by Katy Lilley
‘Nope.’
Which made for a restful evening, until Bryony insisted on running Maisie home. ‘I know it’s not my business,’ she began, in a tone that Maisie knew meant she was going to ignore that statement. ‘But what are you going to do about telling people? Cos once you show…’
Maisie sighed. ‘I want to get Tuesday over, get a better date and then I’ll do what’s necessary, starting with Dario, and yes okay, then I’ll think about telling the other potential dad.’
God, and I mean that, help me.
Chapter Eight
The Sunday bits and bobs lunch, due to a pleasantly warm day, became a barbeque with a group of friends who had welcomed her with open arms when she’d first visited Bryony and was as fun as Maisie had expected. At Bryony’s request Maisie headed to Cliff Cottage once she’d breakfasted, to help Bryony get things together whilst Dario went to church. Bryony had enlisted Gibb, Lottie’s better half, to man the barbeque, Maddie had volunteered Dex as child and animal overseer, and Dario - when he got back - would be in charge of the drinks. The ladies, Bryony said, would sort out salads and dips and then watch their men at work.
For once Bryony hadn’t offered to find a spare man to be Maisie’s partner, something for which Maisie was ever thankful. She’d lost count of the number of men she’d been partnered with, none of whom really interested her. It seemed Bryony had decided Maisie had enough on her hands. No doubt she included Cam in the list.
She chopped tomatoes and cucumber, made her own version of coleslaw and potato salad, and hunted out the dips and crackers. By the time Dario returned, she and Bryony were sat in deckchairs in the shade of the apple trees and sipping homemade lemonade whilst Theo gurgled on a large play rug and batted at the mobiles above her head.
‘Slackers.’ Dario appeared in the garden, kissed Bryony and tickled Theo, who giggled.
If she could find a man who looked at her like Dario looked at his wife… Maisie sighed. Not now, anyway, unless Cam…? Do not go there.
‘Earth to Maisie.’
‘What?’ Both Dario and Bryony were looking at her in concern. ‘Oh sorry, wool gathering.’
‘Harsh wool by the looks of it,’ Dario commented. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah.’ She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. ‘Just a lot on my mind.’
Dario nodded. ‘Always got an ear to listen if you need one. Four actually.’
‘Six, if you count, Theo,’ Bryony added. ‘She’s a great listener and never argues.’
Theo let out a screech and Maisie laughed. ‘Allegedly.’
‘She likes the last word.’ Dario headed indoors and reappeared a few minutes later with a large butcher’s striped apron on, embellished with the words ‘man at work’, and carrying a large covered platter. ‘All ready for the chef in chief when he gets here.’
‘He’s here,’ Gibb strode across the garden with a large cool box in one hand. ‘Lottie’s just nipped to the loo.’ He began to transfer bottles to the fridge in the summer kitchen, and then turned to Dario. ‘Swap time, I’m about to get cheffy. I’ve been practicing my excitable temper and non-sweary, swear words. I asked Angelo, my chef mate for some tips. He suggested ‘mollycoddling morons’, and ‘by the top hat of Herod, get a grip’. He looked concerned. ‘Can I say that with a vicar and a lay preacher about?’
‘Don’t see why not,’ Dario commented. ‘Sounds fine to me. Not that I think he wore a top hat.’
Vicar? If Cam’s invited, I’m gonna… Her mind was a blank. She stared at Bryony who either didn’t notice or chose not to. After all she had no idea why Maisie didn’t want to be in too much close proximity to him.
Hell on wheels.
‘I just said, oh grow a pair,’ Lottie added as she came up. ‘And save his breath. Sorry, I had to dash.’
‘See, bet I’m right,’ Bryony whispered to Maisie as Lottie turned to reply to something her husband had said. ‘Pregnant and not telling, the rotter.’
Maisie grinned. She understood that feeling. ‘She’s not sure what happens next maybe?’ She understood that feeling as well.
‘I do, Maddie, Dex and the kids are here.’
Maisie turned at Bryony’s statement and waved at the newcomers, who carted an assortment of chairs and set them out around some low tables next to the others, as Luke and Lisa put out crisps and eyed them with longing. She glanced at Maddie, got an infinitesimal nod, opened a couple of packets and put the contents into two bowls. ‘Here you are, keep your strength up.’
‘Thanks, Maisie, Miss…er…’ Luke looked up at her. ‘What do we call you now?’
‘At school it will have to be Miss MacLean, but out of school hours? Maisie will do. You’d forget the Miss bit anyway.’
Lisa nodded. ‘Mum said we had to ask.’
Maisie smiled. ‘Now you know. Just remember the Miss bit at school, and no bragging or gossiping about what we get up to outside school, okay?’
‘Kay,’ they both said together, looked at each other, giggled, did a pinkie link and said, ‘twins.’
Maddie shook her head. ‘Good luck,’ she said under her breath as she went across to her husband and helped him sort out cutlery.
‘Ever since we got this summer kitchen thingy put in, Dario’s been barbeque crazy,’ Bryony said as she waved at the brick, open fronted, shed like building. She must have decided to change the subject. ‘I swear it’ll be barbeque for Christmas dinner and New Year’s Day tea if he can get away with it.’
‘Why not? Maisie said equably. ‘Means you won’t have to cook.’
Bryony looked struck. ‘Oh, good idea, I never thought of that. Perfect, especially with almost three kids by then, all being well. I’ll get him to put another light down here and a chimera or three so then there will be no excuse.’
‘Why not well?’ Maisie asked, alarmed at the ‘all being well’ comment. ‘Is something wrong?’ She stared at her friend who appeared as laid back and calm as ever. She was jumpy enough for herself, she didn’t want to have to worry about Bryony as well.’
‘No, you ninny, I’m just doing the touch wood superstitious thing.’
Maisie could understand that. She crossed her fingers and spat silently, without really spitting, three times. To touch wood, would be a bit obvious and no doubt be challenged.
‘I was the same with Luke and Lisa,’ Maddie said as she plopped down on a plastic chair, which wobbled before she kicked one of the legs. ‘We seem to have fourteen forks and only three teaspoons. Ah well, we can wash or share. Superstitions. Yeah, well, as I have an Italian mama, I was even worse than that. If she’d had her way, I would have spent an hour every day offering up every platitude, thought and prayer you could think of to every deity possible. She wore out five sets of rosary beads. I stuck with God willing and the creek don’t rise.’
‘The creek don’t, but I will.’ Maisie got out of her seat. ‘Lemonade for my pregnant friend here, what for you?’
‘I’m hot, I’ll go for soda water and…hello who’s this?’ Maddie waved towards the gate. ‘New to me, but he’s a bit of alright.’
Maisie looked over to where the lane led into the garden. She might have guessed. ‘Sure is,’ she said with an insouciance she didn’t feel. ‘Don’t you recognise our new vicar?’ Maisie’s libido decided it was time to perk up and be noticed and her nipples did a ‘woo hoo we’re here’ act under her shirt. Luckily it was loose enough not to let that show.
Down girls, there’s a time and a place and this ain’t it.
‘Ah, yeah, he looks different in casual clothes.’ His dog collar was almost invisible under his jumper. Maddie put her sunglasses on. ‘Better, now I can ogle him, and he won’t know.’
Maisie wished she had thought of that. Sadly, she had not, and it wouldn’t work with nipples anyway.
‘Didn’t know you’d invited him,’ she said to Bryony. ‘You never mentioned it.’
Bryony patted her shoulder. ‘I didn’t, it seems Dario did. Suck it u
p honey, you don’t need to jump his bones, just be pleasant for a few hours.’
Which wasn’t going to be as easy as it sounded. Maisie counted to ten under her breath. ‘As you say.’
Dario looked up from where he was preparing a complicated dressing for the ribs that he assured Bryony—therefore by default also Maisie and probably Lottie— was fine for pregnant ladies and waved. ‘Hey Rik, great you could make it nice and early. Come and meet the rest of our crowd. Though you probably know most of us.’
‘Think so,’ Cam smiled. ‘I’m that grockle up at the vicarage, even though my ancestors came from Bovey Tracey, my dad was born and bought up in Oakhampton, and my sister and her husband live down the hill near the river.’
‘That’s okay,’ Maisie said as Cam kissed her cheek and her skin tingled. Now she was here she had to behave as normally as she could. Eagle-eyed Bryony would notice and demand an explanation if she didn’t. ‘I’ll be that grockle who’s head teacher at Bristow Primary forever. The one who they talk about in hushed whispers. You know, and she told our Martin not to do that or else. How dare she? He’s been doing it for years and I can’t stop him.’ Her penchant for mimicry came to the fore. 'It’ll be rolling eyes, and the ‘well what can you expect? She’s a grockle, not one of us.’
‘Mais…ie,’ Bryony said as the others —including Cam laughed. ‘Harsh but true. I’m still a grockle, though I get her who’s married to Dario Monk, as a moniker.’
‘Ah well.’ Cam took the beer Dario gave him, and after introductions all round sat down between Maisie and Bryony, the latter who soon had him chatting.
Maisie loved her mate, and was happy to eavesdrop, but she was asking all the wrong questions. Maisie overheard all about Dario at Uni, where it seemed he was envied for his ability to play hard and still get a first, and how yes, the Vicarage was too big for one man—had no significant other—but it was in a great location.
Sadly, Cam didn’t stop long. He finished his beer, refused another and said he’d got to get back. With a wave that encompassed them all, he headed off.
She let her breath out in a silent hiss of relief. It was a lot harder to be around him that she’d thought it would be. She had to be honest, the attraction was still there, and she had no idea what to do about it.
Nothing, ab…so…lute…ly sweet Fanny Adams. If she hit him with the idea he could be a father to be, she had no idea of his potential reaction. Therefore, it was best to clamp down on her stupid libido, and just concentrate on the here and now.
‘Well,’ Lottie said once they’d all sat down again and Dario and Gibb were flipping burgers and passing round drinks. ‘That’ll get Ma Botte going. Single at the vicarage. Sounds like a good title for a book. There you are Dario, next novel sorted. Why is he single, what is his deep dark secret? Who’s in his line of sight to be…da, da, da…eliminated, excommunicated or exonerated.’
Maisie went hot, cold and hot again. Something she was increasingly getting used to.
‘He might not want his private affairs broadcast,’ Maisie said in a nice even tone. ‘I wouldn’t.’
Bryony sent her a quick, worried glance.
‘He’s the vic, of course they’ll be broadcast,’ Maddie said. ‘Village rules.’
‘See?’ Lottie stuck her tongue out at her brother. ‘Told ya.’
Dario threw a bread roll at Lottie who caught it and did a war dance. ‘Yee haa, who’s clever.’
‘Whose catching skills have improved,’ Dario said dryly. ‘You’ve been practicing.’
‘Well, duh,’ Lottie said. ‘I’m in the sitting down throwing club. I’m going to inveigle Maisie into joining. It’s for those of us with no hand-eye coordination.’
‘Which is me,’ Maisie agreed. ‘I’m all over grateful Ken Dent is the sports guru at school.’
‘Everyone is all over grateful for that,’ Maddie said. ‘Before he started it was a bun feast in reverse. No one wanted to be in charge and the poor kids came last at everything in the interschool competitions. Except the sack races. Then they stopped running them and we were snookered until Ken came along. If his wife got a bigger headship elsewhere and he had to leave, I reckon there’d be a riot.’
‘I’d lead it,’ Maisie said. The thought of no one to teach PE brought her out in a cold sweat. ‘I’m up for the sitting down throwing club, Lottie. When and where?’
‘After the holidays, Red Pig, Thursdays before the meat draw. Great night out.’
Maisie nodded. ‘Remind me.’ She’d make a note of it and a note to try and remember to invite Cam to lead one of the belief classes held once a week, and get someone else to sit in on them, not her. She knew that there were several other people of different religions scheduled to talk to the school throughout out the term. The gap on the timetable with no visitor said simply, ‘check with new vicar’, and she’d never got around to it. With that sorted out in her mind, Maisie settled down to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.
She got a lift up the road with Lottie and Gibb. Lottie drove and said merely Gibb had driven last time they’d been out. Whether that was true or not, Maisie had no idea, but if Lottie were pregnant as Bryony thought, it was a good excuse not to say so. As, by taking her home, they’d gone out of their way, Maisie didn’t comment except to say, ‘good to take turns’, and ‘thank you’. She waved goodbye, went indoors and decided an early night was on the cards. Unfortunately, she picked up a book she wanted to finish, made a coffee and settled down for ‘half an hour.’
Three hours later she shut the book, yawned and glanced at the clock. Half past midnight was not the early night she’d envisaged.
At least she didn’t need to set her alarm. Maisie got into her pj’s, turned off the light and was asleep within a few minutes.
A strange howling woke her out of a dream about werewolves and glow sticks that could tame the beast to be an Old English Sheepdog. She struggled out of the duvet, which seemed to have would around her feet somehow, shook her head to try and clear the sleepiness away, and glanced at the clock.
5.27.
What on earth?
The noise got louder, and something thumped against what she thought was her back door.
Burglars? Not likely making that sort of a racket. Aliens. She mentally rolled her eyes. Of course, aliens would land in Little Brindish and decide Daps Cottage was the perfect place for their headquarters.
Sod it. Curiosity got the better of her. She shoved her feet into unlaced trainers, grabbed the heavy rubber torch she’d left on the landing in case of power cuts - a fairly frequent occurrence - and headed downstairs.
Definitely the back door. Maisie turned the key carefully, opened the door and lifted the torch up ready to repel invaders with a thump before a strategically placed kick.
She blinked. No one. Except…
Something furry fell against her legs with a tiny howl and a snuffle. Something warm and…
Maisie looked down. A tiny, Mop-like puppy was leaning on her legs and shivering. Around its neck was a string, which in turn was tied to her boot scraper. Attached to that was an envelope. Maisie undid the string, lifted the pup into her arms and was rewarded by a warm trickle down her front, and a wet tongue on her cheek.
‘Ugh, you repulsive creature. Go and wee outside and not on me.’ The pup woofed and wriggled before it put it’s head on her neck. ‘Yes, I guess it’s a bit much to ask of you at your age.’ She reckoned it couldn’t be much more than six or seven weeks old. Barely old enough to be separated from its mum and litter mates. ‘Now how did you get here I wonder? Aren’t your breed pedigreed?’ She grabbed an old towel she used in the kitchen and put it down on the floor before depositing the pup on it.
The pup whined. ‘Yes, but I need to read your letter and discover what’s going on.’ Maisie went to the sink and filled a shallow bowl she’d washed and not put away—how slutty but how handy—the night before, with water. The pup waddled behind her and sat on her feet. ‘Now look, numpty, sitting on me
won’t help. I need to see who you are, and why you’re here.’ She pondered the animal for a moment and sighed. ‘Okay, let’s sit down together, I’m covered in wee already and I’ll need a shower so what the heck.’ She chose an old hardback chair that she’d earmarked for the spare room, or to use to reach the high shelf in the bedroom, and slit open the envelope.
The pup squirmed until it was presumably comfortable, closed its eyes, farted and snored.
Figures. Men do that. She’d had a quick nosy and discovered it was indeed a he.
The letter was short and sweet. Cut out words stuck to a sheet of A4 it merely said, “We can’t keep him. He’s the runt. You seem to be the right sort of person to love him and be his human. We called him Barney, after Barney Rubble—trouble. Please love him for us. Ps he’s had first round of shots and is now yours.”
She read the note twice. No clues as to where it came from. The paper was the sort you used in a printer, the letters cut out from, she thought, any daily newssheet.
Plus… if she were honest, she’d fallen in love with him the moment he’d weed on her.
Weren’t dogs good for babies?
The crux of the matter was, was she now a dog owner? Or should that be owned by a dog?
It seemed so. Maisie contemplated the bundle in her arms and sighed. More complications. She had to hope her landlords wouldn’t object.
That worry was soon scotched. Maisie put the sleeping pup on the bathroom floor whilst she showered, rinsed her pj’s, put them in the washer, and got dressed in an old pair of cut offs, held together with elastic around the buttonhole and button and a t-shirt that had seen better days. No way was she going to subject her better for pregnancy clothes to puppy wee. With that in mind she scoped up the dozing pup and carried him downstairs. ‘I’ll get some puppy pads Barney, but for now let’s find you a designated spot.’
The back garden was fully fenced and—she checked—the gate to the front locked. So how on earth did the dog’s depositors get in? If they got over the back fence, they’d had a fair old trek from the nearest road. Time for some sleuthing, maybe.