‘I’ll call him and ask if he wants me to arrange a taxi to meet him. You come in while I get dressed and I’ll help you look. Have you checked the farmhouse? The offices? The barn?’
‘Not the barn, nor the workshop. I never thought of that.’
‘I’ll help you. Wait a minute while I get changed and find the torches.’ Polly practically drags me inside.
Hardly able to contain myself, I pace Polly’s sitting room while the floorboards creak and groan above me. After what seems an agonising wait, she comes downstairs in jeans and a fleece, grabs her coat and pulls on her wellies.
She pats my back and hands me a torch. ‘You check the barn and I’ll have a look in the workshop. He’s bound to be hanging round here somewhere. Did you say you were with Kit Bannen when you last saw the silly hound?’
‘Yes. He was helping me decorate the cafe and I think Mitch must have slipped out. I hope he hasn’t gone onto the cliffs.’
She shakes her head. ‘I bet you anything he’s wandered back up to Kilhallon House looking for food. Have you asked Kit if he saw him when he walked back to his cottage?’
‘I didn’t want to disturb him, but I think I might have to.’
‘OK,’ she replies. ‘Let’s have a quick look in the farmhouse first. You know Mitch loves to hide under Cal’s bed.’
‘Oh, yes. He could be there.’
I search Cal’s room first, lifting the valance to look under the new bed, even opening the wardrobe. Calling his name, I try the bathroom – though God knows why Mitch would run in there, he’s not one of these toilet-water-drinking dogs. The doors to two of the spare bedrooms are shut but I look inside anyway. One is kept relatively tidy as a guest room but the other is crammed with ‘stuff’, like old lamps, furniture, packing cases, and books. Mitch isn’t hiding in any of them.
I check everywhere else in the farmhouse, trying the ground floor first. There was no Mitch in Cal’s study, nor in the snug or the kitchen. ‘Mitch? Mitch! Where are you?’
‘No luck, then?’ Polly meets me outside the back door.
‘No.’
‘He isn’t out in the car park. I even walked up to the entrance gates to the park and I can’t see him.
‘Thanks.’ I feel faintly sick, then I remember Cal. ‘Did you get through to Cal?’ I ask Polly.
‘No. His mobile went straight to answer phone, but I left him a message and sent him a text. Don’t worry about him, he managed to find his way back from a warzone so he can make it home from Penzance on his own. Now, let’s give these outbuildings a good going over.’
Calling Mitch’s name, we separate. The barn and workshop have lights we can switch on and, though full of equipment, it doesn’t take long for us to realise that Mitch isn’t hiding in either or he’d have answered to his name. That is, of course, if he can answer. A shiver runs down my spine but I tell myself that thinking the worst won’t help Mitch if he is lying injured somewhere.
‘Where next?’ I ask.
Polly sighs. ‘I don’t know. He might be wandering around different places while we move about so we could all be chasing our tails. Your cottage is surely the most likely place he’ll head for as that’s where he expects to be fed. I just hope the silly dog hasn’t gone and got himself lost in the fog.’
Fear clutches at my stomach. I might be sick. ‘Mitch wouldn’t get lost even on a night like this. He can smell his way home.’ Looking out at the whirling mass of black and grey around us, I don’t even believe my words myself.
‘Hello!’ A beam penetrates the mist and Kit Bannen emerges. ‘Everything OK? I went out to my car and thought I could hear people shouting. Why are you out on a night like this?’
‘Mitch has run off,’ says Polly grimly.
The knot tightens in my stomach. ‘When I was locking up, I couldn’t find him. I thought he was inside the cafe with us but he must have sneaked out.’
‘No. He wouldn’t do that, surely? I presume you’ve checked your cottage and Kilhallon House?’
‘We’ve checked the farmhouse, my cottage, the outbuildings, offices and reception and I hunted around the cafe building for ages,’ I say, trying to stay calm. ‘It’s been well over an hour now.’
‘That’s not long, but I can understand why you’re worried about him, even if he won’t be worried about you,’ Kit says gently.
‘He’s never taken off like this before. He’s missed his dinner and that’s not like him.’
Polly and Kit exchange glances.
‘What? Why are you looking at each other like that? You think he’s fallen over the cliff, don’t you?’ My voice rises and I’m struggling to hold it together now. The tears are so close.
‘Calm down, my bird,’ says Polly, slipping her arm around my shoulders. ‘We don’t think anything of the sort, but it’s so dark and foul out here, you’ve no chance of stumbling across him, even if he has wandered off Kilhallon land. You’re far better waiting for him to run home to the farmhouse or to your cottage.’
‘Polly’s right, and you said yourself that Mitch is far more able to find his way around than we ever could be. He’ll be sniffing his way back right now, especially if he’s hungry. He’s probably having a fine old time.’ Kit tries to sound reassuring and fails because I’ve already imagined every horrible scenario.
‘Have you thought he might be back at your cottage while we’ve been hunting around?’ Polly suggests.
‘Oh, he might. Oh, I hope so. I’ll run down there now.’
‘Be careful! I’ll wait in the farmhouse,’ Polly calls after me. ‘If you’re hell bent on going out, keep in touch with me. I’ll wait here in case the stupid hound decides to run home.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Kit shouts, but I’m already running to the cottage again. My heart pounds, expecting to hear Mitch scrabbling at the door of my cottage to be let in. Of course, I tell myself, he’s been wandering around the farmyard, and finally got hungry and come home. Even so, I wish Cal were here, not that he could do any more than we are, but still I wish he were here.
The fog is so thick, I’m almost on the cottage before I see the lights shining through the front windows, but the door is shut firmly and it’s obvious Mitch can’t have come home, or if he has, he’s run off again in search of us. He’s a big dog, and brave, but he must be so confused now, running around in the fog, wondering where we all are, hungry and cold. The disappointment is so much, I only just stifle a howl. Kit catches me up and stands helplessly by my side. Squashing down a sob, I pull myself together. Me going to pieces won’t help Mitch. Only action will.
‘I’m going to look for him by the cafe again.’
Kit shakes his head. ‘It’s much too dangerous for you to go out to the cliffs on your own. I’m sure Mitch is fine; he knows this place inside out and he has four paws not two, but for humans, it’s not safe. Those cliffs will be treacherous.’ He puts his hand briefly on my shoulder. ‘I mean it, Demi.’
I’ve been thinking the same thing: maybe Mitch wouldn’t have run over the cliff in the fog, but some dogs do. It’s happened to visitor’s dogs occasionally in other parts of the coast. Mitch wouldn’t do that, would he?
‘Honestly, the best thing you can do is stay at the cottage and wait. He’ll be back soon,’ Kit adds.
‘But what if he isn’t?’
‘He will be and you should be here for him. He’ll be confused and wanting his mistress.’
‘True …’ The fog is dense, almost suffocating. Kit’s right. I sit on the sofa, trying not to look at the empty dog bed by the front door.
‘Do you want me to stay with you?’ he asks.
‘No! I mean, thanks, but no.’
‘OK. OK. I’ll go and check around the reception and car park again. How’s that?’
‘Thanks. Kit, I really appreciate this. You’re a guest, no matter what you say, and this is meant to be your holiday.’
Kit touches my arm. ‘I may be only a guest, but I’ll do anything I can to help. Call m
e if he comes back.’
‘If I can get a signal, I will, but I might have to come up to your cottage to tell you.’
‘OK. I’ll go and look around the yard. I bet you a tenner he’s back here before I come across him.’
Everything that Kit and Polly have told me makes perfect sense, but by now my worries have taken control of me – and when it comes to Mitch’s safety, I’d do anything.
A minute after Kit leaves, I jump off the sofa, grab the torch and head out into the fog. While I still have a signal, I text and try Cal’s phone again. I get his answer phone.
The torch beam only serves to show how thick the mist is, but I don’t care. I know Kilhallon land so well, I can find my way down to the cafe without too much trouble. I left the cottage door open a crack. I don’t call for Mitch until I’m sure I’m out of earshot of the guest cottages and farmhouse. I don’t want Kit or Polly following me and dragging me back home again.
My main theory is that Mitch must have scented a rabbit outside the cafe and chased after it. He’s part terrier and he may have simply found the chase too tempting and either became disorientated or got stuck in a rabbit hole. The alternatives – that he’s fallen over the cliff and is injured on a ledge, or worse – don’t bear thinking about. There’s also a slim chance that he’s become trapped in a snare. I’ve seen one or two on the cliffs around St Trenyan, set by cruel people, but none on Kilhallon land. What if Mitch is lying bleeding and in pain, with a snare cutting into his leg? Fighting back the urge to throw up, I press on past the cafe, calling his name.
The fog coats my throat and clings to my face. It muffles me, like a damp, chilly blanket. It swirls as I trace the coast path towards Kilhallon Cove. I’m on top of the cliff here and the path is almost flat but it will soon start to slope down to the beach, at first gently, then steeply, twisting and turning. I don’t know how I’m going to climb down there in the fog and the dark so I hope I find Mitch first.
‘Mitch!’
I stumble, curse and stub my foot on a granite pillar of the stile. I scramble over it and my torch falls to the ground with a soft thud, the beam illuminating the brambles at the edge of the path. I pick it up again and press on, calling. When I’m not calling, the silence is as thick as the fog.
‘Mitch!!’
A rustling in the brambles on the cliffside startles me and I edge towards it. Thorns scratch my hands but there’s no Mitch. My heartbeat jumps around like mad.
‘Mitch!’
I reach a fork in the path and decide to stay high on the heath-land rather than clambering down to the cove. If Mitch was hunting rabbits, he’s more likely to be up here where they like to hide and burrow among the old tin-mine workings.
‘Whoa!’ The stone monster of the engine house looms out of the mist with no warning, and I almost fall over a sofa-sized lump of granite. This was where we posed for the photo shoot in the summer. The fog is so thick and low, I can barely see the broken chimney stack high above me.
‘Mitch! Where are you?’
There’s more rustling and scratching to my left, then the call of a night bird. My pulse speeds up and I stop. I balance the torch on a lump of granite and try to calm my breathing and listen … now I can hear the sea breaking gently on the rocks below Kilhallon Cove. Even the sound of the waves is muffled.
‘Mitch? Please come home.’
Ahead of me, out of sight, I think I heard a snuffle.
There it is again.
A whine. Faint but definite.
‘Mitch! Over here!’
An answering woof, louder but still weak.
I forge on, stumbling over stray stones and spoil, which was left by the miners and has lain here for over a hundred years, and trampling over brambles and bracken. The barks are louder, but where is he? Why hasn’t he come to me? He must be hurt. A snare, maybe, a fall. My heart pounds. I have to reach him.
‘I’m coming, Mitch. Hold on.’
My torch beam wavers over a Mitch-sized hump in the dark a few yards below me, in one of the hollows in between the overgrown mining spoil heaps. Could that be him or am I now so desperate that I’m imagining him as any old lump of rock or bush. No! The lump moved. I swear it whimpered.
‘Mitch!’
Ignoring the scratches from the brambles, I run towards the sound. The lump barks. It is Mitch. He barks, but oh God, he sounds so hoarse. He must have barked and barked for me until his throat is raw. Tears run down my face. ‘I’m coming, boy! Hang on!’
Ignoring the gorse tearing at my clothes and hands, I clamber through the undergrowth. Mitch barks again. Oh God, he must be seriously hurt not to be able to come to me. My heart is in my mouth, I want to scream but he needs me. Prickles scratch my flesh and face as I fight my way through the undergrowth towards him. Oh, thank God, I’m almost on him now. I can see his eyes glowing through the fog about six feet below me. He tries to get up, collapses and barks. I have to reach him. I slither down a bank, clutching at the undergrowth, not caring about my bleeding hands.
‘Oh, Mitch, I’m so glad I – arrghh!’
The ground gives way under my feet and I plunge into darkness.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cal
Oh shit, Demi is going to kill me for making her wait so long. Stepping down off the train onto the platform, my heart sinks. The announcer said we’d reached Penzance but we could be anywhere, the fog is so thick. It’s half-past eleven and the station waiting room is closed.
I hope she hasn’t been waiting for me on the platform all this time, but she must have been. My train has been delayed by two hours, first due to an ‘operational failure’ near Reading and then at Bodmin due to the fog. I suppose you can’t blame the train company for the fog delay, but eight hours to get from Paddington to Penzance is enough to drive anyone insane.
I know I’m entirely to blame for leaving my phone charger in my room. My mobile battery died just after Tiverton Parkway.
Getting home late and upsetting Demi is the last thing I need. There were a couple of reasons why I went to London, and they didn’t all have to do with a reunion of the charity personnel I used to work with. I went to try and see if there was any more news of Esme, the little girl I tried to find after her mother was killed. My ex boss, Carolyn, said that the rest of the team had continued to try to find her after I’d been released from the people who captured me. Carolyn said she would put out more enquiries now.
‘She could be anywhere, Cal,’ Carolyn told me when we had a private drink together. ‘That’s anywhere between Africa and the UK. There are millions of people displaced and while we’ll do our very best to find out through all the official channels and NGOs, the likelihood is that we’ll probably never know what happened to her. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to accept that she’s lost.’
I told Carolyn that I’d never accept that fact and asked her to keep searching for Esme. She asked me why I was so eaten up with guilt about this one little girl; she told me it wasn’t my fault. But she doesn’t know the full story. She told me to let Esme go and to focus on my new life.
She asked me about Kilhallon and I told her about our plans. I spoke about it a lot more than I expected. She joked that I had ‘mentionitis’ about ‘this Demi’. I laughed at her and said she was winding me up.
I jog out to the station car park, hearing the engines of cars start and the moans of disgruntled passengers. I scope out the car park, expecting to spot the Land Rover at any moment. Damn this fog. It’s like a chilly veil has descended on the whole of Cornwall. By the time I’ve done two more circuits of the car park, the place is deserted and it’s clear Demi isn’t here. Perhaps she checked the train company website and realised I’d be delayed. That must be it, and I’m glad because it means she won’t have been hanging around here. Any moment now, the Land Rover will rumble into the car park …
Twenty minutes later, a church clock is striking midnight and there’s still no sign of Demi. Christ, I hope she hasn’t had an a
ccident in the fog. Thank God the station still has a call box. Finally, I punch in Demi’s number and it connects.
The call goes straight to answer phone so I leave a message and try Polly’s number. Polly must be sitting on top of her phone because she picks up almost immediately.
‘Cal, thank God I’ve got you!’
‘Hello, Polly. Is everything OK?’
‘No, and we’ve been trying to reach you all night. Where the heck have you been?’
‘My train was delayed by the fog and my mobile battery’s dead. Where’s Demi? She hasn’t turned up at the station.’
‘The station? Of course she isn’t at the station! She never even left here. She’s gone missing.’
I wonder if my hearing’s defective. ‘Missing? What? Where is she?’
‘If we knew that, she wouldn’t be missing, would she! We don’t know where she is, or Mitch, the stupid hound. He ran off earlier while Demi was down at the cafe and she must have gone to look for him, the silly girl. The pair of them don’t have an ounce of common sense between them.’
My heart thumps. ‘Why did you let Demi go after the dog in these conditions?’
‘Don’t you blame us. We tried to stop her, but she sneaked off and you know how rubbish the signal is on the cliffs. Kit’s gone to look for her but I had to stay here in case you called.’
My stomach twists painfully. ‘I have to get home.’
‘Yes, and I would have called Tremayne’s Cabs if I’d known for sure that your train was delayed.’
‘It’s OK. I can walk to the rank. There’s still a couple of drivers hanging about having a fag.’
‘Good. Get back here as soon as you can.’
The journey back to Kilhallon counts as one of the longest and most agonising of my life. The fog was patchier inland but still bad enough for the driver to have to stick to a painfully slow speed. He did lend me his phone and I was able to talk to Polly again. Apparently, Mitch vanished after Demi had been hanging Christmas decorations in the cafe.
Christmas at the Cornish Café Page 12