by Rebecca Shaw
But Tyke refused to respond.
To the surprise of the three men in her life Myra spoke up. ‘We offered a lot of money for Tyke’s operation and the care he’s had for almost a week here in the clinic. We have yet to pay that money over so perhaps you’ve arrived just in time. If you’d like to settle the bill, I’m sure Mr Bush will be happy to reunite you. That is, as long as you can convince him you had nothing to do with how his leg got hurt. We gave him our word that we would pay whatever it took to give him the chance of a normal life and a safe and happy home after if he was in need of one.’ Something about the man’s shifty look inspired Myra to make a challenging accusation. ‘Do you know who damaged his leg? Is that it? What did they do, stamp on it? Or beat him with a stick till his leg broke? Whichever it was it was cruel beyond belief. So you can take your grubby lead and go home.’
The man ignored her and snarled at Graham. ‘Can’t you keep this woman of yours in order? The boss, is she? Accusing me of torture? You miserable old cow! Of course it wasn’t me. As if I’m daft enough to stand here waiting to take him home when all the time it was me torturing him. I’m not a complete idiot.’
‘No? But you do know who did it, don’t you and you’re trying to shield them from getting into trouble.’ Myra stepped startlingly quickly towards him saying, ‘Get out or I shall report this incident to the police and don’t think I daren’t. You will take Tyke over my dead body, and I mean that. I most certainly do. You deserve horse whipping for what you’ve allowed to happen to this innocent little dog.’
A spontaneous murmur of approval came from the assembled pet owners waiting their turns.
Myra went to the main door and opened it wide.
‘Out! Right now! Go on! Out!’
The man couldn’t scuttle out of the clinic fast enough. Oliver and Piers were so proud of Myra that their instinct was to give her a hug and a kiss for saving Tyke. But they changed their minds as everyone in the clinic was staring. ‘I know where he lives. If you want that man’s address, I can give it to yer. Don’t know his name but I do know his house and I for one shall be delighted to tell you. It’s time the police got on to him, he’s a nasty piece of goods he is. His whole family, each and every one are cursed, believe me.’ In one way or another everyone joined in the argument, when all the boys wanted was to go home and keep Tyke safe.
Graham asked Mr Bush if he could pay his dues, but the vet was shaking his head apologetically.
‘I’m afraid we have to take all claims of ownership very seriously. As well as any allegations of abuse.’ When Mr Bush saw how anxious the boys looked, he leaned in a little closer. ‘But between you and me, this should just be a formality. Anyone can see the best home for this little chap is with you. Come back tomorrow morning and he’ll be ready to go – for real this time.’
What a difference a day made. This time they had a joyful reunion with Tyke without a hitch. Myra took Tyke’s lead out and fastened it to the new collar and identification disc they’d just put on him. She picked up the painkillers Tyke had been prescribed, handed them to Oliver for safe-keeping and, keen to be home before anyone else could interfere, she, accompanied by Piers and Oliver, proudly led Tyke out of the clinic, leaving the paperwork to Graham.
Tyke needed carrying really and Oliver reminded Myra what the vet had said so she gently picked him up and walked towards their car. She got in, holding Tyke firmly but gently on her knee, and bent over and kissed him on his forehead just as he decided to lick her hand. Tears filled her eyes but neither Oliver nor Piers dared comment. The change in their Auntie Myra was miraculous in their eyes. Just miraculous.
She cleared her throat and spoke so softly they could barely hear what she said. ‘We are going to give Tyke all the love he deserves. That’s what you do in a family.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry that I was horrid, extremely horrid, when you first came. I’m ashamed of what I said and did. I don’t think I really knew what a proper family was. On my school report I would have had written “Must try harder” and it would have been justified. Sorry.’ She raised her eyes and looked at each of them in turn, intending to say more, but saw Graham striding across the car park towards the car; relieved, she said, ‘Ah! Here’s Uncle Graham.’
Myra was sitting in the back because of having Tyke on her knee, so Graham reached in and patted his head. ‘Your name is Tyke. Remember that. You’re part of the Butler family now.’
They drove home with every single one of them bursting with excitement. Oliver sitting in the front seat where Myra normally sat, wishing he was in the back and able to stroke Tyke, and Piers – to his delight – sitting next to Tyke and Myra. Piers was thrilled right from his toes all the way up to the top of his head and it was all he could do to control himself and not be continuously patting Tyke or squeezing his foot or stroking his ears, just to let him know that Piers Butler already loved him.
The first week of Tyke’s sojourn in the house was the most exciting any of them could remember, and Tyke, the receiver of all their attention, lapped up every ounce of the loving care they gave him. He had a lot to learn they realised, but so had they – like shutting doors carefully behind them so he didn’t get out on the road. They borrowed a child safety gate from Viv so he couldn’t try to climb the stairs and damage his bad leg, and they soon learned not to leave anything at all within his reach because he would chew it to bits. Drawers had to be closed firmly and any food put safely away, because as far as Tyke was concerned food, all food, was meant for him. The list was endless. But so too was the excitement of having a young dog, still a puppy, living with them.
Graham could feel the atmosphere in the house had changed almost overnight. Consumed by caring for Tyke, they had little time left to think of their own worries. Everyone had to make allowances for this energetic, happy, enthusiastic creature they had living in their space. His progress regarding his injured leg was excellent. He went from stumbling along, to walking crooked, to walking almost correctly in a matter of days, and before they knew it the time had come for a visit to Mr Bush to assess his progress.
Very soon, Mr Bush said, in fact next week, he could be taken off the lead and allowed five minutes of free running about in their garden, then back on the lead once more. It might seem they were being unfair to a young dog like Tyke said Mr Bush, but he needed to take things steadily, too much exercise too soon would slow down his improvement.
‘I know I must seem an old fuddy-duddy to you two boys, but believe me excessive exercise will not improve his walking one jot. You would not be doing him a kindness allowing him free running about, that leg was badly damaged and it needs time. But you are doing a good job with him and never fear, he will be walking normally very, very soon.’ He patted Tyke’s head and gave him a treat which Tyke, being Tyke, eagerly grabbed, chewed and swallowed in moments.
Chapter 18
It was one evening just as they were finishing eating a delicious pudding Myra had invented that she said, ‘Do you remember the picture you did, Oliver, of the sea and the sailing boat and that wicked octopus and the cheeky mermaid? It set me thinking.’
They waited in complete silence while she scraped her dish totally clean and could speak without her mouth full of pudding.
‘You remember I cut up all those dreadful tea cosies I used to make, every single blessed one of them and all the material waiting to be used?’
The three of them nodded somewhat hesitantly, wary of what she might be going to say and also because they knew how painful it had all been for her.
‘I have to admit that for years I have had no new design ideas, but . . . there’s something exceptional about the expression in the octopus’s eyes and that cheeky look the mermaid has, it’s made me want to get sewing again. It’s made me have new ideas – and that’s all because of your genius, Oliver.’
Oliver’s jaw dropped at such unprecedented praise from Myra.
‘What is it you’ve been thinking about?’ Graham asked.
‘Something I could pour my heart into, but something I could also perhaps even sell, eventually – if people like them. Do you remember that quilt I made when we first married, Graham? All those different materials, all those patterns? Well, Oliver’s collage reminded me of how much I used to love it. It made me think that perhaps it was time to make another quilt. And this first one, to get me back in the habit, would be a special one – it would be a memory quilt. While you’ve been at school and work, I’ve not just been walking Tyke. I’ve been looking at all the bags we brought from your old house, boys. There are all sorts of things in there – old baby clothes, some of your dad’s shirts, even a dress or two of your mum’s. They’re mostly too worn out to be reused as they are, but there’s enough fabric to be made into a quilt – all your history, all the people that have loved you, we could even design it together.’
Everyone was quiet for a moment. ‘It would be like having a hug from all those people.’ said Piers. ‘I’d love it.’
Ideas and questions tumbled from their mouths, in quick succession.
‘I could help you choose colours,’ said Oliver. ‘Help cut the pieces out once we have a design . . .’
‘Someone at school brought in a teddy bear made from their old school uniform – we could make those, too, couldn’t we?’ Piers added excitedly.
‘Or what about other cuddly animals, too – all made out of people’s special old clothes and memories? We could give them really funny and cheeky expressions, too!’ said Oliver, fired up with enthusiasm.
Myra stopped coming up with ideas and waited for their responses.
‘We could even make one for Tyke!’ This from Graham who was carried away with the idea.
Myra said to Oliver, ‘We could share the money we make – and it would be money, that’s if we did well at it, you could keep for university, let it pile up, you know. If it was successful.’
Oliver said nothing. His mind was racing around the idea so intensely he couldn’t find time to say anything. Was this the answer for Myra? Was this the answer for him and Piers? Something to work on together – something to make a bit of money for the future – even thinking of that many years ahead felt amazing to him. Did this mean Piers and him definitely had a permanent home? He knew Graham and Myra said this was their permanent home, but he’d still feared they could be out in a flash until this last week or two. First Tyke joining the family and now thinking of the future in terms of years, not just days. Then his head spun back to thoughts of all the animals they could make, the designs they could do, and he was fascinated, completely grabbed by the prospect.
‘It sounds like a very good idea. But where would we sell them?’
‘To begin with I’d get a stall at this year’s Christmas Fair again. I know I cancelled my stall but they’ve always had spare stalls. I’ll ring her tonight.’
Oliver panicked. ‘No! No! Let’s sleep on it. It needs a lot of thinking about it. It would mean a lot of work between now and Christmas and don’t forget you’ve got our grandparents coming.’
A mischievious smile flitted across Myra’s face. ‘I haven’t invited them . . . yet. I should have done but I haven’t. So I won’t. I know you boys weren’t keen on having Granny Butler here and I know full well she’ll be mightily relieved to be free of toys and mayhem and noise on Christmas Day. And Granny and Grandpa Steward live so far away they’ll probably be glad to avoid the travel. We could plan a trip to see them in the new year, instead perhaps?’
‘Very well,’ said Graham. ‘It’ll be just the four of us on Christmas Day. A real family Christmas. And that will leave you with more time to work on the memory quilt before the fair in December.’
‘Myra! Shall I be able to help? I don’t know what I could do. On the stall perhaps, taking the money?’
‘You’ll need to help, Piers, we couldn’t manage without him, could we Oliver? Especially if you’re going to get money from it for your savings account. Now I’ll clear the table and the kitchen, the two of you get stuck into making a list of animals. We’ll need smart leaflets and logos too. It all helps to sell things does smart design, especially as we shall be taking orders for Christmas presents to start with. Or . . . maybe . . . I know! We should make one or two bears, as well the memory quilt, so that will give people more of an idea of what they’re ordering. They’ll see the quality and get an idea of all the different things they could send to us to include. We’ll have to have a big think about it, won’t we?’
The kitchen table didn’t get cleared until half past eight and Piers was still coming up with ideas while he was under the shower. He stepped out twice to shout downstairs about a new idea he’d had and left a trail of decidedly wet footprints right across the bathroom floor. But back under the water, tears rolled down his cheeks. At least mixed with shower water no one would realise. Why he kept crying even in the middle of this wonderful time planning things for Myra he did not know and he called out to his dad, ‘Dad! Stop making me cry. Just please stop me Dad!’
Unbeknown to him Graham had come into the bathroom to hurry him up and help him get dried, and had overheard him begging his dad. Graham hastily vacated the bathroom, stood on the landing for a minute or two, and then re-entered noisily.
‘Finished yet, Piers? Time you were in bed even if it is Sunday tomorrow.’ Piers switched off the shower and Graham handed him his bath towel as Piers emerged from between the curtains. ‘I’ll go get your pyjamas, right? While you get dry. Cracking idea of Myra’s isn’t it?’
When he was tucked up in bed, Graham smoothed his hair down gently. ‘You mustn’t be surprised if you still get sad about your dad. You know that, don’t you? You’re allowed to miss him – even when you’re having fun with Tyke or thinking about Christmas with us. The people we’ve lost never really leave us – they’re always in our thoughts.’
Piers was quiet for a moment. ‘You knew my mum didn’t you, Graham?’
‘Of course. She was a beautiful lady. Not just in how she looked because she was beautiful, but inside herself, a very lovely lady. I’m just sorry you were never able to know her. She would have been so proud of you.’
‘Was my dad proud of me?’
Graham didn’t hesitate for one single moment. ‘My word, yes he was. People used to ask when your mum was waiting for you to arrive, ‘Do you hope it’s a girl this time?’ but your dad said ‘I’d like another boy, I’m sure that’s what it is.’ And he was right.’
‘Good. Thank you. Would you rather I was a girl? One of each you know.’
‘Not a bit of it. I wouldn’t change anything about you or your brother for the world.’
‘I forgot to say goodnight to Tyke, will you say it for me to him?’
‘I shall be delighted to do that very thing. Goodnight Piers.’
‘Goodnight, Dad. See you in the morning.’ He rolled over, closed his eyes and switched off before he began crying again and then remembered he’d said ‘Goodnight, Dad.’ To his Uncle Graham. And felt a fool. Best keep his eyes shut. Sometimes he did wonder about himself. About everything really. About growing up without his mum and now no dad. Would it make him peculiar? He was the only boy in his class with neither mother nor father. The only one. Two boys had no dad because they’d left their mums. One boy’s dad had been killed in Afganistan, so that made four of them without dads. But at least the other three had their mums. Maybe one day Graham and Myra might change into Dad and Mum, then he’d be like the others and could talk about his dad and his mum so when he moved to Oliver’s school no one would know he was really an orphan. Ah! But then they would know Oliver had no mum and no dad wouldn’t they? He’d ask Oliver if he’d told anyone about them being orphans. Piers practiced saying Mum, and Dad, and it felt funny. Mum was the hardest to say. He’d ask him right away because he could hear him coming up the stairs.
When he arrived in their bedroom Piers asked Oliver the big question. ‘Oliver, at your school do they know you’re an orphan like me?’
; ‘Yes.’
‘Everybody knows?’
‘Well, at first it was just my friends, but I think it was bound to get out. I just assume everyone knows now.’
‘Doesn’t it make you feel weird?’
‘Nothing they can say makes me feel any weirder than I do already after these last few months. And anyway, most people aren’t mean about it, or even nice about it. They’re just kind of awkward and don’t know what to say. So most people just sort of ignore it.’ Oliver got into bed.
‘You haven’t cleaned your teeth and you haven’t washed your face.’
‘So?’
‘You should. Every night. Dad said.’
‘Can’t say it now can he?’
Piers was silenced by Oliver’s stone-cold cruelty.
‘I know he can’t, but you shouldn’t not get washed and not clean your teeth.’
‘It was him went and died, so what? I can do as I like now.’
‘You can’t. He still counts as our dad.’
Oliver thumped his pillow saying ‘Not any more he isn’t. Those days are gone. There’s no one to tell us what to do. No one. Absolutely no one.’ It sounded to Piers as though Oliver wished he did have someone who would tell him what to do.
‘There’s Uncle Graham.’
‘Huh!’
‘He is trying.’
‘Very trying. I agree.’
‘Oliver! I think it’s wonderful Myra thinking up this idea all because of your art proejct. Aren’t you pleased? I would be.’
‘That’s because you’re only ten.’
‘You were ten once.’
‘Not now I’m not. I’m nearly thirteen and I can see why.’
‘Why what?’
‘Piers! Shut up. Just shut up. I’ve gone to sleep. Right?’
‘You haven’t, you’re still speaking.’
Oliver beat Piers with his pillow as hard as he could, Piers objected and before they knew it they were fighting. Uncle Graham raced upstairs and switched on their bedroom light.