The Pets at Primrose Cottage

by Sheila Norton

  ‘Jack and Jill went up the hill,’ Sid squawked obediently. ‘Polly put the kettle on.’

  ‘Good boy, Sid!’ Karen crooned.

  I stared at him in disbelief. The little bugger! He was masquerading as a good boy to keep on their right side, but I knew better! I could only hope he’d behave once they had a baby in the house.

  Of course, I’d been keeping Lauren amused during the whole of this time, recounting the things that naughty bird had been saying to me, and she fell about laughing when I told her the outcome of Karen and Mike’s return.

  ‘You could write a book about all your experiences with these pets, Emma,’ she said.

  I knew it was just something people said. But I shook my head, giving a sour little laugh.

  ‘Me? No. I can barely even write an email.’

  But laughing about Sid the budgie had cheered me up a bit. And I’d been looking after a cat during the same two weeks – I’d finally got myself better organised, always booking in another pet, if I could, during any period when I had a fish, bird, hamster, tortoise or anything similar that wasn’t a full-time job. As a result, Primrose Pets was becoming a more efficient business as well as a more lucrative one. Of course, there were odd days when I had no work, but this happened less and less often as I was getting repeat bookings and recommendations from satisfied customers.

  During the daytime, I’d been correct in hoping that being busy would help, a little, to keep my mind off Matt. Unfortunately, though, during the long nights when I tossed and turned and struggled to sleep, that didn’t help at all.

  The rain had continued for most of September, but finally at least the stifling and sticky heat gave way to cooler, showery weather, and most people – those who weren’t nursing a broken heart anyway – were apparently sleeping better. Feeling aimless and lost on an odd Saturday afternoon between pet bookings, I ducked into Ye Olde Tea Shoppe to escape yet another heavy downpour and was surprised to see Annie’s son Kieran helping out again.

  ‘I thought you’d have gone back to uni by now,’ I said as he served me my tea and a scone.

  ‘I go back on Monday,’ he said and, registering my surprise, explained that university terms were shorter than school ones.

  ‘Oh, I see.’ I nodded. ‘I didn’t realise. My sister’s the only person I know who’s been to university, and I was … well, I’d left home before she started. So I don’t know the first thing about it.’

  He looked at me in silence for a moment, and just as I was about to go and find a table, he said quietly: ‘I hope I’m not interfering, Emma. But when we talked about it before, you said something about not going to university because you didn’t pass any exams at school.’

  I shrugged. I remembered the conversation, and how it had made me feel. It had taken me right back to my days as a school failure and dropout, and afterwards I wished I’d never talked to him about it.

  ‘That wasn’t why I didn’t go,’ I said, turning away. ‘I didn’t go because I had other things to do.’

  Other things? I thought to myself. What, like moving into Shane’s bedsit? I didn’t want to talk to Kieran about university and exams now, any more than I had a few weeks before. I started to walk away, but tripped on the uneven olde floore. My tea sploshed over the rim of the cup onto the nearest table, and my scone flipped off its plate to land, buttered side down, in the middle of a lady’s salad. She jumped, knocking over her glass of white wine, and her friend squealed as the cold wine splashed down her blouse, getting up so quickly she knocked over her chair.

  ‘Oh, no – I’m so sorry!’ I said, and grabbed a handful of serviettes off the counter, which I threw at the lady who was flapping at her wet blouse with her hands. ‘Sorry!’ I said again to the other lady, trying at the same time to mop up the spilt tea and grab my scone off her lettuce. It dripped mayonnaise across the table and I felt my face burning up with embarrassment. By now everyone was staring at me and all I really wanted to do was run back up ye olde steppes and never come back.

  ‘Now then, my lovelies, don’t ’ee be gettin’ all in a miff about that,’ Annie boomed, appearing from behind me with a damp cloth, with which she quickly wiped down the table, and a small towel, which she offered to the lady with the damp blouse. ‘All sorted now? Sit theself down, maid,’ she added to me with a wink, ‘and we’ll make ’ee another leak of tea direckly.’

  Kieran was already holding out a plate to me, with a fresh scone on it, but he caught my eye and began to smile.

  ‘Maybe I should bring it over to your table for you,’ he said, and suddenly we both started to laugh.

  ‘I’m not usually so clumsy,’ I said, apologising again to the two ladies whose lunch I’d bombarded. Well, I might as well stay after all, now everyone seemed to have got over the disturbance and gone back to their conversations. I found myself another table and allowed Kieran to bring my replacement scone and tea to me.

  ‘I hope I didn’t upset you,’ he said quietly, ‘talking about university just then. I only mentioned it because, well, I tried to tell you before, and I don’t think you heard me: I didn’t pass my exams at school, either. But of course,’ he added quickly, ‘I’m not saying university is for everyone, and if you didn’t go because you had more important things to do with your life, then good for you.’

  I blinked at him. More important? I’d done nothing with my life, had I? Not until I came here to Crickleford and started my pet-sitting business, anyway.

  ‘How come you went to uni without passing any exams?’ I asked him.

  ‘I took an access course for mature students.’ He shrugged. ‘I messed around at school, completely flunked year ten, and left without any qualifications. When I started to regret it, I went to Mrs Field for help. Do you know her?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘She was the special educational needs co-ordinator at our school. Now she’s a private tutor.’

  ‘Oh. Do you mean Mary?’ I guessed suddenly.

  ‘Mary Field, that’s right. She tutored me for a couple of years and got me through the access course. She’s a brilliant teacher.’ He grinned. ‘Still, you don’t need to know about that. You’ve done really well from what I hear, running a successful business on your own. Why would you need anyone’s help? I just wanted to explain.’

  I smiled. ‘Thanks, Kieran. And I’m sorry if I was a bit abrupt. I suppose I do get defensive when people talk about exams and careers and stuff. I never wanted to go to uni. But I do feel pretty stupid sometimes.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re not. Exams aren’t everything, Emma, but if you ever felt like you needed to, well, catch up on anything you didn’t learn at school, I’d definitely recommend Mrs Field.’

  ‘I do know Mary as it happens. She helped me set up my business. And she gave me some Shakespeare plays to read, but …’ I hesitated, ‘I couldn’t quite get into them.’

  ‘No, I can imagine!’ He laughed. ‘I couldn’t, either.’ He started to walk back to the counter, then paused and turned back to me again, adding quietly, ‘Look, if you’d like to chat some more when I’m back from Bristol again at Christmas, maybe we could get together for a drink or something?’

  ‘Oh! Thank you, but I’m … um … well, I might be already seeing someone … I don’t know … It’s kind of complicated …’ I stammered, blushing.

  But he was laughing and shaking his head.

  ‘Sorry, Emma, I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I wasn’t asking you out. I’ve got a partner, actually, but he’s quite OK about me having girl friends!’

  ‘Oh!’ I said again, and started laughing too. ‘My fault for misunderstanding. Of course I’d like us to be friends, Kieran, and yes, it’d be nice to chat some more to you when you’re home again.’

  ‘Great. And don’t be offended. I’m sure I’d fancy you if I wasn’t gay,’ he joked.

  His mum was by now bellowing across the room for him to stop gossiping and give her a hand, and I watched him go with a smile. It was tru
e that I could do with a friend. Lauren was lovely, but I missed having someone of my own age to chat to. Most of all I missed Matt, of course, but I had no idea what was going to happen to our relationship even if we did get back together. Perhaps a gay best friend was the nicest thing I could hope for with a man, after all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  But as it happened, I finally bumped into Matt the very next day. I was outside the newsagent’s, trying to persuade the little dog I was now looking after to wait nicely, with her lead fastened to the metal ring that was fitted to the shop wall for that purpose, while I popped in to buy a paper. Trixie, who was a sweet but quite feisty spaniel-terrier cross, wasn’t having any of it. As soon as she realised she’d been tethered, she let rip with a barrage of complaint, first barking and then beginning to howl.

  ‘That’s what happens when you try to leave someone,’ said a familiar voice behind me. I stopped, my hand still on Trixie’s head where I’d been stroking her to try to calm her down. ‘They howl with misery.’

  For a moment I fought with the urge to turn round and throw myself into his arms. I’d missed him so much, longed so much for the moment when I might see him again. But then my disappointment with him came to the forefront. Why hadn’t he sought me out to try to patch things up? Did he really not want anything to do with me, now he knew who I was? Was that how little he cared about me?

  ‘I didn’t leave you,’ I pointed out without turning round.

  ‘Well, theoretically you did,’ he said mildly. There was a smile in his voice. ‘Emma left me, and out of the blue this bird called Candice turned up.’

  At this, I swung round to face him.

  ‘I’m not Candice!’ I said, so vehemently that Trixie started whimpering and a lady passing by in the street nearly jumped out of her skin. ‘I’m not that person any more. I never was, not really – I was just putting on an act.’

  ‘OK.’ He was speaking gently now, the smile gone, his eyes looking into mine. ‘I believe you. I do. And like I said in my messages, I’m sorry for walking away, but it was a shock—’

  ‘Messages? What messages?’

  He frowned. ‘You didn’t get them? Are you serious? But I texted you the very next morning. And then I emailed you – twice. When you didn’t reply, I assumed you didn’t want any more to do with me, after the way I reacted. I thought about coming to see you, but I didn’t want to behave like a stalker—’

  ‘Nor did I! I wanted to come and see you, but I thought, if you needed more time to come to terms with it, or if you … just didn’t want to see me any more …’ I tailed off and looked down at the ground, ‘I’d just have to accept it.’

  ‘But, Emma, I wouldn’t do that. It was a shock, yes, finding out you weren’t who you said you were. I was hurt that you didn’t confide in me, and I suppose I felt a bit stupid. But it didn’t change how I feel about you. I said all that in my messages.’

  ‘Oh.’ So he did still want to see me? ‘I’m sorry. I thought I’d told you, we’ve got a lousy phone signal at home. And the internet’s just as bad.’

  ‘Don’t you check your phone for messages when you’re in town? Or use your mobile data to pick up your emails? What sort of a celebrity are you?’

  I glanced at him, cross again for a minute, but I could see he was teasing. And I deserved it.

  ‘No, I don’t check very often. It suits me to be out of touch, these days, and anyway I don’t usually get many messages.’ I sighed. ‘I’ve just got out of the habit of looking at my phone much at all, since I left the States. I didn’t have any friends over there. Not real friends. My sister texts me occasionally, but … well, she’s busy. And my family are better off without me in their lives.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ he said, looking at me sadly.

  ‘Oh, it is. I upset everyone by coming home, and ruined their Christmas. The paparazzi swarmed round the house. We had to sit with the curtains drawn and all the phones off, whispering to each other. And now someone’s found out about me, I suppose it’s going to happen all over again here in Crickleford.’

  ‘It might happen eventually, I suppose. But not yet.’

  I frowned. ‘I don’t know how you can say that. I mean … well, maybe you won’t say anything, or write anything, but—’

  ‘Of course I won’t!’ He paused and glanced at Trixie, who was now whining constantly to be set free. ‘Look, were you on an urgent mission to get something from the shop here? I could hold onto the dog while you go in. Otherwise, shall we take a stroll, and I’ll explain what I’ve been doing while I was waiting for you to reply to my messages.’

  I laughed. ‘OK. Trixie would appreciate the walk, I’m sure. I was only going to get a paper. To check … you know. I’ve been checking every day whether they’ve found out where I am.’

  ‘Well, so have I,’ he said matter-of-factly as I unclipped Trixie from the shop wall and we started to walk down towards the river. ‘And not just in the papers.’ He smiled at my puzzled expression. ‘I’ll explain as we walk.’

  It was raining again, but we both had cagoules on and, to be honest, I was so happy to be in Matt’s company once more, I don’t think I’d have cared if it had hailed, snowed and thundered. Trixie calmed down as soon as I gave her the length of her lead and she could run ahead of us, sniffing into the undergrowth and stopping from time to time to investigate other dogs’ scents. Then she trotted on again, her tail wagging with excitement, her ears erect with the expectation of more interesting smells around the next corner.

  ‘She’s cute,’ Matt said. ‘Whose is she?’

  ‘Oh, she belongs to Mr and Mrs Barton. They live in that house there, right on the riverbank,’ I said, pointing it out to him.

  We both stood in silence, staring at it. Although I’d been there in the house, looking after Trixie, for a few days now, I hadn’t actually seen it from this angle before. The river was literally lapping at its walls.

  ‘I didn’t realise it was quite so close to the river,’ I said.

  ‘It isn’t, normally. The river’s as high as I’ve ever seen it. Haven’t you heard everyone around here talking about it? They’re really worried it’s going to burst its banks. It’s only happened once before, in my lifetime anyway, but we’ve had so much rain …’ He shook his head. ‘If it carries on like this, I think we could be in trouble, seriously.’

  Sure enough, looking at the riverbank now I could see what he meant. Some of the houses nearest the river already had sandbags against their doors. I gazed around me, trying to gauge the impact it could have if the river did overflow its banks.

  ‘This part of town could all end up underwater, couldn’t it?’ I said quietly. ‘Should I have sandbags for the Bartons’ house?’

  ‘Yes, probably, as a precaution anyway.’ He glanced again at the house, and added, ‘I’ll get you some for their doors. And if it becomes necessary, I’ll help you move as much as possible upstairs.’

  I wondered if I ought to try to contact them. They were a nice couple who’d just retired, and were celebrating with a holiday of a lifetime in Australia. It would be awful to worry them if it turned out to be unnecessary, and even worse if they felt they ought to interrupt their holiday and come rushing home.

  ‘Wait for a few more days,’ Matt advised, ‘and we’ll see whether the water level’s starting to go down.’

  I loved that he was saying we. I instinctively tucked my free arm through his, and then started to worry that I might be assuming too much. But he smiled down at me and squeezed my hand.

  ‘So: tell me,’ I said as we strolled on through the rain. ‘What did you mean when you said you were checking, but not just in the papers?’

  ‘Well, there’s no point being a journalist if you can’t use your contacts, is there?’ He laughed. ‘It was easy enough to pretend I was interested in doing a follow-up on the whole “Where is Candice Nightingale?” story. You know, poor little unknown hack working on a minor Devon newspaper that nobody i
n Fleet Street’s even heard of – desperate to get his big break by fair means or foul—’ He stopped, giving me an ironic little smile. ‘Which isn’t far from the truth. Apart from the fact that, in this instance, I can’t actually do it.’ He squeezed my hand again. ‘My heart won’t let me.’

  My own heart skipped a beat at this. Did he mean it? Could I believe him? I so much wanted to trust him. Surely, if he’d been going to betray me, he’d have done it by now?

  ‘So who are they? Your contacts?’ I said.

  ‘People working on the nationals. Some I knew from uni. Others I met down here in the West Country, and they’ve since moved on to better jobs in London. Some I’ve spoken to in the past about various stories. I managed to find at least one contact on every national paper.’ He turned to smile at me now. There was rain dripping off his hood onto his nose, running down his cheeks so that he looked as if he was crying. ‘Nobody has heard anything yet, Emma. If anyone here in Crickleford had spread the word, these guys would have got hold of it by now, trust me. Your trail’s gone cold.’

  When I hugged him, the rain from his cagoule dripped over my face.

  ‘Thank you,’ I breathed. ‘I can’t tell you what a relief that is.’

  ‘You’re welcome. And the more time that goes by without anyone from the national press finding you, the less interesting the story will be. You’ll be old news.’

  There was a time, back when Shane made his first recording, when I actually longed for fame. Now, being old news sounded like a dream come true. What Matt had done for me – not only passing up the chance of writing my story himself, but also talking to all those contacts on the national press, without revealing what he knew – was surely proof in itself that I could trust him. He didn’t hate me for my deception. We were still friends. But was that all we were? It had been me, after all, who’d said I didn’t want a relationship with him. And even though, in a fit of panic when I thought I was losing him after the revelation about my identity, I’d told him I loved him, how could I blame him if he didn’t want to risk being hurt or rejected by me again? Rather than risk embarrassing or upsetting either of us, I decided to make do, for now, with just enjoying his company again.