Follow Me Home (10 page)

Someone else will find it, I think, except . . . I gaze at the bare trees and the windblown hillside lit by the sweep of the headlamps. Who will find it until it's too late? I recall Mick's gentle, trusting nature. What if it was Mick? Would I even think of driving off if it was him in this situation?

Feeling slightly sick, I get out of the car and make my way to the verge. The dog utters a desperate whimper. I shine the flashlight on my mobile without getting too close, spotting a piece of rope, a noose digging into the dog's neck one end and the other tied around the nearest tree. I don't understand. Who would do such a thing?

‘Oh, you poor thing.' I remember how Lewis told
me to speak nicely, but it isn't difficult this time. The words come naturally. ‘You're frozen. Are you hurt? Look at your frosty whiskers.'

She – because I'm guessing she's a girl – lifts her head and whimpers again and my fear, the pricking of the hairs at the back of my neck and the rapid thudding of my pulse, is hounded out by a different emotion – compassion. The grey and white dog is long and lanky like a greyhound, and so thin I can see every bone along her spine.

‘Now what am I going to do?' I could call Jack – he works for Animal Welfare – or the vet's surgery in Talyton, or Murray, or Lewis, even Paul at a push, but they could take a while to get here when I could take her straight to the vet myself.

‘Now, what's happened to you, Frosty Whiskers?' I take a tentative step towards her, and another, and a twig snaps under my foot, making a noise like a gunshot. I force myself to squat down and hold out my hand, like Lewis showed me to with Mick, to let her smell my scent. She touches her nose to my skin, making me freeze. She seems to freeze too and I realise she's just as wary of me as I am of her. ‘We're a right pair, aren't we?' I say, relaxing a little.

I kneel right down, oblivious to the cold, hard ground, and carefully loosen the rope noose, slipping it over the dog's head to release her and then, when she could have struggled up and run away, she pushes her head into my lap as if to say thank you.

‘I'm going to make sure you're okay,' I tell her, and I pick her up awkwardly, like a first-time parent picking
up their new-born, and carry her like I would a baby, albeit a skinny one with very long legs, to the car, where I place her on the back seat with my coat across her. I turn the heating up and drive into Talyton.

The lights are on at Otter House. I rush inside, and ring the bell, bringing Maz, one of the vets, into reception. She's in her late thirties, tall and naturally slim.

‘Hi,' she says, tying her pale blonde hair back with what looks like one of the postman's elastic bands. ‘I wasn't expecting anyone else at this time of night . . . How can I help?'

I'm Zara. I'm sorry, I should have called ahead, but I came across this dog and I didn't know what to do.'

Maz smiles. ‘Slow down and start again from the beginning.'

‘I was driving back from Talymouth when I found her tied to a tree. She's in the car.'

‘Why don't you bring her straight in?'

‘Actually, I wondered if you could come and get her. I was bitten by a dog when I was a kid.' I'm annoyed with myself for wimping out, but I'm feeling a bit wobbly now.

‘I'll grab a muzzle just in case. Does she seem friendly?'

‘She didn't try to bite me. She's sick, I think.'

‘Oh, she is, the poor thing,' Maz says, when I open the car door for her. ‘Let's get you indoors.' She carries the dog into the practice, where she rings the bell, summoning Izzy, the head nurse. I've met Izzy several times before at Greenwood Farm and Talyton's annual
Country Show – her husband is a sheep farmer and one of Murray's cousins. She's over forty, but looks younger with her cropped hair and freckles.

‘Come through,' Maz says. ‘I expect you'd like to see how the dog gets on.'

‘I'm not sure,' I begin, but I go along with them anyway, not wanting the dog to think I've abandoned her in the same way that her owner has.

‘Izzy, set up some warm IV fluids and a heat pad. Oh, and I could do with a stethoscope. I can't find mine.'

‘You really should get one surgically implanted,' Izzy grumbles lightly as she marches ahead into what appears to be the animal version of a hospital prep room, complete with table and sink. It smells like a doctor's surgery – of scrub and surgical spirit. ‘There it is, hanging from the hook where you left it.'

I smile to myself. I don't know what doctors and vets would do without us.

Soon Frosty, as I call her, is lying on the bench on a drip and with a blanket wrapped around her.

‘Where did you say you found her?' Maz asks. ‘This is a welfare case – the owner should be prosecuted for neglect.'

‘If I had my way, I'd lock them up and throw away the key. Or worse,' Izzy adds darkly. ‘There's no excuse for treating any animal in this way. It's appalling. Not only is she completely emaciated, she could have frozen to death. She would have, if you hadn't found her.'

‘I don't recognise her. She isn't one of ours,' Maz
observes. ‘I'll get Jack Miller in tomorrow morning. For now, we'll take some pictures and get a weight for her.'

At the mention of weight, I smile wryly to myself. The dog could really do with the extra pounds I've put on this past couple of weeks.

‘She can't have been fed properly for a while,' Izzy says.

‘We'll get some food into her when she's warmed up,' Maz says. ‘Some of that new convalescent diet would suit her.'

‘I don't understand how a human being can do this to an animal – and I don't even like dogs.' Aware of Izzy's sharp intake of breath, I soften my opinion. ‘What I mean is, I'm not mad about dogs.' I pause, gazing at the raw gash made by the rope around Frosty's neck. ‘Is that going to be all right?'

‘It's the least of her problems at the moment,' Maz – says. ‘We'll clean it up and see what we can do, but her body's been starved of nutrients so it will take longer to heal than it would in a fit animal.'

‘How old do you think she is?' I ask.

‘I'd say about six to eight months, wouldn't you, Izzy?'

‘I'd go for eight,' Izzy says.

‘So she's still a puppy, really.'

‘A teenager,' Maz smiles. ‘Leave her with us – we'll look after her. And thanks for bringing, her in. If it wasn't for you, she wouldn't have made it this far.'

‘She is going to get better?'

‘We'll have to wait and see if she makes a full
recovery. We don't know if she has any underlying health issues yet.'

I'm aware the dog's eyes are on me, as if she's trying to say something.

‘You can stroke her,' Maz says. ‘She could do with as much TLC as possible.'

I take a breath. The dog isn't going anywhere. What's the worst that could happen?

‘She won't hurt you,' Izzy says. ‘She seems like a real softie.'

Taking another deep breath, I tell myself to relax. I want to stroke the dog, to let her know I'm thinking of her and praying she'll be all right. Can I trust her? She seems to trust me. I let my fingers touch the top of her head and I can see her relax, the tension melting away. Her coat, which I thought would feel bristly, is smooth to the touch.

‘What will happen to her if she does get better?' I swallow past a painful constriction in my throat at the thought of the alternative, which seems more likely the longer I look at her. She isn't just thin, she's a size zero.

‘We'll keep her for as long as she needs medical attention, then she'll go to the Sanctuary where Talyton Animal Rescue will find a new home for her,' Maz says.

‘You will let me know how she gets on.'

‘Of course.'

‘I could drop in tomorrow morning on my way to work.'

‘Come in whenever you like. Someone will be here.'
Maz starts to organise a kennel for the dog, while Izzy heads out to find a camera to take photos as evidence, giving me a chance to talk without embarrassing myself in front of them.

‘Good luck, Frosty,' I whisper. ‘I hope you make it.'

‘What did you call her?' I turn to find Maz looking in my direction. She grins. ‘It's like a whispering gallery in here. You can hear everything.'

‘I called her Frosty because she had frosty whiskers when I found her. It sounds a bit lame, doesn't it?'

‘I quite like it. We'll call her Frosty then. We'll see you tomorrow. Can you see yourself out?'

‘Yes, thanks.'

Back at the newsagent's, the lights are on in the flat and Gran is still up. She's nodded off in front of the television, with Granddad's photo in her lap and Norris lying across the back of the chair.

‘Gran,' I call softly.

She starts. ‘Oh, you gave me such a surprise. I don't think I'll ever get used to having a flatmate.'

‘I'm sorry.' I touch her hand. Norris opens one eye and gives me a malevolent glare.

‘Where have you been?'

I explain about the dog.

‘And you're telling me you lifted it into your car and drove it to the vet's? I don't believe it.'

‘I couldn't leave her there, could I? I'd never have forgiven myself if she'd frozen to death.'

‘Perhaps you're over your fear of dogs, thanks to the shepherd,'

‘I wouldn't go that far,' I say. ‘She was so distressed I
could see past the fact that she was a dog, and recognise a creature – a person, even – who needed my help.'

‘Well, I'm – what's the word?'

‘Amazed?' I suggest.

‘No, gob, gob-stoppered.'

‘I think you mean gobsmacked.'

‘That too. Can I tell everyone?'

‘I don't know why you're asking, because you're going to tell everyone anyway,' I smile. ‘I'm going to bed. Shouldn't you be on your way too?' I hesitate at the door. ‘You're making me feel like I'm a lightweight.'

‘A what?'

‘Never mind.'

‘Sometimes I think we speak different languages,' she says. ‘You're right, though. I should turn in, but I haven't been sleeping too well since your mum and dad started talking about selling the shop and putting me in a home.'

‘Don't worry about it. They can't make you do anything. Oh, one more thing,' I say, remembering. ‘We saw Paul at the leisure centre. Did you know he has a girlfriend?'

‘I heard a rumour, but that's all it was, so I didn't say anything. I'm sorry, but it's for the best. Now perhaps you'll see that there's no going back.'

‘I knew there wasn't anyway.' I remove my scarf from around my neck.

‘But in spite of that, you're still in love with the man.'

‘Not “in love” as such.'

‘I wish I could believe you.'

‘And I wish you goodnight, Gran.'

‘Goodnight.'

Dismissing any thoughts of my ex-husband, I go to bed, but I don't sleep for thinking about Frosty – what she must have gone through and whether or not she'll be alive in the morning.

CHAPTER SIX

Beyond the Call of Duty

When I turn up at Otter House the next morning, Jack Miller is in reception, dressed in a navy showerproof jacket, cargo trousers and boots with odd laces, one black and one tan. His hair is dark blond with natural highlights, and his cheeks are clothed in stubble. He's roughly the same age as me and married to one of mine and Emily's friends, Tessa.

Maz, who reminds me of how I look when I've been on my feet all night, invites us both through to the kennels to see the dog.

‘So she's made it so far,' I say.

‘More than that,' Maz smiles. ‘She's on her feet.'

‘Shouldn't that be on her paws?' Jack says cheerfully.

Frosty is bumping into the bars of her cage with a huge, lampshade-like Elizabethan collar around her neck.

‘What's she wearing that for?' I ask, feeling more
upset than I thought I would be at seeing her confined.

‘It's for her own good,' Maz says. ‘She chewed through her drip tubing during the night.'

‘I'm glad my ladies don't do that kind of thing.' Amused, I lean down towards the cage, but not too close. ‘Hi, Frosty.' It takes her a few seconds to respond to my presence, but when she does, she gives a squeak of delight, which cuts through my wary reserve and brings tears springing to my eyes. As she wags her tail, repeatedly bashing the stainless steel walls of the cage, I swallow hard. She likes me. In spite of the cruel treatment she's received at somebody else's hands, she's prepared to give me the benefit of the doubt.

‘She recognises you from last night,' Maz says. ‘That's sweet.'

‘I think she's trying to say ‘let me out of here'.' Jack whistles through his teeth. ‘She's one of the skinniest dogs I've ever seen.'

‘She's had two small meals so far and she hasn't been sick. We'll keep feeding her little and often throughout the day.'

‘I'll be looking for a prosecution under the Animal Welfare Act, but I'm not optimistic about the outcome,' Jack says. ‘I don't suppose she's micro-chipped?'

‘Dream on. We've checked and there's no ID. I've spoken to Alex about her.' Maz is married to Alex Fox-Gifford, who owns Talyton Manor vets, the local farm animal practice. ‘He's seen a dog of this description, a lurcher/bull-terrier-cross type, once or twice when he's been riding his horse down by the river. She's a very distinctive dog. Someone must recognise her.'

‘I'll make some enquiries,' Jack says. ‘I'll start with Frank.'

‘Frank Maddocks?' Maz exclaims. ‘Wasn't he banned from keeping animals after the incident with the mare and foal?'

‘He was, but he did a disappearing act a while ago. He's a hard man to keep track of.'