Rachel's Coming Home

by Gillian Villiers

  The final straw was when Charlie McArthur called round on the Sunday, ostensibly to check on the dogs who had been in the kennels during the floods.

  ‘They’re all absolutely fine, you did exactly the right thing,’ he said approvingly to the Collingtons, having done his round.

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ said John. ‘We did our best, but you’re never sure, are you? And most people have been very understanding, but one or two we couldn’t get hold of on the phone so I just hope they haven’t been worrying.’

  ‘Most people trust you implicitly to look after their dogs,’ said Rachel. ‘After all, there has only been one owner with anything to complain about since the kennels opened.’ She glanced meaningfully at Philip and he felt hurt. It had been worrying for him when Ben had been injured. He didn’t feel he had over-reacted but he suspected she did.

  ‘It’s so good of you to come out,’ she said, smiling now at Charlie. She seemed perfectly happy to accept help from him.

  ‘I wanted to see how you were,’ said the vet, smiling warmly back. That was enough for Philip. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself. He and Amelia left very soon after.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Anthony. It was ten days or so since the flood and things were slowly getting back to a sort of normality.

  He and Rachel were unloading sacks of dog food from the car and he had paused at the door of the store room.

  ‘What kind of idea?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘Come in here for a minute and I’ll tell you.’ He had lowered his voice to a whisper and waited till she was inside the tiny room before he spoke again. ‘You know it’s Dad’s sixtieth birthday soon?’

  ‘Yes, in three weeks’ time.’

  ‘Well, I thought, why don’t we have a party for him? Things have been a bit grim recently and I thought a party would really cheer us all up.’

  Rachel stared at her brother in amazement. ‘That’s a really good idea.’

  ‘You don’t need to sound so surprised,’ said Anthony.

  ‘Well, I am. What on earth made you think of it?’

  ‘Actually, it was something that happened at work. The main restaurant was taken over for a sixtieth birthday party last night. It had been arranged as a secret and you could tell the guy they had done it for was really chuffed. It made me think.’

  ‘It’s an excellent idea,’ said Rachel, grinning broadly. ‘I wonder if we should do it as a surprise or not? We’ll have to ask Mum and see what she thinks. It’ll be fun. You’re a genius. I’ll tell her you thought of it.’

  ‘As long as you do all the organising,’ said Anthony quickly, showing that he hadn’t changed all that much.

  ‘Of course. You don’t need to worry about that. I suppose we’d better go back outside or Dad is going to wonder what on earth’s happened to us.’

  As they made their way back across the yard, which still looked rather bare from the scouring water, Anthony cleared his throat and said, ‘By the way …’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘I went round to see Rupert Randall yesterday.’

  Rachel swung round to stare at him. ‘You did? But I thought you were dead against him. I even phoned and explained to him I’d got the wrong end of the stick …’

  ‘You hadn’t, really,’ said Anthony apologetically. ‘I just felt you were interfering.’

  ‘I suppose I was.’

  ‘Well, anyway,’ said Anthony, shrugging off that topic. ‘I thought I’d go and see him. He’s a really genuine guy. And it doesn’t seem impossible for me to spend some time with him and still do this hotel job. I’m going to go round on Monday and we’ll see.’

  ‘That’s great.’

  ‘Yeah. Just thought I’d tell you.’

  Anthony ambled off and Rachel was left staring after him. There was no doubt about it, her little brother was growing up at last.

  Rachel waited for a chance to discuss Anthony’s idea of a birthday party with her mother, but every time she was in the house her father seemed to be there too. The insurance company’s assessors had been to view the flood damage and now they were in the ‘drying out’ stage before they could think of putting everything back to rights. Her father was doing what he could to make the kitchen usable, meantime.

  ‘It could have been worse,’ said her mother, one of her favourite expressions. They had paused for a cup of tea mid-afternoon. ‘Your father’s idea of using the flagstones in here and the hall and conservatory has meant these floors are virtually unscathed.’

  ‘Pity about the skirtings and the lower parts of the walls,’ said Rachel. ‘They’ll definitely need replacing.’

  ‘But with the Aga being set on its plinth, that too has come through very well,’ said her mother. ‘And now the electricity is back on I’m going to get a replacement fridge. We’ll be able to function very nicely.’

  ‘It’s a shame about that other fridge, it was nearly new wasn’t it?’ Rachel sighed. There was still so much to do. Despite her parents’ optimism she worried they wouldn’t have it all back to normal before winter.

  ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to put up with all this,’ said her mother. ‘Not at all what you expected when you came back home.’

  ‘I don’t mind for me,’ protested Rachel quickly. ‘It’s just such a shame, after all your hard work.’

  ‘These things happen,’ said her father. ‘We were just unlucky. Highest August rainfall in a century, or so they say. And all in the last week.’

  Rachel suddenly recalled the digger she had seen high up on Freddy Smith’s land. She couldn’t help wondering if any work he had done there had added to their problems. She had meant to go back up and have a look for herself. In the meantime, she didn’t like to mention it to her parents.

  ‘Philip hasn’t been round for a few days,’ said her mother, watching Rachel’s face. ‘He was a great help at the beginning. I hope he doesn’t think we were taking advantage, using his house for showers and so on.’

  ‘He offered,’ said Rachel, but she too was wondering what had caused this silence. They had seemed to be getting on so well. Maybe he was just moody. If so, they were better off without him. She was sure that was the right opinion. She just wished she didn’t think about him quite so much.

  ‘Wonderful place he’s got there,’ said her father. ‘I bet it’s got a fascinating history of its own.’ He grinned. He had clearly enjoyed the chats he had had with Philip, who’d seemed to prefer his company to anyone else in the family’s. ‘If he can’t find out, no one can. Quite an impressive young man.’

  ‘You haven’t heard anything from him?’ Maggie asked her daughter.

  ‘No I haven’t.’ Then Rachel realised she might have been a little abrupt. ‘No reason why I should have, of course. He’s probably busy catching up with work on his book, after spending all that time here.’

  Her mother nodded in a way that made Rachel worry. She was quite pleased when her father went out to walk some dogs and she could change the subject to the possible birthday party. Her mother thought the idea was brilliant and Rachel made sure they kept the conversation on that for the rest of the afternoon.

  ‘Are we going to go and see Rachel today?’ asked Amelia. She had been asking the same question for days.

  Philip sighed. He would love to go and see Rachel too, but he didn’t know whether she would be pleased to see them. She had been punctilious about thanking him for all his help after the flood, but her gratitude towards Charlie McArthur had been far warmer. And the longer he left it before getting in touch, the more awkward he feared it would be.

  ‘I want to go and see Rachel,’ said Amelia. She clearly wasn’t going to give up.

  ‘Maybe we’ll go over later on, see how they’re doing.’ Philip wanted to go too, if he could have been sure of his reception.

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘But this morning we’re going to go shopping. Remember we were going to choose something for you to take back as a present for you mother?’
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  ‘Yes.’ Amelia gave a little skip of pleasure. She was a different child from the one who had arrived all those weeks ago. ‘I want to get her something really nice.’

  They went to Moffat rather than Boroughbie. It was a touristy town with plenty of gift shops for Amelia to browse in. It also meant a drive past Collington Kennels, so provided the ideal excuse for dropping in on their way home.

  Philip was starting to get used to the local way of doing things. The slower pace of life, the way you had to have a little chat in every shop. Even in the massive Woollen Mill centre, which specialised in Scottish knitwear, the staff were happy to stop and talk.

  ‘Terrible weather it’s been, hasn’t it?’ said one little round woman. It was quite a common opening gambit. ‘Are you here on holiday? I hope you’ve seen some sunshine.’

  ‘I’m on holiday,’ said Amelia, her voice still soft but no longer so shy. ‘I’m going home soon and I’m going to buy a present for my mummy.’

  ‘Your daughter?’ said the woman to Philip, smiling fondly at the child. He had to admit she was a pretty little thing.

  ‘Niece,’ he said. ‘She’s been staying for the school holidays. The weather’s been mixed, it started off lovely but the last couple of weeks haven’t been so good.’

  A middle-aged couple nearby joined in the conversation. ‘It’s been wet here, has it? We’ve just got back from the Canaries and we didn’t see a drop of rain the whole fortnight.’

  ‘Very wet,’ said the shop assistant. ‘I hear there were even floods over Boroughbie way.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Philip, pleased for once to have some bit of local knowledge. ‘The Collington Boarding Kennels had a bad time of it, water from the burn behind them flooded right through the place.’

  ‘Collington Kennels?’ asked the wife of the couple, looking horrified.

  ‘Yes, the ones on the road between here and Boroughbie. The family managed very well, considering.’

  ‘They said the water was up to here,’ said Amelia, wide eyed, showing a height almost at her thigh.

  ‘Well, maybe not quite that deep,’ said Philip quickly, wondering why the couple looked so concerned. ‘Anyway, young lady, have you made a decision yet? The cashmere scarf or the brooch, what’s it to be?’

  The couple hurried away and the shop assistant reluctantly turned from the fascinating topic of the weather to helping the child with her purchases.

  When Philip and Amelia returned to the car park they found a crowd of people around one of the cars. As they neared, Philip realised with a sinking heart it was his Freelander. He was rather proud of this vehicle, the first he had every purchased new, and he hurried over.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he demanded. A solidly-built, dark-haired man, a couple of teenagers and what looked like half a coach-party turned as he approached.

  ‘This your car?’ said the man.

  ‘Yes, it is. I …’ Then Philip saw the damage. Someone had driven into the rear off side. Even with the hefty bumper of the Freelander, the damage was severe. All the lights were broken and the bodywork buckled. ‘Who did this? What on earth’s happened?’

  ‘It wasnae us,’ said one of the youths quickly.

  ‘It was a white pickup,’ said the dark-haired man. ‘Luckily I was just getting out of my own car and saw the whole thing. I shouted at him to stop but he ignored me. He was reversing too fast out of that space there, see. He must have known he’d hit something but he just drove off.’

  ‘Terrible,’ said one of the coach party. ‘Don’t know what the world is coming to.’

  Philip could feel himself shaking with anger. ‘This is going to cost a fortune, not to mention the inconvenience. And I suppose I’ll have to claim against my own insurance if we don’t know who did it.’

  ‘Ah, but we do,’ said the dark-haired man. ‘I took a note of his number. I don’t like to see people getting away with something like that.’ He handed over a scrap of paper on which he had scribbled the registration.

  ‘Quick thinking, son,’ said someone. ‘Well done.’

  ‘You’ll probably need to get the police involved,’ advised another of the coach party. ‘Report it to them, they can trace the van for you.’

  ‘We’ll be witnesses,’ said the youths, showing bravado now. ‘We saw it all, didn’t we?’

  The coach party began to drift away and Philip used his mobile to call the police. Then he took down the names of the two youths and the very helpful dark-haired man. He was an outdoor type who identified himself as, ‘Freddy Smith, Inshie Heights Farm.’ The name rang a bell with Philip but he didn’t have time to think about that now.

  ‘You’ve been really helpful,’ he said, shaking the man’s hand. ‘I can’t thank you enough. If you hadn’t taken down the number that driver would have got away with it.’

  ‘Don’t like to see people breaking the law,’ said the man in the same abrupt tones. ‘Too many people try it on, littering, building without permission, I don’t know what. It’s our responsibility to see these things don’t happen.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Philip, thinking guiltily that he was probably the sort of person who would have turned a blind eye. He wouldn’t have wanted to waste his time. It was bad enough waiting for the police when his own vehicle was involved, he doubted he would have been prepared to make the effort for someone else. It was a sobering thought.

  It was a good hour later when he and Amelia finally left the town. By this time Philip’s patience had well and truly run out. He hated bureaucracy and was still smarting from the damage to his beautiful car. He supposed he should be relieved it was still driveable.

  ‘Are we going to go and see Rachel?’ asked Amelia as they approached the Collington’s white cottage.

  ‘Not today,’ said Philip. He wasn’t in the mood for being sociable. He had also just remembered where he had heard the name Freddy Smith before. He was the Collington’s neighbour, whom Rachel claimed was thoroughly unpleasant. Philip hadn’t found him unpleasant at all, which only increased his doubts about Rachel. He really didn’t understand her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  To Anthony’s surprise, life seemed to be going OK at the moment. The whole of the last year, which was supposed to have been his fun gap year, he had been dogged by doubts about his proposed university course. Now he had made the decision not to pursue IT studies, he felt free. Rachel was right, if he didn’t want to follow that career, then there was absolutely no point in doing the course.

  At first he had resented Rachel’s presence at home, but he was starting to realise she wasn’t all bad. And also, oddly, that she wasn’t as capable as he had always assumed her to be. She had been really thrown by the flood, more so than their father, who had concentrated on working to solve the problem, or their mother, who had taken her lead from her husband and vowed not to worry. Rachel seemed to think there was something they could have done to avoid the catastrophe, and the water had frightened her more than he would have expected. Funny to think that tough old Rachel could be frightened.

  The only down side to life was that Gemma would soon be going away to Glasgow. She had still refused to go out with him, but she seemed to enjoy his company. With both of them working at the hotel he saw almost as much of her as even he desired. Maybe once she was no longer living at home she would give him a chance? Or maybe she would meet a student as bright and hardworking as herself, with a good career in prospect, and forget all about him? The thought was horrifying.

  He wished she wasn’t quite so excited about the adventure ahead of her.

  ‘I’m going to miss you,’ he said gloomily as she chatted away about her room in the halls of residence.

  ‘You can come and visit. And I’ll come home to see Dad as much as I can; he’ll be lonely without me.’

  Secretly Anthony thought she would be mad to come and spend time with her father who made life so difficult for her now. ‘You’ll make a new life up there, you’ll forget all about us.’


  ‘Rubbish,’ she said, laughing. ‘You see your friend James and others who are away at college, don’t you? I thought you were out with them last night.’

  ‘I was. But that was only because you wouldn’t go out with me.’

  ‘I had to cook Dad’s meal, you know that. Anyway, time to go back in, that’s our coffee break over.’

  They had been sitting on a bench in the back garden of the hotel, glad of a few minutes’ fresh air. Anthony had been delighted that Mrs Mackenzie seemed to be scheduling their breaks to coincide. At least someone was on his side.

  And then, the very next day, he managed to upset Mrs Mackenzie.

  He didn’t mean to. That was the last thing he would have wanted, she had been really cool with him, first of all offering him the job and then not making a big fuss when he made the odd mistake.

  The evening started well enough. It was a Friday and therefore rather busy with a mixture of locals and hotel residents. James and a couple of Anthony’s other friends came in for their first drink of the evening. This wasn’t their normal drinking haunt, but they said they wanted to see how he was getting on. It was a bit embarrassing, having to pull their pints, with them joking he wouldn’t get the head right, but he managed OK. Then Stewart, the older barman, gave them a look, and they took their drinks off to a table and left him in peace.

  ‘You getting on all right?’ asked Stewart.

  ‘Mmm.’ Anthony nodded, unsure if the man was annoyed at the noise his friends had been making. Most of the clientele were middle-aged and frowned at the continuing hoots of laughter from the boys. Anthony wished James hadn’t brought Russell Simpson with him, he was always far too loud.

  ‘You’re doing fine. Can you get some more bottles of dry white from the cellar? We’ve nearly run out. I’ll deal with this lot.’