The Difference a Day Makes (29 page)

‘It’s down to you now, Jade,’ Guy said as he finished up. ‘The wound needs to be kept clean for the next ten days. Get Mr Cadugan to give me a call if there are any problems.’

‘Right, Vet.’

‘Come on, Hamish.’ He whistled to the dog who was messing around by the bucket of testicles. ‘Come away.’

He opened the back door of the Range Rover and Hamish hopped in.

‘Dog looks a bit wobbly on his back legs,’ Jade noted.

Guy shook his head. ‘This animal is always up to some sort of trouble.’ He got into the car. ‘See you next time, Jade.’

She waved him away and Guy set off winding through the narrow lanes back towards Scarsby and his afternoon surgery. He turned the radio up and whistled tunelessly along as he drove. It was a fine day. No rain. Blue skies. Air cold and crisp. ‘What a day, boy, eh?’

He might have expected that to elicit a bark from Hamish, but there was no response. Guy flicked a look in his rearview mirror. All he could see was Hamish’s four legs sticking up rigidly in the air. From all his years of veterinary experience, he could tell immediately that was not a good thing.

Guy pulled up sharply at the side of the road and sprinted to the boot of the car, grabbing his visits bag. He yanked open the back door. Hamish was still immobilised, legs akimbo, eyes glazed, tongue lolling. It looked as if he’d had some kind of seizure. Guy’s phone rang. Bad, bad timing. He was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but you never knew what might be urgent in this game. ‘Guy Burton,’ he snapped as he answered.

‘It’s Jade,’ the girl on the other end of the line said. ‘Ladies’ Knight’s testicles have gone from the bucket.’

So that was what was wrong with Hamish. He must have scoffed the horse’s testicles, and the anaesthetic in them had been enough to knock him out. Good Lord, Hamish could have eaten enough for it to prove fatal. ‘Thanks, Jade. You’re a lifesaver.’

Without further hesitation, Guy loaded a syringe with the antidote and injected Hamish. Minutes later, Hamish gave a slurred bark and gazed drunkenly at him.

Guy sighed with relief. ‘That was a close call, Doggers. Don’t ever do that to me again.’The dog turned and nuzzled his muzzle into the vet’s hand. ‘You are a walking disaster, Hamish. Did anyone ever tell you that?’

Hamish woofed happily, still sounding inebriated.

Guy had never wanted a brandy so badly. How could he have forgiven himself if anything had happened to Hamish? That would have been a great way to woo a woman, to kill her dog. Even Cheryl wouldn’t believe that one as a courtship move.

 

 

 

S
erena has moved into her spare bedroom for the night to accommodate us
en famille
. There’s a single inflatable mattress on the floor which she’s currently blowing up with the help of her Nicky Clarke hairdryer.The room is cramped, with her state-of-the art and incredibly expensive vibro-gym taking up most of the space.

My sister has kindly vacated her double bed so that Tom, Jessica and myself can all squeeze into it. Already it’s clear that we couldn’t stay here for more than a night or two. It’s too much of an inconvenience for her. This is an apartment definitely designed for solo living.We’ll have to go straight from Helmshill Grange to our new flat whether we want to or not.

‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’ Serena whispers to me while I busy myself putting a clean pillowcase on her pillow.

I check that the children are still riveted to her 42-inch plasma television and Wii. They are. ‘It’s not exactly salubrious,’ I tell her, lowering my own voice too, ‘but it’s not that bad either. It will get us back to London.’

‘And that’s still what you want?’

I look up. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

She shrugs.‘I don’t know. I just thought the country life might be suiting you. You don’t look too bad on it.’

I’m not exactly sporting rosy red cheeks as plump as apples, but perhaps I’m not looking quite as gaunt as I did after Will died.Whether the country air suits me or not, needs must.‘I have to work, Serena. This is the only offer of a job I’ve had. I’ve drawn a big fat nada round Helmshill. Jobs are few and far between even in Scarsby, unless I want to become a waitress in Poppy’s Tea Room.’

‘There are worse career moves.’

Folding my arms over the pillow, I say, ‘This isn’t like you. I thought you wanted me back here in the land of the living. I thought you’d be eager to push me up the corporate ladder again.’>

‘It’s not all about work, is it?’ she replies with an uncharacteristic lack of ambition. ‘Look at this place. It’s a shoebox - a nice shoebox - but the majority of my income goes in keeping its tiny roof above my head. That’s madness. Isn’t quality of life more important?’

‘Now you’re sounding like Will.’

Serena flops down onto the bed. ‘Perhaps he had a point. I’m in the office at six in the morning, rarely home before eight - except when my sis is visiting - and what do I get for it? Sod all.’

‘Apart from an enormous salary.’

‘There are only so many pairs of shoes that I can buy, Amy.’

Going over to the vast expanse of picture window, I stare out. There’s nothing but concrete, steel and glass. It’s an attractive manmade landscape, but it can’t compete with the Yorkshire Moors. Even I can see that. I can’t spot a blade of grass or a plant anywhere. Despite the double-glazing, I can hear the hum of the traffic a dozen floors below us, punctuated by the occasional irate and blaring horn. How different it all seems to the peace and quiet of Helmshill. This, that was so familiar to me, now seems so alien. I shake my head, clearing it of the thought.

‘I can’t back out now,’ I tell her as I turn away from the window, ‘even if I wanted to. The house has been sold. I can’t let the Gerner-Bernards down. I hate people who do that. Plus I’ve just signed a six-month lease on the flat, starting from the end of January.’ I’ve even given the letting agent a hefty deposit to secure it as he assured me that the ‘desirable’ Lancaster Court apartment wouldn’t stay on the market for long. Of course, I bought right into his spiel. Nothing on earth could have persuaded me to spend another depressing day looking at over-priced dumps. I deftly skipped over the clause that stated in bold letters NO PETS ALLOWED. ‘We’ll have Christmas at Helmshill Grange and then we’re out of there in the New Year. I’m sure this is the best thing to do for the children.’

My sister looks unconvinced and that unnerves me.‘And what about Guy?’

I shrug. ‘What about him?’

‘One thing I’ve learned from my extensive loveless years on this earth is that good men are hard to find.’

‘I thought the phrase was “hard men are good to find”?’

‘That too,’ Serena grins. She secures the valve on her blow-up bed and winds the flex round her hairdryer.‘I’m being serious here. You like him. He likes you. Maybe more.’

I hold up a hand. ‘It’s way, way too soon.’

‘It’s too soon
now
,’ she agrees. ‘What I don’t want is you turning around in five years’ time and thinking it’s too late.’

‘I’m dreading telling him,’ I admit. ‘I don’t know why that is.’

‘You’re my sister,’ she says, ‘and I love you. But sometimes you can be very thick.’

‘Guy will understand why I’m doing this. I’m sure he will. We both have to do what’s right for now and not think about what might or might not happen in the future.’

And I only hope that I’m right.

 

 

 

T
he next afternoon, the children say nothing as we drive from the station back to Helmshill Grange, which I view as a bad thing. The excitement of seeing their favourite aunt has long since worn off during the tedious train journey. The sun is setting on the day and the landscape looks mellow and sleepy. We’re the only car on the road as we slowly wind our way home. The only noise is the whoosh of the tyres on the tarmac.

I spent the morning negotiating to have the children taken on by the local school nearest to our new flat. It’s a long way from the Weston Academy for Children with Rich Parents. Tom and Jessica’s new primary school is a vast, sprawling block of 1960s concrete, with a million children of a hundred different nationalities - not quite on the scale of the homely, cottage style of St Mary’s. Despite that, I had to beg for a place. It makes me go cold at the thought of sending them in there alone every day. But the Headteacher at Queensway seemed straightforward and sensible enough, if not quite as forceful and in control as Mrs Barnsley. They say that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover and although Queensway is a hideously battered old tome, the results there are good and my children are accustomed to working hard at school. Plus I have to look at this as a short-term measure. It won’t be for ever. Once the coffers are full again we can move from the flat to a more salubrious house and the children can go to a more salubrious school.

Guy’s car is in our drive as we pull in and my ridiculously impressionable and romantic heart skips a beat. I do wish that it wouldn’t do that, but despite what my head thinks, my heart seems to feel differently.

As the kids barrel out of the car, I can see that Alan is finishing sweeping the yard and our friendly vet is gently escorting Delila and her cohorts into the barn for the night. ‘Hi,’ he says as I approach. ‘Can I be the first to congratulate you on your impending baby?’

I look at him, puzzled.

‘Delila,’ he says. ‘Looks like she had a little romantic dalliance just before she came here.’

‘She’s having a baby?’

Guy nods.

‘Are you sure?’Then I realise that he’s a vet and he probably is. ‘But I thought she was too old and knackered.’ Much like myself.

‘Miracles can happen,’ he tells me with a shrug. ‘I can’t believe we didn’t spot it before. She’s due very soon.’

I wonder what will happen to Delila and her baby when the Gerner-Bernards take over this place and I have to get rid of all the animals. I should be delighted for the old girl - Will, I know, would be doing a proud-parent happy dance - but it just seems like one more problem and I sigh out loud without really meaning to.

‘You sound weary,’ Guy says. ‘Long day?’

‘We’ve been down to London.’

‘Alan told me.’ He leans on the barn door. ‘Successful?’

‘I’ve taken out a lease on a flat,’ I tell him starkly. ‘From the end of January.’

He nods, but says nothing. My mad dog weaves his way across the yard and I feel a pang of guilt.

‘Has Hamish been good?’

‘Marvellous,’ he says.

‘No problems?’

He shakes his head a bit too vehemently for my liking. ‘None at all.’

‘He looks a bit drunk.’

‘Does he?’The hound is definitely unsteady on his legs. ‘Can’t think why.’

My children hurl themselves at the dog and knock him flat to the ground. Makes a change for it to be that way round.

‘Alan will sort him out,’ I say with a shake of my head. ‘Alan will sort everything out. I’m so grateful to you for fixing me up with this grant. When does it run out?’

Guy avoids my eyes. ‘It should see you up until you leave.’

‘Fabulous. It’s been such a relief.’

‘Good. Good. I hoped it would be.’

And then, I don’t know why, but it suddenly hits me. ‘Which agency did you say it came from again?’

‘Er . . .’ Guy says. ‘Can’t quite remember. Would have to look at the paperwork. Brain like a sieve.’

Something in his tone sets alarm bells ringing louder in my head. My sister’s right. I
am
thick. Folding my arms, I study the vet intently. ‘It isn’t the government who’s paying for Alan’s work here, is it?’

‘Er . . .’ he says again, glancing round to see if there’s an escape route. There isn’t.

‘You’re paying for all this.’ I wave my arm around the spick and span yard, take in my spick and span house.

‘I’m just helping out.’

‘Oh, Guy,’ I say. ‘You can’t do this for us.
Why
would you do this for us?’

‘I wanted to,’ he answers flatly. ‘I could see that you were struggling alone. It helps Alan out too. He’s been bored out of his head since he’s been on his own and retired.’

‘How could you lie to me so convincingly?’ I ask.

‘I knew that you wouldn’t accept my help or my money if I offered it straight out.’

‘Am I so stubborn?’

He nods at me.

‘You’re such a good fibber,’ I complain. ‘I bet you’re not even a real bloody vet.’

We both laugh at that and it breaks the tension.

‘Why?’ I ask again. ‘Why did you do it?

This time Guy meets my eyes and his stare makes my mouth go dry and my throat constrict. ‘Because I hoped it would make you stay here.’

And there’s nothing I can say to that.

 

 

 

I
don’t know where the time goes, but Christmas is upon us before I’ve had time to blink. It’s Christmas Eve and the children and I are decorating the tree. Alan has been to one of his friends’ farms and has brought us the most fabulous specimen of blue spruce which is currently filling one corner of the living room, its scent imbuing the space with the fresh tang of pine. Saint Steadman has also chopped us an enormous pile of logs for the winter and a fire is currently toasting the room, filling it with a warm glow. Milly Molly Mandy is curled up in front of it, spark out. Even serial killers, it seems, take time out at Christmas. Her claws flex and her feet paddle in her sleep. I’d bet you a fiver she’s dreaming about flaying some unsuspecting rodent alive. The central heating is also on full blast to try to scare away the damp. I’m trying not to think about the resulting oil bill and am luxuriating in the rare cosiness instead.

Standing back, I admire the tree. I have to say that Helmshill Grange has never looked so fine and it gives me a pain in my heart to think of it this way.