Daisy Chains

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  Once again he shook his head “They doesn’t let me. I likes the sun. Number One never let me walk in the sun neither. Please, Suggit-Mummy, take me fer walks?”

  Iris looked up to the nurse. “Is that possible?” Satya pulled a grimace and plonked himself down on the one small chair. Iris turned back to Milton. “I shall ask special permission to walk with you in the garden next time I come,” she said. “But in the meantime, you have to be wonderfully good, to show everyone you can be trusted in the gardens.” Smiling, she patted his shoulder. “And I’m so proud of your writing. You write so well now, my dear. You have been so clever at your lessons. Can you read too?”

  “You writes me summint,” Milton’s exuberance fired up again. “Reckon I can read lots o’ stuff.”

  It became a long visit, twisting and turning from subject to cuddles, and back again to other subjects. After a patient hour, Satya slipped out and asked his superior, coming back quickly with permission for a very short walk in the park. The nurse walked close behind Milton while Kate walked to one side and Iris to the other, holding Milton’s arm. The birds sang. “’Tis birdies.” He breathed deeply, relishing fresh air.

  It was another hour later when Kate and Iris left, breathing with relief themselves.

  Chapter Six

  Making police interviews a little easier without becoming too improper, Sylvia smiled at Tracy as she was handing around Lavender’s biscuits in the smaller of Rochester Manor’s living rooms.

  “At least the kids are off with their grandparents today. Bourton-on-the-Water you said. I expect they love that miniature place. All the kids do.”

  “I like the pub.”

  “ Not the best conversation for the moment, I suppose. Now, Tracy, would you like tea or coffee?”

  “Tea. A bit weak. One sugar.”

  The offer went around the room. “Strong tea, no sugar.” “Strong espresso, three sugars.” “Any sort of white coffee, two sugars.”

  Mouth full of biscuit, Tracy leaned back in a placid and contented daze. “All you people have such nice cosy lives,” she murmured happily. “I wish I could live like this all the time and forget Mum and Dad ever knew me. I reckon I could get a job in a shop or as a waitress or something. But would that give me enough to pay the rent?”

  “Depends on the rent,” Morrison nodded. “Not in London. And not too large. Certainly not grand.”

  “No holidays in Mallorca?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Oh well,” Tracy concluded, “I’ll make the most of my free flat while I can, and then, well I’ll go back to work. But can I stay in the same place?”

  “The flat belongs to the Metropolitan Police,” Morrison said. “Unfortunately it has to be returned to them. But we’ll drag out the time period.”

  “I presume it would help if I found my dad’s house and got him arrested again,” Tracy added. “But that’s four days we’ve trekked those boring woods and hills. I wouldn’t know where to go next.”

  “The helicopters have found nothing,” Morrison said. “So we assume the house is either in pieces from the winter storms, or it’s well concealed beneath the trees. We might as well keep looking for some more days.”

  “Good,” said Tracy. “Keeps me here, all paid.”

  Ruby woke up in a sweat and rolled out of bed, landing with an unpleasant bump on the floor. Well carpeted, but still a nasty bump. She crawled on hands and knees, sniffing loudly, to the bathroom and collapsed on the loo. “If I get a horrible bruise,” she informed the shadows, “it’ll be your fault. Fancy having horrible dreams at my age. So stop it. Hear me?”

  The shadows did not reply, but they moved slightly as Ruby stood up, flushed the loo, and strode back to the bedroom. She took that as an apologetic ‘yes.’

  Having stumbled downstairs as usual, and into the breakfast room, she discovered that Sylvia and Harry had left early as they seemed to do every day since the girl Tracy turned up. After scrambled eggs, toast, shredded wheat with a little cream dolloped on top, three cups of tea and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, she trundled back upstairs and got dressed. She wore the floating stuff, energised by the sunshine, and wandered outside. The cake shop was shut, however, and there was no sign of Kate or Iris, so Ruby kept walking. There weren’t even any puddles, and that was true encouragement.

  Eventually, getting bored, she caught a bus into Cheltenham and sat by the fountain eating the sausage roll and ham sandwich she’d bought around the corner.

  “Hello,” said the young man. “Can I ask you the way to the nearest pharmacy?”

  Ruby wasn’t sure, and waved the hand holding the sausage roll. “I think there’s one just up there. And there used to be one of those big supermarket ones around this corner. But to be honest, I’m not sure anymore.” She stuffed the remains of the sausage roll into her mouth and smiled with crumbs. “You just moved here, have you?”

  He was walking away, but seemed to think of something different, walked back, and sat on the same bench beside Ruby. “No,” he said. “Just passing by. Never been here before. I just wanted some Aspirin.”

  “You have a headache too?” Ruby rummaged in her handbag. “I had one this morning after I fell out of bed. Silly old fool, I am, but I had a bad dream. But I think I’ve got aspirin in my bag. Or maybe it’s Paracetamol.” It was Paracetamol, and Ruby handed the packet to the boy. “But you’ll need a drink,” she said.

  With a long-fingered and unmarked hand, he took the pills, extracted two, and passed the rest back. “That’s really – kind. I’ll get some water somewhere.”

  “There’s the fountain.” Ruby pointed, and the boy laughed. She liked him. “What’s your name?”

  He was, Ruby decided, a good looking boy, quite handsome in fact, good cheekbones and a nice smile, though extremely young and probably only nineteen or twenty. It was his hair that spoiled him. It had once been bleached white and cut in a mohawk. However, it was clear that he had then changed his mind about such extravagant styling. The Mohawk was growing out, although the hair still stood stiff. the colour only remained white at the ends, whilst the boy’s own colour was now growing through. From the roots it grew dark brown and silky in contrast to the stiff white prickles at the ends.

  He said, “Brad. Brad Peacock.”

  “What a lovely name,” Ruby told him. I’m Ruby Pope. Delighted to meet you.” She held out a somewhat sticky hand, and the boy managed an exceedingly limp shake in return, almost as though he disliked touch. Ruby smiled. Well, she was an old crone after all. Not someone to grasp tightly.

  “Where do you live then?” Ruby grinned. “Come and let’s see what that café offers. I’ll buy you a cup of tea or a coke or whatever you want. I might have a cake.”

  “Cornwall,” the boy said. “With my parents. “And I’d love a coke. I’ll be able to take my pills.”

  “I love Cornwall.” She was tempted to inform Brad that having once been married to a world champion Formula One racing driver and had once insisted on them going to Cornwall on holiday. But he was too young to remember Rodney Pope, and Ruby stopped herself from repeating the old story. “O.K. Coke and cake it is.”

  The headache and the bruised back both sped away, and Ruby passed an extremely pleasant hour chatting about nothing in particular. The boy brought up different subjects to discuss as though reading from an exercise book while teaching a class at school. “Climate change?” he decided suddenly. “Now, what do you think of that? True or untrue?” He listened politely, added a few words himself, then asked, “I hope I don’t sound too inquisitive, Ruby. But do you live at home with your husband? Do you have children?” And then Brad wanted to know all about Rochester Manor. “It sounds grand. What a fantastic place to live. How many inhabitants, did you say? That’s quite impressive. And the cook makes delicious meals? Not like the school canteens?” And finally, “I must come and visit one day. Would you mind?”

  “Not in the least,” Ruby told him, a little too gushy for
her own pride but her enthusiasm was hard to squash. Young, handsome, intelligent and wondrously polite, this was such a gift out of the wide blue yonder. “I’d be delighted. Any time. There’s always cake and drinks available.”

  They parted company at the bus stop, and the boy waved goodbye as she climbed on, and waited until the bus was out of sight, which Ruby found very touching.

  “He must have been lonely,” Ruby told Sylvia later.

  “He just looked and knew at once you are a darling to talk to.” Sylvia, having traipsed through the woods again, was exhausted. Ruby decided not to bother her with any more pointless detail concerning a passing teenager who lived miles away.

  “You look worn out. I’ll make some tea.”

  It was the next day and the sun was still shining when Ruby realised that Sylvia and Harry yet again intended going off pretending to be policemen, and so decided she’d go back into Cheltenham. The boy lived in Cornwall, so surely he hadn’t travelled up to the Cotswolds just for a few hours. He would hopefully still be wandering around, and she might hopefully bump into him again.

  It was while walking up to the further bus stop, express coach to the city, when she saw the box by the side of the road. And old cardboard box, somewhat tattered, was wriggling as though something inside was attempting escape. Ruby hoped it wasn’t a snake. The likelihood was small, but anything was possible. She walked over, and bent, glasses on.

  The tiny brown shape squeaked, more whimper than greeting.

  “Good Lord,” said Ruby to the thing in the box. “You’re a puppy. A teeny-weeny scrawny little starving screwed-up puppy.” She managed a somewhat painful knee-locked bend . “Poor little thing.” Never having owned one, Ruby knew little about dogs, but this one was unmistakably lost. Presumably abandoned. “You look,” Ruby told it, “like the brown paper envelopes I get from my accountant after I’ve screwed them up to put in the bin.” Brown eyes gazed at her. She apologised. “I didn’t mean to insult you, dear. It’s just that you’re so very small and showing all your tiny bones. You certainly wear no collar, and those poor minute ribs stand out like badges of unmistakeable mistreatment and serious hunger.” As she bent closer, one finger gingerly touching the grubby little head, the tongue appeared, not to bite but to lick her finger. She felt she was probably now contaminated with whatever the puppy suffered from, and a host of lice and fleas were bound to have leapt from puppy to human.

  Her long-ago-husband had disliked dogs and called them dirty. She had never before cuddled a puppy in her life and had never felt the need. But she could not bear the thought of leaving the minute creature to die in agony. She took a deep breath and picked it up. So small that it fitted almost entirely in the palm of one hand, it was warmer than she had expected, softer, intensely sweeter, and noticeably trembling. Ruby had large pockets in her woolly coat, so she popped the puppy into one. It immediately cuddled up and soundlessly lowered its head. She wasn’t sure whether it now felt safer or was simply too weak to do anything and therefore lay still and ready to die.

  Ruby discovered that she was crying. She fished her phone out of the other coat pocket and entered a search for the nearest vet. It wasn’t far, so she marched off in the right direction with a hopeful pat on the puppy-pocket.

  “Injections against this and that,” said the plump man in a white coat. “I’ll inject against the usual things. Your name and address, ma’am? And the little dog’s name?”

  “It hasn’t got one.” Ruby was a little flustered. “I mean, I hadn’t meant to keep it. I just wanted to leave it with you for food and a new home. Checked for diseases of course, and treated for worms and those horrid lice things dogs get.”

  The vet paused, looking up, a little impatient. “You simply wish the dog to be taken to the pound?”

  She shook her head. “That sounds a little cruel,” clicking her tongue. “It’s so small. And starving hungry, I imagine. Can’t you feed it?”

  Doctor Robinson glared over the top of his glasses. “I have stocks of puppy food, various kinds, here for sale. We could start with a bowl of clean water. This dog is clearly dehydrated.”

  “You should have said that before,” Ruby complained. “What sort of vet are you to see a dying creature and not offer even water?”

  The vet stared coldly. “I have just offered water, madam.”

  “Do it then,” grumbled Ruby. “And a tin of whatever’s the best food for something that little. And I won’t leave it with you at all.”

  “Just as well, madam, since I would not have accepted it.”

  “Boy or girl?” she demanded, fumbling for her purse.

  “Clearly male, Miss Pope.”

  “Mrs Pope,” scowled Ruby. “So I’ll call it – him – Brad. Do all those proper injection things, feed the poor little wretch and give it – him – water. Then I shall take Brad home with a few more tins of food, though I daresay you over-charge.”

  Harry was standing in the bedroom, making strange faces. Sylvia watched him in mild curiosity for a few moments. Eventually she said, “Are you remembering some strange event from your previous life?”

  “There’s something stuck between my teeth.” Harry shook his head. “Spinach, I think. I just can’t get it out.”

  Sylvia regarded her husband. “You’re that hungry, dear?”

  “Honestly, “Harry spluttered and then stopped. “Damned woman, you’re joking, aren’t you? I’m never sure. “The frown eased into a grin. “It’s stuck between my teeth and I just can’t move it. I don’t want to smile like a vampire or something, with long green tassels dripping from my gums.”

  “Come here and open your mouth dear,’ Sylvia said with kindly patience. “I’ll make you respectable again.”

  Facing her and bending his knees to the two centimetres shorter than his wife stood, Harry opened his mouth wide. Sylvia obligingly stared at his teeth, including two at the side where a generous strand of green had stuck. She moved closer, and instead of using her fingers, she fastened her mouth to his and kissed him hard.

  “Well then,” Sylvia said, finally moving a step backwards as the kiss slowly lapsed, “that was an extra tasty bite of breakfast.”

  Harry laughed, exploring his mouth with his tongue. “And it really has gone. What an efficient kiss you have.”

  “Efficient in all things, my love.”

  They were interrupted by the running feet and the call, recognisably Ruby’s urgent voice. “Look, you two. Look what I found.”

  “Lionel Sullivan?”

  “Oh yes, and I’ve brought him here to prove it.” Ruby held out the cringing puppy. Its mournful whispered whimper attracted a surprising amount of attention. Heads appeared around the four doors on that corridor, two each side.

  “What’s that?”

  “Are dogs allowed here?”

  “Can you keep pets?”

  “Is it a rabbit?”

  “A hamster?”

  “We do what we like,” Ruby said, “since we own the place. I’ve spoken to Lavender, and she says the only problem will come if any other residents complain, and then I might have to buy a kennel and keep him in the garden. But he’s too little for that, so no one’s allowed to complain. If they do, I really will call in the local rat-catcher.”

  “But what is it?”

  “He’s a puppy called Brad.”

  “Brad Pitt? Is it a pit bull?”

  Ruby held Brad close, stroking his tiny ears. The puppy closed his eyes. “No. He’s an abandoned stray and the vet think he’s a mix of Staffordshire terrier and sheepdog but there might be other bits and pieces in there too. Anyway, he’s the runt of the littler and someone just dumped the poor little baby in a box by the road. He was starving. Well, he still is but he’s had lots of food and lots of injections and milk and water and kisses, and he’s not quite so frightened anymore. He was terrified at first. He had scars and things on his tummy and bottom, and he’s obviously been awfully badly treated. So don’t anyone even think of
not loving my little Brad.”

  “He’s delicious,” said Sylvia. “I’ve never seen a puppy so tiny.”

  “You’ll need to breastfeed,” decided Derek.

  “I have a syringe of special milk,” Ruby replied with disdain. “But he likes a little of softly mashed solids too. And anyone who wants a cuddle will have to wait till he stops being scared stiff.”

  Sylvia and Harry smiled at each other. For a woman who had once attempted suicide, this seemed the perfect answer. “Did you always keep dogs when you were married?” Harry asked.

  Indecisive, Ruby gazed back. She finally said, “Well, actually no. I never had one, and I don’t know the first thing about them. But Brad has never had a human before either, so we are both innocent newcomers and will get along fine.”

  “You could get one of those baby slings,’ Sylvia suggested. “Carry him around all day. He’ll think he’s back in the womb.”

  “I could.” Ruby thought about it. “And of course he’ll have to sleep in my bed.”

  “I suggest you avoid that until he’s house-trained,” mumbled Stella, stopping on her way to the stairs. “They pee a lot at first, you know.”

  “Look what happened to Iris,” added Harry, scratching his ear lobe.

  “House-train?” Ruby thought about it. “I’ll Google that on my tablet. Nothing horrid will happen to my little Brad.”

  Chapter Seven

  Quite suddenly aware that he was the talk of the country, one brief glimpse at the news broadcast on television in a shop window, Lionel once again wrote to his daughter. A text, rather than an email.

  “What they think is always wrong. Silly buggers. Tis Olga that does most of it, but sometimes tis me. She makes me. I miss you, little girl. I think of you. They want me back in that fucking cell. I’ll shoot meself. Don’t you dare tell anyone where I am. You don’t know anyway. I did nothing wrong. That Harry guy is a real nasty idiot. Don’t let him anywhere near. Nor the law. Love from Daddy.”