They’d been together since they were just fresh-faced, inexperienced kids at school too, like her and Ben. Would she and Ben have been setting off on an adventure at their age, after grandchildren, jobs, all the wear and tear of a life together? Would their love have struggled through the rough patches? Juliet wanted to believe it would, even if she knew, now, that door had closed for ever.
‘I wouldn’t have got through this last year if it hadn’t been for you,’ she said. ‘Mum making me eat and forcing me to get outside. You dealing with all that paperwork, keeping the garden under control. But I’m going to be fine. Louise is going to be fine. You brought us up to face our problems and we will. It’s time for you to put Mum first. You and Mum.’
‘Juliet . . .’
‘Haven’t finished.’ She gulped, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘And if you fall in love with the place when you’re out there, stay. Have an adventure together. Don’t come back for us. This is time for you two now. You’ve earned it.’
She looked up and saw that her father’s pale-blue eyes were swimming, his face twisted to try to hold in the tears.
‘Cold,’ he managed. ‘Making my eyes run.’
‘Daddy, don’t cry,’ she said, flinging her arms around his neck, and they stood in the middle of the park and hugged and hugged until Juliet felt the snow start to fall on her face again.
Chapter 29
The dull days between Christmas and New Year were always Juliet’s least favourite part of the holiday season, and this year each day seemed to drag on twice as long as normal.
The hours were unmarked by comforting chunks of weekday television, just floundering ‘what time is it now?’ Harry Potter films that merged into one wizardy mass, and the weather neither warmed up nor snowed again. It felt like Sunday afternoon for days at a stretch, with New Year looming up at the end, and she really wasn’t looking forward to that.
New Year had been her and Ben’s special night. They’d never gone in for Christmas as much as New Year; as teenagers, New Year’s Eve had been the night everyone planned for, making sneaky phone calls to arrange rendezvous during the Queen’s Speech, and buying glittery party outfits in the sales. After their friends went off to university or to jobs in the city, the old gang had met up again in the town centre for quite a few years, doing the same lap of the pubs and bars, ending up on the bandstand in the park for the bells.
Since they’d been married, Ben and Juliet had saved New Year’s Eve for themselves as a reward for shuttling back and forth between his parents, her parents, various relatives and social events. Juliet cooked something really special, and then they wrapped themselves up to sit outside to drink the bottle of champagne that Ben always got from the nice couple with the complicated lawn that only Ben could get to go into stripes.
This year, Juliet knew she’d have to face it on her own, and it filled her with dread and determination in equal measure.
Louise and Peter invited her to dinner, of course, but she turned them down as politely as she could. They were in some strange second-honeymoon phase, with lots of private smiling that Juliet was pleased to see, but still didn’t really want to partake in, as a bystander. The only place she’d have considered going for New Year was next door, to whatever out-of-control hooley the Kellys would have thrown, but they were still away, as proved by the reluctant presence of Smokey in her kitchen every night.
Other people’s pets were what got Juliet through the drab days to New Year’s Eve, as she trudged round the slushy paths with Hector, Minton, Coco and a couple of other regulars, temporarily ejected from their houses on account of allergic relatives. They were always pleased to see her, always happy to flail madly across the park in pursuit of a ball, and always happy to collapse in a heap when she got home.
Juliet let all three of them join her on the sofa for an afternoon doze. When she woke up, disorientated by the heavy breathing around her, Minton’s head was jammed up against her ear and Coco – now less tubby but still regrettably flatulent – had broken wind. Even so, Juliet felt a low-level happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Her first thought wasn’t sadness; it was an unambitious sort of contentment.
To ward off any last-minute invitations from Louise on New Year’s Eve itself, Juliet volunteered to drive her parents to Birmingham Airport to catch their afternoon flight.
‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’ Diane asked for the twelfth time, leaning forward from the back seat of their car. She was wearing her sunny Australia clothes underneath her snowbound Longhampton zip-up padded coat, ready to emerge like a sequinned Per Una butterfly on the plane. She’d never been one for colour before, but when Juliet had taken her shopping for holiday outfits, she’d picked up floral after head-spinning floral, and looked so happy while she tried them on that Juliet had to wipe away a tear when she wasn’t looking.
‘It’s a bit late now, Mum,’ said Juliet, glancing in the mirror. ‘We’re on the motorway, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘No, I mean about taking Coco. And looking after the house. You will check the electricity? They were saying at the book group that even if you turn everything off, there’s still a risk.’ The words were old-school Diane, but she wasn’t putting her whole back into the worry. Juliet noted that she hadn’t even mentioned the possibility of floods or squatting.
‘Stop it, Diane,’ said Eric, calmly. ’Louise is going to do her bit. And if the house burns down, Juliet, we’ll bring our camper van back and live on your back lawn.’
‘We will do . . . Oh, Eric. Don’t.’ She sat back down, then leaned forward again. ‘You’ve got Coco’s folder? With the vet’s details in? And you’ll carry on taking her to weigh-ins, won’t you? I don’t want her to miss out on her gold lead when George says she’s done so well.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Good girl. Oh dear, I’ll miss my Coco.’ Juliet saw her mother’s lip wobbling in the rear view mirror. ‘Will you do Skype? So she can see me?’
‘And we’ll ring you too, love,’ said Eric, patting her knee.
Juliet grinned. It was sweet, the excitement buzzing from the pair of them. Even her dad had put his new ‘travelling trousers’ on, with pockets for all his bits and pieces. Yes, they were starting to look a bit old, with their grey hair and thicker glasses, but at the same time, Juliet had never seen them looking so young either.
She didn’t think she’d ever loved them with such intensity as when she waved them off from their boarding gate.
By the time she got home, it was too late to wander around the shops and too early to start making herself some supper.
After some desultory tidying up, Juliet found herself staring at the bedroom walls, with Lorcan’s paint-testers in her hands and Minton watching her from the doorway.
Now both the front and back sitting room, the hall and bathroom were done, and the kitchen was a project all on its own, the bedroom was the next obvious room to tackle, but they’d managed to avoid it, because even mentioning the word ‘bed’ felt weird. Bed space. Waking up to different colours. Silly, when they were so easy about everything else, but it had made Juliet feel awkward, and Lorcan had seemed a bit uncomfortable too.
Standing in the dying light of the year, though, Juliet was seized with a fizzing desire to get on with it. New Year, new start. She couldn’t do much about the wall with the crack, but she could take down the curtains and clear the surfaces ready for action. If half of it was done already, it would cut down the time they’d have to spend in here.
Lorcan had drilled her well in the importance of preparation in quality decorating, and she worked methodically through his list, carefully taking down her wall of photographs, cleaning the room, and shrouding her bedroom furniture in dust-sheets while the sun set outside, and the radio moved from afternoon show to drive-time to pre-party build-up.
It felt good to be doing something physical, wearing herself out like Minton racing after his ball. Juliet wanted to go to sleep tonight, to slee
p and sleep, and then wake up in the new year, all the midnight regrets and agonising over while she dreamed. Whenever her brain slid sideways to her parents, napping on each other’s shoulders in premium economy, or loved-up Louise and Peter, getting dressed up to go out for a grown-up dinner, Juliet scrubbed harder and focused on cleaning all the cobwebs out of her room.
After a while, Juliet’s arms started to ache pleasantly. The bedroom wasn’t big, but it was dominated by a lovely window, looking out onto the garden. The daylight seemed to linger longer, reflected in a ghostly sheen from the unbroken blanket of snow outside.
Juliet gave herself a break when it started to get dark. She felt she’d earned it.
All her daily things were now in the newly decorated spare room, and what she didn’t need, she’d put in the wardrobe, out of the way. The room was clean, a blank canvas for the new year.
Good, she thought, and went downstairs to make herself a pot of tea.
Juliet was engrossed in a star-studded Poirot murder-mystery and halfway through her second brownie when she realised that Minton wasn’t in his usual spot on the sofa.
Cosy television viewing wasn’t the same without him, so she put her plate down, out of Coco’s reach, and got up. ‘Minton? Minton!’
After a brief pause, there was a guilty scuttle of claws on bare wood from the landing upstairs. Juliet knew that scuttle. It was the Scuttle of Stealthy Stealing.
‘Minton, what have you got?’ she called out, prepared to forgive whatever he’d nicked. It was Christmas after all.
‘So long as it’s not poisonous,’ she added, jogging up the stairs to find him. ‘I’m not taking you to the vets on New Year’s Eve. I can’t afford you to be that ill. Where are you?’
She heard movements in her bedroom, and pounced inside. But when she saw what was hanging from his mouth, her good mood evaporated.
‘What have you done?’ Juliet stared at the remnants of cloth hanging out of Minton’s mouth.
It was Ben’s green checked shirt. His favourite one, the one she’d kept hidden in the wardrobe, so precious that she didn’t even use it for Grief Hour because, masochistically, she never wanted to get used to it. The green shirt was the one thing that she imagined still smelled, very faintly, of Ben; he’d worn it the day before he died, then thrown it in the laundry basket, too late for Juliet’s weekly wash. She’d slept with it for weeks, inhaling his familiar scent and crying into its over-washed softness. This was the last piece of clothing that had traces of Ben on it. And now it was ripped and covered in slobber and hanging from Minton’s jaws.
‘Oh, no,’ she breathed, and then, as she took in the room properly, the full impact of what Minton had done hit her.
She must have left the wardrobe door ajar when she put her stuff in, because he’d got the box of Ben’s belongings open and worked his way through like a crazed sales shopper, high on the smell of his master. He’d chewed the shaving brush she’d given Ben for Christmas. He’d had a go at his last pair of socks. Ben’s wallet was now perforated with teethmarks. But the shirt was the worst loss.
I’ll never be able to curl up in that again when I want to be near him, thought Juliet, and she felt sick.
Minton gazed up at her from the bed. His eyes were guilty, but he didn’t drop the shirt from his mouth.
‘Drop!’ Juliet commanded shrilly.
Minton didn’t respond. It was as if he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Ben’s smell now he’d found it after so long. He backed away slowly on the bed, shirt between his teeth, keeping his gaze fixed on her as his tail swept from side to side. The wag of shame.
There were shreds of shirt scattered over the dust-sheet already. One button was lying on the floor, where it had been chewed and spat out.
‘Minton! Drop! Drop it now! Now!’ repeated Juliet. Her voice was metallic, scary. It sounded harsh even to her own ears, and Minton looked terrified.
‘Give that to me!’ Juliet barely knew what she was doing, so powerful was the rage boiling inside her. She grabbed for the shirt and yanked so hard that the little terrier went flying off the bed. The force of her effort made her stumble backwards herself and she crashed against the chest of drawers, cracking her skull against the side.
Tears sprang to her eyes as the first sharp wave of physical pain hit her, closely followed by the duller pain of Ben’s ruined possessions. Juliet shoved her hands into her hair, praying she wouldn’t feel blood.
She closed her eyes and heard the rattle of claws as Minton scrabbled his way out of the room and down the stairs as fast as he could. Faster than was safe for him.
He’s running away from me, she thought, sick with shame. I’ve hurt Minton.
But then she looked down at the precious shirt, shredded and ruined beyond repair, and couldn’t stop herself crying. Again, she thought. When am I ever going to stop bloody weeping?
The tears poured out of her, and at some point in the sobs, Juliet became vaguely aware that this was crying in the same vein as throwing up, or passing out – it was her body reacting, not her. These tears were more about hurting her dog, and missing her mum and dad, and generally feeling flat after Christmas, and being alone for New Year, just when she’d got used to having mates next door. It was about more than some stupid shirt of Ben’s. There was room in her life to get upset about more than just Ben. Which was almost a good thing.
You’ve got other shirts, said the voice in her head. This one isn’t more important than poor Minton.
Juliet sobbed until there were no tears left and the light had gone completely from the room. She felt quite calm and cleansed, but sadness still hung around her. It was New Year, and she was on her own.
Minton hadn’t come up to find her. Neither had the other two.
They were probably hiding in a cupboard, she thought guiltily. Hiding from the evil dog-sitter and her inexplicable rage.
She turned the alarm clock round on the chest of drawers; it was a quarter to nine.
This time last year . . . Juliet started to think, then stopped herself.
Actually, she could barely remember last year. She’d been in a Xanax and sherry haze. Don’t turn into one of those women like Ben’s mum, she reminded herself. Wallowing in retrospective misery.
Still, a drink wasn’t a bad idea. And a peace offering for Minton.
Juliet stumbled downstairs in the dark and went into the kitchen. ‘Minton?’ she called out, in her most conciliatory tone. ‘I’m sorry. Minton?’
There was no sign of Minton, but Coco and Hector were curled up on the kitchen sofa, his bushy beard tucked protectively over her solid haunch. They looked at her anxiously, as if she might fly at them too.
‘It’s OK,’ sighed Juliet. ‘Drama’s over for tonight.’
She got a tumbler out of the cupboard and poured herself a big glass of the jewel-like sloe gin Emer had given her for Christmas. It smelled like medicine and Juliet took a big sip.
‘Ahh,’ she said, automatically. The sweet liqueur burned down her throat and spread out through her veins like purple velvet. ‘That is very good stuff. I should probably have something to eat,’ she went on, opening the fridge and inspecting the uninspiring contents. There were still cling-filmed dishes from Boxing Day, the remnants of various pies and trifles her mother had forced on her.
‘But to be honest with you, dogs,’ she finished, ‘I can’t be bothered.’
Juliet swung the fridge door shut and topped up her glass. Maybe Minton could have the leftover pie, as a treat. Now she’d calmed down, Juliet was haunted by the pathetic image of him going so mad with delight at finding his master’s long-lost smell, wanting to chew and lick and roll around in everything, that he simply forgot himself.
Minton was always so well behaved, so grateful for the second chance she and Ben had given him, that he was very careful not to do anything naughty. He’d never done anything wrong, for fear they’d tie him up and walk away from him too.
Juliet blinked hard. Stop it, s
he told herself. Getting maudlin at New Year’s for old people, not thirty-somethings. He’ll come out when he’s ready.
She turned on the kitchen radio and curled up on the sofa next to Coco’s comforting warmth, her glass and her phone within reach, but after half an hour, there was still no sign of the terrier.
‘What are we going to do?’ she asked Coco and Hector, ruffling their ears. ‘Cluedo? Charades? Jools Holland’s Hootenanny?’
Hector licked her hand and Coco slumped her head against her knee in answer. Juliet reached for her phone. No messages.
I could text Lorcan, she thought. Just to wish him happy New Year before the networks get clogged up at midnight. Her fingers hovered over the buttons.
She wondered where he was now. In a bar in Dublin probably, laughing his easy dark laugh, sinking pints of Guinness in his jeans and some 1970s-band T-shirt. Surrounded by other curly-haired, sexy, Irish builder types. Probably playing pool, and winking at pretty girls . . .
Juliet frowned. Wasn’t that just a Thin Lizzy video she was imagining? Anyway, Lorcan was at a gig, so chances were he’d be all sweaty and euphoric, bouncing up and down at the front playing air guitar.
I’ll text Emer instead, she thought, and spent twenty minutes composing a message that didn’t sound as if she was sitting on her own in an empty house with three dogs.
As soon as she pressed send, Juliet wondered if it had been a good idea to write, Love from Minton, Hector and Coco. Or refer to the sloe gin.
She rolled her eyes at herself. This wasn’t going to plan. But at least she wasn’t sobbing in a corner over her wedding album. Scaring the dogs, getting tipsy and starting to decorate the bedroom was a definite step up from that.
Juliet watched the Glee DVD Louise had given her for Christmas and grazed her way slowly through one of the boxes of chocolates she’d been given by grateful clients.
An hour later, Minton slunk in, his tail between his legs, and crawled under the sofa. He only ever went under there during thunderstorms, when he was scared. Juliet patted the space between her and Coco, and coaxed him to join them, but when she reached down to pick him up, he growled at her.