We walked on, neither of us speaking for a while. And just as I was thinking that poor Trixie looked more like a drowned rat than a dog, and I ought to be getting her home, Matt suddenly turned to me and said:
‘I should be apologising to you, anyway. I haven’t been fair to you. I got all upset and self-righteous about you not telling me the truth about yourself, but I’ve kept stuff about myself back from you as well. The thing is, it’s hard for me to talk about it. Most people around here don’t realise who I am, either.’
I looked at him through the pouring rain. His lovely, warm brown eyes were gazing into mine, his expression apologetic.
‘What?’ I said. ‘Are you really someone famous as well? Who? Don’t tell me – Ed Sheeran? Have you coloured your hair too?’
He laughed softly. ‘No. Nothing like that. I can’t compete with your fame. I was born Matteo Sorrentino.’
‘Oh. I presumed Matt was short for Matthew. But, of course, your father’s Italian.’
‘Yes. And the thing is, most people around here don’t realise I’m the little boy who used to come and stay here in Crickleford every summer with my grandparents. They were my mum’s parents, so their surname was different, you see. My parents split up when I was just a baby, and my dad went back to Italy.’ He sighed. ‘I never knew him, and I don’t want to. He walked out on my mum and that was enough for me. Mum and I lived in Plymouth, and life was hard for her. She had to work long hours to support us both. But eventually she got together with this new guy, Jim, who frankly wasn’t interested in me. So I used to spend every school holiday here in Crickleford with Nan and Grandad, as well as a lot of weekends. I was …’
He swallowed a couple of times and shook his head, struggling to go on. I took hold of his hand and held it tight. ‘I was very close to them,’ he said eventually. ‘I just lived for my holidays here in Crickleford. But as I grew up, I came less often. My own life took over – you know how it is with teenagers. I went away to uni, then I got my first job, on the Plymouth Daily News. Mum was too involved with Jim – he’s my stepdad now – to occupy herself very much with her own parents. And I … I just didn’t keep in touch with them as much as I should’ve done. I kept thinking there’d be plenty of time left. And as it turned out there wasn’t.’
‘They both died around the same time?’ I said.
He nodded. ‘Together, actually. In an accident. They were crossing Fore Street from behind a parked van. Hand in hand. A motorbike came out of nowhere and knocked them both flying. They died at the scene, still holding hands.’ He took a deep breath and swallowed again before going on. ‘That should have been a comfort to me, the fact that they died together, but I just couldn’t … still can’t, really … get the horror of it out of my mind. The pictures in my head, of the accident, never leave me, whether I’m awake or asleep. It haunts me. They left Bilberry Cottage to me because they knew I loved it so much. It used to be home to me, my second home. But after they’d gone, I couldn’t bear going inside.’
‘I’m not surprised. That’s awful, Matt – so sad. But they wanted you to have it!’
‘I know. And I owed it to them to come back here to Crickleford and sort it out. It was a bit neglected – they were old, after all. They’d let it get shabby and run down. The kitchen and bathroom were old-fashioned, the décor was dated, the paintwork was peeling and the carpets, well, they were thin and worn. I got the job on the Chronicle here, but I knew the only way I could cope with living in the cottage would be to change it completely first. I had everything ripped out and started making it into a completely different place.’
‘Yes. I can understand that.’ I nodded. ‘And I’m sure your grandparents would have understood, too.’ I wanted to add that I’d love to see what he’d done to the interior of the cottage, to tell him how much I’d always loved it from the outside, but obviously it wasn’t the right time. ‘I’m glad you’ve been able to tell me about them, Matt.’
‘I think it’s helped me, talking to you about it,’ he replied quietly. ‘It … just feels right, somehow, sharing it with you.’
I thought about hugging him again, but we were both dripping rain from everywhere by now and the result would probably have drowned us both. Trixie broke the moment by shaking herself thoroughly, rainwater flying in every direction.
‘I’d better take her home,’ I said, and we turned to walk back into town. I gave Matt a quick kiss on the cheek as we said goodbye.
‘I’ll bring some sandbags round to the Bartons’ house later, OK?’ he said. ‘And I’ll be watching the river level, but call me if you need my help. You know, using that strange new-fangled invention you seem to have forgotten about – the mobile phone?’
I was laughing to myself as I took Trixie back indoors. It was good to feel happy again, good to know that there didn’t seem to be any paparazzi after me yet, and even better to know Matt was OK with me. But when I looked out of the back window of the Bartons’ house, I felt a tremor of anxiety, watching the river water lapping at the banks. I gave Trixie a warm bath and rubbed her dry, enjoying the little dog’s woofs of pleasure, then dried myself off and changed into the spare clothes I now always brought with me on any canine assignments. A couple of hours later Matt returned with the sandbags, as promised, and showed me how to pile them against the Bartons’ doors when I left for the evening.
‘It’s stopped raining for now,’ he said, looking up at the sky. ‘So keep your fingers crossed.’
As I walked home in the twilight, I noticed that several other people living in this area near the river were also outside putting sandbags up against their houses. They nodded to me as I walked past.
‘Can’t be too careful,’ one man said, shaking his head ruefully. ‘It’s fifty-fifty now whether she goes back down or whether she bursts her banks. A couple of dry days and we’ll be all right. Otherwise, we’re stuffed.’
I shivered with anxiety again. I really didn’t like the idea of trying to move all the Bartons’ furniture upstairs, even with Matt’s help. But if that was what was needed, that was what we’d have to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The next day I left early in the morning to return to the Bartons’ house. I was greeted by a shocking sight: the water had risen higher still, and people in the neighbouring house called out to me that they were moving furniture and belongings upstairs.
‘It b’aint gonna leave off,’ the woman said, nodding at the black clouds above us. ‘She be ’bout to burst ’er banks,’ she added, nodding at the river now. And I had to agree, it did now look pretty certain.
I went indoors to pacify little Trixie, who was up at the window barking her head off in alarm at the goings-on next door, and after feeding her I called Matt. He’d apparently just woken up, but agreed straight away to come over and help me move things upstairs.
‘We’ll do the best we can,’ he said when he arrived, glancing anxiously at the level of the river. ‘But we won’t be able to get everything up the stairs. Have you called the Bartons?’
‘I’ve sent them a text message. I didn’t really want to alarm them into cutting their holiday short. I said not to worry, that I’d got help and we’d deal with it.’
‘I imagine they’ll come home anyway.’ He sighed. ‘OK. Let’s get this rug rolled up and carried upstairs first, and take the chairs. The sofa might have to stay here and take its chances.’
By mid-morning, with the help of the neighbours, we’d moved everything we possibly could. The rain had eased off and we all felt as if we were balancing on a knife edge – almost as if one single raindrop more, at any moment, and half the town would be flooded. I took little Trixie for a long walk to calm her down – she was so upset by all the disruption to her home – then after I’d eaten my lunch I went home to Primrose Cottage briefly to collect some night things and to tell Lauren that I was going to stay overnight at the Bartons’ house.
‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘You could always bring the poor little d
og here for the night, instead.’
‘Thanks, but no, I think I ought to be there. Trixie and I will stay upstairs, obviously, and at least I can raise the alarm if the worst does happen.’
I spent most of the afternoon and evening pacing the top floor of the house uneasily, watching the sky for signs of further rain, and even when I did eventually go to bed in the spare room, with Trixie snuggled down in her bed next to me, it was a long time before I managed to get to sleep. Sometime after midnight, I was woken up by the sound of torrential rain against the window. I jumped out of bed and rushed to look out. To my horror, instead of the familiar landscape of the riverside path, the road, the fields and moorland beyond the river, all I could see was water: it was as if a huge lake was slowly swallowing everything up.
‘Come on, Trixie,’ I said, lifting the little dog into my arms. ‘Time to leave.’
I’d taken the precaution of bringing welly boots back with me, as well as warm clothes and my raincoat, and I put these on quickly over my pyjamas. I knew the floodwater could rise fast and there was no time to lose. Carrying Trixie, with my bag on my back, I carefully opened the back door of the house, which was further from the river, so the water in the back garden wasn’t too deep yet. I closed the door after me and piled sandbags against it, before banging on the neighbours’ windows to wake them up and get them moving.
I switched on the torch on my phone. Water swirled all around me, but a little distance down the lane, the humped shape of Crickle Bridge rose out of the flood, and I headed for this now, ringing Matt’s number as I went. I could see something moving on top of the bridge, but it wasn’t until I was closer that I realised what it was.
‘Matt, there’s a pony stranded on the bridge,’ I said. ‘The road up to the bridge is flooded. He can’t get away.’
Within a few minutes Matt had joined me and we waded through the flood to the top of the bridge.
‘It’s one of the little Dartmoor ponies,’ he said quietly. ‘He’d be able to swim, for sure, but he’s probably too frightened. Have you called the police?’
‘Yes.’ I peered through the darkness at the pony. He was keeping his distance from us, shying away, whinnying and pawing at the air in distress. ‘They said they’re coming, and they’ve called a vet.’
‘Well done. I’m glad you got out in time,’ he said. We were both keeping our voices very low so as not to panic the pony any further. ‘The flood’s rising fast. Are the neighbours out of their house?’
‘Yes. They were following me. They’re going to her sister’s place up the hill, on the other side of town.’
We waited in silence, beginning to shiver in the cold. Trixie wriggled in my arms, giving little whimpers.
‘I should have taken her back to Primrose Cottage,’ I said, stroking her gently to try to calm her.
‘I don’t think you’re going to be able to, now,’ Matt said. ‘The water’s getting deeper by the minute.’
I looked around me with the help of my torch. He was right. We’d soon be completely stranded. But a few minutes later we heard the sound of a motor dinghy approaching. Flashlights cut a huge arc of light across the water and someone called through a loudhailer to let us know they were the police. I wanted to shout at them to shut up, but it was too late. The pony, now completely terrified, tossed his head, galloped from one side of the bridge to the other and before either of us could reach him to try to stop him, jumped into the water and began to thrash around wildly.
‘He’s out of his depth!’ I cried.
‘He can swim,’ Matt reminded me. ‘But he’s frightened and panicking.’
A burly man in a yellow waterproof was already jumping out of the boat.
‘I’m the RSPCA vet,’ he said. ‘Somebody called about a pony in distress. I take it that’s him in the water there?’
‘Yes, he’s terrified,’ I said. ‘But he’s only just gone into the water.’
‘OK.’ A police officer had now jumped out of the boat to join us. ‘We’ve got ropes. We’ll take it from here, love.’
‘Be careful,’ I begged him as he and his colleague began to uncoil their rope in the dinghy. ‘He’s so frightened.’
‘There’s a lifebelt here!’ Matt shouted, grabbing it from the parapet of the bridge.
‘Thanks, that could help,’ the vet said. ‘Don’t worry. Once we’ve got him secured, we’ll tow him to dry ground. We’ll take it very slowly so he can swim behind us. I’ll sedate him and check him over once we’ve got him to safety, before we release him back onto the moor.’
‘Can we help at all?’ Matt asked.
‘Thanks, but you’ve been a great help already just by calling us so quickly,’ one of the police officers said. ‘You need to get yourselves to safety now. We’ve got room for one of you on board – we’ll take you to the rescue centre that’s been set up at the church hall. There’ll be another police dinghy here soon and we’ll keep doing return trips till you’re all safe.’
‘All?’ I said, looking around me. To my surprise, a small group of people had joined us on the brow of the bridge while the drama with the pony was going on. They were all cold and shivering from wading through the floodwater to get to this high point. As the pony’s rescue operation was swiftly completed, the small crowd clapped and cheered. The pony had tired himself out and once the lifebelt was around him, with the rope attached to the boat, he seemed to have given in and was lying in the water looking nervous but subdued.
‘Get yerself and the little dog into the boat, my lovely,’ said a voice from the darkness. It was Pete, the Bartons’ next-door neighbour. ‘You’ve done a good job there, getting help for the pony. You’re shivering cold.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ I said. ‘I can wait for the next boat.’ I nodded at Pete’s wife, Shirley, who was looking pale and shocked in the light of my torch. ‘You go with them, Shirley. But if you could take Trixie with you, that would be good.’
She climbed into the boat, and I passed her the trembling little dog. We watched the dinghy head back out across the water, the pony floating behind.
‘He’ll have a story to tell the other ponies when he gets back up on the moor,’ Matt joked, putting an arm around me to try to warm me up.
‘I’m glad he’s going to be OK.’
‘Me too. And hopefully everyone on this side of town has got out of their houses.’ Matt was shining his flashlight across the water. ‘What about that house on the other bank?’ he said suddenly.
‘An elderly couple live there,’ Pete said. ‘Stan and Madge. I tried calling them earlier but didn’t get a reply. They must’ve got out. It’s all in darkness.’
‘Everywhere’s in darkness now,’ Matt pointed out. ‘The power’s gone.’
I stared at the little house on what was normally the other bank of the river. The floodwater was halfway up the door now and lapping at the downstairs windowsills.
‘Matt, what if they haven’t got out?’ I said. ‘If they’re elderly, they might not have been able to. And they probably couldn’t get to their phone, if it’s downstairs.’
‘We’ll have to tell the police when they get here in the next boat.’
‘We don’t know how long they’ll be!’ I protested.
‘The Bartons have got a rowing boat,’ Pete suddenly remembered. ‘It’s tied up, under a tarpaulin, round the other side of their house – if it hasn’t been washed away by the force of the water. You probably didn’t notice it.’
Without thinking, I started to run across the bridge back towards the Bartons’ house, but before I’d even got back down to street level again, the water was pouring in over the tops of my wellies, making it almost impossible to wade. I stopped and pulled them off, abandoning them in the water, and ploughed on in my socks.
‘Emma! Wait!’ Matt was shouting after me. ‘For God’s sake, wait for the police. Pete’s calling them again now, he’ll get them to prioritise that house.’
‘No, we have to try, at least,’ I called
back. ‘The police will have so many calls to emergencies tonight, it could be ages before they get there.’
I waded on through the water, waving my torchlight in front of me. I was soon aware of Matt following behind me. As he caught up with me he grabbed my arm and helped to pull me along. The water was well past my knees now, and I was getting tired, but when we reached the Bartons’ house I was relieved to find the boat, exactly where Pete had described, around the side of the house. The tarpaulin had gone but because the boat was now afloat on the floodwater, it was gradually working loose from its lashings, making it easier to set free. The oars were clipped to hooks high up on the wall, and within moments Matt had lifted them down. With a grunt of exertion he helped me into the boat before heaving himself over the side.
‘Can you row?’ I asked, a little late in the day.
‘I sure can. Grandad taught me, here on the river, when I was a little lad.’ He started to pull out into the flood. ‘The water’s still rising,’ he added anxiously. ‘You should have stayed on the bridge.’
‘Maybe I should have, but it’s too late now. Besides, if those people are still in their house and need our help, it’ll be easier with two of us.’
As we approached the other side of the river, I could see a flickering light in an upstairs window.
‘A candle,’ I said. ‘They are still there, Matt. Thank God, at least it looks like they’re upstairs.’
‘Yes. Look at the water level here,’ Matt said worriedly. ‘It’s up past their downstairs windows now.’
We were having to raise our voices to hear each other above the swish of the oars and the rushing of the river, and just then the window where we’d seen the candlelight was flung open and a man’s face appeared at the window.
The Pets at Primrose Cottage Page 24