Lost Dogs and Lonely Hearts

  Rachel and Natalie had tentatively fixed a date for the Open Day – a Saturday, in three weeks’ time.

  ‘Can we talk about that tomorrow?’ said Rachel. ‘You have no idea how long it’s going to take me to make supper and then clean up the kitchen so that my mum can’t tell how long it took me.’

  ‘Special dinner, is it?’ asked Freda.

  ‘Um, yes. I’m inviting George over.’

  Megan and Freda exchanged a quick glance.

  ‘Meet the parents, is it?’ Freda folded her arms across her bosom, and lifted Oskar up into her lap. ‘I see! Shall I get a hat picked out?’

  ‘No, no. It’s not . . . it’s not like that. Mum wants to see me, and the house, and I thought it would be good to show her round,’ Rachel said hurriedly. ‘And George is, you know, well, I mean, we are seeing each other. And . . .’

  ‘I’ll go out,’ said Megan, decisively.

  Ken and Val’s estate car pulled up outside Four Oaks at seven on the dot, and Rachel rushed them through to the sitting room with big glasses of gin and tonic, leaving their bags in the hall.

  She was irritated with George. He was late. He’d promised to be there as early as he could, but his mobile had been going straight to voicemail for nearly an hour. She’d had to squirt air freshener around the downstairs hall to mask the smell of dogs and burned toast from her first attempt at paté corners, and hadn’t had enough time to make up the spare beds.

  Luckily Val was more than happy to wander around the sitting room, picking things up and putting them down again with a murmur, and Ken seemed happy to browse through Dot’s collection of old records, stacked in the drawing room, ready to go to whatever sale room Rachel could find to take them.

  At ten to eight, Rachel was about to give up on the roast chicken that now looked more like crispy duck, and actually had the takeaway leaflet open by the phone when George appeared with a casserole under one arm, and a bottle of wine in the other hand.

  ‘About time,’ she hissed, letting him in and hustling him through to the kitchen.

  ‘Good evening, George,’ he replied. ‘How lovely to see you! Is that the main course? Oh, you angel. I’ve burned the one I made.’

  He hadn’t had time to brush his hair after washing it, but he was wearing a new blue shirt, open at the neck, and his dark green cords. Privately, Rachel thought he looked like the archetypal Colin Firth-ish confirmed bachelor, but wasn’t sure if the tieless, tousled look would play that well with Val. Amelia’s husband, Paul, wore a suit to take the kids swimming.

  ‘Let me get you a drink.’ She followed him into the kitchen, where he put the tray straight into the oven, removing her hopeless attempt at a roast. ‘You’ll need one, my mum’s already asking me where the cleaning materials are.’

  ‘Calm down.’ George put his hands on her arms. ‘They’re only people. And if need be, I have some animal relaxant in the car.’

  Rachel gave him her best cynical raised eyebrow.

  Even with two large gins on board, the conversation didn’t exactly flow as Rachel had hoped. If anything, it made the gap between her and Ken’s valiant attempts and Val and George’s silences more noticeable. Neither she nor George were drinking. Rachel wished there was something pregnant women were allowed to knock back.

  ‘So,’ Ken made another desperate bid to fill the sound of clinking cutlery, ‘lovely casserole, Rachel. Have you been on one of those posh cooking courses?’

  Rachel tried not to catch George’s eye, but he was nowhere near sniggering. His earlier good mood had vanished, though he’d remained very polite in the face of some inane questions from her mother, and now the line between his eyebrows had deepened. He kept checking his phone, to the point where she felt like grabbing it off him.

  It’s me, she thought, masochistically. He’s looking at my mother and thinking, bollocks, how can I get out of this.

  ‘No, I cannot tell a lie,’ she said brightly. ‘George made it. Game casserole – local pheasants, aren’t they?’

  ‘George cooked this? Valerie? Did you hear that?’

  Ken was really trying, Rachel thought. She hammed along with him. ‘See, Dad? A man who can cook. Not as rare as you’d think.’

  Ken raised his glass a little. ‘We should have a toast to the chef.’

  ‘Mum,’ prompted Rachel. ‘Toast to the chef.’ She raised her glass of elderflower water, and George acknowledged it with a half-smile.

  ‘Very nice,’ said Val. ‘Unusual flavours.’

  Rachel noticed she had picked out all the fragments of bone, and the carrots, and anything she didn’t like the look of, making prissy piles at the side of her plate like an archaeologist.

  ‘Well, I’ve had plenty of practice,’ said George. ‘You can’t eat baked beans every night when you’re a bachelor.’

  There was a pause where Val’s response should have been, but she said nothing, and instead directed a look across the table at Rachel.

  Rachel wondered what on earth that was supposed to mean, and when her mother was going to launch the grandchild missile. So far, they’d avoided the matter completely, but it was hanging over the table, not so much like a giant elephant as a giant baby.

  George suddenly shoved his chair back and pulled his phone out of his pocket, making Rachel jump.

  ‘I’ll have to get this,’ said George. He was already rolling up his sleeves. ‘My locum vet’s covering my on-call tonight, but he did warn me that there might be a problem with a horse we’re treating up in Hartley. Darren!’

  His voice faded away as he went into the hall, but Rachel could tell by the brisk instructions that something was up. Or else he’d got one of the other vets to ring after eighty minutes to release him.

  ‘He’s very busy,’ she explained, half-wishing she’d arranged the same thing with Megan and a ‘stray dog’. ‘It’s a big practice.’

  ‘Does he work most nights?’ asked Ken, to fill in the silence.

  Rachel nodded.

  ‘So when do you see him?’ Val asked.

  ‘Couple of times a week. During the day. Actually, it suits us,’ she said. ‘I like to have my space, and so does he.’

  ‘A couple of times a week?’ echoed Val incredulously.

  When you put it like that, Rachel thought, it did sound a bit . . . odd.

  ‘Will he give you some extra nights when the baby arrives?’ Val enquired.

  ‘Mum! Of course.’

  ‘I’m just saying. When you’re not in a conventional relationship it’s all the more important that these things are properly stated.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rachel heavily. ‘When the baby is born then George will either move in here, or I’ll move in with him. But we haven’t talked about that yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m only seven weeks pregnant, Mum!’ hissed Rachel. ‘A lot can still go wrong! And there’s no point in . . .’

  ‘Ah, George!’ Ken saved Rachel from saying any more. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘’Fraid not.’ George was already pulling on his thick jacket. ‘The hunter’s taken a turn for the worse and I’m not sure Darren can really handle it on his own. I’m going to have to go up there and help him out. I’m sorry to run off but every minute’s critical.’

  By now Rachel was used to the sudden sea change in George’s manner when there was an emergency with an animal but she could see her mother’s face freeze.

  ‘Good luck.’ Ken got up and held out a hand. George shook it quickly. ‘We’ll see you again, I’m sure, before we go?’

  ‘Yes. Probably.’ George looked around for his keys, grabbed them, pressed a quick kiss on Rachel’s cheek and headed for the door. ‘Rachel’s got some ice cream for pudding, can’t go far wrong there. Bye!’ He raised his broad hand and was gone.

  They listened to the front door slam, and a stillness descended.

  ‘Seems like a good chap,’ said Ken. ‘Can’t turn down a man who can cook, eh? Is there any more of that casserole??
??

  ‘I’m glad you like him, Dad,’ said Rachel, dishing out a second helping. ‘Mum? You’ve been very quiet.’

  Val put her fork down, and pursed her lips.

  ‘Go on,’ said Rachel. ‘Whatever it is you’re thinking, say it.’

  ‘How well do you know him, really?’ her mother asked.

  ‘Enough! He’s not married, he’s not known locally for strange behaviour and he’s kind to dumb animals. You should hear the girls at the rescue talking about him. And they’re incredibly picky.’

  She wanted to add, I thought I knew Oliver Wrigley for ten years and it turned out I’d barely scraped the bloody surface.

  Her mother wasn’t buying it. ‘Rachel, I’ve read about men like that, in the Mail. What sort of man hasn’t had a girlfriend in years? What sort of man doesn’t want to settle down?’

  ‘Valerie . . .’ Ken turned to Rachel. ‘She’s very tired, love, it’s been a long drive.’

  ‘No, Dad, don’t make excuses.’ Rachel glared at her mother. At least it was getting it out of the way. ‘I’ll tell you what sort of man – a man who gets up at five to go lambing and doesn’t get to bed until it’s all done! And I’m sure he could be saying the same about me – but he isn’t. I’m not exactly twenty-one myself.’

  ‘Don’t start on that, Rachel,’ said Val. ‘I’ve worried about you for years on that front.’

  ‘So why aren’t you happy now? What is it you want?’ Rachel wasn’t sure if it was the hormones or the stress of organising the fair, but all her emotions were prickling away just under her skin like tiny hot ants. ‘I’m pregnant, I know who the father is, he’s not married or unemployed or . . . or . . . weird.’ She got up, and walked over to the Aga, so she could hang onto the rail. ‘So he hasn’t had a serious girlfriend. So what? Would you rather I’d got knocked up by some married man?’

  Val flinched. ‘You’re going to have to stop all this drama queen business when you’re a mother,’ she pointed out. ‘It won’t all be about you then, you know.’

  Rachel looked at her dad for help. ‘Dad?’

  ‘I think he seems like a nice chap, Rachel,’ said Ken. ‘I like him.’

  ‘Have you asked anyone around here why he hasn’t had a woman in his life?’ Val hissed. ‘Don’t you think it’s odd?’

  ‘If you’re hinting that he might be gay, Mum, I think the evidence to the contrary is staring you right in the face,’ snapped Rachel. ‘He didn’t come after me with his AI kit, you know.’

  ‘Maybe he just wants a housekeeper!’

  ‘He’s going a very complicated way around getting one – and one that can burn a boiled egg at that,’ said Ken, in a jovial tone that only made Rachel and Val frown at him. He raised his hands. ‘Sorry!’

  ‘Why can’t you be happy for me, Mum?’ asked Rachel. ‘It’s done!’

  ‘I’m not getting at you, love.’ Val looked anguished. ‘I just . . . Look at poor Dot! I couldn’t bear it if that happened to you! It’s bad enough that I let my own sister end up having her heart broken by a man who wouldn’t commit himself. I said the wrong thing then, and—’

  Rachel interrupted her. ‘Oh, no. Dot did pretty well as far as I can see, Mum. Did you ever see her wardrobe? Or her jewellery box? She had a bloody good time, with a man who gave her diamonds, and she called off the wedding!’

  ‘Wedding?’ Val’s eyes rounded.

  ‘Yes, wedding.’ Rachel couldn’t believe that for the first time ever, she knew something about her family that her mother didn’t. ‘They were going to get married, and she called it off. I found a note from him, and the diamond necklace he was giving her as a wedding present. So don’t blame poor Felix for being a weirdo bachelor, when it was Dot who decided she didn’t fancy being married.’

  Rachel was on a roll now, and missed the danger signals Ken was trying to telegraph. ‘Maybe she was as selfish as everyone made out! Maybe she just didn’t fancy being the same as everyone else. There’s nothing wrong with being different.’

  ‘What have you found?’ demanded Val. She stood up, and for the first time in her life, Rachel saw her mother was really upset. Her shoulders were shaking under her best silk blouse. ‘What have you read?’

  ‘A note. A note from Felix. Why?’

  ‘Vally,’ said Ken. ‘Don’t start this. I’ve told you a million times, it had nothing to do with you, love.’

  ‘It isn’t always to do with you, Mum,’ agreed Rachel. ‘People are perfectly capable of screwing things up without your help.’

  Valerie stared at her across the table, her mouth pinched at the corners. ‘You’re just like her, Rachel,’ she said. ‘You look just like her, and you sound just like her. I don’t want you to end up like her, lonely and sad.’

  ‘So why are you being so bloody mean now?’ Rachel couldn’t stop herself.

  Val opened her mouth to say something, but a silent sob came out instead. She marched swiftly out of the kitchen, throwing her napkin down on the chair as she left.

  ‘What did I say?’ The fight seeped out of Rachel and she leaned wearily against the oven. She was getting tired all the time now. ‘Dad, I know it’s not how she imagined it would be but come on.’

  ‘She’s had a drink,’ said Ken. ‘And it’s upsetting for her, this Dot business. You’ve got to remember, she blamed herself for most of it.’

  ‘If someone would just tell me what that Dot business is, then maybe I could be more sensitive to it?’

  Ken looked at her, then looked at the door. Then he patted the chair next to his and jerked his head towards it. Rachel went over and sat down.

  ‘There’s something you ought to know,’ said Ken, very quietly. ‘About Felix, and Dot. Your mother doesn’t know, and I’m not sure she needs to.’

  Rachel wondered how on earth her dad could know if her mum didn’t, and prayed, hard, that it wasn’t something to do with her.

  ‘I don’t know how to put this,’ said Ken. ‘And it was a very long time ago, but there was a good reason Dot didn’t marry Felix.’ He coughed, and paused, as if he was trying to get it all in an order he could understand. ‘Felix and Dot – we didn’t see much of them. Dot liked London, liked her life down there. Your mother never really understood that.’ He looked at her, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Maybe you do, though.’

  Rachel nodded.

  ‘We heard a lot about Felix, mind – how good-looking he was, and what a nice house he had, how his family owned this, that and the other. I think Dot might have been a bit ashamed of us, being just simple Lancashire folk.’ Ken went into his Northern self-parody voice. ‘That was how your mother saw it, anyway. The only time Dot brought him home was Amelia’s christening. They arrived in his lovely white Jag, looking like a pair of film stars. I think your mum was a bit put out by that, it being her day, so to speak, and you’d been playing up, so after the tea, she took you and Amelia home, and we stayed on at the hotel for a drink – me, Dot and Felix and some friends.’ Ken looked nostalgic. ‘I’ll say this for Dot, she was laugh-a-minute in her day, and Felix had put some cash behind the bar, as a christening gift.’

  ‘Bet Mum didn’t like that either,’ said Rachel. It was building up into quite a list.

  He gave her an ‘I won’t disagree’ look. ‘Well, the afternoon wore on, and everyone had a few too many, shall we say. Towards the end, as we were all leaving, there was a bit of friendly hugging . . .’ Ken turned bright red. ‘There’s no nice way of putting this, Rachel, but when I went to spend a penny Felix made it clear enough that he’d be happy to take things a bit further than hugging. With me. Soon as I told him it wasn’t on the cards, so to speak, he sobered up sharpish. Said he hadn’t meant anything by it, but I could tell.’

  ‘Dad!’ breathed Rachel. She tried to picture her grey-haired dad back in his early thirties – he’d been a good-looking, football-playing pie-and-pint bloke. Not the sort of man who’d known much about that sort of thing; women probably rarely made passes at him.

&nbs
p; ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I’ve got a problem with men like that.’ He shot a quick glance towards the door, in case Val had reappeared. ‘Each to his own, as they say. And he was mortified, poor sod. But I had to tell Dot. I thought she had a right to know, what with them going steady. I didn’t want to see her getting hurt.’

  ‘What did she say?’ How plain-speaking Ken had engineered that conversation was beyond Rachel’s imagination, but she loved her dad for doing what he thought was right, even though he probably wanted to wipe the whole incident from his brain.

  Ken let out a sad breath. ‘She said she’d known, deep down. There’d been something about him that she couldn’t quite get to. She put it down to him being, you know, a bit posh. Buttoned-up. In fact, when she tackled him about it he admitted that he’d had these flings, with men, since he was at school – couldn’t quite give them up. Even with Dot.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Well, you know what happened.’ Ken looked uncomfortable. ‘She told me he turned up with one of those emergency marriage licences and said she had to decide. If she could put up with him having the odd dalliance, he’d give her a lovely home, whatever she wanted. They could have had a very nice life. Felix did love her, you know. And she loved him.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘This note I found, it’s so sad. It sounds like his heart is really breaking. But she said no? Did you ask her why?’

  ‘Dot came up to see me one day, didn’t tell your mother. We went out for lunch – her in big sunglasses like a film star – and she told me she didn’t want a marriage with secrets.’ Rachel could see from Ken’s wistful face that a little of Dot’s London glamour had rubbed off on him that day. ‘She didn’t want to know who he’d been with, or what was going on, but she didn’t want to know that she didn’t know. If you get my meaning. She said she envied me and your mother, because we had a very boring marriage with no secrets whatsoever.’ He smiled. ‘I mean, she put it a bit more nicely than that. But that’s what she meant.’

  Rachel looked round the kitchen. Gem lay in a basket by the door, in the room where Dot had nursed discarded puppies and brought in starving strays, caring for them until she could put them back with an owner who’d love them. A simple match.