raised his hand before she could go any further.
‘I’ve got something to say and I’d be grateful if you’d hear the whole lot out at once. I’m not very experienced at big emotional discussions. I need a good run-up.’
Rachel inclined her head. ‘I’d noticed.’
George flicked a dark look across the table, then pulled his spine straight. ‘I want you to take that cheque. Not just for yourself, but because Dot’s kennels deserve it. And I want you to take it even if you decide to go back to London with Lover Boy. I’m not stupid. I could see this afternoon that there’s still something there between you, and if you want to call it a support payment for the baby, then call it that. I can . . .’ He paused. ‘I can see why it might be better that way. As you keep reminding me, we don’t really know each other that well, and maybe a clean break before it gets messy’s the best thing.’
Rachel’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.
‘Is that what you want?’ She searched his face neurotically. Was he trying to palm her off on Oliver? Was that it? Didn’t he want the complications she’d brought?
Maybe someone had filled him in on her murky cheating past. That would be exactly the sort of behaviour he’d despise. Didn’t your sins always find you out? she thought bitterly.
‘Is it what you want?’ he countered.
God, we’re crap at this, thought Rachel, gazing at him through swimming vision.
‘OK, well, I’ll tell you what I want,’ he went on when she didn’t reply. ‘While I’m making a fool of myself. I want you to take that cheque, let me invest in the kennels – as a serious partner – and try to work out a way this sad old bachelor can be part of your life. Properly. Hard as that might be for both of us.’
He raised his eyes to hers, and Rachel saw they were bluer than Gem’s, and just as frank. ‘You’ve got to realise that meeting a woman like you was something I’d assumed would never happen to me, not now, not here. Not just because you’re beautiful, and smart, and bloody . . . unusual . . . but because my life is just so cramped. It’s been full of stress and responsibility, building up that practice, and what time I had at the end of the day – I wanted that space for myself.’ He gave a self-deprecating half-laugh. ‘I was even too selfish for a dog, for God’s sake. Dot used to tell me off for that. But then I met you and I suddenly realised how small it was. How small I’d got.’
George’s voice dropped and Rachel instinctively reached her hand out across the table. He was taking a real risk, she thought, given that he believed she was about to bail out with Oliver.
‘I’m not going to spin you a load of horse shit about Fate and true love and what have you,’ he went on. ‘We’re both a bit long in the tooth to fall for that, and I know that it’s going to be a steep learning curve. But I feel as if we’ve got a connection that I’ve never felt with anyone else. Ever.’ He looked at her, simply. ‘When I’m with you, I feel like I’m at home. Even in your home. And I could talk to you for ever, and never get bored.’
‘I know,’ said Rachel. ‘I feel exactly the same. And this isn’t even my home.’
‘It is. It’s always been.’
He tightened his grip on her hand and she slid the other one across the table too so that they were clinging together like a pair of shipwrecks, not close enough to kiss, but close enough to stare into each other’s faces with passionate intensity.
Rachel’s whole body tingled at the touch of George’s capable hands, but she glowed at the same time, as if there was a lightbulb at her core, radiating a Ready Brek warmth. It was a security she’d never felt with Oliver, a security that started in the proud, bewildered expression in his eyes. It was going to be an unimaginable journey, but they were doing it together, because they wanted to.
They sat gazing at each other for whole minutes, neither one wanting to break the moment by saying the wrong thing.
Rachel sensed that George was nudging her to speak. It was her turn, after all.
‘I’m not getting back with Oliver,’ she said. ‘And there’s nothing between us. That was a goodbye, nothing more. I couldn’t go back to my old life either. It was empty. I was empty.’
These weren’t feelings rehearsed in the orchard with Gem; something totally fresh was flowing through Rachel, feelings she’d never found words for before.
‘My job that everyone thinks was so glamorous was basically just telling white lies for people. Selling ideas and internet stuff, nothing you could actually touch. Being here, seeing how the dogs put up with so much abuse, and then change with a little bit of love, and some attention – it’s changed me too.’
She ran her thumb along the hollow between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the texture of his skin. They still had so much to learn about each other, but he wasn’t a stranger. ‘Watching you with the dogs, how you care for them without denting their dignity – it’s wonderful. I wanted someone to care for me like that.’
George said nothing but he moved his own thumb against hers, in silent agreement.
‘You’re an amazing man,’ she went on, feeling herself getting carried away by the moment and a cocktail of pregnancy hormones. ‘If I’m acting defensive, it’s because I can’t believe I had to wait all these years and come to the middle of nowhere to find someone so handsome and kind and good at cooking and sex and funny conversation – and for him to be available. It’s too good to be true. I’m even cool with the grumpiness and the red socks – they just mean you’re not a figment of my imagination.’
Rachel paused now, her turn to wonder if she’d said too much. ‘So if you can put up with a total novice, I’d love you to invest in the kennels. And if you can put up with someone who’s never even shared a bathroom . . .’ she hesitated, ‘I’d love you to try to be with me. And Gem.’
‘So you’re staying?’ he asked, without looking up.
‘Yes. I’m staying.’ Her mouth curved into a slow
smile and she leaned forward across the desk, tilting her head so she could brush her lips against George’s mouth. He didn’t move at first, and his shaggy blonde hair tickled against her cheekbone as she lifted herself partly onto the chair, for a better, more forceful angle.
Rachel got a brief flash of how ironic it was that she’d come so far from Chiswick to be snogging over a desk again, when George’s lips parted, and he kissed her back with a ferocity that took her by surprise. He slid his hand up into her hair, cupping her jaw and then tracing the line of her throat until her whole body ached to be pressed against him.
This was Dot’s real legacy, she thought. Not the kennels or the house, or any money. It was her second chance, and she wasn’t going to look back.
Epilogue
Val waved away Rachel’s attempt to pay for the coffees, and for once Rachel decided it was better to let her have her own way.
She had, after all, struggled with nearly all Val’s suggestions about prams, maternity clothes, baby extras, hospital bags – her mother had only been in Four Oaks four hours and already Rachel felt as if she’d signed up for a childcare seminar.
But it was worth it, she reminded herself. Building bridges with her mother was top of her list now, along with everything else that was going on at the kennels, starting with the redecoration and working downwards. It saved reading the stacks of baby manuals, for a start. Val was like a sort of talking book version of Zita West, Miriam Stoppard and Mumsnet, in slacks.
‘This is nice,’ said Val, looking round the pretty blue-and-white interior of the café. It was barely recognisable as Ted and Freda’s family greasy spoon, apart from the stained glass deco sign over the door. ‘Is it normal to have so many dogs inside, though?’
‘It is in this café, Mum,’ said Rachel.
‘It can’t be hygienic. There must be some regulations . . .’ Val gazed around the airy, freshly repainted room. A row of mini kennels by the door housed a selection of terriers and a Labrador, while two spaniels sat patiently beneath the table next to them, attached to handbag hooks.
‘If there were, then Natalie would know all about them.’ Rachel sipped her decaff latte and smiled over at the counter, where Natalie stood in her crisp white apron, making the most perfect cappuccinos in Longhampton. Pride of place in the café went to Bertie, whose basket in the window attracted toddlers from all over the town.
Children weren’t really encouraged in Natalie’s café. She pretended it was for their own safety, because of all the dogs, but Rachel knew, as a regular, that the doggie customers secretly preferred it that way. If – when – Natalie and Johnny had their own baby, Rachel was pretty sure Nat would just open a second branch, for yummy mummies.
‘Well, it’s doing good business, I must say,’ said Val. ‘Not everyone must care about hairs.’
‘Plenty don’t, Mum. She’s a smart cookie, Natalie. Would you believe this was a greasy spoon two months ago? When Nat puts her mind to it, she certainly doesn’t waste any time.’
‘She owns it?’ Val looked impressed and swivelled in her chair to look more closely. ‘Natalie from the kennel? Oh yes!’ She waved.
‘Our charity manager, if you don’t mind, Mum. Bought it with her redundancy money. Painted it with our volunteers. You should see the money she’s taking on the mobile coffee machine in the park.’ Rachel shifted in her chair to allow her neat bump more room. ‘She does a special cap-pooch-ino with ten per cent to Four Oaks Rescue Kennels.’
‘Very enterprising.’ Val smiled, and Rachel felt a genuine, womanly companionship that had never troubled her relationship with her mother before. Pregnancy was doing odd things to her. She’d even written Amelia a thank-you note for the mountains of baby clothes she’d turfed out of her loft, with a photo of the dog she was now sponsoring for Grace and Jack. It was a collie, called Dot.
While the mood between them was warm, Rachel made herself broach the last remaining thing on her emotional to-do list.
‘Mum, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.’ Rachel hesitated, before framing the white lie as best she could. She didn’t want to wrap one secret in another, but she could see her dad’s problem. He didn’t deserve the backlash, just for protecting Dot’s pride. ‘I found something while I was clearing out the cupboards . . .’
As she told her mother about Dot’s one big love, and Felix’s confession and proposal, Val’s eyes filled with tears. Rachel left out the unfortunate encounter between Felix and her dad, and tried to make the rest sound positive – her years of unconditional love from the dogs, and the respect she’d been held in locally – but she knew her mother was crying for something else: the children Dot might have once dreamed of having, her nieces and nephews to shower love on. That, for Val, was Dot’s sacrifice, not so much Felix, or the life she could have lived.
‘I’m sorry.’ Val dabbed her eyes as Rachel finished. ‘Oh, poor Dot. What a thing to live with all those years. I had no idea. Oh, I’m glad you told me. I always blamed myself.’
‘Why?’ Rachel held her breath. Was this the terrible thing she wouldn’t tell Dad? She wondered whether she should declare a parental secret amnesty and see what else came out.
Or maybe not.
‘I thought I’d cursed Dot. At Amelia’s christening.’ Val stirred her cappuccino until the froth began to vanish.
That was pretty good, thought Rachel. Even for Mum’s masochistic passive aggression. A whole curse. ‘Do you want to tell me?’
Val looked up. ‘I suppose I can now, now you’re having a baby.’ She sounded pleased, as if it had just occurred to her, then her expression turned guilty again. ‘You won’t remember, because you were just little, but it was very hot that day. I’d bought myself a new outfit, because Dorothy was gracing us with her presence, with this new man we’d heard so much about . . .’
‘The dress with the big flowers, like Gran’s bathroom wallpaper?’ Rachel pointed at her. ‘And the hat like a UFO?’
‘It was very expensive, that outfit,’ said Val, hurt. ‘And very fashionable. But obviously next to Dot I looked like some fat old housewife.’ She sighed. ‘And I was a fat old housewife, and she looked ten years younger, and everyone fawned over her, all, “Oooh, Dorothy, tell us about London”, even though it was my day. I mean, Amelia’s day. Our family day! And then you were sick because of the sweets she’d brought for you, and you wiped your hands on my dress, and I had to take you home early.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ said Rachel, thinking, ‘Dad obviously doesn’t either’ at the same time.
Val pursed her lips and sighed. ‘I went into the bar of the hotel, where everyone was listening to Dot and Felix holding forth about the Rolling Stones and some nightclub they’d been at, and I tried to say goodbye to everyone. No one paid me a blind bit of notice, and then Dorothy pipes up, “Off to the nursery then, Mummy?” like it was some sort of punishment.’
Val’s face darkened, and Rachel could see the clouds of contradiction battling in her face. She’d never seen her mother so conflicted before. She’d never seen her so emotional, full stop. She wanted to tell her that Dot’s flippant comment was the sort of painful joke she’d often made herself, to hide her awkwardness around happy mums, but Val was lost in her memory.
‘And the thing was . . .’ Val twisted her mouth, ‘right at that moment, it did feel like a punishment. I loved you two, more than anything in the world, but it was hard work, two of you under three. I never had more than two hours’ sleep. I smelled of vomit for years. I wanted to be in that bar, in that skinny trouser suit, with my own money! I’d have loved it. And so I said something I shouldn’t have.’ She bit her lip as if she was trying, too late, to stop it coming out.
‘What did you say?’ Rachel breathed.
‘I looked right at her and said, “You’ll never know what love really is, Dorothy, until you have children. And you’ll never have children, because you’re just too selfish.’’ She gazed contritely at Rachel. ‘My own s
ister. I said that, and I meant it, but only for that one second. I could have bitten my tongue out the next.’
‘I’m sure she didn’t . . .’
‘And then Felix broke it off with her, and she never married, and she spent the rest of her life taking in strays, and cutting herself off from us.’
Rachel pushed a paper hanky towards her mother. ‘Mum, do you have any idea how many Yummy Mummies have told me that I’d never understand real love ’til I had kids? And do you know what I said to them?’
‘Don’t tell me, Rachel. You know I don’t like salty language.’
‘I just said nothing, and told myself they’d had a bad day with their whiny, screamy brats and were jealous of my nice life. I only hated them temporarily.’ She hesitated for a moment, then added, since it was the time for getting things into the open, ‘It didn’t help that you more or less said the same thing to me for years.’
‘I didn’t!’
‘You did, Mum.’ Rachel widened her eyes. ‘Every time you called me and told me how blissfully happy Amelia was with her two, and then immediately asked if I’d met anyone. If I was thinking of settling down. If I’d thought about getting my eggs frozen.’
‘I didn’t mean to.’ Val dabbed at her runny mascara. ‘And if I did, I was so scared that you’d end up like Dot. On your own and lonely. I couldn’t bear to see my beautiful little girl on her own surrounded by mangy dogs instead of a family that loved her. Though now I know why poor Dot broke it off with Felix, I suppose it’s understandable . . .’
‘Mum, I don’t think Dot was lonely really. I’m not just saying that to make you feel better.’ Rachel finished off the last few muffin crumbs with her finger. ‘And I haven’t been your little girl for years.’
Val slapped her hand away from the plate. ‘You’re always my little girl. And you didn’t make it easy for me, Rachel,’ she went on. ‘I never knew whether to talk to you, or not talk to you, or what. And that reminded me of Dot, as well.’