‘Come on then, boy,’ I say to him once I’ve given the other dogs – a collie called Dandy, a Lab cross called Colin, and Benson, an odd-looking brown mutt with one ear up and one ear down – their last biscuits. ‘There’s just Dolly’s hay to go out in the paddock.’ She needs extra fodder at the moment so she can feed her foal, Apache. I head round to the barn and move past the stables to the back where we’re storing a ton of hay for the winter, clambering up onto the stack and pushing a bale off the top.
Buster utters a sharp bark.
‘What’s up?’ I peer down at him. ‘There’s nothing there. You’re making it up.’ I slide back down, retrieve the bale that’s bounced some way across the barn, prop it up against the base of the stack and take the knife to cut the strings, becoming aware of the sound of a vehicle rattling up the track. I hesitate, my pulse tripping into overdrive, as it approaches then stops somewhere outside and the engine cuts out.
I put the knife down, tucking it behind the bale before taking Buster by the collar and creeping out of the barn, switching the light off on the way and thankful that there’s no moon tonight. Buster barks again.
‘Sh,’ I hiss. I can hear voices. There are two men and they’re coming this way. I duck back against the kennel wall, pulling Buster close and praying he won’t draw attention to us as the men’s footsteps grow louder, and I catch the scent of cigarette smoke. No matter who they are, or what they’re here for, they are up to no good. I glance around for somewhere to hide, like when I played sardines with Jack, making myself as small as possible, scarcely daring to breathe, but all I can do is stand with my back pressed against the wall. I fumble for my mobile, flick it on, type the word ‘help’, and I’m adding recipients when they come around the corner. I press ‘send’ and start to dial 999, but it’s too late.
The flash of a powerful torch temporarily blinds me.
‘There she is.’
‘Don’t touch me,’ I say, hanging on tight to Buster.
‘It’s the manager. Where’s your boyfriend, Jack Miller, the bastard who stole Dolly off me and almost broke my heart?’
‘He isn’t my boyfriend and he isn’t here,’ I say calmly.
‘You’re lying.’
‘He isn’t here,’ I repeat.
‘I’ll have you then for what you done, aiding and abetting kidnap. This one deserves a good hiding,’ one of the men says, and I realise as my vision returns that it’s Frank Maddocks with his son. With a bloodcurdling growl that makes it clear he means business, Buster lunges towards them, sinking his teeth into the older man’s leg.
‘Get off me.’ Cursing, Frank lifts his stick and cracks it across Buster’s head, at which Buster lets go, only to go in again, embedding his teeth in Frank’s groin, which only serves to enrage him further. He gives him another thwack with the stick and, this time, Buster yelps, sways and falls to the ground where he remains, not moving.
‘Buster,’ I scream, trying to get to him, but Frank’s son has his hands on my shoulders, dragging me back. ‘Buster!’ I kick out to no avail, and my mobile goes flying, scattering into pieces.
‘What shall we do with her, Dad?’ the son asks, his teeth gritted with the effort of maintaining a vice-like grip on my flesh.
‘We’ll give her a good hiding, like I said.’
‘I don’t hold with duffing up a woman,’ the son says obstinately. ‘Why don’t we take her with us?’
‘No, she’d be a hindrance. Lock her up,’ Frank says gruffly, a cigarette between his rubbery lips. He’s bent almost double with pain, but it’s nothing to the pain I’m suffering with the dog lying there and me unable to help him.
‘Where?’ Frank’s son forces me to shuffle around the corner of the building where he opens the door into the kennels and pushes me on through, our presence setting off a chorus of ear-splitting barks. Frank follows close behind, bashing the kennel doors with his stick in an attempt to shut the dogs up. When we reach the empty kennel at the end of the block, Frank’s son shoves me roughly inside, knocking me off balance so I fall, hitting my head against the wall. While I’m sitting up and assessing the damage, he slams the door shut. Frank hands him one of the spare padlocks he must have picked up on the way in, and he slips it through the catch and clicks it shut.
‘Have a nice life, you little bitch,’ he says, laughing at his own joke.
‘Let me out,’ I say, struggling up and clinging on to the bars at the front of the kennel. ‘You can’t do this. You can’t do this!’ I repeat, screaming above the sound of the dogs, but the pair of them ignore me, walking away down the corridor, Frank tossing his cigarette into the kitchen before they disappear into the inky darkness. I run at the kennel door and slam into it with my shoulders, then my feet, but nothing happens. I turn my attention to the exit at the rear of the kennel that leads to the outside run, and curse my attention to detail when it comes to security, because that’s locked too.
I’m trapped. In despair, I sink down to the floor, my back against the wall. The dogs have fallen silent, listening to the sounds from the car park, the rattle of a trailer, shouting and yelling. I can hear my heartbeat too, hammering like an express train confined in a tunnel. My body is hot with anger and fear. What is happening to Buster? What are they doing out there? When will someone find me?
As my eyes become adjusted to the dark, I can pick out the lines of mortar between the breezeblocks and the shine on the stack of stainless-steel bowls that have been left on the floor in the corner. I become aware too, of a change, the smell of burning and the acrid scent of smoke unfurling its way along the corridor towards me. It takes me a moment to work out that Frank’s discarded cigarette must have set something alight in the kitchen, and it’s now that I really start to panic. There are bags of dog food, stacks of towels and old newspapers out there, plenty to feed a fire.
I jump up again and begin to pace the kennel, thoughts of survival and of Gloria Brambles and the fire that razed Buttercross Cottage to the ground racing through my brain. It can’t be happening again. The Sanctuary is fated.
As I pick out the sound of a vehicle driving away and Dolly whinnying frantically from the paddock, the dogs start to howl and I raise my voice to join them, wondering if I managed to send that text and if help will come in time.
The choking smoke swirls across the ceiling, sinking slowly towards ground level and gradually filling the corridor, for what seems like hours, but it’s probably only ten minutes before the sound of emergency sirens overwhelms everything else.
‘Tess!’ I catch the sound of Jack’s voice in the distance.
‘I’m here!’ I rattle the bars again. ‘I’m here!’ I can’t speak any more for coughing, but he must have heard me because a figure steps out of the smoke, dressed in a helmet and dark flameproof clothing with reflective strips and shining a torch. I’d recognise him anywhere from his voice and the way he moves, steady and confident. ‘Jack, I’m locked in. There’s a padlock.’ I pull my T-shirt up around my mouth and nose while he forces it, shouldering the door open.
‘Let’s get you out of here,’ he says. ‘Can you walk?’
I nod to confirm it and he leads me through the corridor, past the kitchen door, which is now closed. By mutual agreement we pause to let the dogs out, dragging the collie into the corridor when he cowers in the corner, and sending the three of them outside, where they’re rounded up by some of the many people that have arrived to help.
‘Where’s Buster?’ He’s my priority now that I’m safe, but Jack wants to send me to see a paramedic. I refuse point-blank.
‘You’ve had a bump on the head. Tess, you’re rambling. Buster is missing. You’ve been out searching for him, remember?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ I insist, touching my temple, feeling the throb of a bruise and the sticky track of congealing blood. ‘Katie brought Buster back this evening. I was doing the last round of the Sanctuary with him when the Maddockses turned up. Buster went for Frank – he bit him
twice. If he hadn’t been here, if he hadn’t launched himself at him, I’m not sure I’d be here to tell the tale.’ I shudder, recalling how Frank’s expression had been dark with revenge, his absence of compassion and his sheer determination to get whatever he came here for.
‘Buster’s intervention gave that extra moment of time, long enough for Frank’s son to pull him back from the brink of actually hurting me. He beat the dog up instead.’ I bite my lip when I notice him on the ground beyond the fire engine that’s pulled up close to the kennel block. Maz is on her knees beside him, listening to his chest with her stethoscope, her hair gleaming in the beam of a set of emergency lights. Stepping over the hose that one of the firefighters is unrolling into the kennel block, I join her, sinking onto my heels next to Buster, who is lying on his side, ominously quiet.
‘Is he …?’ I begin.
‘I don’t know,’ Maz says. ‘Talk to him, Tessa. He isn’t responding to me.’
‘Buster?’ My chest is tight with grief and fear that I’ve found him, only to lose him again. ‘Come on,’ I urge him. ‘Please wake up.’ Slowly and shakily, he lifts his head and gazes around him, a glazed expression in his eyes, and strings of drool dangling from his jowls. ‘Buster,’ I repeat, his name catching in my throat. ‘Don’t you recognise me?’ I reach out and touch his paw, giving it a squeeze, and he beats his tail twice against the blanket Maz has slid underneath him. ‘Hi there,’ I say, a wave of relief washing through me. ‘You’re safe now. I’m not going to let you out of my sight ever again.’
‘That’s better,’ Maz says. ‘He needed some TLC. I reckon that’s another of his nine lives gone.’
He’s a dog, not a cat, I want to say. It’s cats who have nine lives, but it doesn’t matter. Buster is merely dazed, not brain-damaged. My dog, my saviour, is going to be all right.
‘I’m assuming you’ll want to keep him here for observation,’ Maz goes on.
‘Yes, I’d rather you didn’t admit him unless it’s essential. Is it safe to move him indoors? He’ll be more comfortable on the sofa.’ When Maz agrees, I look around for Jack to confirm that we’re all right to enter the bungalow.
‘The fire’s out,’ Jack says. ‘It wasn’t much – a few towels and newspapers. The dogs are fine – they’re in the stable next to Bambi. The cats are a little disturbed, but none the worse for all the noise and activity that’s been going on.’
‘And what about Dolly?’ I ask. ‘She was tearing about the paddock earlier.’
‘She’s going mad,’ Jack says. ‘The Maddockses have taken Apache.’
‘Oh-mi-god, where is he? He’ll starve without his mum.’
‘He’s in the trailer at the end of the track and I’m hoping you’re up to helping me fetch him back.’ He raises his hand to show me Apache’s foal slip, the head-collar Libby has taught him to wear. ‘I think we’re going to be grateful that my sister has already started working with him.’
‘Where’s Frank?’ I ask, apprehensive now that he might have got away.
‘He’s been arrested and taken to the station.’ Jack picks Buster up and carries him into the bungalow where Maz and Tia can keep watch on him, before we jog down the track in the dark to the trailer that’s been parked haphazardly against the hedge at its junction with the lane. Jack hands me the foal slip.
‘Apache’s used to girls,’ he says, opening the groom’s door in the side of the trailer and ushering me in.
‘He’s used to Libby,’ I observe when the foal takes one look at me and panics, reversing and kicking at the ramp at the back.
‘Steady there,’ I soothe, holding out my hand for him to investigate. ‘Am I really that scary?’ I murmur.
‘You can be, Tess,’ Jack mutters from outside, making me smile. ‘It hasn’t escaped my notice that you’ve become much more confident about keeping the volunteers in order recently.’
As I relax, Apache seems to relax too, taking one step forwards, his head outstretched and his breath warm on my fingers. I don’t rush him.
‘Have you got him yet?’ Jack whispers.
‘Almost.’ Apache takes another step, allowing me to scratch his neck before I slide the foal slip over his nose and fasten it behind his ears. ‘Good boy.’
‘Are you talking about me again?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, Jack Miller,’ I say, keeping my voice down so as not to frighten Apache any further: he seems very upset and fidgety away from his mother, who’s screaming for him in the distance. ‘All right, you can let us out now.’
Slowly, he lowers the ramp. Apache waits, twitching and flicking his ears, ready to run if he needs to, but I’ve got him, and with gentle persuasion I lead him down the ramp and up the lane with Jack walking along beside me, all the way to the paddock, where the foal stops and utters a high-pitched whinny. Hearing him, Dolly comes galloping at full pelt towards the fence, skidding to a halt just in time, neighing and whickering and rearing up, desperate to get to her baby. Jack opens the gate enough for me to push Apache through and Dolly greets him, sniffing and grooming his back as he nuzzles her, looking for milk.
‘Aah,’ I say, a lump in my throat, when he latches on to drink, and Dolly stands with her head lowered and her eyes half closed, the sweat drying on her flanks. She might hate most human beings, but the mare makes a brilliant mum. I throw out some more hay for her before returning to Buster’s side to relieve Maz so she can go home. PC Phillips joins me to take a statement and, just as he’s leaving, Jack appears to tell me the fire brigade have finished damping down and they’re clearing the scene.
‘Thanks, Jack,’ I say as I sit on the sofa beside Buster, stroking his ear. He sighs now and again, as if he’s making the most of the attention, while Tia sits quietly at my feet, warm like a pair of furry slippers. ‘Between you and Buster, you saved my life.’
‘I was doing my job.’ Jack smiles, his teeth bright in the subdued light. ‘It’s a tough job rescuing damsels in distress, but someone’s got to do it.’ He pauses. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ I nod as he continues, ‘I don’t think you should be left on your own with that bump on your head. Is your dad on his way? Does he know?’
‘I called him on the landline to let him know I was all right – he and Mum are away for my great-aunt’s funeral. I feel guilty for not going, but I didn’t feel I could leave the Sanctuary for a couple of days.’
‘You should have said – I’d have stayed over.’ Jack towers over me. ‘In fact, I’ll stay here now as your parents aren’t here.’
‘Will you sit down?’ I say, too exhausted to argue. ‘You’re making the place untidy.’
He makes himself comfortable on the armchair and we talk.
‘I knew someone was watching me,’ I say, going back to all the times when I felt uncomfortable at the Sanctuary, thinking I sensed someone’s presence, and to the occasion when I called my dad and PC Phillips came and I managed to convince myself that, if there was anyone there, they were poachers passing through. ‘I kind of guessed it might be Frank Maddocks, but I thought he was out purely for revenge. I had no idea that he was waiting for Dolly to give birth so he could steal the foal from under our noses.’
‘It was a stupid plan,’ Jack says. ‘I don’t know how he thought he was going to rear Apache without his mother.’
‘I reckon he would have taken Dolly too, if he could have caught her.’
‘Well, I’m glad we managed to reunite them before any damage was done.’
Tia shifts on my feet. Buster yawns and shows me his belly in a not-so-subtle hint for me to give him a scratch.
‘Tess, is there any chance …?’ Jack begins eventually.
‘Chance?’ I look up abruptly, our eyes locking. ‘Chance of what?’
‘Of us, you and me, starting again?’ he goes on.
‘I don’t think so.’ I pause, regaining control of my emotions, a tangle of hurt and resentment at the way Jack has behaved towards me. ‘I can’t believe you’re asking. I thought we had s
omething and you dropped me just like that for some other woman.’ I hug Buster to my chest. ‘Why would I risk having my heart broken for a second time?’
‘I made a mistake,’ Jack says, his voice tremulous, making me soften towards him, but I can’t let him break through my defences.
‘So, let me get this clear,’ I say. ‘This other woman with whom you had some kind of fling or romance comes strolling back into your life, and you invite her to live with you in your house, and then you say it was a mistake? I really don’t understand.’
‘I’m trying to explain. I didn’t know what to do when Karen arrived on my doorstep with nothing but a suitcase and holdall. She was in pieces and had nowhere to go. What else could I do, kick her out onto the street?’ He looks me straight in the eye. ‘What would you have done?’
‘I would have found her somewhere to stay, the bed and breakfast at Barton Farm or a room at the Talymill Inn.’
‘I felt responsible for her. She was in a terrible state, crying all the time. I didn’t want to let her out of my sight, in case …’ Jack shrugs. ‘I thought she was suicidal.’
‘Either that or she was using emotional blackmail to get you back. Jack, whatever her motives and your reasons for getting together were – and I don’t want to know the gory details – you could have had the decency to let me know, not left me hanging on … Oh, I remember, I rather threw myself at you. Why should you treat me with any respect?’ I add bitterly.
‘I was a coward. I didn’t have the balls to tell you. Karen turned up out of the blue, and I kept promising myself that I’d make a time to meet you so I could tell you face to face because letting you down by text or phoning wouldn’t be right. Tess, you didn’t throw yourself at me. It wasn’t like that,’ he goes on, his eyes filled with hurt.
‘Wasn’t it?’ I say defiantly.
‘You know it wasn’t,’ he repeats. ‘That night we spent together meant everything to me.’
‘So much so that you disappeared off and moved another woman straight into your bed—’
The Village Vet Page 29