‘She surely won’t want both of them!’
I laughed. ‘I think, actually, it’ll make it easier. The two of them will occupy each other and Mum can watch her own TV programmes.’
As I’d predicted, Mum was fine about having both children for a few hours.
‘Eddie’s a nice boy. And after all, Louise is a single mum, like us, so I’m happy to help out. We have to stick together, don’t we, us girls.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ As usual, she had to get in that bit about us all being single mums together, as if it was a jolly little club where we all had great fun. That might be true for Mum these days, with her giggly nights out with the Gruesome Twosome, and I couldn’t begrudge her that enjoyment, after all the years of struggling to bring me up on her own. But it certainly wasn’t true for me or I suspect for Louise. As far as I was concerned, being a single mum was scary and quite overwhelming, and although arguably it had been my own decision to become one, it certainly hadn’t been my plan.
But when, the next evening, Louise brought Eddie round to Eagle House, and Mum got out crisps and fruit for them, put on a film they’d both been asking to watch, and told them she was excited about seeing it herself so they could all three have a nice cinema night together and stay up late, I felt a rush of love and gratitude for her. Not all mothers, especially those who’d become used to enjoying an active social life, would be quite so happy at being landed with a prodigal daughter returning to live with them, let alone babysitting for her granddaughter and friend. I was aware that at times she’d appeared a bit fraught and tired since we’d arrived to stay with her, and I tried to do my best to minimise the disruption. But it did seem that for her the pleasure of our company outweighed the natural irritations, and I was grateful for that.
Louise and I walked down to the Fox and Goose sharing an umbrella. The others were already gathered around a table by the window, and after I’d introduced Louise and explained why I thought she’d be interested in being involved, Sara took charge of our gathering. I wouldn’t have expected anything else, of course, given that we’d asked her to liaise with the council, but as usual it was evident that she relished her position as chairperson and if she’d only had a gavel, she’d have been banging it on the table for silence every time any of us dared to utter a word.
‘Right, well, the good news is that the plan to sell the park is still exactly that – just a plan. Nothing’s actually happened yet. And the gist of the council’s position is this,’ she said in that self-important way of hers. ‘They say the park is underused, that valuable resources are being wasted in looking after the site—’
‘Looking after it!’ Simon interrupted. ‘Have they even looked at it recently? When did the grass last get mowed? Has anything been planted there in the last ten years?’
Sara sighed. ‘I’m just telling you what their argument is, Simon, I’m not saying I agree with it.’
‘OK.’ He shrugged. ‘Point taken, go on.’
‘So their position is that as things stand, it’s a waste of ratepayers’ money.’ She held up her hand before anyone could interrupt to protest. ‘They say they’ve looked at the park’s viability as a leisure resource, decided it doesn’t meet their criteria, so to save money—’
‘Whose money?’ I retorted.
Sara sighed again and closed her eyes as if in pain. ‘Let me finish, Nic, please. Naturally, they’re trying to make it sound as if they’re saving us – the council tax payers – money. But of course, our council tax is hardly likely to go down as a result of this plan, we all know that. Like all councils, they’re cash-strapped—’ she totally ignored the next attempted interruption from Amber and ploughed on, merely raising her voice ‘—so from their point of view, the obvious solution is to sell off the land for housing. One hundred per cent profit.’
‘Without considering the infrastructure, of course,’ Craig said.
‘Exactly, Craig.’ Funny how she didn’t snap his head off for interrupting. Teacher’s pet!
We all started muttering among ourselves about the roads, the healthcare facilities, the environment, the school and the lack of public transport. Louise was just explaining that even she and her neighbours on the new High Meadow estate were worried about the consequences of another big development in the village, when Sara called us to order again.
‘I agree with all of that,’ she said somewhat dismissively. ‘And it definitely should make up part of our argument. But I think it’s more important to tackle the issue from the other angle.’
‘What other angle?’ I said.
‘The suggestion that the park’s underused. This, to me, is the crux of the matter.’ She was really getting into her stride now. ‘If it weren’t underused, they wouldn’t have a foot to stand on. They can’t sell something that can be shown to be a valuable community asset.’
There was a puzzled silence. Probably none of us wanted to be the one to say it, but eventually Amber did:
‘But, Sara, it is underused. We all had to agree on that, didn’t we, when we talked about it last week. Kids don’t play in the park now, families don’t go there at weekends—’
‘Of course they don’t. There aren’t any facilities. Even the toilets have been padlocked.’ Sara looked around at us all now, smiling, evidently pleased with herself for what was coming next. ‘But we need to convince them that it is being used. Used, enjoyed and appreciated not just by a few of us who walk our dogs there but by everyone in the village. Not just in the village,’ she went on with the fervour, now, of a preacher on the point of converting a roomful of non-believers, ‘no, we need to make them aware that it’s not just a valuable asset to us, but to outsiders too. That people come here from all over Devon. That tourists come here from up-country.’
‘To do what?’ Simon asked sceptically. ‘Walk their dogs?’
She gave him a look, but the gleam of victory was still in her eyes.
‘For outings. To bring their kids, enjoy the play equipment, sail their toy boats in the pond, feed the ducks, have group picnics, but most of all, to take part in events here.’
There was silence again now. The rest of us exchanged glances. I guessed they were all, like me, beginning to wonder if Sara had lost the plot.
‘Er … there isn’t a pond,’ Simon pointed out. ‘Or ducks.’
‘And the play equipment’s all rusted up or vandalised,’ I said.
‘And as you said yourself, there aren’t any toilets,’ Louise said.
‘Or events,’ Craig added. ‘What events?’
Sara beamed. ‘The events we’re going to organise, Craig. We, the Friends of Furzewell Park.’
‘Friends of Furzewell Park?’ Amber muttered.
‘Yes. I’ve looked into this. It’s quite common practice these days for community groups to take over the running of parks rather than face them being closed. I’m not suggesting we take over the whole thing, although as a last resort, if the entire village were to be behind us and willing to help, it could be a possible option. But for now, what I propose is this. First, as Nic suggested at our last meeting, we should set up a petition – not that I expect the council to take any notice, but it needs to be done. I’ll write a letter to every resident of Furzewell, which we can distribute ourselves. I’ll briefly outline the situation, give them a date for a meeting for anyone who’s interested in supporting us and tell them what we’re planning to do.’
‘Which is…?’ I said, shaking my head. I couldn’t work out where we were going with this.
‘I’ve already told you!’ Sara said, sounding exasperated. ‘We’re going to hold events. Bring people in, people from the village, people from outside—’
‘And the council’s going to allow that?’ Simon asked.
‘Yes. They’ve given permission for the first one already,’ she replied. There was a smile of satisfaction on her face now. ‘Why would they refuse? It won’t cost them anything. We advertise it, organise it, tidy up afterwards—’
&
nbsp; ‘Hell of a job that’s going to be,’ Craig objected.
‘So we get more people involved.’ Amber suddenly sounded more excited. ‘Sara’s right. If we want to save the park, we’ve got to work for it. Get all the village on our side, get everyone helping. It’d be great for the village community if everyone pulls together on this. If lots of people help, it could be fun. And after all, if we manage to save the park it will benefit everyone.’
‘We can’t hold an event there, though, not without toilet facilities,’ Simon said.
‘They’ve agreed to unlock them and send someone in to make sure they’re in working order.’ Sara shrugged. ‘We may have to clean them ourselves.’
I caught Craig’s eye and we both grinned. I wondered if he was thinking the same as me. It was worth coming tonight, just to hear Snooty Sara suggest she might be prepared to clean public loos. But almost immediately she went on, quickly, to say: ‘I mean, we’d get a team of willing helpers from around the village to do it, obviously.’
Obviously!
‘OK,’ I said, cautiously. ‘Well, it all makes sense, I suppose, although who knows whether all this effort will get us anywhere? If we’re going ahead with it, we need to discuss what sort of event we’re proposing to hold.’
Frankly, it sounded like such an enormous undertaking. I felt exhausted just thinking about it. I’d never had any experience at organising any sort of event, and had no idea whether any of the others had. ‘Oh, didn’t I tell you?’ Sara said. ‘That’s all decided.’
‘Decided by whom exactly?’ Amber shot back, sounding annoyed, and we all stared at Sara. It was good of her to take the lead, and I supposed on one level I admired the way she was getting stuck in and organising all this. But who gave her the green light to make a decision like this on behalf of everyone else?
‘Well, sorry, but I had to pretend I’d already got something lined up, in order to get their permission,’ she said, sounding slightly less arrogant now. ‘In fact, I had to tell a teeny white lie and say it was already at the planning stage. I’ve filled in all the application forms they gave me, and made sure there aren’t any legal loopholes to worry about. I had to presume you’d all be in agreement – sorry – there wasn’t really time to consult.’
We all looked at each other warily.
‘And what exactly is it that we’re supposed to be already planning?’ Simon asked.
‘A pet show,’ Sara said. ‘It’ll be a doddle, won’t it – we’re all animal lovers. We can all work together to publicise it. The first ever Furzewell Pet Show, to be held in Furzewell Park on August Bank Holiday Monday.’
There was a collective gasp from the group. It was the middle of May, and we had only until the end of August to organise and publicise a pet show, to say nothing of somehow making the park fit for purpose.
‘Well that does sound like a great idea,’ Amber said eventually, ‘If it’s all been decided, we need to roll up our sleeves and get on with it.’
‘Yes.’ I nodded agreement. ‘It’ll be a rush, but if we pull together and get everyone on board, it’s got to be worth a try. I’ll do whatever I can to help, Sara.’
‘You’re right. We can do this, guys,’ Craig joined in. ‘Let’s give it our best shot.’
‘I’m in,’ Simon agreed. ‘We need to share the work, all of us, so that we can be ready in time.’
‘Count me in too, absolutely,’ Louise said. ‘A pet show is a brilliant idea.’
‘Well done, Sara,’ I conceded.
‘We’re all in agreement, then,’ she said, sounding relieved. ‘So let’s get started on our plans.’
She raised her glass. ‘Here’s to the Friends of Furzewell Park.’
Slightly dazed, we all raised our glasses and repeated the toast.
‘And,’ I said, having taken a long swig of my beer and lifting the glass again, ‘here’s to us, the Lonely Hearts Dog Walkers!’
I’d christened them by this name in my own mind for so long now that it didn’t occur to me that any of them might be offended. Fortunately, there was an immediate burst of laughter, and they all raised their glasses again.
‘The Lonely Hearts Dog Walkers! May our hearts not be lonely forever!’ joked Craig, giving me a wink.
By the time I’d finished my third beer that evening, I was feeling quite excited about the whole thing. And more than ready to get stuck into our scheme for protecting our park. It was good to be working with my new friends on something so worthwhile. And even quite good to have been winked at by Craig. Of course, I wasn’t the least bit taken in by his flirty chatting, teasing and winking – even if Sara so obviously was. But it did help my battered self-confidence – just a tiny bit.
CHAPTER 16
My cheerful mood didn’t last long after Louise and I arrived home and saw the state of the house. Smartie had helped himself to half a dish of crisps and an unknown number of strawberries while Mum and the children had been engrossed in The Greatest Showman, and he had been thoroughly sick all over the rug. Mia, hyped up with excitement, told me in horrible detail about the amount and colour of vomit poor Mum had had to clean off the rug, whereas Eddie, who was quieter than usual, said the incident had made him feel sick himself and he wanted to go home. I suspected it was more likely he’d also overindulged on the strawberries, but I had to admit he did look a bit pale.
‘I do hope he’ll be all right,’ I said to Louise, after we’d both apologised to Mum about the rug and the vomit, and I’d made her a well-deserved cup of tea.
‘Oh, he’s probably just tired. He was so excited about this evening,’ she said. ‘Come on, Eddie, home to bed. You’ll be fine in the morning.’
But he wasn’t. The next day Louise messaged me to say he’d come out in spots, and the emergency doctor had diagnosed chickenpox.
‘I’m sorry, he’s probably passed it on to Mia,’ she said.
But luckily Mia had already had the virus so, much as I sympathised with poor Eddie, the only concern I had in relation to Mia was how much she’d miss her new friend. He was obviously going to be off school now for a while, and I couldn’t help wondering if without Eddie, she’d be unhappy there again.
‘Has Smartie got the chicken-spots too?’ she asked me when I told her about Eddie. ‘Is that why he was sick?’
‘Chickenpox,’ I corrected her with a smile. ‘No. Smartie just ate too much, of things he shouldn’t be eating at all. Puppies do that.’
‘I know.’ She put her arms around Smartie, who responded by licking her hand and making her giggle. ‘Like when he ate my pen top.’
About a week previously, we’d had the unpleasant job of inspecting his poo to make sure the top of one of her colouring pens had passed safely through. Mia had made a big show of her disgust about this, and I hoped it had been a good lesson for her, about ensuring in future that she didn’t leave things lying around where he could chew or swallow them.
It wasn’t until that Saturday morning that I had a chance to buy the new edition of the South Devon Recorder. I was pleased to see that, as promised, Sara’s editor friend had devoted a large part of the front page to our missing cats problem. There were quotes from several of the villagers who’d contacted us, together with photos of their cats. The young guy with all the tattoos who’d come to our initial meeting had submitted a picture of himself holding his kitten, Petal. She’s such a little sweetheart, he was reported as saying. It would break my heart if anything has happened to her. Reverend Timms was quoted as saying that his remaining four cats were pining for their missing companion, adding that there would be much joy in heaven if Pussy Willow came back home. And Tommy Burrows, whose cat Ginger was pictured asleep on his bed, brought a tear to my eye with the plea for his best friend in the whole world to be returned to him. The piece was well written, and finished by asking for anyone who had any information at all about any of the missing cats to get in touch with Sara or myself. I showed Mum before she went off to work, and she seemed very impressed.
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‘Well, if that doesn’t get poor Monty found, nothing will. And all the other cats, of course. Let’s hope someone knows something or that somebody somewhere has seen them.’ She sighed. ‘I do miss Monty. He was very affectionate, you know, and good company for me, before you moved back.’
I put my arm round her. She’d never actually complained about being lonely in the past, but I suddenly realised that of course sometimes she must have been – especially since Gran had moved out. I supposed I should have been more understanding about the fact that she’d seemed so inappropriately excited when Mia and I arrived. And about her nights out with her friends. When she complained bitterly about Dad – about Ireland, as if everything that had happened to upset her was the fault of the country rather than the man – I’d only ever seen the hurt and bitterness, never the loneliness it had caused. Of course she would have missed Monty. He’d been her only companion here at Eagle House before we came.
‘I’m sure somebody must know something,’ I said. ‘Even if it turns out to be … well, bad news—’
‘It’s better to know,’ she finished for me. ‘Absolutely. Not knowing is horrible. For all these other people, too. Poor Tommy Burrows, he doted on that Ginger. And the vicar. He might still have his other cats, but you know, it doesn’t make any difference. The loss of just one is still a loss.’
I nodded, unable to speak, suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of a loss of my own, the terrible loss I never mentioned, to anyone, because the pain of it still took my breath away. Mum was looking at me, aware of what she’d said and the effect it had had on me.
‘You can talk about it, Nicky,’ she said gently. ‘You never have, not really, and it might help, even now—’
‘No,’ I said abruptly. ‘I’m fine.’
I turned the pages of the paper, quickly, to distract myself and get my thoughts back to everyday things. Away from the darkness, the unspeakable. Mum was wrong. I was fine as long as I didn’t dwell on it. Dwelling on things never did any good. Move on, be fine, be normal – that had been my mantra for all these years and I’d coped perfectly well. The pages of the paper blurred before my eyes for a moment and then, suddenly, something caught my attention. On the Letters to the Editor pages, there were … I counted quickly … ten, no eleven letters responding to the previous week’s front-page story.
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