Guess Who I Pulled Last Night?

by Nikki Ashton

She carried on through the woods, occasionally throwing Alfred the ball, until it started to go chilly. Whistling to Alfred, she made her way back along the path to her car, deciding that tonight was going to be an early night with a book. Sod the fact that it was Saturday, and she should be out on the town like all the other girls. It wouldn’t do any harm to practice being a lonely old spinster for once.

  As she approached the apartments, Bets noticed a huge lorry parked outside on the car park, blocking her entry. Bets pulled up on the other side to the road and walked across to see what was happening. As she could have guessed Mrs Blair was there talking with the driver.

  “Hello dear, as you can see we have a problem. This young man tried to turn his truck around in our car park and has now broken down. He’s on the telephone to his boss right now trying to get a mechanic out.” Mrs Blair volunteered the information quite freely, without any prompting.

  “Okay,” Bets sighed. “I’ll park over the road for the time being.” Bets walked back across the busy road to her car. She could see Alfred whining at the window, obviously desperate for the toilet.

  “Alright Alfred, come on then,” she said as she unlocked the door.

  Grabbing hold on his collar, she took him across the pavement to the park, but then suddenly remembered that she had left the plastic bags for his mess in the car.

  “Stay Alfred!” she commanded, pointing at the spot where Alfred was now stooping, and she walked back to retrieve the bags.

  Leaning into the boot she heard a very loud wolf whistle. Used to such things she ignored it at first, but then it shrilled again. She looked around to see Tom standing across the road, wearing a tracksuit with a holdall slung over his shoulder.

  “Dirty pig!” she called across the traffic. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

  “Duh, I’ve just been out to dinner. Where do you think I’ve been?”

  “The gym around the corner perhaps, but that doesn’t explain what you are doing outside my flat.”

  “Car park was full so used yours, but am beginning to wish I hadn’t,” he laughed, nodding towards the broken-down truck.

  “I suppose you’d better come in for a cuppa then,” shouted Bets. “Unless of course, you’ve got a hot date and need a lift home.”

  “Nah, not tonight she’s washing her hair…” Suddenly a look of horror passed over Tom’s face. Afterwards, it was the only thing that Bets could remember, because everything else became a blur.

  “ALFRED, NO STAY!” Tom shouted.

  He held out his hand, hoping that it would signal to the dog to stay on the other side of the road. However, Alfred thought that his friend wanted to play and dashed out in front of the speeding vehicle.

  Bets had tried to grab hold of his collar, but he was too quick for her, and she seemed to be moving in slow motion. The sickening thud and screech of tyres resounded in her ears. She bolted out to the middle of the road, only to be pulled back by Tom, who had also rushed across to the scene.

  “Bets no, stay there let me look.” Tom’s face was ashen as, he bent down to look at Alfred.

  “I’m so sorry; it just ran out in front of me. Is it okay?” The driver of the mini was the same colour as Tom. He was grabbing Bet’s arm, pleading in his eyes that she accepted his apology.

  “He’s not an ‘it’. He's called Alfred!” she screamed at him. “Tom, is he all right, please tell me he’s fine." Tears careered down her face. Ringing her hands together, she felt desolate and helpless for her scruffy little dog.

  “Quick Bets, open the car. He’s still breathing; we’ll take him to the vets.” Tom took his sweat top off and wrapped it around the bleeding Alfred. Bets simply stood frozen to the spot. “Bets, move it now!” Tom bellowed.

  Bets quickly came around, pure adrenalin spurring her on. She unlocked the car and Tom carefully laid Alfred on the back seat.

  “Get in the back with him and give me the keys. I’ll drive,” shouted Tom, desperately trying to get the words into Bet’s head.

  Bets allowed herself to be pushed inside the car, unaware of the crowd gathered on both sides of the road, including Mrs Blair, the truck now forgotten.

  They made the fifteen minute journey in five, passing through two red lights on the way. Tom was grateful that there was no police or oncoming traffic. He screeched to a halt outside the vet’s surgery, leaving the car across three parking spaces. Gently, but quickly, he took Alfred from the back seat and rushed inside, hoping that Bets was following. She slowly lagged behind, almost hysterical now; not wanting to go in order to be told her dear little dog was dead. When she got to the reception, Alfred had already gone into the vet, and Tom was pacing up and down. As she edged her way across the cold, tiled floor Tom moved towards her, placing a protective arm around her shoulder.

  “Come on sit down.” He manoeuvred her towards a hard wooden chair.

  They sat with their heads close together, Tom clasping Bets' hands tightly to stop them shaking. After a silent twenty minutes, a veterinary nurse approached them.

  “Hello, I’m Becky. Mr Braithwaite, the vet, has asked me to let you know what the situation is. Your dog is quite poorly, but we’re not sure just yet how much damage has been done to his internal organs. So because of that, he’s going to operate straight away. The good thing is most of the blood was superficial, from the grazing on his side” Tom felt Bets wince, at the memory of Alfred skidding across the road. “So, we’ll let you know when we have more details. Now, can I get you both a warm drink?”

  Bets shook her head, but Tom nodded. “Please.”

  As the nurse disappeared, Bets turned to Tom her eyes brimming with tears. “It’s my fault. I should have put him on his lead, but we’d been to the woods, and I didn’t take it with me. What if he dies Tom, he’s my little baby, I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to him,” she sobbed into Tom’s shoulder.

  “Ssh, listen to me; it’s not your fault. I feel as guilty as you, he was running to me don’t forget. He thought that I was there to play.” Tom’s voice faltered as he tried to calm her down. “Anyway, if anyone is to blame it’s the car drive. He was going way too fast for that road.”

  At that moment, the nurse reappeared, holding two steaming mugs of tea. She passed one to Tom and then very carefully placed one in Bets' hand, folding her fingers around it. Happy that Bets had a grip of the mug, she bent down and whispered in Tom’s ear.

  “I put a few sugars in your wife’s, for the shock you know.”

  Tom smiled kindly at her and nodded. As she left he turned to face Bets. “She thinks that we’re married,” he giggled, as he nudged Bets, gently with his elbow, bringing a weak smile to her face.

  “God, she must think that I’m a cradle snatcher,” she tried to joke.

  “Yeah well you don’t look like your age.”

  They sat in silence again, taking gulps of their tea as they waited for news on Alfred. Tom shivered, glad for the warmth from the mug of tea; he was dressed just in a T-shirt, and tracksuit bottoms.

  “God I bet you’re freezing aren’t you?” Bets asked, looking at him from over the top of her mug. “I’ll buy you a new sweatshirt to replace your other one.”

  “Ah don’t worry about it, it was a good cause.”

  And after that they were silent again, waiting and waiting for someone to come and tell them that there was nothing that they could do; two hours later the vet appeared.

  Still in his gown, Mr Braithwaite pulled up a chair opposite Bets; she immediately let out a gasping sob.

  “Hey come on,” he soothed, rubbing her arm gently. “I’m not that ugly am I? Okay, don’t answer that one.” He smiled warmly as Bets wiped her nose and gave a watery one in return. “Well he’s a lucky little dog. He’s very scarred on his left-hand side, which is why there was so much blood, but internally everything seems to be fine. He did have a slight perforation of his bowel, but I’ve managed to repair that. He’s very strong so should make a full recovery after a couple of day
s in here for observation.”

  Bets face broke into a huge smile as she leaned across to hug Mr Braithwaite tightly. “Thank you so much, I can’t believe he’s going to be okay. I really thought that… ” Bets started to cry again, this time more with relief than fear.

  “I know, sometimes things look worse than they actually are. You and your husband should at least get some sleep now.”

  Bets nodded solemnly, and Tom opened his mouth to add that they weren’t married, but somehow it didn’t really matter.

  “Can I see him before we go?” Bets asked, getting to her feet.

  “I’d leave it tonight; he’s still asleep and doesn’t look very pretty where he’s been shaved. Come back tomorrow, someone will be here between eleven and three.”

  Tom now stood up too and held out his hand to Alfred’s saviour. “Thank you again, we really appreciate it.”

  “No problem, I’ll see you out.”

  Tom drove more sedately back to Bet’s flat. The relief was immense for both, but exhausted they travelled in silence. As he approached the building, Tom noticed that the truck had now disappeared. The street was deserted and quiet with no indication of the previous trauma. He pulled into the car park and turned the engine off; sitting back in his seat Tom heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Do you fancy a cuppa?” Bets asked, staring unblinkingly at the spot where Alfred was injured.

  “What time is it?” Tom asked, glancing down at the clock in the dashboard. “Nine o’clock; yeah okay why not. I’ve missed my date anyway.”

  “I thought you said that she was washing her hair?” Bets turned sharply towards him.

  Tom grinned back at her. “She probably is now.”

  Opening the front door it was strange not to have Alfred jumping up in delight. Bets instantly felt the emptiness in the flat and shuddered as coldness enveloped her. She flicked on the lamp, and bent down to turn the gas fire on. She turned to Tom, realising that he too must be frozen.

  “Come and sit here next to the fire and get warmed up. You must be perished in just a T-shirt. Do you want to borrow a sweater? I've got a man’s jumper somewhere in my wardrobe.”

  Tom smiled weakly. “Who did it belong to; it wasn’t Stuart’s was it?”

  Bets shook her head in disgust. “No, and what if it was? You’re not going to drop dead just because you wear his jumper you know.” She disappeared to her room to retrieve the thick woolly jumper. “Here,” she said, throwing it at him. “It was my dad’s if you must know.”

  Tom realising that he couldn’t really refuse the proffered garment shuddered as he pulled it over his head. “Thanks,” was his muffled call.

  Bets was about to go into the kitchen, when the doorbell rang. She went to answer it to be greeted by Charlie. He was carrying Tom’s sport bag that had been rescued from the pavement by Mrs Blair.

  “Come in Charlie,” said Bets, smiling weakly at the little man.

  “Oh Elizabeth, how is he? I’ve been frantic waiting for you to come back.”

  Bets relayed everything to Charlie, watching him physically relax with every word.

  “Oh thank goodness,” he gasped, patting his chest. “We can rest easy now. Well take care and give him a cuddle from me.” He moved toward the door, eager to tell his wife the news.

  “Bye Charlie, and thanks for calling.” Bets went back to the lounge, carrying Tom’s bag. “There you go, one sports bag.”

  “Oh great,” Tom replied, standing up to face her. “Look I think that I’ll leave that cuppa and get off; let you get some sleep.”

  Bets shrugged her shoulders. “You don’t have to go. I don’t think that I could sleep anyway.”

  “No, I’d better go. Carrie may still be in the pub and accept my apology if I grovel long enough. Thanks for the loan of the jumper.”

  He started to tug the sweater back over his head, pulling up his T-shirt with it. Bets noticed that he had a nicely formed six-pack, and suddenly conscious that she was staring, she averted her gaze.

  “Thanks for everything Tom,” she sighed, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

  Tom’s eyes shone brightly, as he flashed one of his best smiles. “No problem, it’s what anyone would have done.”

  “Not everyone,” Bets whispered, as she followed him to the front door.

  When he had gone and she was alone, all Bets could think about was what could have happened. She had nearly lost someone again tonight, but he hadn’t abandoned her. He stayed. Perhaps she wasn’t jinxed after all, and maybe there wasn’t anything to be afraid of; evidently not everyone you loved left. As she lay back against her pillows, weary and aching, Bets thought that maybe next time she wouldn’t be so scared and give this relationship thing another go.

  Chapter 31

  “Good morning this is Monday the twelfth of February, and this is the six-thirty news on…” Charlotte leaned over and pressed the snooze button on her alarm. She just couldn’t summon up the energy to get out of bed; her body was heavy and pressing into the comfy mattress. Snuggling down under the duvet, she dozed for another ten minutes until the radio started blasting out the latest number one. She leaned over again to turn the alarm off, but this time unable to prolong the agony. She swung her legs out of the bed and shuffled toward the bathroom.

  She couldn’t believe how tired and weary she felt, particularly as most of the previous day had been spent sleeping. She had spent a little time with Bets, racing around to see her after a tearful telephone call. On her return home, she dozed in front of the T.V. for a while and then gone to bed early, sleeping right through to her alarm.

  As she started to get dressed, Charlotte realised that she needed a break; not just a few days at home, but a proper holiday, somewhere away from everything. She made her mind up to talk to Paul about it today. She was owed a fair amount of time as she hadn’t had any time off for nearly eight months, so she knew that Paul wouldn’t turn down her request.

  In Wales, Kerry had decided to come home, realising that she had had plenty of time away from everything. The incident with Owen had proven to be the deciding factor; she knew that it was only a matter of time before she bumped into him. Luckily, she only saw him from the safety of the caravan. On Sunday afternoon, she glanced through the window to see him throwing a bag into the boot of his car, and then screeching out of the yard, almost on two wheels.

  As she sat in contemplation, a knock on the door made her heart skip a beat. Her stomach turned over at the thought of it being Owen; however, Mrs Llewellyn’s voice called from the other side.

  “Can I come in Mrs Johnson?”

  Kerry, taken to locking the door, unbolted it.

  “Hello dear,” said the older woman, smiling widely.

  Despite the smile, Kerry thought that she looked sad. “Hello Mrs Llewellyn, come in.”

  She followed Kerry into the caravan and sat down as Kerry moved some clothes to make a space for her.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Kerry was already filling the kettle.

  “Please, that would be lovely. Is the baba asleep then?” She ran a hand over Esme’s little coat.

  “Yes, she’s been a little grumpy today. I think that she’s missing her dad and home,” Kerry sighed as she went to sit at the table with Mrs Llewellyn.

  “Perhaps it’s time you went home then.”

  “I suppose you guessed that I left under a cloud, somewhat.” Kerry smiled weakly at Mrs Llewellyn, suddenly glad to be able to talk to her about it.

  “Hmm, Owen did mention something.” Mrs Llewellyn blushed at the mention of her son’s name, and the colour that drained from Kerry’s face didn’t escape her.

  “He’s gone away for a while,” she continued, placing a wrinkled hand over the top of Kerry’s.

  “Oh I see,” Kerry lowered her eyes. “I didn’t mean to lead him on you know.” She felt the need to explain.

  “I know my son dear. You have nothing to explain. I know when he decides he wants something...well nothing
will stand in his way. It’s his father’s bad blood that makes him so angry.”

  Kerry’s eyes widened in amazement. “But Mr Llewellyn seems such a nice man!”

  It was now Mrs Llewellyn’s turn to lower her eyes. “He isn’t Owen’s father. I got pregnant by a gypsy lad from the fair. He was younger than I was; he had his fun and then left without a word. I didn’t know what to do; I was a thirty year old spinster with a bastard gypsy child growing inside me. I just knew one thing that Ifor would help. He’d always had a liking for me; we were married within the week, and no one ever suspected that Owen wasn’t his child.”

  Kerry’s hand instinctively grabbed Mrs Llewellyn’s. “God, it must have been awful for you,” she said, her voice full of pity.

  “At first, but I had Ifor. He’s a good man and over the years, I’ve grown to love him. I just wish he and Owen got on, but I think he reminds Ifor of Jimmy. Anyway, that’s enough of my sob story; let’s have that cup of tea and talk about what you are going to do.”

  The two women talked for an age, Kerry telling her everything that had happened, right to the death of her dad. Mrs Llewellyn didn’t interrupt or pass comment she just listened intently, until finally Kerry sat back in her seat letting out a big sigh.

  “So you see, I practically threw him into her arms.”

  Mrs Llewellyn shook her head slowly. “Men are funny things dear. They need constant attention. Your husband probably felt neglected, but I don’t think for one minute that he stopped loving you. Why would he try so hard to sort things out if he had?”

  “Because he wanted to be with Esme?” Kerry shrugged her shoulders.

  “Maybe, but you were his wife before she was his daughter. Do you love him?”

  Kerry nodded as tears brimmed in her eyes. “Yes, I do.”

  “Well then, surely you can work it out. It takes a very big person to forgive, and I think that you are that sort of person.”

  “Maybe, but will he forgive me. I was horrible to him, not only him. Everyone around me suffered. I don’t know why I was so horrible. I just felt like it. It was a huge effort even to smile sometimes.” Kerry’s tears now slid down her cheeks. Her heart ached as she thought about everyone at home, and she knew that she had to get there as soon as possible.