The Love of a Family

by Rebecca Shaw

  Graham got into bed, exhausted. He’d been right they did have an all-night service and they’d treated that little scrap with such care, he was mightily impressed. If it had been his own grandmother being examined she couldn’t have had better treatment. Under the bright lights at the vet’s, it was obvious even to Graham that one of the puppy’s back legs was strangely twisted into quite the wrong shape. They had decided to give an injection to relieve the pain but to leave X-rays until the morning to give the dog a chance to rest and recuperate.

  Graham was taken aback by the close questioning he received as to how the puppy had ended up with such a damaged leg. Keen to make it clear he had nothing to do with the injury he gave a detailed account of finding the dog.

  ‘The first we knew about it was hearing it yelping and we found him in our back garden in this dreadful state. Our two boys were terribly concerned for him. I decided that because of his obvious pain I’d ring you. I’ll call again in the morning about ten and ask what you’ve decided to do about him. Will that be OK?’

  ‘We might need to ring you before then. Please leave us your mobile number. And your address and of course, your name.’

  Finally he’d been allowed to leave. No doubt they wanted the name and address so they could bill him. They’d checked whether the puppy had a microchip and found he hadn’t so the vets wanted to know who would be paying before they’d proceed. Thinking of of the boys waiting anxiously for news, Graham said he was more than willing to pay. Before he’d left Graham had gently stroked the puppy’s head, but got no response as he was already under the influence of the injection they’d given him.

  Lying in bed trying to get some sleep he remembered how much he and his brother John had wanted a dog when they were boys, and how their longing had been scoffed at by their parents. ‘Absolutely not. We are not having a dog. Blessed smelly nuisances they are, and the expense . . .’ That had been the end of their hopes.

  Myra, the old Myra, certainly wouldn’t have wanted a dog, but maybe the new Myra might be persuaded. He recalled how vulnerable the little dog had looked knocked out by the injection, how badly shaped its back leg was, it needed such a lot of care. His bedroom door quietly opened and there in the soft glow of the night light on the landing he saw it was Myra. He pretended to be asleep – he wasn’t ready for a tirade about why they couldn’t have a dog.

  She brought a coldness to his bed that he had only just warmed but he didn’t complain, aware that this newly revived habit of sharing a room was still delicate and strange to them both. ‘Are you awake?’ she asked.

  Graham didn’t reply.

  ‘I thought you might be thinking about the dog.’ Getting no reply from Graham, she carried on nevertheless as she desperately needed to hear how he stood on the question. ‘I don’t want him, you know. I really don’t. The rabbit, yes I can cope with him because he’s locked up most of the day but you can’t do that to a dog. He’ll need exercise and playing with like dogs do and I know I can’t do that. Think of the mess, the mud, the hair. I honestly couldn’t cope.’ Graham still didn’t respond; she shuffled nearer to him. Foremost in her mind was a picture that wouldn’t go away: Graham tenderly lifting the little dog onto the blanket and wrapping him carefully to make sure he kept warm. ‘Do you want him?’

  Despite herself, Myra found herself beginning to relax into sleep. The heat of Graham’s body was warming her up and it felt comforting and pleasant on this cold winter night. Almost asleep now and genuinely wanting to be close to him, Myra fell asleep with one arm around his waist.

  Graham, silently enjoying the pressure of Myra’s arm around his waist, lay there consumed by the sensation of togetherness. He’d longed for this closeness all the long, futile years of Myra’s pain. He thought about the changes the boys had triggered in both of them. Perhaps having the little dog to care about might be the last piece in the puzzle. He didn’t want to push Myra too far, but maybe she just needed some time to get used to the idea. And he knew how much it would mean to the boys. Oliver and Piers had got used to everyone tiptoeing around them, treating them as if they were damaged – it would do them the power of good to be the ones giving the care and helping the puppy heal. They all in their different ways needed big hugs and to give big hugs to others at this moment in time. Was a father hugging you the same as a mother hugging you? You could briefly turn into a small child when your mother hugged you, but if Dad hugged then you had to measure up to the man and be older and braver than you really were. Or maybe he’d got that wrong – he knew he was from a different generation – his parents had always been old-fashioned in their views, and he had never had the need to see what all of this ‘modern dad’ stuff meant that some of his work colleagues talked about. He was pretty sure Myra was as oblivious as he was to the mores of modern parenting. He fell asleep wondering what the two of them would say to each other when they woke in the morning. Would she be stuck being old Myra again, or would her anger have vanished with the night?

  Being Saturday morning there was no need to scurry about getting organised for the office or for school for which Graham was grateful, but Myra was up and on the go long before he woke. Immediately he’d eaten breakfast he intended ringing the vet, to ask if the little chap had lasted the night. Little chap. He didn’t even have a name and everyone deserved their own name. What were some of the names he and John had intended calling the puppy they longed for so desperately? Roscoe, after that lovely man who lived two doors down and was so kind to them? Beano, after the comic he and John enjoyed so much. Then he remembered the name John chose for the imaginary puppy the two used to pretend to own. Tyke. A good Yorkshire name. But he was getting ahead of himself – an owner might already have come forward.

  He glanced at Myra as he took his place at the breakfast table, better get this over with before the boys woke up, he thought. ‘We’re paying for the medical attention that dog is getting for his leg, that’s if they can do something for it. I thought you ought to know.’

  Myra didn’t even look at him when she answered. ‘It won’t be cheap. I wonder who owns him. They’ll be worried to death, him being so young. Still, the vet might know who he belongs to, and if he doesn’t he might know someone who would take him on.’

  So that’s the way the land lies thought Graham while chewing on his Shredded Wheat, realising it tasted even more like old straw than it normally did. ‘If he belongs to no one at all then we really should adopt him.’

  Myra slapped her spoon down in her cereal bowl and splashed milk all over the tablecloth. ‘There now look what you’ve made me do. I do not want a dog. How many times have I to say it before it sinks in!’

  ‘I heard the first time. You didn’t want a rabbit. Remember? You wanted me to leave Little Pete behind and leave the door open so he would hop away. Now you’re bringing him into the house all by yourself.’

  Myra had to bite her tongue as Piers had just walked in the kitchen, his head full of names for the dog. ‘I’ve been thinking. How about Ben for a name? Or Mack? Or better still we could call him Duke or something else very dignified, like Prince, couldn’t we Myra? Prince Butler. That sounds good.’

  She swallowed hard. ‘Don’t think about him too much, Piers, he may belong to someone and they’ve probably spent all night worrying about him. We’d have to hand him back to them wouldn’t we?’

  Piers fell apart but tried to be hopeful. ‘Maybe. But . . .’

  Graham caught his eye and gave him a small shake of his head, it spoke volumes to Piers and he decided to leave the whole matter to the grown-ups. He felt he could rely on Uncle Graham.

  ‘Just saying, if he doesn’t have an owner, Oliver and I would love a puppy and I’ve found just the right place for his bed, where he’ll feel safe and and not afraid the whole night long. You see, I think he’s been hurt on purpose by somebody. That funny twisted leg you know?’

  Myra didn’t even inquire how he’d come to that conclusion. She wasn’t having him and Oliver tryin
g to persuade her otherwise. She glanced at Graham and he looked back at her, an innocent look on his face, as though all he cared about was his breakfast cereal.

  She buttered Piers’ toast for him as otherwise, as the plaster came halfway down his hand they would have the problem of getting it free of butter. He looked at her and those gentian blue eyes so like Mo’s stole her heart. But, no, this time she wasn’t giving in, not like with Little Pete, and she vigorously pushed away that soft bit of her heart that Piers could always reach.

  ‘What are we all doing today?’ asked Myra brightly.

  Graham said ‘Well, what I shall be doing is going to the vets to find out what plans they have for Tyke.’

  Piers face lit up. ‘Tyke? You’ve given him a name? Oh Myra, I like that don’t you?’ He paused. ‘What does it mean, Graham?’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t mean he’s ours because we don’t know that yet but Tyke means a naughty, mischievous person that you can’t help but smile at him, and I think that when he’s fit and well he is mischievous.’

  Myra steamed into action yet again. ‘Did you not hear? I said no and no means no, it does not mean perhaps.’

  She saw the light go out in Piers’ eyes and they began to fill with tears.

  ‘I know perhaps he truly belongs to someone, but if he doesn’t what are we going to do?’

  She comfortingly patted Piers’ nearest hand saying, ‘Don’t worry, someone is bound to want him . . .’

  At the thought of another family taking the puppy in, Piers leapt from his chair and shot out of the kitchen. They heard him clattering clumsily up the stairs and the bedroom door slammed shut.

  Graham and Myra continued eating their breakfast in silence.

  ‘There’s no need to look like that,’ Myra eventually said, all doleful. ‘I told you I didn’t want a dog but you didn’t listen. Who is it who would be looking after the dog all day every day? Who will have to buy its food, wash the kitchen floor every day because of it running in and out of the garden? Walk it? Tell me. If you can’t I can.’ Her voice rose to a crescendo. ‘Me!’ She stood up, her chair fell over backwards with an enormous crash and she stormed out.

  Graham drank the last of his tea, placed his cup quietly down in its saucer and put his head in his hands. It wasn’t until Myra said that final word that he knew what he hadn’t faced all night: he wanted that puppy with the same intensity as Piers and Oliver. Why? He knew not, but he did. For some reason he knew the puppy would bring all four of them together in a way that was not happening right now. Beginning to happen but not yet quite. It would give the boys a break from being the focus of everything. He could visualise him and the children striding over the hills, the wind blowing them along, Tyke rushing about loving the scents he picked up. He could buy a ball and throw it for Tyke to chase . . . He stopped himself. There was no point imagining all of this without checking to see how Tyke actually was, if an owner had been found. He’d go to the vets right now to hear the latest on Tyke, how badly he’d been hurt, would the operation to straighten his hind leg work? He had a thousand questions and he didn’t care what it cost to put Tyke in order.

  ‘Oliver! Oliver! Come and get your breakfast. Now! That’s an order. We need to get to the vets to see Tyke! Hurry up.’

  The urgency in Graham’s voice drew Oliver out of his bed in a moment, but for Myra, lying on her bed, hands clenched, seething internally, his words sounded like a death knell. All the effort she’d put in to making things right for those two boys – and for Graham for that matter – was unravelling before her eyes. She’d just begun to discover she might be able to care for these boys in the way she deserved, it was as though the right words had been there all the time but she’d never realised and now that blasted dog was ruining everything. Graham didn’t even trouble to knock on her bedroom door, he simply walked in and stood there looking at her. Sometimes on Saturdays she didn’t get dressed until after breakfast, she was glad she was fully dressed this morning because she felt like she needed the armour. He was looking at her so, well, so intently. Not speaking. Just looking. For a split second she wondered if he had something else on his mind – the way his eyes bored into her reminded her of those early days – and nights. But he wouldn’t be thinking anything like that, would he? Not with the boys around. She tried to dismiss her flight of fancy as he finally started to speak.

  ‘You were asking what we were all doing with it being Saturday? After Oliver’s had his breakfast, the boys and I are going to see the puppy. You are welcome to join us. I shall pay whatever has to be paid to get him well. I promised I would.’

  The intensity of his gaze still alarmed Myra. She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that, all kind of hot under the collar and determined. Even if now definitely wasn’t the moment, she realised something had definitely reawoken in her. How could she let him know without actually saying it that she really wouldn’t mind if he wanted her. After all these years? Did you have to ask?

  Somehow, the heat of her hidden desire eclipsed all her anger about the puppy. Was she really going to destroy her second chance at love, at being a family by fighting about a dog? She shrugged her shoulders as though she’d no alternative but to give in.

  As had happened several times these last few weeks since the boys came she said words she had never intended and didn’t even know were in her head. ‘I’ll come with you,’ Myra blurted out. ‘We’ll go together, it’s a family thing is buying . . . a dog.’ There! It had happened again, as though inside herself there was another nicer person driving her on to do the right thing.

  As she passed him on her way to her en suite to clean her teeth she almost kissed him on the mouth but decided against it at the last moment. Not yet she thought. Not yet. But yes. Soon.

  She was mightily impressed by the wonderfully clean antiseptic aroma in the vet’s reception area. It gave her hope that there might actually be dogs and cats that didn’t smell. Graham explained why they’d come.

  ‘Oh! Yes. Mr . . .?’

  ‘Butler.’

  ‘That’s right. Yes. We are going to operate on him this morning, he’s being prepared right now. His right hind leg, isn’t it?’

  ‘To tell the truth I don’t know if it’s his right or his left.’ Graham felt foolish. ‘You can do something for him then? He’ll be OK?’

  ‘It’s very complicated but yes, fingers crossed, Mr Bush is confident. I think the best is for you all to go home, or shopping or whatever and ring back in about three hours. He should be coming round by then. You boys don’t worry, Mr Bush is an excellent surgeon, he’ll put him right.’

  Myra was standing behind the two boys keeping a low profile, she might have given in to the idea of visiting Tyke, but she still felt anxious at the prospect of owning him. Perhaps there was still a chance his real owner would be found. She clung on to this thought as she heard her voice asking when he’d be fit to go home.

  ‘We’ll keep him here for a day or two, I don’t know how many as yet, we’ll see how he recovers, then he’ll be back home with you on a strict exercise regime.’ She leaned over the counter and patted Myra’s arm. ‘Don’t worry we’ll take good care of him. That’s our speciality.’

  She could only give the receptionist the briefest of smiles. ‘You’ve still no idea who he belongs to then?’ She heard herself ask.

  ‘You mean he’s not yours?’

  Graham answered for her. ‘No, we found him hurt and crying with pain in our garden. He’s not ours, but we are concerned about him. And I’ve promised to pay for his operation if you don’t find his owner. And yes, we would very much like to give him a home if he doesn’t appear to have one.’

  She checked her notes about him. ‘Ah! Right, yes. I didn’t know. Its very kind of you. I see from the file that the puppy is down to be included in our regular piece we have in the local paper – his owner might see that, if they want him back, that is. But like I said, ring in about three hours and we’ll see how he is. But he definitely wi
ll not be going home today. She hesitated and then added, ‘Wherever that is.’

  The Butler family went home. Oliver and Piers talked all the way back about how much they hoped no one would come to claim him.

  Graham chanced his arm finding the courage to say, ‘I cannot say he’s ours because we don’t know for certain but if he can be ours would you like that idea?’

  He was in truth only asking the boys, but Myra assumed she was included and didn’t want to waste an opportunity to voice her concern. ‘I’m still not sure. Not sure at all.’

  ‘But,’ said Piers, ‘you love Pete.’

  When she glanced at him she saw the light in Piers’ eyes had dimmed.

  They counted the hours. After two and three quarter hours Piers could stand it no longer.

  ‘Uncle Graham, can we ring now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘One more game of bumper cars and then we can, can’t we, Graham?’ Oliver suggested.

  ‘Oliver, you and Piers have one more game and then we’ll go. Coming Myra?’

  The two boys waited with bated breath, desperate for Myra to show willing about the dog.

  Graham caught her eye and she saw the message in his eyes. But there was more than just asking about the dog in his eyes and foolishly she agreed she was going with them. She even got changed into one of her new outfits. The coat that looked as if she’d been issued with an army coat two sizes too large had been abandoned now, she was wearing a bright red warm jacket with slim trousers, new furry knee-high black boots and a big shiny handbag. There was scarcely anything in the handbag but that didn’t matter – no one else used it except herself. It would fill up in time with her bits and pieces.

  The practice was very quiet. In the reception there was one over-anxious lady with a yowling cat in a basket and that was all. The four of them sat down to wait. They waited until the boys’ patience was almost at fever pitch.