We spent the rest of our walk joking about the potential newspaper headline, each suggestion more ridiculous than the last. But a couple of days later, when we found out what the front page of the Recorder was really about, it wiped the smiles off all our faces.
FURZEWELL PARK ‘TO BE SOLD FOR HOUSING DEVELOPMENT’?
‘Unused and unloved’ says council spokesman, of the once-popular open space.
‘Unused?’ Amber shrieked, stabbing the words with her finger. Alerted by Sara, who had, needless to say, been the first to read the paper, we’d gathered at the pub that evening, leaning over each other’s shoulders to read the story spread out on the table. ‘What are they talking about? We use it!’
‘Everybody uses it,’ Simon agreed. ‘Don’t they?’
‘I don’t know. Do they?’ Sara shook her head, sighing. ‘How many families with children do we see in the park?’
‘Well, we always used it when we were kids,’ I said. ‘All the time.’
‘I know. But that was then, and this is now. Kids spend more time indoors playing games on their phones and tablets. And let’s face it, there’s nothing much to attract even the youngest children to the park. The paddling pool’s been empty for years, and the playground equipment is so old and rickety nobody wants to use it.’
‘Well, then, they ought to put that right, instead of just selling off the land. More housing? How can Furzewell cope with more housing? We’ve already got the estate going up on High Meadow.’
Sara sighed and folded up the paper. She looked around at us all.
‘Leave this with me,’ she said solemnly.
I wanted to laugh. Leave it with her? Who did she think she was now? Leader of the opposition?
‘What are you going to do?’ Amber said.
‘Well, first off, I’ll talk to someone at the district council, and find out how far along they are with these plans. If they’ve only just voted on it, there may be time to do something about it before they actually put the land up for sale.’
‘But do what?’ I insisted. ‘What can we do?’
‘Protest, of course,’ she said with a smile. ‘Get the rest of the village on our side, and fight this thing. Come on, all of you, stop looking so beaten and negative. We can do something about this; we don’t have to lie down and accept it. It’s our park – it’s an important resource for Furzewell. If it’s been neglected, that needs to change. We pay our council tax, and a parish council precept, and God knows we get little enough for it.’
‘That’s true,’ Simon agreed. ‘How often do the public footpaths get tended to?’
‘Or the potholes in the roads,’ Craig pointed out. ‘Just because we only have minor roads around here doesn’t mean our tyres are any less likely to be damaged.’
‘Well, some of these issues are the responsibility of the county council, not the district,’ Sara said. ‘We have to make sure we pick the right fight with the right people.’
I watched her face, animated and determined. She loves this, I thought to myself. Taking charge, telling us all what to do, getting us motivated. Well, fine; we were all agreed that this needed fighting and if Sara, with her legal hat on, knew the best way of going about it, I guessed we’d all be happy to follow her lead, however irritating I might find her bossiness.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘If you find out what you can from the council, Sara, then we can talk about it some more and maybe organise a petition.’
‘Good idea, Nic,’ Sara said, giving me an approving look.
‘I’ll do whatever I can,’ I said. Sara obviously enjoyed being in charge, but it didn’t seem right for her to be the only one being proactive around here. Besides, I wanted to get stuck in and fight this thing, as much as anyone did. ‘But for now, who wants another drink?’
I had the feeling this was going to be a long battle. And also that, if we weren’t careful, it might very well take over from our concerns about the missing cats.
CHAPTER 14
Things seemed to have settled down a bit with Josh recently. To be fair, he was always an easygoing, amenable sort of guy in the beginning. Even when we started arguing, it was normally me ranting and raving at him, while he would just sigh and tell me to calm down, even choosing to walk away from me rather than fight – which just added to my impression of how little he cared. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he was now back to his old self, but since our argument on the evening of Mia’s birthday, we’d managed to be civil to each other when he picked up Mia or brought her back. That weekend, after the dog-walkers’ meeting about the park, he even managed to make eye contact with me and be quite friendly, asking me how I was. I assumed he was beginning to come to terms with the fact that the marriage was over and this was how things would now be between us.
I, on the other hand, still had evenings when I felt so sad about the whole situation that I’d burst into tears over something as silly as hearing one of our favourite songs on the radio or seeing an old film listed on Netflix and remembering enjoying it with him. It was worst when Mum had gone out with her friends, Mia was asleep in bed and I was alone with the TV. Then the black moods would sometimes come over me like clouds and I’d hug little Smartie and cry into his fur until he whined in sympathy. I hated to admit it, but at times like this I still missed Josh – missed having someone coming home to me (however late and however infrequently), someone sleeping next to me at night. I wished I still had a partner, but then that’s what I’d wished for even when we were together, because he hadn’t been around much in the end. Those early days of our marriage when we’d had so much fun setting up home, laughing and singing together, enjoying every moment of each other’s company, seemed like a lifetime ago. I had to remind myself that I was getting on with my life now, and was bound to have the odd bad day and wobble. But overall I was more content than I’d been for some time, settling down to single parenthood, enjoying being back in my home village. And I still had so much to be grateful for: my darling Mia, my mum and my gran, my new friends and of course our new little puppy who always managed to cheer me up. I knew the best thing I could do was to stop looking back and focus on the future. But it wasn’t always easy.
Gran came round for Sunday dinner that weekend, as she often did, and while we were eating she told us she’d missed a doctor’s appointment during the week.
‘I’ve never done anything like that before in my life,’ she said, sounding cross with herself. ‘It was only one of those routine check-up things, but even so, I’d never want to miss an appointment. I know how busy they are. I felt dreadful when the receptionist called me.’
‘Was she annoyed?’ I asked.
‘No, not at all, luckily. She said these things happen, and that she’d only called to make sure I was all right. I suppose she thought I might have dropped dead,’ she added with snort of laughter.
‘Oh, don’t say that,’ I protested. ‘Did she make you another appointment?’
‘Yes, and I wrote it down in big letters with a red pen.’ She paused ‘I’m getting so damned forgetful. Anyone would think I had dementia, or something.’
‘Of course you haven’t,’ I retorted. I wasn’t sure if she was just joking, but I wanted to reassure her anyway. ‘Everybody forgets things occasionally. I do all the time. I nearly missed a staff meeting last week—’
‘Yes, and I left my washing on the line for three days, didn’t I,’ Mum joined in.
‘I know, but you’re both busy people, with jobs and commitments. Of course you’re going to forget things. I haven’t got that excuse, have I.’ Gran sounded more serious now. Was she actually worried about this? ‘I had nothing else to remember last week apart from the doctor’s appointment, and still I managed to miss it.’
‘Honestly, Gran,’ I said gently. ‘I’m sure it’s not a big deal, forgetting something once in a while.’
‘Yes, I’m just an absent-minded old woman, I suppose,’ she said, smiling back at me as if it was a joke. I wasn’t fooled. ‘What
with that, and forgetting I’d put Mia’s bunny in the glovebox – maybe I should start writing down everything I do in future.’
‘Gran, there’s nothing wrong with your memory,’ I insisted.
‘You remembered to come round for dinner today, didn’t you,’ Mum said. ‘Nicky’s right, you’re fine.’
Mum led the conversation around to other things: the weather, the news about the park that I’d already shared with her, and Smartie’s latest misdemeanour of running off with a half-full bag of crisps Mia had left on the coffee table and hiding behind the sofa to eat them all. The forgetfulness wasn’t mentioned again. But I talked to Mum about it later, when we were on our own.
‘Do you think Gran’s really worried about her memory? It’s hard to tell with her – she pretends to make a joke of things, but—’
‘But she was looking for some reassurance, wasn’t she,’ Mum agreed. ‘I really don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Everyone forgets things, don’t they? It’s because she’s living in that complex with all those other elderly people, if you ask me. I expect your gran sees some of them starting to suffer with dementia and she imagines she’s going the same way.’
On occasions like this, I noticed Mum was still harbouring some resentment about Gran moving out to live in her bungalow. I couldn’t understand it. You’d think, really, that she’d be glad her mother was still fit enough to want to live independently.
‘I wouldn’t like to think she was really worried, though,’ I said, choosing not to rise to the bait about the bungalow on this occasion.
‘Well, hopefully we’ve talked her out of it. She’s OK, Nicky. She’s a tough old bird, you know, and her mind’s as sharp as needles.’
I nodded. It was true, Gran always had been tough – and sharp. And I really didn’t like to think that would ever change.
As for Smartie, that crisp-eating episode was just one of many little adventures our growing and increasingly mischievous puppy had been getting up to. We’d had to fit a wire basket below the letter box in the front door after he’d chewed up Mum’s credit card bill. Another day, I’d been in the kitchen when Mia had screamed out to me that he’d got into her school bag and was running around the lounge with her homework in his mouth. Luckily it was none the worse apart from a few dribble marks, and Mia had found it funny.
‘Why has he started being so naughty?’ she asked, giggling.
‘Well, I suppose he’s a bit like a toddler now – getting into everything,’ I said. ‘You were the same when you were smaller. Smartie doesn’t know he shouldn’t eat your homework. So keep your school bag out of his way.’
‘OK.’ She looked at me, her head on one side. ‘What was the worst thing I ever did, Mummy, when I was a toddler?’
‘Let me think.’ I smiled at her. ‘Well, there was one time when I put you to bed for your afternoon nap, and instead of going to sleep you found a red colouring-pen you’d dropped on the floor, and you started scribbling all over the wall next to your bed, and all over one of your books.’
‘Ooh!’ She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes round with shock. ‘I’d never do anything like that now, would I, Mummy.’
‘Of course not,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘You’re a big girl now and much more sensible. You definitely wouldn’t scribble on a book.’ I looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. I didn’t want to push my luck but I thought I should try to bring up the subject of reading now we’d mentioned books. ‘You love books, don’t you, Mia?’
She nodded, but her thumb went into her mouth and she looked down at the floor.
‘You’re a good reader,’ I went on, very gently. ‘You were one of the best in the class at your other school.’
She took her thumb out of her mouth again.
‘I know,’ she said eventually in a little voice. ‘But I didn’t like doing reading, or anything, at this school.’
‘Because you were unhappy?’ I suggested quietly.
She nodded again. ‘I didn’t like being there, so I didn’t want to try. But I am now.’
‘That’s really good,’ I said, my heart giving a little leap. ‘I can see you’re happier now. And you’re already reading your books so much better again.’
It was as if a barrier had lifted from between us. Suddenly she was smiling at me eagerly, her voice more animated.
‘You know what, Mummy? I’m actually starting to like the new school now. I had to pretend to like it, to help Eddie, when he first started, because he was upset and I felt sorry for him. And now we’re both getting better at liking it. Eddie’s a really, really good reader,’ she said. ‘He’s miles ahead of me and I want to catch him up.’
‘Good for you!’ I laughed. ‘But he’s older than you, isn’t he. He’s in Year 2. So you mustn’t worry that he’s ahead of you.’
‘I’m not worried. I just want to be as good as him,’ she asserted.
It seemed her old spark was back. I hugged her again, breathing in the floral scent of her shampoo, and the smell of her skin, still exactly the same as it was in her baby days. I remembered how I used to bath her, then wrap her in a fluffy white towel and hold her close, so close to me it felt like we were breathing the same breaths, her soft, downy head resting against my arm, her eyes gazing into mine as I wondered, as all mothers must do, at this miracle, this precious life I’d given birth to. My precious only daughter. Even more precious because of … the thing I never talked about. Mia and I had always shared such a close, special bond. Thank God – and I supposed, thanks to Eddie – she was going to be happy again. Perhaps I could dare to hope that I hadn’t ruined her life by moving her here to Furzewell, after all.
‘I’m glad you’re getting better at liking school,’ I said. ‘And that Eddie is, too. His mummy’s getting more used to living here too, you know. It’s hard when you start somewhere new and miss your old friends, the way you missed Polly and Jamila. You know their mummies, Gita and Jen, were my best friends before we moved, and I missed them both a lot at first. But now Louise and I are getting to know each other, and like you and Eddie, we’re good company for each other. It really helps to have a friend who’s in the same boat.’
‘The same boat?’ she giggled. ‘What boat?’
And by the time I’d explained the expression to her, we were laughing out loud together and I could almost believe the sulks and tantrums of the last few months were a figment of my imagination. I wasn’t going to get carried away, though. I knew perfectly well that children’s moods could change inexplicably in a moment, much like the Devon weather – from sunny and warm to stormy and dark. Just as, in fact, the weather in Furzewell, sadly, suddenly changed only a few days later.
CHAPTER 15
It rained so heavily the whole of that week in the middle of May that all the blossom came down from the trees and went brown and soggy on the ground. We trudged to school in macs and welly boots again, Mia splashing through the puddles, and my reception children’s coats and boots made pools of water in our little cloakroom. By the Thursday, it felt as if it was never going to stop.
‘Maybe we should start building the ark!’ I joked to Louise as we waited, huddling together under her umbrella, for Mia and Eddie to come out of their classroom after school.
She laughed, then went on: ‘Talking of building, did you see the piece in last week’s local paper about the council wanting to sell off the park for more housing?’
‘Yes.’ I hesitated. The last thing I wanted was for Louise – who was a new resident of Furzewell herself – to think I was opposed to newcomers being housed here. Not in my backyard wasn’t a stance I’d ever take, and that wasn’t the point of our objections to the council’s plan. ‘Some of us who like walking our dogs in the park aren’t very happy about it,’ I said carefully.
‘Nor am I,’ she said vehemently, to my surprise. ‘I bought my little house on High Meadow because I was told it was only ever going to be a small estate. I can’t see how a village as small as Furzewell
can possibly cope with another big development, and it is bound to be big, isn’t it, if they’re talking about selling off the whole park.’
‘Yes, exactly. The council doesn’t seem to consider the infrastructure when they come up with these ideas. The school couldn’t possibly cope, for a start.’
‘Nor could the doctors’ surgery. When I went to register myself and Eddie there, the receptionist said they’re pretty much at full capacity now. There’s only one full-time GP and one part-time, and she hinted that one of them might be considering retiring soon.’
‘And we know all about the shortage of GPs,’ I agreed. Louise worked as a receptionist for a doctors’ practice herself, in another nearby village, so she was all too aware of the difficulties.
‘Also, have they considered the roads?’ Louise went on. ‘Furzewell Park Lane isn’t exactly a major route. It’s not suitable for such an increase in traffic.’
‘I agree.’ It was in fact a single track road bordered by high hedges, with very few passing places. ‘I suppose they’d have to widen it. It couldn’t even cope with the construction lorries, as it stands.’
The children came out of the classroom at that point, and for a few minutes we were busy making sure they had their hoods up and their book bags fastened against the elements, but as we began to walk out of the school playground I said:
‘I didn’t realise you’d be as opposed to the council’s plans as we are. We’re against the whole principle of the park being sold. One of our dog walkers is a lawyer, so she’s good at dealing with stuff like this. She’s been talking to the council about it on our behalf. We’re meeting in the pub tomorrow evening. Would you like to come?’
‘Yes, I’d like that, but I haven’t got a babysitter here yet. I was thinking of asking my neighbour, but—’
‘Well, the meeting won’t go on late, and there’s no school the next day. Mum will be looking after Mia. I’ll ask her if she’d have Eddie too.’
The Lonely Hearts Dog Walkers Page 11