‘Eighteen months,’ said Lucy, holding his lead out hopefully and calling him. ‘Come on, Hame.’
‘I find they tend to come more easily if I keep the lead out of sight.’ The scruffy woman squatted down on her haunches and gave a whistle, rummaging in her pockets. ‘Call him again?’
‘Hamish!’
The woman gave another whistle and her two spaniels shot towards her instantly, throwing themselves into a down position at her feet. Hamish, looking as if he didn’t quite know what had come over himself, followed suit. He was delighted when she offered him a titbit of something delicious, and didn’t seem to object when she grasped his collar and said, ‘Here you are, pop the lead on now, while he’s chewing.’
‘Bloody hell, you’re a miracle worker.’ Lucy gave Hamish a pat and looked up at the woman, who was wiping her hands down the sides of her jeans.
‘Not at all,’ she said, laughing. ‘It’s just a trick of the trade. Speak softly, and carry something irresistibly delicious in your pocket at all times.’
‘Not like these,’ Lucy said ruefully, holding out her handful of depressing-looking biscuits.
‘Definitely not, unless you’ve got a dog with a perfect recall. You need something tempting. Stinky cheese is another good one.’
‘Are you a dog trainer then?’
‘For my sins.’ She wrinkled her nose, looking much younger suddenly, and then held out her hand. Lucy went to shake it, but the other woman pulled it back to inspect it, before holding it out again. ‘Sorry, just checking it wasn’t all chickeny.’
‘Nice to meet you.’
‘I’m Mel Willis, and this is Clara and Pip.’ She pointed to the two almost identical spaniels. ‘And yes, I’m a dog trainer. I do classes in the village hall, and in town, and I do residential stuff for people who want me to fix their dogs for them and one-on-one classes for people who’re having a problem with a particular issue.’
Lucy blushed. ‘Like running away on walks?’
‘Exactly like that. He’s a terrier, so he’s got selective deafness when it comes to going off lead. If he smells something interesting, he’s going to be far more likely to head off to investigate that than to come and see if you’ve got a dried-up old Bonio in your pocket.’
‘But I thought we weren’t supposed to bribe them?’
‘It’s not bribery, per se,’ Mel said, looking thoughtful. ‘More just reminding them that we’re worth listening to.’
‘That’s a bit like teenagers,’ Lucy said.
‘Oh God, yes.’ Mel rolled her eyes. ‘Got one of them at home. Unfortunately she can’t be bribed with smelly cheese and the promise of a long walk around the corn field.’
Lucy said goodbye and they forked off in different directions – Mel over a stile and off onto a path down the side of a field tall with greenish-gold corn, and she and Hamish along the footpath that led around the wood. They came across a little pond, and she stopped for a moment to admire the way the light dappled on the water and the green leaves softly filtered the morning sunshine. Hamish admired the pond in his own way by leaping in and swimming across it, nose high in the air, looking tremendously pleased with himself.
When they reached home Lucy towelled Hamish dry as he shook grim-smelling pond water all over her clothes, then hung up his lead and went through the little archway into the galley kitchen. If she timed it right, she could shove the bacon in the oven and it would be cooked by the time she’d had a quick shower.
‘Bacon sandwiches all round,’ she said to Hamish, buttering two slices of bread and humming to herself. He looked up, one eye open, then carried on snoozing on the sofa.
She hadn’t factored in the slightly dodgy shower Margaret had mentioned. The bath had been fine, so she’d assumed it couldn’t be that difficult. But it took an age to get a balance between icy cold needles of water and scalding hot ones, and by the time she got out and dressed, the pungent scent of burning bacon was curling its way up the little staircase.
‘Ugh!’ She coughed as a cloud of black smoke puffed out into her face as she opened the oven. Then ‘Oh, bugger,’ as the baking tray burned her hand through the tea towel. She threw the smoking tin down on the kitchen worktop and waved an arm around ineffectually as the smoke alarm started bleeping like mad. ‘Shit.’
Hamish started barking.
‘Oh shush, I don’t need you chiming in,’ she shouted, waving the tea towel in the air to try and stop the alarm going off. She hauled open the kitchen door and hurled the smoking tray with its blackened offerings onto the step and straight into the path of—
‘Watch it,’ said a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scruff of dark curly hair.
‘Oh my God,’ said Lucy. Her heart thudded and adrenalin coursed through her veins. She’d interrupted a burglar in the middle of sizing up the place. She pulled the door shut and stood for a second, trying to catch her breath. The local newsletter she’d read had said something about a spate of local break-ins that had been reported in the local paper, the culprits trying the back doors of people’s houses in the hope they weren’t in.
She opened the door and glared at the man’s retreating back. ‘Yeah, you sneak off when nobody’s looking. I’m going to report you to the police. I’ve heard all about you,’ she shouted.
He turned around at that. Lucy got a good look at his face, making a mental note for the police report. Tall – about six two – with dark untidy hair and stubble. A polo shirt with some sort of logo on it, and work trousers. He was wearing a pair of heavy tan work boots, and he had – she peered at him – dark brown eyes.
‘Are you finished?’
He was mocking her.
‘I’m calling the police this second before you break in to anyone else’s house. And don’t you go anywhere near next door – she’s got a snake. It’ll – it’ll – eat you.’
‘Right you are,’ he said, the corners of his mouth turning down. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
And then he vaulted over the back gate, and crunched around the side of the cottage.
Lucy looked down at the tray and realized Hamish had ventured out. Far from being a guard dog, he had busied himself eating every one of the six burnt-to-a-crisp pieces of bacon.
‘Thanks for nothing,’ she said, swiping the tray away from him. ‘You’re supposed to be my bloody protector.’
She stood with phone in hand trying to work out if she was supposed to call 999 (and say ‘Help, someone was trying to burgle me but they’ve gone away’) or 111, or the local police station, or . . . She googled ‘what to do if someone tries to burgle your house’ and was scrolling through the answers when a loud rap at the door made her jump.
‘That was quick,’ she said, pulling it open. ‘I haven’t even called you yet.’
‘I don’t think you have my number,’ said the burglar, looking down at her with frank amusement. He paused for a second and then put out his hand. ‘Sam Travis.’
Lucy took a step back and looked at him with her best teacherly frown of disapproval, honed over many years. ‘You’re a burglar. You’re not supposed to introduce yourself.’
‘On the contrary. If you knew anything about this village, you’d know that it’s de rigueur. Along with deadheading your roses as soon as they go over, doing your bit for the village hall committee, and keeping the place looking just so.’
‘I—’ Lucy was aware her mouth was hanging open.
‘We seem to have got off on the wrong foot. Bunty told me to pop round and check the hedgehog house I’d installed, and see if any hogs had moved in. I was supposed to do it the other day but I didn’t get the chance, and when I saw her earlier she said she’d seen you going out with the dog, so I assumed the coast was clear. I didn’t realize you were in, or I’d have knocked. I’m used to the cottage being empty.’
‘Well, it’s not,’ she said.
‘I can see that.’ He looked at the ceiling. ‘Are you going to get that?’<
br />
‘Yes,’ she said, crossly. She grabbed the tea towel and waved it in the direction of the smoke alarm, and after a couple of moments it stopped.
‘So you’re renting the cottage from Bunty? I didn’t realize she’d branched out into holiday lets.’
‘I’m not on holiday. Margaret – Bunty’s daughter-in-law – wanted someone to keep an eye on her on a day-to-day basis.’
‘Ha.’ Sam gave a hollow laugh. ‘Good luck with that. Bunty’s pretty determined. I can’t imagine she’ll take kindly to having someone checking up on her.’
Lucy thought of Bunty’s expression yesterday when she’d opened the door, and gave a slightly grudging smile. ‘Well, no. I think it’s going to be a bit of a learning curve for both of us.’
‘That’s one way of putting it. Good old Margaret. She tries her best – I’m sure she did it with the best of intentions.’
He rubbed his nose, looking at her with an amused expression. ‘Sorry about the burglary thing. Not exactly what you need when you’re trying to find your feet in a new place. Mind you, I wouldn’t put it past Bunty to have done it deliberately. She’s got a wicked sense of humour.’
‘Has she?’ Lucy made a mental note of that.
‘Once she gets to know you, yes. She’s got a good heart, has Bunty. I’ve known her all my life. Much scarier on the outside than she is on the inside, I promise. You’ll see. Anyway, I’d better let you get on with breakfast.’
He gave her a half smile and raised his eyebrows.
‘I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again. Hard not to, when we’re living on opposite sides of the road.’
Lucy closed the door and watched through the window as he crossed Main Street in three strides.
Chapter Five
Well. That was weird, Sam thought, crossing the road and climbing back into the driver’s seat of the truck.
‘All right?’ Freya didn’t look up from her phone as she spoke.
‘Absolutely fine.’ Apart from being accused of burglary by a madwoman, that is. He turned the key in the ignition and headed into town to pick up the two apprentices who were working on the project with him. Hopefully between the three of them they’d get a decent chunk of work done, and get ahead before the weather changed. He shook his head in bemusement. Margaret was on a hiding to nothing if she thought finding someone to take the cottage and keep an eye on Bunty was going to work. He admired Bunty for her dogged determination to refuse to let age get in the way of her life. And she was capable of the odd wickedly naughty trick. She hadn’t said a word about the cottage being occupied when she’d told him to check the hedgehog house, and it was only luck that whatever her name was hadn’t called the police. He’d have a word when he got back later. Honestly.
He had enough on his plate dealing with work, and now he had someone living opposite who was probably still secretly convinced he was casing the joint. Thank God he could rely on Mel, at least. She was coming round later to pick up some stuff he’d ordered for her from the wholesalers – he’d ask her then if she knew anything about the new neighbour. He pulled into the estate where the boys both lived and saw them sitting in the bus stop, waiting. They were wearing designer t-shirts, which were going to get wrecked, but which they insisted on wearing anyway. He must get them a couple of TreeTops Design polo shirts to wear instead.
‘All right?’ Will and Joe grunted a greeting as they clambered into the back seat, sliding their bums across the seat and strapping themselves in. Freya grunted back, but he noticed she’d gone a bit pink. He secretly suspected that she might have a bit of a crush on one of them, but knew better than to breathe a word about it to her.
‘Well, it’s just as well I’ve got the radio for company,’ Sam said pointedly to himself as he drove off. It was amazing how they all seemed to be from another planet, wired to their phones. He struggled to get a word out of any of them on the way to work, but once they got outdoors and started doing physical stuff they became quite animated and cheerful. Freya was exactly the same. She was spending way too much time online, in his opinion. She berated him for not being academic and not understanding why she wanted to do well at school. He could appreciate why she wanted to spend all her time with her nose in a book – even if, being dyslexic, he’d struggled all the way through school and left as soon as he could – but the appeal of wasting time staring at her phone was completely beyond him.
‘I really appreciate you two taking time out on a Saturday for this,’ he said as they pulled up outside the gates of Greenbank House.
‘Hello, Sam,’ said a loud, happy voice. A moment later Freddy, the eldest boy in the family, popped his head up at his window. ‘I’ve opened the gate for you.’
‘That’s really kind,’ he said, smiling down at Freddy, who was twenty, and had just finished his final term at an extended education school for teenagers with learning difficulties.
‘Sam.’ Janet gave a wave of greeting. She wheeled her eldest daughter, Fiona, onto the grass. Fiona was – as usual – draped in a lovely set of sparkling plastic jewels, and nestling a toy baby doll in her arms. ‘Thank you for coming over on a weekend.’ Fiona gave a wave hello. In the distance he could hear the sounds of guitars and a drum kit – the boys who were currently placed with Janet were clearly making themselves at home. Janet smiled indulgently. She was used to chaos – thrived on it, really. Twenty-five years working as a foster parent had left her pretty much unshockable.
‘I’ve brought the lads.’
He wound up the window, got out of the car and nodded his head to indicate to the boys they should follow. Freddy closed the gate and locked it behind them.
‘Hi, Freya,’ said Janet.
‘Can I go and see the goats with Fiona?’ Freya waved hello to Freddy, then went across to say hello to Fiona, who was twenty-five now and had been living with the family since she’d been fostered there at the age of four. It made his heart swell with pride to see how kindly and unselfconsciously Freya admired Fiona’s ‘baby’, picking her up and smiling, commenting on the pretty babygro she was wearing. Fiona might not be verbal, but she communicated her happiness effectively through the huge smile on her face and the waves of both arms. These were the jobs that mattered. Installing hot tubs and luxury treehouses for people like Annabel might be the bread-and-butter work, but doing something like this felt worthwhile.
He watched as Freya checked with Janet that it was okay to go, then asked Fiona if she’d like to show her the goats. Fiona nodded vigorously and they headed off. Janet and Mick’s house stood in twelve acres of land, all of it fenced securely, not for fear of people getting in, but to keep the occasional runaway safely in. She was an experienced foster carer who’d looked after more than 100 children in her time. Her husband, Mick, worked long hours doing something in computers, which meant that while he was often home, he was generally holed up in his study. But today he was waiting for them at the treehouse site, the sleeves of his checked shirt rolled up and his hair tied back in a long ponytail.
‘Sam, lads – good of you to come over today.’
‘No problem. I know you’re flat out during the week.’
‘This is what we’re working on next, boys. Mick’s prepared the site in his spare time—’
Janet gave a snort of laughter. ‘If you could call it that.’
‘Watch it, you,’ said Mick, catching his wife by the waist and squeezing her.
‘Anyway. We’re going to be working on a special project here, like I told you. And I wanted Mick and Janet here together to talk us through it, and make sure we all know exactly what’s needed.’
An hour or so later, they headed back towards the front drive. Freya and Fiona were sitting under the shade of a tree, Fiona wearing a long daisy-chain necklace and a garland of buttercups in her hair.
‘Oh that’s pretty, Fiona,’ said Janet. ‘You look lovely.’
‘Aaaah,’ said Fiona, waving an arm towards Freya.
‘We saw the goats, too,’ Freya
said. ‘Molly’s had babies. Dad . . .’
‘No, we cannot get a pet goat. Our garden’s the size of a postage stamp, for one thing.’
Later that evening, having deposited the lads back home and thanked them again for going out of their way to come along on a day off, he was trying to prise Freya away from her phone and out for a walk with the dogs.
‘It’s not that I don’t understand why you want to lie here staring at Instagram while your life passes by,’ he said, for the millionth time. ‘It’s just – I think you really need to do something else. Something outside, preferably.’
‘Like running, or hiking, or something?’ She’d lifted an eyebrow and glanced up at him, then carried on scrolling, tapping in comments at great speed.
‘Like walking the dogs, or volunteering to help at the lodge, or anything. Just get off the internet, and I don’t want you spending all summer with your nose in a book, either. You need some fresh air.’
‘I’m on it.’ Freya rolled her eyes, and shifting herself off the kitchen table, ambled off (phone in hand) into the sitting room. He heard the television switching on. ‘Listen,’ she shouted, ‘I’m doing something.’
‘Netflix does not count.’ Sam lifted her schoolbag off the table, hung it by the back door and turned to the fridge. He’d better find something for dinner that wasn’t pizza – again.
After dinner, when they were washing the dishes that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher, Freya looked at him for a moment with an expression he couldn’t quite read.
‘You know my –’ she began, then stopped.
‘What’s up?’
‘I was just wondering.’ She spent a long time folding the damp tea towel into squares before unfurling it and hanging it to dry on the oven door. He waited, a knot growing in his stomach.
‘Cammie was talking about parents on the bus home from school the other day.’
The Telephone Box Library Page 7