The Pets at Primrose Cottage

by Sheila Norton

  ‘Is someone out there?’ he called in a frail voice. ‘Help us, please, we can’t get out.’

  ‘OK, sir,’ Matt yelled. ‘We’re just outside your house now. Is there anyone downstairs?’

  ‘No,’ the man shouted back. ‘It’s just me and my wife, but she’s got bad arthritis. The water’s halfway up the stairs and rising.’

  ‘We can’t get them out, on our own, if the wife’s disabled,’ I said to Matt.

  ‘I know.’ He nodded grimly. He was having enough trouble keeping the boat steady. ‘Don’t worry, sir,’ he yelled back regardless. ‘We’re here to help.’

  I’d been constantly trying to call 999, and finally I got through. ‘The police rescue boat is on its way now,’ I said to Matt as I ended the call. ‘They’re saying we shouldn’t be out here.’

  ‘OK, but at least we can try to reassure these poor people,’ he retorted. ‘Look how fast the water’s rising.’

  It was only a few more minutes before a voice came through a loudhailer out of the darkness:

  ‘Stay out of the water. Get to high ground. The floodwater is rising. I repeat, get out of the water and up to high ground.’

  Our little boat began to rock dangerously in the swell of the approaching rescue craft.

  ‘The police are here now, sir,’ Matt called up to the man at the window.

  ‘Thank God!’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘The water’s reached upstairs now.’

  ‘We ought to row back to shore,’ I said. ‘They’re telling everyone to get to high ground. Look at the bridge!’

  The small group of spectators on the Crickle Bridge – what we could still see of it, above the water – were now clinging to the parapet and looked like they wouldn’t be able to wait much longer for their own rescue. Sure enough, the voice came through the loudspeaker again now:

  ‘People on the bridge – stay where you are, another boat is on its way. I repeat, stay where you are. Do not attempt to swim through the floodwater!’

  ‘Can we help?’ Matt shouted as the police dinghy drew level with us.

  ‘You shouldn’t even be out here,’ the nearest officer replied, shining his flashlight at us. ‘But as you are, then yes, put these on—’, he threw two lifejackets across to us, ‘and perhaps you could help to keep our boat steady against the house with yours, while we bring these people out. We’d have been better off with the helicopter, but Crickleford’s not the only town flooded tonight and we’re all struggling with the number of callouts. Do you know how many people are in the building? Is everyone accounted for?’

  The next twenty minutes or so were a precarious nightmare. We were cold and wet, but hung on for grim life to keep both boats steady while the trained officers, with their rescue equipment, helped the elderly couple into lifejackets and out through their window into the boat. Thankfully by now a further boat had turned up to rescue the people on the bridge.

  ‘Thanks for your help,’ one of the officers shouted to us finally when Stan and Madge were seated in the rocking rescue launch. ‘We’ll take this lady and gentleman to safety. I advise you to follow us. A rescue centre’s been set up, higher up in town.’

  We slowly followed them out of the flood, relief beginning to wash over me along with a sudden weariness. Suddenly I heard a familiar sound.

  ‘There’s a cat out here somewhere,’ I said, staring around me with the flashlight. ‘Oh, look, Matt, there it is, in that tree. The poor thing’s terrified!’

  Only the top of the tree was showing above the water, and the cat was clinging to one of the highest branches, yowling its head off. Matt pulled alongside the tree, grabbing hold of a branch to steady the boat while I stood up, wobbling dangerously, and reached up for the cat.

  ‘It’s that big tabby from the farm!’ I exclaimed as I grabbed hold of him and fell back into the boat, his weight nearly overbalancing me.

  ‘The one who bit you? Be careful, then, for God’s sake.’

  ‘But look at him, Matt!’ I laughed. ‘He’s quaking with fear! What a difference from the spiteful thing he normally is!’ I settled the frightened cat on my lap and to my amazement he nuzzled up against me, mewing gently now and hiding his head under my arm. ‘All right, you daft thing,’ I said, suddenly feeling sorry for him despite everything. Perhaps he just wasn’t a very happy boy. Maybe the farmer was too busy to show him any affection and just left him to his own devices, roaming around town upsetting people. Even in the animal world, I guessed bullies were mostly just unloved and unhappy.

  By now we’d arrived at the part of the river where the banks were steeper, and the ground higher above sea level, as the town spread upwards towards the peak of Castle Hill. Matt must have been exhausted from rowing, but he moored carefully at the side of a footpath leading to the church hall, where the rescue centre had been set up, before helping me out with the tabby cat. There was a round of cheers as we stumbled, dripping water, into the warmth of the hall. It was the early hours of the morning, but it seemed nobody was asleep. Townspeople were out in their dozens to help those of us who’d been caught in the floods. Apparently the story of Matt and I borrowing the little rowing boat to try to help the elderly couple was already spreading like wildfire, to say nothing of the story of the pony’s rescue – and when they saw the big cat I was carrying, who was now clinging to me like we were best friends, they all fell about laughing.

  ‘That’ll learn ’im,’ Pete said. ‘Mebbe he won’t wander so far from home in future!’

  People were handing out blankets and mugs of hot soup, and at the same time patting us on the back and calling us heroes.

  ‘You’ve got your big story now,’ I said to Matt after I’d handed my bedraggled and shivering feline charge over to someone with a towel and a carrying basket, who promised to call his owner. We sat huddled together under a blanket, sipping our soup.

  ‘Yes, I suppose I have. But I’ve realised that’s nowhere near as important to me as you are,’ he said softly, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on my forehead. ‘When I saw you wade off that bridge into the floodwater back there, I nearly had a heart attack. You didn’t stop to think about how dangerous it was.’

  ‘No. Sorry, I suppose it was a bit stupid. But I’m still glad we were able to help.’

  Remembering how the cold water had rushed around my legs, I started to shiver again despite the blanket and the soup.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, taking the mug out of my hands. ‘You’re chilled right through, aren’t you? You’re coming home with me. You can call Lauren on the way, to let her know you’re safe. Will she pick the little dog up?’

  Trixie, who’d been brought to the rescue centre on the first boat, had rushed over to bark around my legs as soon as she’d spotted us and was now desperately trying to climb onto my lap.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure she will. Holly will love that!’ I smiled. ‘But why are we going back to your flat?’

  ‘We’re not. We’re going to Bilberry Cottage,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s about time I started calling it home.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Before I could even register my surprise, Matt had grasped my hand and we stumbled, both of us half asleep on our feet, the short distance to Moor View Lane.

  ‘Is the cottage finished now, then?’ I asked as we turned into the lane. ‘Ready for you to move in?’

  ‘It’s been pretty much finished for a while,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve just been … too pathetic to move in, on my own. With the memories. My grandparents …’

  ‘I understand,’ I murmured. ‘If you’d rather I didn’t—’

  ‘No. You’re coming in,’ he said firmly. He opened the cottage gate, and then the front door for me. ‘Come on, princess. Your palace awaits.’

  I giggled. I was almost too exhausted to put one foot in front of the other, but nothing could diminish the thrill I was feeling at finally walking into my dream cottage. Matt switched on the light, and the cosy welcome of the cream-painted little hallway made me feel like I was
settling into a soft, snugly duvet.

  ‘Get out of those wet clothes,’ he told me, steering me towards a pretty blue and white bathroom. ‘Have a hot shower. There are towels in the airing cupboard, and I’ll get you one of my jumpers and a pair of joggers. They might be a bit big,’ he added with a grin. ‘You see – I’ve even brought half my stuff round here, but I’ve still been putting off moving in.’

  I didn’t need telling twice about the shower. The relief of finally feeling warm and dry was wonderful. When I came out of the bathroom, Matt had changed into dry clothes too and was in the lounge, where a wood fire was now burning and candles had been arranged on every available surface.

  ‘Sit here,’ he said, urging me towards a cream sofa piled with cushions in different shades of red. I leant back and drank in my surroundings – the timbered ceiling, the oak-clad fireplace, the wooden floor scattered with thick cream and red rugs, the heavy deep crimson curtains – while Matt went around the room lighting all the candles.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I breathed. ‘It’s just … just exactly how I’d have done it myself.’ How I’d imagined it, in fact, when I’d dreamed so often of living here. But I couldn’t tell him that. It had been Matt’s beloved grandparents’ cottage, and although I knew he must still be finding it hard to live with the memories, it was his home, not mine.

  He was in the corner of the room now, taking a bottle out of a cabinet and pouring two large glasses of red wine. He pressed a button on a controller and the room filled with soft music.

  ‘This’ll help you sleep,’ he said, handing me one of the glasses of wine and sitting down next to me with the other. ‘I’ve put a hot-water bottle in the bed for you. The main bedroom’s at the back of the house – it overlooks the moor.’ Just as I’d imagined, I thought with a sigh. ‘It’s as quiet as the grave here, so you won’t be disturbed. You can sleep till midday if you like.’

  ‘But what about you?’ I blinked at him, wondering sleepily if he intended to share the bed with me, and if he did, whether I’d be able to stay awake long enough to enjoy it! ‘You must be tired too,’ I added.

  ‘I’ll sleep down here on the sofa. I haven’t furnished the spare bedroom yet.’

  ‘OK.’ I couldn’t rouse myself to argue – the warm bed in the quiet bedroom sounded so good.

  He moved closer to me and put his arm around me. He was warm now, and smelt of coconut shampoo. I took a gulp of my wine and rested my head on his shoulder.

  ‘You’ve been so good to me,’ I muttered. ‘If you knew what a terrible person I really was, you wouldn’t—’

  ‘Shush,’ he said, laughing. ‘You’re not terrible, are you, just for living the high life in New York? Besides, you’ve said yourself, you’re not that person any more.’

  ‘But …’ I sighed, ‘if you knew what I did, when I walked out on Shane … why the press were so desperate to hear my side of the story …’

  He looked sadly into my eyes. ‘Did he treat you badly?’

  I nodded. I didn’t really want to go into it, but surely I owed him more of an explanation.

  ‘Not at first, of course. But when he got really famous, and all the girls were after him, the most beautiful girls on the New York scene throwing themselves at him – well, you can imagine. He lost interest in me. I knew there were other girls, of course—’

  ‘He must have been mad,’ Matt whispered.

  I shrugged. ‘But finding out he was sleeping with my so-called best friend was really hurtful. I should’ve left him then, but, stupidly, I still hung on.’

  ‘Not much of a best friend, was she.’

  ‘No. Ezmerelda bloody Jewell – everyone’s favourite top model. I just call her The Bitch now, though,’ I added with a faint grin.

  Matt whistled. ‘No wonder the paparazzi want your story.’

  ‘Yes. Well, like I say, I didn’t behave very well when I finally ended it.’ I took a deep breath. Could I do this now? Finally share it with someone – the dreadful memory, to say nothing of the shame? ‘I found him in bed – in our bed – and not just with Ezmerelda, despite him having promised me he wasn’t seeing her any more. No, they were having a threesome. The other woman was another model. A really stuck-up cow who’d never liked me.’

  I swallowed, closed my eyes, trying to dispel the image, burnt onto my brain, of the three of them, naked, looking back at me as I stood in our bedroom doorway staring at them in horror. Shane and Ezmerelda at least managed to look slightly guilty. Ezmerelda grabbed a sheet and tried to cover herself. Shane started babbling about it not being what it looked like – as if it could have been anything else. But she, the other one, Gloriana Glee, who’d always looked down her nose at me and was now getting slowly off the bed, flaunting her perfect naked body as she shimmied brazenly across the room to me – she was sneering at me.

  ‘Thanks for the loan of your boyfriend, darling,’ she drooled, trailing a finger down my arm. ‘Hope we haven’t messed up the bed too much. Oh – and you might need to buy some more of this.’ She picked up an empty bottle from my dressing table and showed it to me. ‘I seem to have used it all up.’

  It was my favourite perfume. Candice. Yes, I’d even named myself after it. The stupid thing was that it wasn’t a particularly expensive brand, but a small bottle of that perfume was the first birthday present Shane had ever bought me, back in the days when we had nothing. Nothing but each other. The fact that this … this nasty, gloating, tramp … had used it, stolen it, from my dressing table before getting into my bed with my Shane, suddenly galvanised me into the kind of action I’d never before imagined myself capable of. Screaming abuse at her, I grabbed her by the hair and, taking her by surprise, threw her back onto the bed. She’d existed on a diet of rocket and quinoa for so long, she couldn’t have weighed more than seven stone.

  ‘Oh! You bitch!’ she bleated at me.

  Bitch? Me? Huh! If they wanted to see bitchiness, I’d show them some. For a start, she was mistaken if she thought I’d only have one bottle of my favourite perfume. I opened my dressing table drawer, took out two more and marched over to the bed.

  ‘Like my perfume, do you?’ I yelled at her. ‘Well, have some more!’

  I whipped the top off the first bottle and tipped it straight over her stupid head. As she screamed and covered her eyes, I repeated the process with Ezmerelda. Ignoring their yells, pleas and frantic scrambling to get off the bed and away from me, I turned back to the dressing table and grabbed everything I could get my hands on.

  ‘Need to brush your hair after all that activity? Here you go!’ – I threw a heavy onyx hairbrush at Gloriana’s head. She ducked, it hit Ezmerelda square on the shoulder and I screeched with maniacal laughter.

  ‘Want to borrow some of my make-up, as well as my boyfriend – my fiancé actually, not that you’d care? OK, be my guest.’ The heavy cosmetics bag caught Gloriana full in the face and she gasped and fell back on the bed again.

  ‘Oh dear, do you want some nice cold cream to stop that stinging?’ – the jar hit its target with a satisfying thud and, as the girls both squealed and ducked and tripped over their knickers in their haste to dress, I squirted them with moisturiser, emptied hand cream over them, threw bottles of hair spray and tubes of gel, combs, nail varnish and even a mirror, until there was almost nothing left on the dressing table.

  ‘And as for you,’ I said, finally turning to Shane and laughing at the stunned expression on his face, ‘you might as well have this back.’ I pulled off my engagement ring and chucked it at him. ‘And why not have all this jewellery you’ve lavished on me over the years. Give it to your trollops! I don’t want it! I don’t want YOU!’ It took both hands for me to heave my jewellery box across the room. Shane didn’t move fast enough, and although he shielded his face, he yelled in pain as the box made contact with his hands. It’d probably be a while before he picked up a guitar again. Shame.

  ‘So now you know why the press really want to talk to me,’ I finished. Matt had
turned away. I wondered if he was disgusted with me. ‘I suppose I’m lucky it’s just the press, and not the police.’

  To my surprise, there was a muffled snort in response. He looked back at me, his hand over his mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been trying not to laugh. Come on, Emma, it’s hilarious! So you might have hurt them a bit. Well, good for you! They deserved it! You came out of that situation with your head held high—’

  ‘Actually, no. I crept out with my tail between my legs and nothing but my Hermès handbag, my passport and phone, and the clothes I stood up in,’ I corrected him. ‘And I sold the bag when I realised I had nothing else.’ But I was smiling now. ‘Aren’t you shocked?’

  ‘Not in the slightest. If anything, I love you even more for it.’

  Love? He’d said the ‘L’ word, and didn’t even flinch and correct himself? Still, I supposed people loved their friends, didn’t they. There were different types of love. People loved their dogs, too, and their cats and rabbits, and hamsters and—

  ‘I said I love you, Emma Nightingale,’ he repeated, softly, stopping me in my litany of animals and making me stare at him in amazement. ‘In case you didn’t hear me.’ And, drawing my face towards his, he began to kiss me. I felt myself melting. The warmth of the fire, the flickering light of the candles and the glow inside me from the red wine, were combining with the rush of pleasure from feeling Matt’s arms around me and his lips on mine. Aerosmith were singing their hearts out in the background about not wanting to fall asleep, not wanting to miss a thing and suddenly the words seemed to be my words, saying exactly how I felt about this moment.

  ‘Don’t sleep down here on the sofa, Matt,’ I whispered when we paused for breath. ‘I don’t want to be on my own upstairs. I’m not even tired any more.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ he whispered back.

  In response I got to my feet, pulling him up with me. He enveloped me in his arms again and this time when our lips met it was with a fiercer passion. He began to lead me out of the lounge, still kissing me, both of us stumbling in our haste, and our unwillingness to let go of each other.