by Cathy Kelly
Mel groaned but took no notice. ‘I have to look fab, Mum, that’s all. Who knows who’ll be there. All the movie stars have houses in Vail.’
‘It’s not Vail, is it?’ her mother asked, horrified.
‘Yes,’ Mel said happily.
‘God, we’ll all have to dress up,’ Leonie said, ‘won’t we, Abby? Can’t let Ireland down by turning up like a gang of down-and-outs.’
Abby was very quiet with all this talk of outfits and clingy shift dresses. Poor thing was undoubtedly fed up thinking that Mel would look like a superstar while she melted into the background yet again, put in the shade by her much prettier sister.
‘Are you not hungry?’ Leonie asked Abby, noticing she was only picking at her dinner. ‘You have been off your food lately.’
Abby shook her head quickly. ‘I’m fine,’ she said and began to load up a fork with chilli, as if to prove that she was hungry. ‘Fine, really.’
Abby closed the bathroom door quietly. It didn’t take her as long these days but it was still good to get in there quietly, before anyone realized how long she’d been gone and that she was actually in the bathroom. That had been a dodgy moment earlier when Mum had asked if she was feeling all right. Abby had been sure she’d managed to hide the fact that she’d been dieting. Over the past few weeks, she’d fed Penny surreptitiously under the table and had hidden bits of dinner in her napkin at mealtimes, anything to avoid eating too much. It had been so difficult and it hadn’t worked. She was always hungry and she wasn’t getting any thinner, she was sure of it. The ancient bathroom scales weren’t exactly accurate so it was hard to check. Nobody ever used them any more. Mum just ate what she liked and didn’t seem to worry about her figure; Mel was skinny no matter what she ate and Danny only cared about how muscular he was getting. He was always admiring his biceps in the hall mirror when he thought nobody was looking.
Abby’s only other option for weighing herself was the speak-your-weight machine in Maguire’s chemist and it was so hideously embarrassing to have to stand on that with all the other girls from school wandering in and out, buying nail varnish and spot concealer, that she never used it.
Either way, she wasn’t thinner, despite all her efforts at avoiding chips and lasagne, her favourite. Dieting had seemed hopeless until she’d come up with the perfect way to lose weight. She’d read about it two weeks ago in one of her mother’s magazines. You could eat all you wanted and still be thin. It hurt the back of her throat, though. But it would be worth it if it meant she became as thin as Mel. That was all she wanted really: to be beautiful like Mel, just for once, for Dad’s wedding. Then she’d stop. Abby tied her hair back in a scrunchie so it wouldn’t get in her way and leaned over the toilet bowl.
Only Penny’s pleading eyes made Leonie grab her anorak and brave the hideous December weather. It had rained solidly for three days, great sheets of rain that defied any raincoat, scarf or hat. No matter how well wrapped up you were, the rain insinuated itself under some hem or other, soaking clothes until the wearer was wet and freezing.
The girls were cuddled up in the sitting room with the heating on full blast, pretending to revise for their Christmas exams but really watching a crucial episode of Home and Away. In the oven, a lemon and herb basted chicken was roasting succulently for dinner. Leonie’s plan had been to read the paper and, exhausted after a busy day in the surgery, veg out until dinner. But Penny, who hadn’t been walked for the entire water-logged three days, looked so mournful that Leonie finally gave in.
‘If they gave Oscars to animals, you’d get one for sure,’ she muttered as Penny sank to the floor in abject misery, resting her nose miserably on her fat golden paws. ‘Nobody can look more depressed and abandoned than you. Skippy, Flipper and Lassie wouldn’t have a hope.’
Wearing waterproof leggings, her big waterproof anorak and with a pink knitted hat under the hood, Leonie hoped she’d stay dry.
Penny danced around her mistress’s feet, singing in her high-pitched canine voice, thrilled with herself. Shivering, Leonie trudged down the road, wondering if she was stone mad to be doing this.
It was ten days before Christmas and every house along her road had candles or small lights in their windows. The brightly coloured gleam of Christmas tree lights shone through windows and glass porches, and the atmosphere of cosy warmth inside made it feel all the more cold and wet outside. Leonie huddled into her anorak.
Even watching Penny delightedly bouncing in and out of the myriad enormous puddles didn’t make her laugh the way it usually did. Ten minutes, that was all she was doing. After ten minutes on an evening like this, she’d be a drowned rat. Once they’d left the main road, she let Penny off the lead and followed slowly, hating the sensation of needles of rain hitting her face with ferocity. She was so cold.
Penny buried her nose in a puddle and whisked it up joyfully, splashing water over her laughing face. With her rainproof fur coat, designed by nature for all kinds of weather, she didn’t mind the rain, although she always quivered when she was being hosed after a particularly dirty walk, as though the cold water she’d leapt into moments before was painfully cruel when it was coming out of a hose instead of a big puddle.
‘You’re lucky I love you, Penny,’ Leonie grumbled to her gambolling dog, ‘otherwise I’d never bring you out on an evening like this.’ She moved to the other side of the narrow road because it was more sheltered from the rain.
She was so busy trying to cover as much of her face as possible from the icy rain that she never even noticed the giant pothole beside the big forbidding black gates. As Penny bounced about the gates, sniffing excitedly and peeing, Leonie stepped on a cracked bit of asphalt, her foot in its wet wellington boot wobbled and she fell heavily, barely managing to protect her face with her hands. She was up to her knees in the water-logged pothole and her elbows ached from landing heavily on the road.
‘Ouch!’ she cried with pain, tears flooding her eyes. Penny instantly ran back and started barking. Feeling jarred and shocked by her fall, Leonie didn’t know what to do for a moment. She could feel the water seeping into her clothes, and her knees and elbows stung, but shock meant she couldn’t move.
‘Are you all right?’ said a masculine voice. She moved her head, only then noticing the car lights behind her. Suddenly someone was putting arms around her and helping her gently to her feet. She swayed in this person’s embrace, feeling unsteady and shaky. Penny hopped anxiously from paw to paw, knowing something was wrong but not able to do anything.
‘You’re in no fit state to go anywhere,’ the man said decisively. ‘Come with me and we’ll get you dried off and see whether you need the doctor.’ He half-carried her over to a big Jeep with headlights blazing.
Normally, Leonie would have resisted and said she’d be fine, really, and that Penny couldn’t get into the Jeep because she was filthy and wet, but she was too shocked and tearful to say anything. The man helped Leonie into the passenger seat as if she were light as a feather and then opened the back door for Penny to leap in.
Leonie closed her eyes wearily, still in shock. The pain in her elbows was getting worse. She felt them gingerly, sure she’d torn her anorak in the fall.
‘Don’t,’ he advised, ‘you’ll just make it worse. Wait till we’re home and then we’ll have a look at you.’ He paused. ‘Maybe I should bring you straight to the doctor’s house now.’
Leonie shook her head. ‘No,’ she mumbled tearfully, ‘don’t. I’m OK, really.’
Suddenly she realized where they were going: in the gates where she’d fallen. It was his house, he was the big bear of a man who she’d seen walking the two exuberant collies.
‘It’s my fault,’ he said. ‘That pothole’s been getting bigger all the time and I should have done something about it.’
‘It’s the council’s fault really,’ Leonie said, trying to feel if her leggings were ripped.
The Jeep bounced along a winding drive and stopped at a house that Leonie had nev
er seen before. A small wood hid it from prying eyes on the road, which was just as well, she realized, because if people could see it, they’d want to come in and gawp. It was beautiful: an elegant Palladian villa, perfectly proportioned with big windows and graceful columns on either side of the wide front door. Painted a soft honey colour, the house was surrounded by beech trees that nestled protectively around it.
‘It’s beautiful,’ breathed Leonie, the pain receding somewhat as she gazed at the most lovely house she’d ever seen. ‘I had no idea this was here.’
‘Seclusion is one of the reasons I bought it,’ the man said, getting out of the car.
He helped Leonie to hobble to the door.
‘We shouldn’t go in the front door, Penny’s filthy,’ she said suddenly.
‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘The floors are all wood so there are no carpets to muddy.’
A cacophony of barking greeted them and two glossy black collies jumped on the man excitedly when he opened the door. They then spotted Penny and all three dogs went into a frenzy of excited tail-wagging, plumy tails competing with Penny’s damp blonde one.
‘They’re males and they’re very friendly,’ he said. ‘They never fight.’
‘Good,’ said Leonie, feeling sick. ‘Do you have a cloakroom?’ she asked weakly.
He quickly showed her to a small, pristine bathroom and, as soon as she’d locked the door, Leonie threw up. Shock and adrenaline, she diagnosed, as she sat shivering on the floor beside the toilet bowl, still in her wet, torn clothes. She sat there until the nausea passed, trying to breathe deeply. After a few minutes, she felt well enough to admire the room, which was decorated entirely in caramel Carrerra marble. It was very European and spotlessly clean. Even the white towel edged with caramel braid was as white as snow. She wished there was another bathroom in the cottage: if somebody fell into a pothole outside her house, she’d have to rush in with the bathroom cleaner and spend half an hour in there before she could let a stranger loose in it.
‘Are you all right?’ he said from outside the door.
‘I am now.’ She got to her feet and unlocked the door. There was no sign of the man, but the three dogs immediately tried to rush into the small room, tails wagging and tongues lolling happily.
‘I’ve left some dry clothes outside,’ he called.
She couldn’t get the dogs to leave the bathroom. The collies wanted to sniff her, shoving inquisitive wet noses everywhere, and Penny wanted to be petted and be assured that she was still the favourite. Furry heads jostled for attention and they banged happily into Leonie, the sink and the loo, cannoning off each other.
Leonie obliged with petting for a minute, then picked up the bundle of clothes and tried to eject her admirers. ‘Shoo,’ she said, shoving the dogs out and trying to shut the door on three disgruntled wet noses.
He’d left her a white T-shirt, a huge grey woollen jumper, a pair of men’s jeans and black socks. Gingerly, she peeled off her wet things, wincing with pain as she pulled off her anorak, which had a big rip in one elbow. Amazingly, she wasn’t cut anywhere, although her elbows were already bruising and there was an ugly dark mark on one of her legs where she’d banged her shin painfully on the asphalt.
Everything ached, but Leonie was so relieved that she hadn’t cut herself to ribbons that she didn’t mind. Nothing was broken, although she knew she’d be stiff and sore for a few days.
Just as well I’m not planning on wearing a little flirty outfit to Ray’s wedding, she told herself, looking at the hideous purple colour of one elbow. She used the towel to dry her hair and wipe the mud from her face and neck. When she was finished, she left it and her clothes in a neat pile. She’d bring it home and wash it: she couldn’t leave it here filthy.
The dogs whirled around her when she opened the door again and she followed them through the parquet-floored hall, down a half-flight of stairs into the kitchen. All wooden flooring and old wooden units, it was a warm, friendly room with two comfy dog baskets beside an ancient, squashy russet couch in one corner. He was standing near the sink and didn’t turn round when she spoke.
‘Thanks for the clothes.’
‘How are you? Do you want to go to the doctor?’ he said, still not turning round.
‘No, I’m all right. Sore though, and my career as a photographic model is finished, obviously,’ she joked. ‘I look like I’ve done a few rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson.’
He turned with a half-smile on his face. It was the first time she’d got a proper look at him. He was perhaps ten years older than her with a shock of dark auburn curly hair that was streaked with grey and a bushy beard to match. A huge man well over six foot, he had broad shoulders yet his clothes hung from them, as if he’d lost a lot of weight from his big frame. His face was curiously hollowed, dark russet eyebrows beetling across opaque, hooded eyes. The smile lifted his face miraculously, made him almost handsome: without it, his expression was cold and grim.
‘I’ve got some painkillers, if you want them,’ he offered. ‘I got them for my face,’ he added bluntly.
Leonie looked at him. She could see the scars on one side of his face, dark and angry purple spreading from his jaw up to his cheekbone yet hidden by the thick bushy beard. They were like marks from a fire, she thought. He kept looking at her, as if daring her to look away. But Leonie was made of sterner stuff. She’d seen animals hurt in fires, their skin a mass of cooked flesh and their agonized eyes begging for the pain to disappear.
It was torture to look at. She was much better coping with injured people than injured animals.
‘You’re healing well,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Was it a fire?’
‘Yes,’ he said, as if stunned that she’d mentioned it at all. ‘Two years ago.’
She held out her hand. ‘I better introduce myself. I’m Leonie Delaney and this is Penny.’
Penny, stretched happily out in one of the collie’s baskets, wagged her tail at the mention of her name.
‘I better be going,’ Leonie said, ‘my two daughters are at home waiting for dinner and, although they probably wouldn’t miss me if I disappeared, I better get home to them.’
‘I made you a hot whiskey,’ he said. ‘I thought it would help. They help me. I don’t know if it’s advisable to have one with painkillers or not, but I daresay it won’t kill you.’
‘I’m a glutton for drugs and alcohol,’ Leonie said wryly, sitting down on the couch where she was immediately surrounded by dogs. ‘I’ll stay for one whiskey.’
She didn’t know why she’d agreed to stay. She must be mad. This guy was obviously shy and anti-social. He was also blunt and very edgy, as if he wasn’t used to company and felt uncomfortable having someone in his home. And he was utterly hung up about his injuries. He hadn’t even told her his name…
‘I’m Doug Mansell,’ he said, handing her a glass wrapped in some paper towels. ‘This is very hot and quite strong.’
‘You mean I’ll be so plastered after this that I’ll fall back into the pothole on my way out,’ she remarked, taking the glass.
He laughed, a deep, hoarse laugh that sounded as if it hadn’t had a good airing in months. ‘I promise to drive you,’ he said. ‘I also promise to get that hole filled in. Can’t have the neighbours killing themselves outside my property.’
He sat on one of the kitchen chairs, a few feet away from her, so that she couldn’t see the scarred right-hand side of his face. The collies sat either side of him, arching their heads back for him to pet them. He had huge hands, she noticed as he fondled the dogs. They quivered ecstatically under his touch, obviously adoring him.
She remembered seeing him walking the dogs and thinking that he looked like the gruff sort who’d keep them in a shed and never let them inside the house or call them honey-bunnies. Grinning, she realized that she’d been as wrong as you could be. They clearly had the run of the house and their baskets were stuffed with dog toys. Although she still couldn’t see Doug being the sort
of man who went in for cute pet names.
‘What are they called?’ she asked.
‘Jasper,’ he said, nodding to the dog with the silky, all-black coat, ‘and Alfie,’ petting the one with white socks and a white blaze on his chest. ‘Alfie is Jasper’s son. He’s two and Alfie is eight.’
They talked about dogs for a time, while Leonie sat back and drank her hot whiskey.
‘The only problem with dogs is having to walk them when it’s raining and freezing,’ Leonie remarked, petting Penny’s silky ears. She drained her glass.
‘Let me get you another one,’ Doug said.
‘No, it’s OK. You’ve done your good Samaritan bit,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to intrude any longer.’
‘You’re not intruding,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’m not used to having visitors; turned into a bit of a hermit, really. But it’s been nice talking to you.’
‘Oh.’ She sat back and let him take her glass.
‘I think I’ll join you,’ he added.
‘You must come to dinner some night,’ Leonie found herself saying. ‘I only live over the road and you’d like the kids. It’s bad to turn into a hermit.’
‘It’s your turn to be the good Samaritan, is it?’ he said caustically.
‘I’m only offering dinner, not emergency rescue services,’ she replied easily. ‘And my humble abode isn’t a patch on your palace, so I can understand if you say no.’ She got up to go.
‘I’m sorry,’ he looked humble. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…I’ve forgotten how to behave in polite society,’ he said. ‘Forgive me. Please stay. I’ll show you round. I’m sure you’d like to see the rest of the house, although it’s no palace, I promise.’
Leonie treated Doug to the sort of don’t-mess-with-me look that Danny, Mel and Abby were familiar with and would have instantly recognized as teasing. ‘Bribing me on the grounds that women are terminally nosy and can’t resist a sneaky glimpse of other people’s houses, eh?’