Mum gave me a hug as she got up to make us both a cup of tea, and I swallowed back tears, telling myself crossly to get over it. I had to try to move on from my annoyance about the way Josh had spoilt Mia this weekend. I did want us to be grown up about this separation and not be constantly criticising each other, but it was hard sometimes. It helped that Mum understood how I felt. I was glad we’d had that little chat.
That Friday evening, the other dog walkers and I had arranged to meet up at Smiths to discuss the wording of the notice we were going to produce about the missing cats. Sara was very friendly with someone on the parish council, who’d offered to put it up on the notice board at the village hall for us – the one place everyone in Furzewell was bound to see it. Mum was going out with her friends that night – the Gruesome Twosome, as Gran had unkindly christened them – but Gran had offered to come round to babysit.
‘Go out as early as you like, love,’ she’d told me. ‘Mia and I are going to play some games together and then when she’s in her jamas I’ll read her a bedtime story.’
‘Are you sure?’ I said, a little anxiously. I gave Mia a warning look. ‘No nonsense about going to bed, then – OK? Granny Helen doesn’t want to keep coming up and down the stairs after you.’
‘Think I’m too old for the job?’ Gran challenged me with a grin. ‘Go on, go off and meet your friends. I need to talk to Mia about this birthday of hers that’s coming up. We’ve got secret birthday business to plan.’
‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’ I kissed them both, and called out goodbye to Mum, who was, of course, upstairs in her room making herself glamorous, ready for God-Only-Knew-What she and the others were going to get up to in the pubs and bars of Plymouth.
It was a pleasant evening, not at all chilly for April, and not yet dark. I walked slowly down Pump Lane and along Fore Street, enjoying the sound of the birds beginning their evening chorus. I waved to people working outside in their front gardens as I passed, and smiled to myself at the thought that I was, albeit gradually and not entirely painlessly, slipping back into village life.
‘Mind theself, my lovely,’ an elderly man called out as, too interested in admiring the tulips, hyacinths and lily-of-the-valley he was lovingly tending in his cottage garden, I nearly stumbled into the ditch at the side of the road. ‘Don’t ’ee go a-tiss-toss down thar, mind!’
‘I won’t!’ I laughed. ‘I was being too nosey, that’s all. Your garden looks so lovely.’
‘Oh aye, thank’ee.’ He leant on his fork and wiped his face with his handkerchief. ‘It be the divil’s ’ard work, though, truth to tell, what with th’ole snails an’ slugs an’ all.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ I commiserated. There weren’t too many people now, even here in the back of beyond on the edge of Dartmoor, who spoke in a Devon dialect. Most of my own generation had only a slight twang, especially those who’d been away to university, or worked up-country for any length of time. So it was nice to hear the dialect still spoken by some of the older folk. I stayed for a while, reintroducing myself to the old chap, whose name I remembered was Tommy Burrows. He knew my Gran well, having been a drinking buddy of my grandad’s, and soon remembered me as the liddle maid who wed young Joshua Pearce, backalong.
‘That’s me,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I’m back living at Eagle House now with my mum, and my little girl.’
He nodded, two or three times, giving me a long look but saying nothing, and after watching in silence with him as a robin (liddle rabbin urdick as he called it) hopped unafraid around his fork, picking up worms for an evening snack, I said goodbye and went on up the street to the café.
Smiths – popular as a coffee shop during the day – became a surprisingly busy wine bar in the evenings, visited by people from outlying villages as well as locals. But it was only open on Friday and Saturday nights, the owners having experimented with the opening hours and finding too few people in these parts tended to come out for drinks when they had work the next day. Sara was already seated at a table in the window, and while I went to get a drink, Craig and Simon both arrived together.
‘Amber can’t make it,’ I said. ‘She messaged me to say her mum’s not well and she’s gone round to keep her company.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Sara.
I gave her a sharp look. There was something sarcastic in her tone that I didn’t like. But I didn’t have time to challenge her on it: Craig was opening his laptop and asking us all to move closer so that we could see the screen, as he played with text sizes, colours and fonts, and we discussed the wording for our poster. By the time we’d finished our first drinks, we were happy with the result, and taking advantage of the café’s Wi-Fi, Craig saved it to the cloud so that Sara would be able to pick it up, print it and pass it to the woman on the parish council.
‘It’ll be interesting to see if we get any responses,’ Craig said as we settled down with another round of drinks, Sara shuffling closer to him on the bench seat they were sharing.
‘Well, from what you’ve all said, there definitely seem to be a few people around here looking for lost cats, so I’m sure we will,’ I said. ‘I’d love to get Monty back for my mum. Although I’m not sure how he’d react to Smartie.’
‘Pity Amber couldn’t make it,’ Simon said, taking a mouthful of his wine. ‘Something tells me she’s not altogether on board with this?’
‘Yes, she is, I’m sure,’ I said. ‘She’s just not particularly a cat person. So it doesn’t really affect her. And her mum’s in bed with the flu, so she’s round there helping out. That’s all.’
‘Fair enough.’ Simon smiled at me, but once again I caught a strange, knowing look on Sara’s face. And I didn’t know whether that irritated me more, or less, than the open and ostentatious flirting going on between her and Craig – little semi-accidental touches of their hands, little cheeky smiles and nudges. Were they getting together? And if they were, why should I care? Just because I’d come to think of it as a lonely hearts group, didn’t mean none of them were allowed to go out with each other, did it? Surely I didn’t expect everyone else to be lonely and alone forever – just because I probably would be?
Perhaps it was simply that Sara tended to irritate me anyway, and I felt that she monopolised Craig when we were all together. He seemed a bit immature but was undeniably very charming and handsome, and was good fun, so it would have been nice for us all to join in with the jokes. I couldn’t possibly be jealous, I told myself as I walked home a little later. Not when I’d pretty much decided I was through with men and had absolutely no intention of getting together with another one as long as I lived!
CHAPTER 9
As promised, I’d invited Mia’s two best friends, Polly and Jamila, from her old school to stay for a sleepover during the second week of the Easter holiday. Mia had got herself so overexcited, she was bouncing off the walls by the time they arrived, and although it was lovely to see her so happy, I had had to warn her several times to calm down. I’d decided to take the three of them to Dartmoor Zoo for a special treat. The other two girls were as good as gold – on their best behaviour, quietly enjoying our day out. But Mia, now she was back in the company of the children she’d been friends with since preschool days, became so shrill and hysterical with excitement that, if she’d been anyone else’s child, I’d probably have said she was behaving like a spoilt brat. Even Polly and Jamila seemed taken aback by the change in her.
‘Stop being so naughty!’ I hissed at her at one point at the zoo, pulling her aside briefly from her friends. ‘If you keep running off, answering me back and showing off like this, we’ll go straight home.’
By the time we did finally drive home, I was exhausted from the strain of dealing with her behaviour. The girls had stroked alpacas, laughed at the meerkats, watched the wallabies and stared in fascination at the spiders and bugs – but there’d hardly been five minutes when I hadn’t had to tell Mia to quieten down and stop being silly. She didn’t really calm down until, after they
’d all demolished the pizzas I’d got them for their tea, I put on a film for them to watch before they went to bed. By then she was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open, and I felt the same!
Jamila’s and Polly’s mothers, Gita and Jen, had been my own two closest friends in Plymouth, and it was really nice to see them both when they came to collect their daughters the next day.
‘We miss you!’ Gita exclaimed. ‘When are you coming back to see us?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. We’d kept in touch on the phone and on Facebook, of course, and their calls and messages had been a great source of support to me. But I didn’t feel as if I was really part of their lives anymore. We’d belonged to a group of mums who went out for lunches and treats together in the school holidays, and now that these social occasions were continuing without me, I felt like an outsider. It had already become a bit awkward, anyway, when I’d started working at the Plymouth primary school our daughters went to. I couldn’t discuss the confidential things I knew about other children or their families, so I always used to feel on my guard during those get-togethers. Gita and Jen were lovely, but they felt, now, as much a part of my old life as Josh was. And this realisation felt like another loss, to go with the bigger ones.
But once Mia and I were both back at school after the holiday, I made up my mind to take some positive steps to move on with my life. I needed to get myself into a routine with the dog walks. Smartie was growing fast, and would soon need more exercise to keep him fit and happy. The most important thing was a good walk in the mornings before we all went out, so that he wouldn’t be restless and miserable on his own. Mum was normally home in the afternoons to keep him company, and now that Mia was back to an earlier bedtime I usually joined the dog-walking group on my own for the evening walks, Mia just coming along at weekends when she wasn’t with Josh. I decided I’d walk Smartie very early on school day mornings, leaving Mia in bed. By the time I got back, Mum would be giving her breakfast, and I’d just need to chase her up to get into her school uniform while I swallowed a cup of tea and slice of toast and changed for work myself.
The system worked well. Now the mornings were light, I didn’t mind being up and about early. I’d throw on trackie bottoms, boots and an old anorak, and set off for a circular walk of the village. This was still normally enough for the puppy, but if it was dry and bright, I sometimes took the footpath across High Meadow too, skirting around the new housing development. I walked briskly, breathing in the freshness of the morning, while Smartie trotted ahead of me, sniffing the scents of the hedgerows, alert for evidence of other dogs, curious and still slightly wary if we encountered horses.
In fact, the morning walks in the fresh air were helping me as much the puppy. They were putting me in an energetic and positive frame of mind, and I needed that, to cope with Mia’s continued reluctance where school was concerned. The first day back had been awful. She’d clung to me and cried again at the classroom door, and Mr Gregory had had to gently peel her off me. When I saw him in the staffroom at lunchtime he assured me that she had soon calmed down, adding that she still wasn’t finding things easy.
‘I thought she was getting better,’ I said. ‘She’s been here a whole half term now.’
‘Yes, well…’ He hesitated. ‘Some children do find change harder to cope with than others. She’ll adjust, but it might take more time. How’s her behaviour at home?’ he added quietly.
‘Well, she’s being a bit babyish, really,’ I admitted. ‘She’s either quiet and moody – sucking her thumb like she did as a toddler – or having temper tantrums.’
He nodded. ‘Yes. That’s what we’re seeing in class, too. I was planning to have another chat to you about it if it didn’t improve.’
We’d already talked a couple of times about her unhappiness at school, but now I was far more concerned. ‘You don’t mean she’s having tantrums in class?’ I said, shocked.
‘No, but she does still sometimes get really upset.’ He looked apologetic. ‘Mostly she’s just quiet and withdrawn, though, as you say. Look, don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll gradually settle down this term. We want her to be happy at school, obviously – and to achieve her potential.’
I nodded. ‘She keeps bringing home the same reading books for whole weeks at a time. I presume you’re letting her take things slowly at the moment? They do seem quite easy for her.’
Mia had now been refusing to read them, complaining that they were boring.
He cleared his throat and looked at me apologetically again.
‘Actually, Nicola, it’s because she still isn’t really making any progress at the moment. In fact, she seems to be struggling a bit with those books we’re giving her.’
‘But … they’re easy!’ I said again, staring at him. Mia had been doing so well at her previous school, and even though Mr Gregory had already warned me that being unsettled and unhappy could hold her back a little, I hadn’t expected it to last this long.
‘As you probably realise, a brief spell of regression isn’t unusual, if a child’s going through some emotional difficulties,’ he said gently. ‘As I said, I’m sure she’ll soon catch up again. Just keep encouraging her to read as much as possible and to practise her spellings—’
‘But she’s told me she hasn’t been given any spellings to learn,’ I said.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Leave that with me. I’ll make sure her spelling book goes into her bag every night – and stays there!’
To say I was mortified was an understatement. As an experienced teaching assistant, I was used to the accidental, or sometimes deliberate, forgetfulness of small children. Why hadn’t I checked with Mr Gregory before about the spellings? And about the books I’d assumed were too easy? Mia had been one of the best readers in her class at the previous school. I was upset that she’d lied to me about having no spellings to learn. And I was ashamed to realise I’d been too caught up in my own worries, my own problems adapting to my new life, to take on board the signs that Mia wasn’t just struggling with the emotional issues of starting a new school, but with the learning too.
‘I’m so sorry. I should have talked to you again sooner,’ I said. ‘I just thought she was being a bit babyish, and that you were giving her time to settle in.’
‘Don’t worry, she will settle. I’d have told you sooner if I thought things were really serious,’ he reassured me. ‘And try not to let Mia see that you’re too concerned. She’s obviously anxious enough already, that’s why she’s retreated into this … kind of toddler-like behaviour. Just take it slowly, gently, OK?’
‘Of course. Thanks, Mr Gregory.’
‘Mike,’ he corrected me with a smile. ‘You’re welcome. Try not to worry, Nicola, she’ll be fine.’
But of course, I was worried. Since that first day back, I’d thought of little else. I was cross with myself for not raising the fact that some of my reception children were attempting books that were more challenging than those Mia had been bringing home, and for not questioning the lack of spellings or homework. Now that it had been flagged up, the result was instant: a list of spellings to learn every week, some maths or writing to do every weekend. And I was even more concerned when, tested on the spellings, Mia seemed less able to put the phonics together to build her words than she’d done during her reception year. When I sat with her to encourage her to write a few lines about her weekend, about the weather, or about Smartie, she struggled to form her letters correctly and, more often than not, ended up crying, and shouting in frustration that she couldn’t do it.
‘Of course you can,’ I tried to reassure her, doing my best to stay calm. ‘You just need to keep practising. It’ll all come back to you – you could do it before.’
‘That was at my other school,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m no good at this school. Please can we go back?’
Easy for Mr Gregory – Mike – to say not to worry. I lay awake at night, sometimes hardly sleeping at all between getting into bed and the uneart
hly hour that the cockerel began to crow, thinking about the disruption and upheaval I’d put Mia through – the one person I loved more than my own life. I’d done it with the best of intentions, convinced I was doing the right thing, even if not the easiest, for us both, and that Mia would thrive in a happier home atmosphere – but it seemed I’d just ended up making her more unhappy after all. Well, it was too late now to have regrets. I had to stick this out, I told myself as I tossed and turned and looked at the clock again, longing for sleep. It could only get better.
Walking little Smartie was my escape from all this anxiety, and as April sped past, he gradually grew stronger, enjoying longer walks that really tired him out. Sometimes only one or two of the other dog walkers turned up for the evening walks. On one occasion it was just Amber and me, and inevitably I found myself moaning about Sara again as we walked through the park – in particular her outrageous flirting with Craig.
‘So what’s the problem?’ Amber said, laughing, when I’d finally run out of steam. ‘They’re both single, after all. You’re not jealous, are you?’ she added, nudging me. ‘Do you fancy him too?’
‘No!’ I denied hotly. ‘Absolutely not! I’ve had enough of men, frankly.’ I walked on in silence for a while, thinking about it. ‘Although I suppose he is quite good-looking,’ I admitted grudgingly. ‘And he’s good fun, isn’t he – always makes us laugh. Why? Are you interested?’
The Lonely Hearts Dog Walkers Page 7