‘That must be very sad. But at least they do have the sanctuary. That’s a really positive thing.’
She placed a hand on the fence in front of her and peered through. She could see the dog flap moving slightly at the end of the run but nothing emerged. ‘Who’s in there?’
‘That’s our newest male arrival.’
‘Is he shy?’
‘Kind of …’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Gabe.’
‘Will he come out?’
‘Probably. His curiosity usually gets the better of him.’
As Eve watched the flap open a fraction more, she sensed that the dog wanted to come out but needed some encouragement.
‘Shall I call him?’
‘You can try.’
‘Gabe! Hey, boy … Come on out and say hello.’ She waited and the flap lifted as if the dog was about to emerge.
‘Come on, Gabe!’ Jack called. The other dogs burst into a fresh round of barks and howls and Eve fought the urge to cover her ears.
‘Gabe!’ she tried again. ‘Come on, sweetheart.’
As she watched the flap lift right up, her heart thundered. What would he look like? What condition would he be in? Would he be friendly or terrified?
She held her breath as a dark shape emerged slowly from the kennel. He padded along the concrete of the run then approached the fence slowly, cautiously, almost crawling towards them. Eve bit her lip then glanced at Jack. He was staring at the dog, his jaw tight, his fingers curled around the wire.
‘Come on, Gabe.’ Jack’s voice was soft and low. He lowered into a crouch and Eve copied him.
Gabe finally reached them but kept his head down, his long neck stretching back to large shoulders. His black fur shone, outlining the powerful muscles that lay beneath. Eve’s throat ached; such a large creature shouldn’t be so afraid.
‘Oh Jack!’ She covered her mouth with a trembling hand.
Jack reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. ‘He was abused by the dog trainer who had him. Sadly it’s the same story for lots of greyhounds. They’re used to race, to make money, then cast off when they get injured or too old. Some of the puppies are culled before they even get to a racetrack because the trainers and breeders know they won’t make good racers.’
‘That’s so awful.’
He sighed. ‘I’m not saying that all greyhound trainers abuse their dogs, because they don’t. There are some positive stories but the sport itself, in my mind, needs better regulation. In fact I’d go so far as to say it needs to be banned. But that’s my opinion and there are those who would argue with me over it. I just get so sad when we see dogs that are afraid of people, when they come here bony and covered in sores where they’ve scratched flea bites, or their feet have been burned by standing in puddles of urine. It makes me so mad. And, of course, some dogs aren’t raced at all.’
‘What else are they used for?’ Eve dreaded the answer.
‘Hunting. Baiting.’ He frowned. ‘Two months ago we had a six-year-old female here named Cassie. Her face and front legs had multiple scars from where she’d been bitten by foxes and other smaller animals. Some people …’ He shook his head.
Eve watched as a muscle in his jaw twitched. He was tense, his body rigid. He was angry that dogs had been hurt, angry that other dogs would continue to be hurt, and frustrated by the whole situation. Jack had a big heart and clearly struggled with what he saw as injustice.
Eve quickly wiped away a tear before it escaped and trickled down her cheek.
‘But he’ll be okay now, won’t you, Gabe?’ The dog lifted his head a fraction but his long tail stayed between his back legs. Large brown eyes stared at Jack then at Eve, the eyebrows above them rising in turn, as if he was trying to work out who could be trusted. His confusion pierced Eve’s heart.
Suddenly she felt as if she would explode with sorrow.
‘Jack, I can’t stand it!’ She stood up and the dog leapt backwards.
‘Careful, Eve. Take it slowly.’
‘Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry, Gabe.’
She stepped forward and pushed her fingers through the wire, but the dog lowered its head right down again and slunk away until it reached the back wall of the kennel, then turned and disappeared through the flap.
‘I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare him.’ Tears burst from her eyes and she sobbed as Jack caught hold of her and pulled her against his chest.
‘Hey, it’s okay,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘It’s pretty emotional the first time you visit. I was the same.’
‘What?’ Eve croaked, her voice muffled by his hoodie.
‘When I first came here, I didn’t cry at the time, but later on, when I went home and sat there alone thinking about what I’d seen, it did break me.’
‘You cried?’ Eve asked, leaning back so she could see his face.
He nodded. ‘Not like you, of course … all messy and snotty.’
She sniffed.
‘But it did get to me more than I’d imagined it could.’
‘But what … about …’ Eve’s voice caught as fresh sobs racked her frame. She was devastated that she’d frightened the gentle giant of a dog.
‘Gabe will be okay. He’s still settling in and within a few weeks you’ll see a difference. I promise.’
Eve buried her face against Jack’s chest again so he couldn’t look into her eyes and read her thoughts. She realized that she wanted to see Gabe’s transformation, that she’d love to see him grow in confidence and learn to trust people again. That she wanted to be one of the people he learned to trust. But a few weeks? Would she even be here then? She pushed the thought away, aware that it was too much to consider right now. She had things to sort through in her head, matters to put to rest before she’d be able to return to Bristol. She’d only intended taking a few days, a week at the most, but already she was doubting her original decision, reassessing its wisdom. Perhaps she needed longer than a few days to get better. Perhaps a few weeks would be more sensible. But how could she ring Amanda and break that news? It made her want to stay right where she was that minute, in the arms of a man she already felt so safe with. A man she’d let in, to her past and her present; someone who’d got closer to her in three days than any other human being had for a long time.
Whatever happened, she wanted to be around Jack and close to the sea for a while longer. When she was stronger, then she would deal with her long-term plans. But right now, Eve was going to overthrow the habit of what felt like a lifetime and live in the moment.
Chapter 9
‘Come on then, Eve!’
‘What?’ Eve stared up at her aunt from her position on the sofa. She was worn out after a day up at the farm and just wanted to put her feet up and relax for a while. It wasn’t just the physical aspect of the labour that had been hard but the deeper emotional impact of being around the dogs and hearing about what they’d experienced. All the dogs that she had met had been friendly, exuberant and even funny. Except for Gabe. And whenever Eve had thought about him, she’d filled up all over again.
She hadn’t seen Gabe before she’d left but she had looked for him as they’d passed around the back of the stables. He must’ve been hiding inside, though. She had asked Jack again about the big black greyhound but he’d told her to come back to the farm with him later in the week and try again to win the dog’s confidence. Persistence and patience were key, he said. Eve knew that while she was good at being persistent, patience was not her strongest quality, but if that was what she needed, then that was what she’d learn.
‘We have some baking to do.’
‘We do?’
Aunt Mary nodded and held out a hand. ‘I know you’re tired, but Irene is leaving tomorrow and I want to make her some cakes to take with her.’
Eve got to her feet and followed her aunt into the kitchen. ‘You know I can’t—’
‘Bake?’ Aunt Mary interjected. ‘So you’ve said. But you’ll
learn.’
Eve went to the sink and washed her hands for what felt like the thousandth time that day, then put on the apron her aunt handed her and waited for instructions.
Aunt Mary handed her a portable scales and a bag of self-raising flour. ‘Weigh out eight ounces, please.’
Eve stared at the flour.
‘Go on, dear. It won’t bite, you know.’
‘Okay then!’ Eve opened the bag of flour and coughed as it puffed up into her face.
‘Careful, Eve, don’t rush. Baking is an art, you know.’
‘Art isn’t one of my strengths either.’
‘Well, with a nice white floury face like that, you could always head to the circus and be a clown instead.’ Mary chuckled at her own joke and Eve grabbed a tea towel and wiped her face.
‘You know, Eve, you didn’t always rush things.’
‘What?’
‘When you were younger and you used to stay here with me, you were far more relaxed.’
‘I was?’
‘Oh yes. I mean, I know your parents were … uh … strict. And when you used to come here even as a very young child it would take you a few days, sometimes a week, to unwind, but it did happen and it was beautiful to see.’
Eve listened carefully, absorbing the information hungrily. So she hadn’t always been so driven, so career-focused and uptight? She knew she’d enjoyed the summers here as a child, but now that Aunt Mary had mentioned it, she did seem to recall a time when she hadn’t walked around with her shoulders taut with tension and when she’d been able to switch off her mind to do other things. Like baking. Yes, they had baked together when she’d stayed here, and if she remembered correctly, she’d enjoyed it.
‘Life has been hard on you, dear. Sadly it is for everyone in some way or other, but we ride the highs and lows as we would a stormy sea and we must make sure we grab hold of the good times and savour them. Like today. For me, this is a good time, being here with my wonderful niece.’
Eve blinked hard. Her vision had blurred. She’d been pushing herself for so long that the idea of a time when she’d been happy just being, just existing, even if it was just the summers, seemed too wonderful. What if she could find that side of herself again and be the woman – or girl, even – who didn’t have to pursue a career just to feel that she was worth something, just to feel some form of security.
Wouldn’t that be just incredible?
Her aunt rubbed her shoulder then gave her a quick hug. ‘It’s okay, Eve. This is a difficult time for you but I promise it will pass. Everything does.’
Eve nodded. The words of comfort meant so much to her. It helped to be told that although she was in a whirling pit of indecision and confusion right now, she would come out the other side. What the other side looked like, she had no idea, but it was there, waiting for her to take the necessary steps to heal.
Aunt Mary released her then placed an upright cheese grater, a small plate and a large mixing bowl on the table, along with a box of eggs, a block of butter, two lemons and a bag of caster sugar. She cut a chunk off the butter. ‘It needs to be room temperature for the chemistry to be right,’ she explained as she dropped it into the bowl. She opened the bag of sugar then tipped a generous amount into the bowl with the butter.
‘How much did you put in?’ Eve asked, her throat finally loose enough for her to speak.
‘About four ounces.’
‘How’d you know you got it right? You didn’t weigh it.’
Mary tapped the side of her nose. ‘I’ve been doing this a long time, Eve. I’m kind of good at estimating.’
‘Okay … What’s next?’
‘Zest one of the lemons over the small plate using the cheesegrater.’
Eve did as her aunt told her, being careful not to catch her fingers on the sharp metal.
‘Now you cream the butter and sugar together until they’re light and fluffy.’
‘Cream?’
‘Basically beat them together,’ Aunt Mary replied.
Eve looked down at her thin arms. She’d removed her jumper when she got back from the farm and now just wore her black T-shirt.
‘Yes, Eve. Give it some welly.’ Aunt Mary smiled, then handed Eve a wooden spoon.
Five minutes later, Eve’s right arm was aching and she had sweat on her brow but the mixture in the bowl was fluffy and her aunt nodded her approval.
‘Now you beat four eggs in a separate bowl and gradually add them to the butter mixture. But mind they don’t curdle.’
Eve tapped an egg against the smaller bowl that Mary had placed on the table and allowed the contents to slide out. ‘Dammit!’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I got shell in there too.’
‘Here …’ Mary handed her a piece of kitchen roll. ‘Use the corner of this to fish it out. No point wasting a whole egg.’
It took Eve about ten minutes to break all the eggs, because every time she broke another one, she lost a bit of shell. She shuddered as she imagined Irene biting into her favourite lemon drizzle cake only to crunch on a piece of eggshell. That would not be pleasant at all. Once she’d beaten them, she began to add them slowly to the butter and sugar. The mixture became bright yellow as the yolks blended into it and it slipped easily around the bowl.
‘Add some flour if it’s starting to curdle.’
Eve emptied some of the flour from the bowl of the scales into a sieve then shook it over the mixture.
‘That’s the way. I can see you’re concentrating hard there, Eve, because your tongue is sticking out the corner of your mouth.’
‘It is not!’
‘Is so.’ Mary winked at her and Eve stuck her tongue out further at her aunt, then giggled.
‘Stop it now, I’m trying to concentrate.’
As she gradually added the rest of the flour, she was aware how good it felt to be doing something constructive. Something creative. And how good it was to be here with her aunt.
‘Let me check it now.’ Aunt Mary held out her hand for the wooden spoon. She tilted the bowl sideways and expertly spooned the mixture around. ‘That’s perfect, Eve. You just need to add the lemon zest then get it in the oven.’
Eve tipped the small plate of yellow zest over the bowl and brushed it into the mixture, then gave the whole thing another stir.
‘It will take around forty-five minutes to cook,’ Aunt Mary said as she placed a loaf tin lined with baking paper in front of Eve and helped her to pour the cake batter into it.
After Eve had slid the tin carefully into the oven, her aunt beamed at her. ‘See! Not so hard after all.’
‘No. That wasn’t bad,’ Eve said, as a surge of pride warmed her right through. ‘Kind of like a workout too.’ She rubbed her right bicep.
‘Yes, baking can help keep bingo wings at bay!’ Aunt Mary laughed and shook her own arms. ‘Time for a nice cup of tea.’
Eve nodded. ‘That would be lovely.’
When Eve removed the cake from the oven almost fifty minutes later, she placed the tin on the wire rack on the kitchen worktop and sighed. It smelt incredible. And she’d made it herself. With Aunt Mary’s careful guidance, of course, but it was a start.
‘What do I do now?’
‘Prick it all over with a fork, then, as it’s cooling, mix two tablespoons of caster sugar with the juice of both lemons and pour it over the top. It will create a crunchy drizzle once the cake has cooled.’
‘I wish we’d made two of them now.’ Eve licked her lips.
‘Well, let Irene take this one and you can make another one later.’
‘Good plan.’
Eve followed her aunt’s instructions and soon the cake was covered in the sour-sweet drizzle.
‘Well done, Eve! I told you you could do this.’
‘With your help.’
‘You’re better than you think you are, dear. You just lack confidence. It’s got lost in that job of yours. You can enjoy life too, you know. And you will.’
; ‘I hope so.’
‘This is just the start.’
Eve smiled at her aunt. She really hoped that what she said was right.
‘I’m going to pop down into the village for a while. I’ll take Irene with me so she can stretch her legs. If you want to try again, there are plenty of ingredients in there to use.’ Mary gestured at the cupboards.
‘I might just do that,’ Eve replied.
As Aunt Mary left the kitchen, Eve wondered if she was going to see Edward again. It was none of her business, but she just hoped her aunt was happy, because she deserved to be. And Edward had seemed like a nice man. Perhaps he would feature in Mary’s future plans.
She turned her attention back to the cupboards.
Her stomach flipped.
Could she do this? Could she bake unattended?
Why not?
What was the worst that could happen?
* * *
Two hours later, Eve slumped at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. Her back and arms ached and two of her fingers had plasters on. She was exhausted and beyond disappointed.
‘My oh my! What happened here?’
She raised her head to find Jack standing in the doorway gazing at the mess.
‘It looks like a dragon just came and breathed fire on everything.’
Eve buried her face in her arms again. ‘I know,’ she mumbled.
‘Pardon?’ Jack approached her.
She lifted her head. ‘I said I know.’
‘But what did happen? I mean, since dragons don’t exist. At least not to my knowledge.’
‘It’s not funny!’ Eve snapped, her cheeks burning. She must look like such an idiot. Every surface was covered in pots, pans and tins, each one filled with some form of burnt offering.
In front of her on the table was a cake-batter-splodged cookery book by a well-known celebrity baker that Eve had found on Mary’s kitchen shelf. She’d decided to try to stretch herself and rather than making another lemon drizzle cake, which would have been the sensible thing to do, of course, had attempted some much more complicated delights. Only they didn’t look anything like delights when she’d removed them from the oven.
Summer at Conwenna Cove Page 9