The Difference a Day Makes

  I’ve wrapped up tightly against the cold but, to be honest, I’m sweating now inside my coat and I can feel it trickling beneath my arms and down my back. My mouth is dry with anxiety. My heart is racing. This is the first time since Will collapsed on the Tube that I’ve felt true full-on fear. What if we don’t find the children? What if something terrible has happened to them? What if they never come home? How would I forgive myself?

  ‘We’ll split up,’ Guys says. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that he’s taking charge. It feels like my emotions are scattered to the four corners of the earth and I’m incapable of rational thought. All I can think is that my children are out there, lost in this snow, and that it’s all my fault. ‘That way we can cover more ground. Serena, you go with Alan.’

  Mr Steadman nods solemnly and says nothing. My sister goes to stand next to him.

  ‘If we haven’t found them within the hour, I’ll call the police.’

  A sob rises in my throat at that.

  ‘But I’m sure we will. It won’t come to that,’ Guy adds hastily. ‘Let’s get a move on. The sun’s coming up now, that will make it easier.’

  Alan and Serena set off in one direction. Guy takes my hand and we stride off in the other, only the sound of the snow crunching under our feet breaking the silence.

  ‘I think they usually take their kites up this way,’ I say, realising that I’ve never spent time out on the moors with my children even though they love it so much, and that makes me feel like a terrible and neglectful mother all over again.

  The snow is deep and is coming halfway up my boots. If it didn’t seem so treacherous it would be truly gorgeous out here today. We stride out over the steadily rising hills and I’m struggling to keep up with Guy’s pace, but adrenaline is firing me on.

  We call out their names. ‘Tom! Jessica!’ The sound echoes back, emptily, at us.

  After half an hour we’ve found nothing, not even a footprint. I sink down to my knees. ‘This is hopeless,’ I say. ‘They could be anywhere. What if they’re miles from here by now?’

  ‘I don’t think they would be,’ Guy states. ‘It would have been hard going last night. I still can’t think that they’ll be far away.’

  Heaving myself up, I start to cry again. Guy folds his arms round me. Tears course down my cheeks. He brushes them away with his thumb. ‘Crying won’t find them,’ he says. ‘We’ve got to keep going. Feeling up to carrying on?’

  I nod and start off up the hill once more. Then I hear a noise. ‘What was that?’

  ‘I didn’t hear anything,’ Guy says.

  ‘Ssh.’ I strain to hear it again. Sure enough, there it is. From out of the void comes the faint and muffled sound of a dog barking. ‘It’s Hamish.’

  We stand stock still and Guy listens intently. There it is again. I’d know that bark anywhere. ‘By God it is,’ he agrees.

  The sound puts wings on our feet and we hurry in the direction of the barking. I punch Serena’s number out on my phone. ‘I think we might have found them,’ I pant as we race across the moors. ‘Come this way. We can hear Hamish barking.’

  My legs are aching with the effort of hill climbing in the thick snow which is forming into drifts in the light breeze. The sound of the barking gets louder as we push on. Then, as we round a corner, I catch a glimpse of Jessica’s pink coat next to a huge limestone boulder.

  ‘They’re here,’ I say joyously, and run towards the flash of cerise.

  Sure enough, my children are huddled together beside the rock. They’re both lying lifelessly, covered by a frosting of snow. They look like something out of a fairytale. And not a good one. Hamish’s barking continues unabated, but I can’t see him anywhere. I drop down on my knees next to the children, rapidly followed by Guy.

  ‘Jessica. Jessica! Tom! Wake up. Mummy’s here.’ I catch hold of my daughter’s hand and rub it vigorously. At least she had the sense to put her gloves on, something I’m grateful for, but they, like the rest of her clothes, are wet through. She struggles to open her eyes but, thankfully, there is movement there. Guy does the same for Tom and my boy too soon stirs.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic, I tell myself as I rub my daughter’s arms and legs. Don’t lose the plot, they need you calm, they need you in control – but I can’t help the tears from falling.

  Jessica starts to cry too. ‘We were frightened, Mummy. It’s so cold out here and it was very dark.’ She’s shivering and I hug her to me.

  ‘You’re safe now,’ I murmur into her hair.

  Tom seems in worse shape. He looks sleepy, out of it, and hasn’t spoken yet.

  ‘Tom. Tom!’ I try to bring some colour to his frozen cheeks. ‘Mummy’s here.’

  Slowly, my son revives too though he’s shaking uncontrollably. ‘Hamish,’ he says, worry creasing his young brow. ‘He was trying to take us home because we were scared. He knew the way and everything, but he fell down a hole and we didn’t know what to do.’

  We both tune into the dog’s barking again and Guy runs over to where the sound is coming from. ‘He’s here. I’ve found him,’ he shouts back at me. ‘He’s fallen down a ravine in the limestone.’

  ‘Can’t he get out?’

  ‘He’s hurt,’ Guy says, and my daughter bursts into tears. He sprints back to us. ‘Let’s get the kids home and warm them up, they’re half frozen to death.’ He stops short, appalled at his choice of words, but I know that they nearly are. I’m not exactly au fait with the symptoms of hypothermia, but I know that they’re beyond mere cold and this is potentially very serious indeed.

  At that moment Serena and Alan appear running across the snow to us. They’re another welcome sight.

  ‘Thank God,’ Serena breathes and she hugs me more tightly than she ever has before.

  ‘Help me to carry the children,’ Guy says to Alan, who obeys without a word though I see a lone tear making its way across his craggy cheek. ‘You take Jessica.’ Which Mr Steadman does, lifting her as if she weighs nothing at all.

  ‘Here’s my phone.’ He tosses it to Serena. ‘Phone the doctor. Tell him to meet us at the Grange. Urgently.’

  Serena also does as she’s told without hesitation.

  Guy hefts Tom into his arms. My boy lies there listless and unprotesting.

  ‘What about Hamish?’ Jessica mumbles. ‘Don’t leave my doggy behind.’

  ‘We’ll come straight back for him,’ Guy promises her. ‘Just as soon as we get you home.’

  ‘Mummy,’ she cries, ‘don’t leave Hamish.’

  ‘He’ll be fine. He’ll wait here for Uncle Guy,’ I assure her. When she doesn’t stop crying, I say, ‘I’ll check on him for you.’

  The dog’s bark is becoming more hoarse and I wonder if he’s been barking all night. I run over to the edge of the uneven limestone path which is covered in snow, hiding lethal dips, hollows and plunges. Peering down to where Guy said that he’d seen the dog, I can see that Hamish is seriously hurt. He’s lying on the snow at the bottom of a deep cutting and I’m shocked that the snow around him is lividly stained with his blood. His back leg is at an unnatural angle and even an amateur could diagnose that it’s broken. Hamish looks up at me and barks pitifully. He even manages a wag of his tail, which turns on my waterworks again.

  ‘We’ll be back, boy,’ I tell him. ‘We’ll come for you just as soon as we can. Hang on, Hamish.’ Then I whisper, ‘Please don’t die.’

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Dr Redman’s 4x4 is pulling into the drive at the same time as we hit the garden coming back from the moors, children still borne in Alan and Guy’s arms. I haven’t seen Dr Redman since Will died and the association makes my blood run cold. It seems this time we have averted a tragedy in the nick of time.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Doctor.’

  ‘No problem,’ he says, even though he’s been dragged away from his family’s Christmas celebrations.

  We all bundle into the house. ‘Serena, crank up the heating.’ My sister disappea
rs into the scullery where the boiler is and, a second later, I hear the pipes clunk into life. ‘Let’s take the children straight upstairs into my bedroom.’

  Alan and Guy do my bidding and take Tom and Jessica up to lay them both on my bed. Milly Molly Mandy, who doesn’t appear to have moved since this morning, lets out a disgruntled miaow at the intrusion on her privacy. Dr Redman has followed us and as he comes through the door, he instructs, ‘Get them straight out of those wet things and into something dry. Quick as you can.’

  ‘Their pyjamas are in their rooms,’ I say to Guy, and he disappears to go and find them. Moments later he comes back, by which time the doctor and I have stripped the children out of their sodden winter clothes and are rubbing them down with warm towels.

  ‘Do you know how long you’ve been outside?’ the doctor says to Tom.

  My son shakes his head. ‘We got up before everyone else to sneak out.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  He turns tearful eyes to me. ‘You’re not in trouble,’ I say. ‘Just tell the doctor.’

  ‘It was three o’clock.’

  ‘Good,’ Dr Redman says. ‘Not too long. But long enough.’

  I slip the soft pyjamas onto their ice-cold bodies while the GP now bends over them and checks their pulse, their eyes, their temperature. He takes out his stethoscope and listens to their hearts and it’s a good job that he doesn’t put it to my heart as it’s pounding so hard that it might just blow his ears off. When he’s finished, he turns to me once more. ‘Give them hot drinks, something sweet. And plenty of carbohydrate. Keep them tucked up in bed, nice and warm for the rest of the day.’ He speaks in crisp, efficient tones. ‘They’ll probably want to sleep for a few hours,’

  ‘Will they be all right?’ I’m wringing my hands together.

  ‘Mild hypothermia,’ he says. ‘I’m sure that they’ll be right as rain by tomorrow. Children have amazing recuperative powers. Another hour or two and it could have been a different story.’ He regards me grimly and I find it hard not to cry again.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say gratefully. ‘Thank you for coming out on Christmas Day.’

  ‘Don’t suppose that you planned on spending it like this?’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head.

  ‘Warn the children about the dangers of going out on the moors unprepared.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll have learned their lesson.’

  ‘You put your feet up too,’ he instructs. ‘You look exhausted. Let someone else do the cooking.’

  I daren’t tell him that whipping up a few omelettes is about as strenuous as our Christmas lunch is going to be. I tuck Jessica and Tom into bed. Milly Molly Mandy stretches, stands, strolls across the bed and curls herself up next to Jessica. My daughter reaches out a hand to stroke her and then slips the thumb of her other hand into her mouth. She’s going to have buck teeth when she grows up if she keeps doing that and it will all be my fault for putting her through so much stress as a child. Serena comes in with a tray bearing mugs of hot chocolate for them, which I’m sure on this occasion is exactly what the doctor ordered. There’s plenty of hot buttered toast piled on a plate too.

  ‘I’ll be on my way,’ the doctor says and I follow him downstairs, Guy and Alan close behind me.

  ‘Merry Christmas to you all.’ Dr Redman waves a hand. It’s clear that he’s eager to get back to his home now. ‘Don’t hesitate to call me if there are any problems. Any at all. I’ll find my own way out.’

  When he’s gone, Guy says, ‘We’d better go back for Hamish right away. He looked in bad shape.’ The vet worries at his lip. ‘It would be a lot easier if there was any form of road access up there.’

  ‘Take Alan’s sledge,’ I suggest. ‘You won’t be able to carry him.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Guy nods. ‘It’ll be slow but I can’t see why it wouldn’t be effective.’

  ‘Who’d have thought that your present would have come in handy quite so soon,’ I say to Alan, resting my hand on his arm.

  ‘Aye,’ he says and his voice is thick with emotion. Alan pulls off the remains of the Christmas paper from his sledge. He doesn’t remark on Hamish’s toothmark customisation.

  ‘Thank you, Alan. I have no idea what we’d do without you.’

  The strong, silent man studies his feet.

  ‘I might be a while,’ Guy tells me. ‘I’ll take the dog straight to the surgery. His leg looked bad. He looked like he’d lost a lot of blood.’

  Panic seizes me again. ‘He will pull through?’

  ‘Any other dog and I wouldn’t give it much of a chance,’ he answers with a shake of his head, ‘but this is Hamish we’re talking about.’

  ‘Call me,’ I insist. ‘Let me know how he is. The children will be worried.’ So am I. Worried sick. ‘Bring Hamish back safely.’

  ‘We will.’ Guy squeezes my hand. ‘Don’t you worry.’

  ‘Be careful.’ I reach up and stroke Guy’s face. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

  ‘I’d better be going,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back just as soon as I can.’

  The two men take the sledge and go back out into the snow to rescue the injured dog and I can only wait and hope.

  Chapter Eighty

  Now that they had a trail of footprints to follow it was easy enough for Guy and Alan Steadman to retrace their route back to Hamish. They trudged silently through the crisp snow, Guy thinking how much he’d enjoy a walk like this if only the circumstances were different.

  Hamish had looked in pretty poor shape to him. The amount of blood around him was bad news and it was lucky that the dog had survived the night. He only hoped they were going to be able to get down to Hamish and complete the task of hauling him back up the slope on the sledge. He’d taken his vet’s visits bag and some rope from the back of the car to lash the dog to the sled if they needed it. Guy hoisted the weight of the rope onto his shoulder.

  Thankfully, Alan Steadman was alongside him, dragging the heavy wooden sledge in his wake. His companion was more than man enough for the job. Disguised beneath that long, lanky frame was a body of pure muscle and, for a man of his age, he had incredible strength – emotional as well as physical, it would seem. He had been a rock in helping to find the children and bring them home.

  Guy felt wrung out after taking the kids back to the Grange. Thank God they’d found them in time. He’d tried not to convey to Amy just how worried he was about the state they might find them in. Youngsters could succumb to hypothermia so quickly in conditions like this. He couldn’t help but feel that, this time, they’d had a very lucky escape. Hopefully, this scrape would teach them not to be so foolhardy again.

  He’d been glad that he’d been there to come to Amy’s aid. She was distraught, as any mother would be, and he wanted to protect her from that. The kids were home safely and had, by some miracle, come to no lasting harm. Now all he had to do was bring the dog home too.

  As they pushed on into the rolling hills of the Yorkshire moors, he could hear the faint barking of Hamish once again. The dog’s voice sounded hoarse now, weak, and he’d probably strained his throat from barking for so long. Either that or he was fading fast.

  They reached the edge of the drop where they’d left Hamish and looked over. The dog was still lying prone on the snow. Was it Guy’s imagination or had the pool of blood that surrounded him grown significantly larger? The dog had broken his back leg, that was obvious enough; he only hoped that the fracture hadn’t nicked an artery too. If it had, they were in serious trouble. It was clear that they had to get Hamish out of there and back to the surgery just as soon as they could, or the dog could bleed to death.

  ‘Ready?’ Guy said to Alan.

  ‘Aye, Vit,’ the man replied with a nod.

  ‘We’re coming, boy,’ Guy shouted down to the dog and got a feeble wag of a tail in return.

  Together the men clambered down the steep side of the culvert, edging their way over the limestone boulders, lowering the sled as they did, inchin
g their way further and further into the bottom and towards Hamish.

  Ten minutes of strenuous descent later, hot, sweating and out of breath, they finally reached the dog.

  ‘Hello, boy,’ Guy said, roughing up the hound’s floppy ears. ‘What have you been up to then?’

  Hamish gamely tried to raise himself, but couldn’t and he let out a whimper as he fell back against the snow, though his tail pounded happily at the sight of Alan. Hamish’s breathing was shallow and he was covered in deep cuts which he must have sustained on his fall. It looked like the dog was suffering from hypothermia too.

  Guy examined the break. It was bad. The fracture was in the middle of Hamish’s thigh bone and the jagged edges of the break were sticking through his skin. Years ago, if a dog had come to him in this condition there would have been no choice but to put him down. Now, thankfully, things were different and Hamish at least had a fighting chance. But if Guy didn’t get this fixed soon then the dog could still end up losing a leg. Guy opened his visits bag and rummaged inside. ‘I’ll give him some pain relief and an antibiotic injection,’ he told Alan. ‘Because the fracture’s open there’s a risk of infection. That could kill him as quick as anything.’ Guy filled a hypodermic and then eased it into the muscle on Hamish’s rump. The dog whimpered and the vet rubbed the area soothingly. ‘Don’t hold it against me, boy. This will make you feel better soon, I promise.’

  In his bag there was a wad of cottonwool and some bandages. He took them now and gently bound the fracture to try to support the leg. It wasn’t perfect, but it might at least give Hamish some comfort. It was going to be a bumpy ride back.

  Guy stood up and surveyed the rocks around them on all sides. ‘We’re never going to carry him out of here, Alan,’ he said as he assessed the desperate situation. ‘We’re going to have to lash him to the sledge and haul him out. You up for it?’

  ‘Aye,’ Alan said grimly.

  ‘Let’s lift Hamish together.’ They positioned the sledge as close as they could to him, then slid their arms under the dog and in unison hefted him onto the sled. The dog weighed a ton and Guy was glad that Alan had crafted such a useful present for Tom and Jessica. Guy had no idea how they would have managed without it. Any longer and Hamish’s life could be in serious jeopardy. It was touch and go as it was.