Follow Me Home

by Cathy Woodman

‘Which vet is it?’ I ask abruptly when we’re speeding far too fast down the lane towards Talyton St George with Frosty in the front and Mick in the back.

  ‘Maz.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘It’s lucky there’s no one else on the road,’ Lewis comments.’ How’s she doing?’

  I shake my head. I can’t speak. Frosty’s barely conscious, her body heavy across my lap. My fingers are sticky with blood and my heart weighed down with guilt for having put her in this situation because I knew – Lewis and I both knew – of the potential for a proper bust-up. We should have kept the dogs apart, especially when there was food around.

  At Otter House, Maz and Izzy admit Frosty straight away, telling Lewis and me to wait while they do what they can. Lewis sits in reception, staring at the toe of his sock – he didn’t even put his shoes on before we left the farm – while I pace the floor.

  ‘Sit down,’ he says, looking up.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘I can’t begin to say how sorry I am,’ he begins after a long silence.

  I put my hand up. ‘Don’t! Don’t say anything.’ The lights are down low and the heat has gone out of the day. The scent of dog and disinfectant and the sound of the drunks’ happy laughter as they kick a tin can along the street make me feel nauseous.

  Eventually, Maz appears, surrounded by a halo of light from the corridor beyond her.

  ‘How is she?’ I ask. ‘How’s Frosty?’

  ‘Very poorly,’ she says gently. ‘She’s lost a lot of blood. Izzy’s on the phone trying to find a donor dog – she really needs a transfusion.’

  It doesn’t seem very promising to me. It’s late. People will be turning in for the night.

  ‘What about Mick . . . or Miley?’ Lewis moves up beside me. ‘They’re working collies,’ he adds. ‘Mick is a good boy. If I could sit with him while you take the blood . . .’

  ‘Can you bring him in right away?’ Maz says.

  ‘He’s right here in the pick-up. I’ll fetch him.’

  ‘I’ll check him over beforehand to make sure he’s healthy,’ Maz goes on, but Lewis is already at the door.

  ‘Are you sure, Lewis?’ I feel guilty offering up Mick – he’s a very sensitive soul and he’s already done enough by following Frosty’s trail and finding her.

  ‘It’s now or never. It’ll be too late in the morning.’ Maz invites me to sit with Frosty; she is lying on her side wrapped in blankets on the prep bench. She’s on a drip and has a large bandage snug around her neck. Izzy is holding a mask over her nose to deliver oxygen.

  ‘Oh, Frosty . . .’ I’m close to tears as I reach out and stroke her head. ‘Why’s she shivering? She can’t be cold.’

  ‘She’s in shock,’ Maz says. ‘Would you mind holding the mask so Izzy can get on with preparing for the transfusion in case we go ahead with it?’

  I don’t mind at all. I’d do anything for Frosty – she’s my best friend, my confidante, my baby. I hold the mask. Her eyes are open, but I’m not sure she’s aware of what’s going on. She knows I’m here with her, though. At least, I hope so.

  Within half an hour, Mick is sitting on a trolley alongside us. He has an IV line in and a collection bag gradually filling with blood. Lewis stands with him, reminding him now and again to stay. Mick looks resigned.

  Maz monitors both dogs while Izzy gets theatre ready.

  ‘I’m going to operate. I’ll extend the wound and check for any damage to underlying structures in her neck before I suture it up – and I want to see how far the bite wounds on the left side of her chest extend. I can’t see anything on the X-ray, but I’m still worried she could have punctured a lung. Are you okay with that?’

  I nod. I have no choice.

  Soon Frosty is on an anaesthetic machine, being transfused with Mick’s blood. Mick is enjoying tea and biscuits, thanks to Izzy, who offers Lewis and me the same while we return to wait in reception.

  ‘You can take Mick back to the farm,’ I say to Lewis. ‘There’s no need for both of us to be here.’

  ‘There’s every need,’ he responds. ‘I feel responsible. It was my dog . . .’

  ‘This isn’t the time.’ I sit with my legs, arms and fingers crossed, waiting for news, while Mick lies cuddled up on Lewis’s knees. It’s one of the longest waits of my life before Maz appears again.

  ‘How is she?’ I say, jumping up.

  ‘She’s holding her own. That’s all I can say.’

  ‘Can I see her?’

  ‘You can see her in the morning. She’s heavily sedated. She has a shaved area on her neck with stitches, a bandage around her ears, a chest drain because the bite wound to her chest has penetrated through the muscle, and the drip and transfusion still going in. She’s on antibiotics too. Izzy is going to sit up with her through the night. If there’s any alteration in her condition, the slightest change at all, we’ll be in touch with you. Otherwise, ring at eight and we’ll update you then.’

  ‘I’ll drop you home,’ Lewis says, coming over and touching my shoulder.

  ‘It’s all right. It’s just down the road.’

  ‘I don’t like the idea of you being alone.’

  ‘I won’t be. Gran will be there.’ I could do with a hug, but not from Lewis right now. I don’t blame him, but he’s tied up with what’s happened to Frosty and I can’t quite break through that. I want my gran.

  ‘Please, it’s the least I can do.’

  ‘I’ll walk,’ I say firmly. At the word ‘walk’, I fold up, distraught at the thought I might never walk Frosty again. I never thought I’d say this, but walking my troublesome dog is one of the best things in the world. When I’m holding her lead, she holds my heart.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Down to the River

  Frosty’s condition starts to improve during the next twenty-four hours and I’m not sure whether to be pleased or worried when I pick up a text from Maz on the way home from work.

  Tried to call you. Can you pop into the surgery this evening, about 7? Maz

  ‘How is she?’ I ask as soon as I’m shown through to the consulting room. ‘I spoke to Frances at reception, but she said I had to wait to see you.’

  ‘Not good, I’m afraid,’ Maz says. ‘Her temperature is very high and the wound on her neck is starting to break down. I’ve sent a swab off to the lab and put her onto another antibiotic while we wait for the results.’

  I clutch my throat. ‘So the worst has happened? She has an infection.’

  Maz nods. ‘She’s quite depressed and refuses to eat.’ There’s a pause. ‘I thought it best that you came to see her.’

  I know what she means. This is my chance to say goodbye.

  ‘Come with me.’ As tears flood down my cheeks, Maz hands me a tissue from the box on the shelf, and takes me through to visit Frosty; she is in a cage under the stairs, lying on her belly and resting her head on her paws.

  ‘We thought she was better off out of the way of the racket in kennels. Hey, Frosty, look who’s here to see you?’ Maz smiles wryly. ‘I don’t know why I talk to her all the time when I know full well she’s deaf.’

  ‘I do it too.’ Frosty raises her eyes, but doesn’t wag her tail. ‘Is it all right to give her a treat?’

  ‘You can try. Izzy’s been offering her all sorts, but she’s turned her nose up at everything so far.’

  ‘I expect she’s missing my gran’s home cooking. I’ll bring some in.’

  ‘I’m not overly optimistic, but it’s worth a try. We’ll be here until at least eight.’

  I check my watch. ‘I’ll go now. Gran had some lamb shanks in the fridge this morning.’

  ‘Don’t expect too much, will you, Zara?’

  ‘I understand.’ I need to do something, though, anything to keep busy, so I return to the practice with a small portion of lamb, gravy and mashed potato, and sit with Frosty. I offer her the dish, but she barely sniffs it.

  ‘Frosty, you have to eat,’ I murmur.

  ‘An
y interest?’ Izzy asks, passing by with a pile of fresh laundry.

  I shake my head. ‘She’s going to die, isn’t she?’ I don’t know how that makes me feel about Miley and Lewis.

  ‘No, she isn’t. Here, give me that.’ Balancing the laundry on one arm, Izzy reaches down for the dish and sticks her finger in it. ‘Let me give that a blitz in the microwave.’

  When she comes back, I put the dish in front of Frosty. Nose twitching and ears cocked forwards, she lifts her head just high enough to reach over the rim of the bowl and lap at the gravy.

  ‘There you go,’ Izzy says. ‘Who wants to eat their dinner cold?’

  Frosty swallows a piece of lamb whole before deciding she’s had enough.

  ‘That’s a good start,’ Izzy says.

  ‘Let’s hope that’s a turning point,’ Maz says, joining us again.

  ‘I’ll bring her a scrambled egg for breakfast – she loves that.’

  ‘While you’re at it, you can provide Meals on Wheels for the rest of us,’ Izzy smiles.

  ‘Thank you, both of you.’

  ‘She’s looking brighter. Let’s see what tomorrow brings,’ Maz says.

  I call Lewis on my way back home.

  ‘You should have let me know you were visiting her. I’d like to have come with you.’

  I don’t know how to respond. I don’t want to hurt his feelings by confessing that I wouldn’t have wanted him there. I don’t blame him personally for what Miley did. I’m afraid that when I see him again, I’ll blame him by association, and I won’t feel quite the same about him.

  ‘Give Frosty a big hug from me tomorrow.’

  ‘Will do,’ I say. ‘Bye, Lewis.’

  ‘I missed my goodnight text last night.’

  It is one of those conversations where there’s more meaning in the silences than the words.

  ‘I was asleep by nine. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’ I cut the call. As I continue walking along the road, Mrs Dyer comes rushing up to me, towed along by her enormous dog. (Since I became a member of the dog-walking set, I’ve found out that he’s called Nero and he’s a Great Dane.)

  ‘How is Frosty?’ she asks. She is red-faced, and panting almost as much as the dog.

  ‘She’s in a bad way,’ I say, and then I find I can’t speak any more because I well up again.

  ‘I’m so sorry. We’re all rooting for her, you know. Everyone’s missing her antics out on the Green.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I mutter. I’m missing her more than I ever imagined was possible.

  The next day brings better news, though. Frosty has eaten scrambled egg for breakfast and, that evening, I am walking her home with her tugging on the lead, growling as she plays, trying to snatch it out of my hands. Apart from her war wounds, she’s back to her normal self.

  Gran greets her with a bowl of chicken stew.

  ‘There’s enough left for you and Lewis,’ she says.

  I thank her and explain that I haven’t invited him.

  ‘Well, you should. Poor man. He’ll want to see you. You haven’t seen him for a while. I’ll make myself scarce this evening so you can . . . canoodle.’

  ‘Gran! You don’t have to hide in another room.’

  ‘Your mum and dad are taking me out for a fish-and-chip supper and some sea air.’

  ‘You don’t have to go out with them on my account.’

  ‘I know, but I rather fancy fish and chips, so I thought, why not? It’s time we buried the hatchet.’

  ‘That’s great.’ Not only does she have some time away from the shop, it gives me and Lewis the perfect opportunity to meet without worrying about whether our dogs are going to kill each other.

  Within a couple of hours, the chicken stew is gone and Lewis and I are cuddled up on the sofa with Frosty. It’s cosy, and I’m waiting for Lewis to make a remark about how dogs shouldn’t be allowed on the furniture.

  ‘You know,’ he begins, ‘the last thing I want is you blaming me because Miley went for Frosty.’

  ‘I don’t blame you. I blame myself.’

  ‘You haven’t been in touch much the past few days.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I keep seeing Miley with her jaws around Frosty’s neck,’ I say with a shudder. Lewis hugs me closer, his arm around my shoulder. I turn my head to face him.

  ‘You still like me, though?’ He bites his lip, waiting for my answer. I notice a pulse throbbing in his neck and let my eyes follow the angle of his jaw up to his cheekbone. It really wasn’t his fault. He’s kind and handsome, and I love every part of him.

  ‘Of course I still like you.’ I fling my arms around his neck and we kiss.

  ‘That’s better,’ he says eventually.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ I smile.

  ‘I want to pay Frosty’s vet’s bill. At least let me do that.’

  ‘It’s all right – I’ve sorted it and I don’t mind. Having her back here beside me is worth every penny.’

  ‘I’ll pay you back then. How much was it?’

  ‘I’m not telling you.’ I gaze at him. ‘You have no money.’

  ‘I have money,’ he says quickly, his body stiffening. ‘I’ve arranged a loan from my parents.’

  ‘Frosty’s my responsibility, although I wish I’d insured her for vet’s fees.’

  ‘You have to let me make some kind of contribution.’

  ‘And I’m telling you, no.’ I tilt my head and kiss him again and the subject is closed for now, at least. I lose all sense of time and place until the sound of the doorbell jangling cuts through the rush of blood in my ears.

  ‘Yoo-hoo. I’m back.’

  ‘It’s Gran . . .’ I hiss, and Lewis pulls back with a growl of frustration.

  ‘Another time,’ he whispers.

  Once Lewis has gone, I ask Gran about her trip out with Mum and Dad. According to her, they had a stroll along the promenade and stopped for refreshments at the Seaview tea rooms, but she didn’t enjoy it.

  ‘That’s a shame. Why was that?’ I ask.

  ‘It reminded me of how your granddad and I used to go to the beach with Nobby to dig up rag-worms to bait their hooks for catching mackerel.’

  ‘Is there anything else? You seem . . . upset?’

  ‘I wish I knew where that little red bucket was. You haven’t seen it, have you, Sarah?’

  ‘Sarah?’ Gran isn’t making sense. ‘I’m Zara.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she says slowly.

  ‘I think it’s time for you to go to bed,’ I say, forcing a smile. That’s the first time she’s become confused between me and my mother. ‘You must be tired after all that sea air.’

  ‘I should find that bucket first.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that now. Let’s leave it till morning.’ Hopefully, she will have forgotten it by then.

  The next day, she seems much better, up early to open up and serve customers, and I can breathe a sigh of relief, although I know the improvement in her condition will be temporary.

  Mum drops by at ten for a quick chat, taking me out to the Copper Kettle for a coffee and cake.

  ‘We need to talk about Gran,’ she says when we settle down in the corner of the tea room, at a table covered with a plastic mat in a blue and yellow gingham pattern which matches the curtains. We share the space with a couple of baby buggies and three tartan trollies.

  ‘It’s like a rainforest in here,’ I say, ducking one of the leaves of a giant cheese-plant.

  ‘Please don’t try to change the subject.’ Mum drops three lumps of sugar into her mug and stirs them into her coffee – white coffee, not a latte, because Cheryl sees no necessity to move with the times, and who can blame her when she’s always busy? It’s a gold mine. ‘Did Mother talk about her afternoon out?’

  ‘She didn’t say much, only that you’d been to the Seaview tea rooms. Have they reopened? Only I thought they closed years ago.’

  ‘We took her to the café next to the lifeboat station. She can’t have been to the other place since Dad . . .’ M
um’s voice cracks at the memory of her beloved father, before she continues. ‘Since before your granddad passed away.’

  ‘I expect she got a bit mixed up. I do too, after a double shift.’

  ‘It isn’t just that, though. When we took her to the seaside, she was wearing her blouse inside out and she didn’t have her purse with her. Please tell me what’s going on. She’s always been so sharp.’

  ‘Who doesn’t have a wardrobe malfunction now and then?’

  ‘The purse? She always carries her purse.’

  ‘Does it matter? Were you expecting her to pay for the fish and chips?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Mum frowns. ‘It was our treat.’

  ‘Trick or treat?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean. You’re talking in riddles.’ Mum sighs deeply. ‘Zara, you and your grandmother are one of a kind.’

  ‘What I mean is, was this trip a trick to persuade her to look at retirement homes by any chance? She was quite upset when she came home – she didn’t look as if she’d had a good time. Did you put pressure on her?’

  ‘We did not, although we might have mentioned selling the shop again,’ Mum concedes. ‘And before you criticise, we are not being cruel or unreasonable. We all want the best for Gran. I’m afraid, though, that we have different ideas as to how to go about it.’

  ‘What’s best for her is that she stays in her own home with me, where she can continue to gossip with her friends and customers.’

  ‘She clearly isn’t coping.’

  ‘I’m here with her. I’ll keep a closer eye on her in future and make sure she dresses properly.’

  ‘You have a demanding job, a career. You don’t have time to look after an elderly lady who’s losing her memory. Stop trying to tell me she’s just tired. She’s becoming extremely forgetful.’

  ‘It’s better for her brain if she stays active and busy, than be stuck in a nursing home with no mental stimulation apart from the telly,’ I counter. ‘I can’t bear the thought of her being alone and unhappy.’

  ‘She wouldn’t be alone,’ Mum says.

  ‘What about poor Norris? No one else will want him.’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, he’s only a cat.’

  ‘Gran loves him. She’d hate to be without him.’