‘Come, boy,’ Alan said and, clicking his fingers, led an adoring Hamish to the back of Guy’s car. The man failed to meet Guy’s eyes. Hamish jumped in, sat down and curled his tail around him.
Not only had Alan whipped Helmshill Grange into shape, but he’d done the same thing with Hamish. Guy eyed the dog warily. Long may it last.
Before he slipped into the driver’s seat, Alan flicked a thumb towards the field behind them where Daphne, Doris and Delila chewed contentedly at the grass. ‘One of them old ewe’s with lamb.’
‘No way,’ Guy said.
Alan shrugged. ‘Want a look?’
The vet nodded and strode back towards the field. Alan caught hold of Delila – always the more racy of the three – and Guy bent to feel her abdomen. Sure enough, it was swollen. ‘She’s quite a way on,’ Guy said. ‘Must have had a romantic interlude just before she arrived here.’
Mr Steadman nodded in agreement. ‘I’d say so.’
‘Well, well,’ Guy said. ‘Miracles do happen.’ He only hoped that he could work another one and persuade Amy not to go back to London.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
The children are aghast. I kick the pile of post away from the door and take the letting agent’s key from the lock. He’s currently sitting downstairs in his car taking a call on his mobile phone, so we’ve been sent up here alone. Just as well, probably.
‘This isn’t so bad, is it?’ I say.
‘We can’t live here, Mummy.’ Jessica’s face does look horrified. Even more horrified than when we first viewed Helmshill Grange. ‘Where would Hamish go?’
Where indeed?
We ease warily into the flat and all take in the pink paisley wallpaper in the living room – I’m sure my parents had this in their hall in the 1970s – and the orange swirly carpet. Not good. Clearly, Linda Barker hasn’t been here with her colour swatch recently. It might not look so bad if the paper wasn’t peeling off the walls and the carpet didn’t have the dirt from a thousand feet trodden into it. Down the hall in the bathroom, the plastic avocado suite is so bad that it makes me long for the ancient, chipped, clawfoot bath at Helmshill.
‘Yuck,’ Jessica pronounces.
Yuck just about sums it up.
To be fair, the rooms are a good size. But that’s where the compliments stop. The rent is astronomical and the area is nowhere near as nice as where we used to live. I can’t believe that I’ll have to pay so much to get so little. My heart sinks. How does anyone afford to rent in London unless they live ten to a room?
The flat is in an enormous block and, to be honest, the public areas don’t look like they’re that well maintained either. The lift isn’t working and half of the lightbulbs are out on the dingy stairs. It might only be a temporary measure, but we’d be committed to a six-month lease and would I really want the kids to be here over the winter months with the dark nights? The answer is a resounding no. I’d be terrified every time they stepped out of the door. What about when I start my job – how will I manage my childcare arrangements so that I know they’re well looked after when I’m not here? I give my fingernail an anxious gnaw.
Only Milly Molly Mandy would like it here as in the grubby kitchen there is plenty of evidence of rodent activity. The cat would be in seventh heaven.
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘We’ve got plenty more to look at. I’m sure we’ll find the right one.’
Tom says nothing, but he’s gone very pale.
We trail back downstairs before the letting agent has finished his call. ‘Like it?’ he says as we approach.
‘Not a lot,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s hope the next one’s better.’
‘It’s very difficult when you’re on a budget,’ he says.
What he means is a meagre budget and I know that I’ll have to cut my cloth accordingly, but neither will I live in squalor. Helmshill Grange might have a lived-in charm, but it doesn’t need to be on the condemned list. Did I really just say that?
We’ve now seen five equally hideous flats. It’s late afternoon, pitch dark, cold, and Jessica is just starting to get whiney because she’s hungry. I’m feeling pretty whiney myself. Then, when I think I can bear no more of this torture, we pull up outside Lancaster Court. It’s an uninspiring block of ex-council flats, but it’s in a nice area not far from our old house and the place has obviously had a bit of a face-lift recently as there are new double-glazed window units in each flat and the door of the communal entrance is freshly-painted.
Despite these small uplifting details we still climb out of the agent’s car wearily. I don’t know why he didn’t bring us here first as this seems to be the most suitable. Probably because as well as being the most suitable, it’s also the most expensive on his short list. We troop behind him into the hall that, too, has had a new coat of suitably inoffensive paint. The agent opens the door of a ground-floor apartment and we follow him inside.
‘Wow,’ I say. To be honest, this may be too strong an exclamation, but this late in the day and having viewed too many skanky flats, number 3 Lancaster Court has definite possibilities. Like the outside of the building, the inside has recently been freshened up. It still isn’t anything to write home about, but it’s a long way from being hideous. It’s not damp, it’s not mouse-infested, it’s not in an area where I’d think my children – and me, for that matter – would be mugged for their mobile phones. Will would hate to think of me and the kids squashed in here, but I can’t think of that right now. I have to cut my cloth accordingly.
Is it within our budget? Of course not. But it’s not too way out of it either.
‘This will just be temporary, until Mummy’s working properly again. But do you think that we could live here?’ I ask the kids.
‘Yes,’ Jessica agrees readily. I think she’s so desperate to stop viewing flats and get to the sanctuary of Serena’s splendid apartment that she’s forgotten that she doesn’t want to move from Yorkshire at all. ‘Hamish would like it here.’
‘He’d love it,’ I assure her. ‘There’s a little park just across the road where we could walk him.’
‘Ah,’ the agent says. ‘One slight snag with that. The landlord doesn’t allow pets – other than goldfish.’
I can see that Hamish would be considerably more trouble than a goldfish. Damn. I want this place. It’s the only flat we’ve seen that’s even remotely suitable for our pocket. What am I to do?
‘Go and choose which bedroom you think you’d like,’ I say to the children, and Jessica – always the wily one – skips off to bags the best one. Tom shuffles his feet along the shiny laminate floor in her wake. My son is worryingly quiet.
When the children are safely out of earshot, I lower my voice and say conspiratorially, ‘I’m not actually planning on bringing our dog here. But my children don’t know this yet. I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention it.’
‘Ah,’ he says, tapping the side of his nose. ‘Mum’s the word.’
Mum’s the bitch, I think, feeling dreadful at my deceit. Despite that, I ask, ‘Where do I sign?’
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Guy pulled into Cadugan’s yard and was met by their efficient nineteen-year-old stable girl, Jade. She flushed as he got out of the car to greet her as she always did, which Guy thought might mean that she had a crush on him. Cheryl would know if it was that or if she was just a shy teenager. If she wasn’t less than half his age, he could have been interested. She was certainly a fine-looking girl. Hamish clearly thought so too, and the minute he was out of the Range Rover, he charged at her, drowning the poor thing in slobber and canine affection. So much for Alan’s calming influence. The effect seemed to disappear the minute the saintly Mr Steadman was out of view.
The wind whipped over the moors, scudding the clouds across the blue sky. Jade brushed the hair from her eyes and tried to retie it with a scrunchy. In doing so, she dropped the scrap of pink material on the floor whereupon Hamish paid her the ultimate compliment of eating it.
‘I�
��m sorry,’ Guy said. ‘Let me give you the money to get another one.’
‘No, no.’ Jade tried a laugh. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m afraid he’s a bit boisterous.’ In other words, completely out of control. ‘I’m on a tight schedule today. Want to take me up to see the horse and I’ll get on with the job.’
They walked together through the yard to the far end and then into the tidy stables where Cadugan’s fine range of horses were housed. Guy knew them all by name now and he patted the ones who had their noses stuck over the stable doors, murmuring low greetings as he went.
They stopped at the last stall. ‘This is Ladies’ Knight,’ Jade said. She stroked the horses. ‘You’re a good lad, aren’t you?’
In the stall, a fine young stallion stood, pawing the ground nervously. He was a year old and rich chestnut in colour.
‘He’s a fine creature,’ Guy agreed. He patted the horse, letting it get to know him. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said. Then Guy washed his hands under the nearby cold tap and dried them off, before sedating the horse with a hefty belt of anaesthetic straight into his jugular vein. It was wicked stuff which immobilised the standing horse enough for it to be operated on. A few drops of the drug would be enough to knock a man out permanently – and that was why Guy always had to carry an antidote to the powerful sedative in his visits bag, in case there was ever an accident and he somehow managed to inject himself.
Then it was time to wash and disinfect the gelding’s scrotum, never his favourite job. Not surprisingly, a skittish horse could still kick out now and do Guy’s own goolies a severe mischief.
Jade held the other end of Ladies’ Knight and cooed soothingly at him to calm him down. Guy gave the horse a local anaesthetic and then made a bold incision through the skin to each testicle. It was times like this when he wondered why he hadn’t become an accountant or a lawyer. What sane person would want to spend their days up to their elbows in horses’ knackers? There had to be better ways to earn a living.
He then removed the testicles with an instrument that was, quite rightly to his mind, called an emasculator. For some reason, Guy always gave a sympathetic wince as he clamped down. It seemed a shame that Ladies’ Knight’s stud days were over before they’d even started. The testicles were thrown in a bucket for disposal. He gave the horse a pat on the rump for being well behaved. ‘Brave lad,’ he said.
Even after all these years, it made Guy shudder to geld a horse. There was no way that he’d ever be able to consider a vasectomy.
‘It’s down to you now, Jade,’ Guy said as he finished up. ‘The wound needs to be kept clean for the next ten days. Get Mr Cadugan to give me a call if there are any problems.’
‘Right, Vet.’
‘Come on, Hamish.’ He whistled to the dog who was messing around by the bucket of testicles. ‘Come away.’
He opened the back door of the Range Rover and Hamish hopped in.
‘Dog looks a bit wobbly on his back legs,’ Jade noted.
Guy shook his head. ‘This animal is always up to some sort of trouble.’ He got into the car. ‘See you next time, Jade.’
She waved him away and Guy set off winding through the narrow lanes back towards Scarsby and his afternoon surgery. He turned the radio up and whistled tunelessly along as he drove. It was a fine day. No rain. Blue skies. Air cold and crisp. ‘What a day, boy, eh?’
He might have expected that to elicit a bark from Hamish, but there was no response. Guy flicked a look in his rearview mirror. All he could see was Hamish’s four legs sticking up rigidly in the air. From all his years of veterinary experience, he could tell immediately that was not a good thing.
Guy pulled up sharply at the side of the road and sprinted to the boot of the car, grabbing his visits bag. He yanked open the back door. Hamish was still immobilised, legs akimbo, eyes glazed, tongue lolling. It looked as if he’d had some kind of seizure. Guy’s phone rang. Bad, bad timing. He was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but you never knew what might be urgent in this game. ‘Guy Burton,’ he snapped as he answered.
‘It’s Jade,’ the girl on the other end of the line said. ‘Ladies’ Knight’s testicles have gone from the bucket.’
So that was what was wrong with Hamish. He must have scoffed the horse’s testicles, and the anaesthetic in them had been enough to knock him out. Good Lord, Hamish could have eaten enough for it to prove fatal. ‘Thanks, Jade. You’re a lifesaver.’
Without further hesitation, Guy loaded a syringe with the antidote and injected Hamish. Minutes later, Hamish gave a slurred bark and gazed drunkenly at him.
Guy sighed with relief. ‘That was a close call, Doggers. Don’t ever do that to me again.’ The dog turned and nuzzled his muzzle into the vet’s hand. ‘You are a walking disaster, Hamish. Did anyone ever tell you that?’
Hamish woofed happily, still sounding inebriated.
Guy had never wanted a brandy so badly. How could he have forgiven himself if anything had happened to Hamish? That would have been a great way to woo a woman, to kill her dog. Even Cheryl wouldn’t believe that one as a courtship move.
Chapter Seventy
Serena has moved into her spare bedroom for the night to accommodate us en famille. There’s a single inflatable mattress on the floor which she’s currently blowing up with the help of her Nicky Clarke hairdryer. The room is cramped, with her state-of-the art and incredibly expensive vibro-gym taking up most of the space.
My sister has kindly vacated her double bed so that Tom, Jessica and myself can all squeeze into it. Already it’s clear that we couldn’t stay here for more than a night or two. It’s too much of an inconvenience for her. This is an apartment definitely designed for solo living. We’ll have to go straight from Helmshill Grange to our new flat whether we want to or not.
‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’ Serena whispers to me while I busy myself putting a clean pillowcase on her pillow.
I check that the children are still riveted to her 42-inch plasma television and Wii. They are. ‘It’s not exactly salubrious,’ I tell her, lowering my own voice too, ‘but it’s not that bad either. It will get us back to London.’
‘And that’s still what you want?’
I look up. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I just thought the country life might be suiting you. You don’t look too bad on it.’
I’m not exactly sporting rosy red cheeks as plump as apples, but perhaps I’m not looking quite as gaunt as I did after Will died. Whether the country air suits me or not, needs must. ‘I have to work, Serena. This is the only offer of a job I’ve had. I’ve drawn a big fat nada round Helmshill. Jobs are few and far between even in Scarsby, unless I want to become a waitress in Poppy’s Tea Room.’
‘There are worse career moves.’
Folding my arms over the pillow, I say, ‘This isn’t like you. I thought you wanted me back here in the land of the living. I thought you’d be eager to push me up the corporate ladder again.’
‘It’s not all about work, is it?’ she replies with an uncharacteristic lack of ambition. ‘Look at this place. It’s a shoebox – a nice shoebox – but the majority of my income goes in keeping its tiny roof above my head. That’s madness. Isn’t quality of life more important?’
‘Now you’re sounding like Will.’
Serena flops down onto the bed. ‘Perhaps he had a point. I’m in the office at six in the morning, rarely home before eight – except when my sis is visiting – and what do I get for it? Sod all.’
‘Apart from an enormous salary.’
‘There are only so many pairs of shoes that I can buy, Amy.’
Going over to the vast expanse of picture window, I stare out. There’s nothing but concrete, steel and glass. It’s an attractive manmade landscape, but it can’t compete with the Yorkshire Moors. Even I can see that. I can’t spot a blade of grass or a plant anywhere. Despite the double-glazing, I can hear the hum of the traffic a do
zen floors below us, punctuated by the occasional irate and blaring horn. How different it all seems to the peace and quiet of Helmshill. This, that was so familiar to me, now seems so alien. I shake my head, clearing it of the thought.
‘I can’t back out now,’ I tell her as I turn away from the window, ‘even if I wanted to. The house has been sold. I can’t let the Gerner-Bernards down. I hate people who do that. Plus I’ve just signed a six-month lease on the flat, starting from the end of January.’ I’ve even given the letting agent a hefty deposit to secure it as he assured me that the ‘desirable’ Lancaster Court apartment wouldn’t stay on the market for long. Of course, I bought right into his spiel. Nothing on earth could have persuaded me to spend another depressing day looking at over-priced dumps. I deftly skipped over the clause that stated in bold letters NO PETS ALLOWED. ‘We’ll have Christmas at Helmshill Grange and then we’re out of there in the New Year. I’m sure this is the best thing to do for the children.’
My sister looks unconvinced and that unnerves me. ‘And what about Guy?’
I shrug. ‘What about him?’
‘One thing I’ve learned from my extensive loveless years on this earth is that good men are hard to find.’
‘I thought the phrase was “hard men are good to find”?’
‘That too,’ Serena grins. She secures the valve on her blow-up bed and winds the flex round her hairdryer. ‘I’m being serious here. You like him. He likes you. Maybe more.’
I hold up a hand. ‘It’s way, way too soon.’
‘It’s too soon now,’ she agrees. ‘What I don’t want is you turning around in five years’ time and thinking it’s too late.’
‘I’m dreading telling him,’ I admit. ‘I don’t know why that is.’
‘You’re my sister,’ she says, ‘and I love you. But sometimes you can be very thick.’
‘Guy will understand why I’m doing this. I’m sure he will. We both have to do what’s right for now and not think about what might or might not happen in the future.’
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