The Desperate Wife’s Survival Plan (26 page)

By the time she reached the trees, she could barely see through the torrential rain. There was a flash of lightning as she stared around the small coppice, but
she couldn’t see Boris anywhere.

She called out his name once more and tried to listen out for a bark or whimper but the sound of the storm was drowning out everything else.

Julie didn’t know how long she searched the woods for signs of his cream-coloured fur but there was still no sign of him and she began to get increasingly upset. He was still so young. What if he had run on to a road or
got stuck somewhere?

She had no idea what to do.

Just as she was beginning to shed tears of fear, wondering what might have happened to him, there was movement to her right. She whipped round her head and saw Wes coming through the trees, holding Boris in his arms. His own dog Cadbury was trotting along beside them.

‘G’day,’ said Wes, coming to stand in front of Julie.

His white t-shirt had
become transparent in the rain and was showing the hard muscular torso underneath. Rain was dripping off his face but he was still smiling.

‘You found him,’ said Julie, her voice still tremulous as she reached out to stroke Boris’ fluffy head.

‘Poor little guy came rushing past us in a real panic. But I managed to get close enough to grab him.’

The sky lit up once more with a flash of lightning
but Wes had Boris tight in his arms.

‘Have you got your lead?’

Julie nodded and attached it with shaking hands to Boris’ collar.

‘You all right?’ asked Wes, as he put the dog back on to the ground.

‘I couldn’t see him anywhere,’ she told him. ‘Do you think we should wait it out?’

‘Nah,’ said Wes. ‘It’s only water. Besides, there’s some clear sky on the horizon now.’

Julie glanced across
the heath and realised that he was right. The storm was continuing its journey onwards and away from them. The rain hadn’t yet eased, though, and there were still a few rumbles of thunder, which made Boris run between her legs for cover.

So they walked back together, the dogs remaining close as the rain continued to pour down. Julie was soaked to the skin and patted her hair, feeling it plastered
to her head.

‘I don’t have to worry about that,’ said Wes, rubbing his bald head and smiling.

It lit up his face, she thought. It was such a nice, happy face. A friendly face.

She glanced at his wet torso when she hoped he wasn’t looking. Lord, but what did they feed them on in Australia? Growing beans? He was the size of a house, all hard muscles and bulging biceps. Julie and the two dogs
could easily have sheltered underneath him for cover from the elements.

The rain was finally easing off as they reached the outskirts of the heath.

‘Thank you so much for catching Boris,’ she said, as they made their farewells.

‘No worries,’ said Wes, bending down to rub the dog’s head. ‘He’s a bonzer little guy.’

Julie said goodbye and headed home, more than ever determined to place the advert.
Temporarily losing Boris had been dreadful. She didn’t need that kind of stress. There was too much else for her to worry about.

WITH THE END
of the summer heatwave came a lull in the frantic pace of Charley’s life. All the children were back at school and so she reduced the opening times to just weekends. Suddenly she had her late afternoons and evenings free once more.

She found herself unexpectedly bored, though, almost grateful for the cleaning job which kept her busy during the rest of the day.
It made her wonder how empty her life had really been when she hadn’t worked during the latter years of her marriage.

That didn’t mean she loved her job, she just got on with it. But once rested she found herself in a relatively good mood. At least until she received a text from Samantha.

The date’s set!
it read.
Next Saturday night!

What are you talking about?
replied Charley.

The foursome,
stupid! Our hot date!
came a swift text.

Charley was horrified and immediately called her.

‘You’ve set me up after I specifically told you not to? After I most definitely said that I didn’t want to go on any dates at the moment?’

‘It’ll do you good,’ said Samantha, adopting a soothing tone. ‘You’ll change your mind once you’re there.’

‘Anyway, how can you go on a date? What about Richard’s
wife?’

‘She’s away,’ said Samantha. ‘So it’ll be us, you and Keith.’

‘Keith?’

‘His friend from work.’

‘No.’ Charley was violently shaking her head. ‘I’m not doing it.’

‘Please!’ begged Samantha. ‘You’ll be my cover. Richard and I can’t go out on our own, you know that. And you never know, it might be fun.’

Charley pressed her lips together.

‘It’ll do you good as well,’ Samantha added. ‘When
was the last time you went out on the town? Had a bit of male attention?’

Around the year 2002, Charley figured.

Samantha took her silence for agreement. ‘Good! That’s settled then.’

Charley didn’t want to go out with some man she didn’t know. She certainly didn’t want to meet Samantha’s married lover. But she found she couldn’t bear her friend’s whining if she refused, so she said yes. Anything
to get it over with.

But she was cross at having been forced into a corner and took it out on the ironing at Mrs Smith’s the following day.

‘I must have the wrong place,’ said Mike, finding her behind a cloud of steam. ‘I was wanting the cleaner, not Widow Twankey.’

Charley sighed before finishing off the shirt on the ironing board.

‘Cup of tea?’ he said, stepping in to switch on the kettle.
‘Or shall I just put you into the freezer and leave you there to cool off?’

Charley put the iron down. ‘I thought she had someone to do all this for her.’

Mike leant against the counter whilst he waited for the kettle to boil. ‘Perhaps they had to give the ironing lady the heave ho. I’ve heard they’ve got a few money problems.’

Charley didn’t reply as she hung the shirt up on a hanger.

She
turned around to find Mike studying her. ‘What?’

He cocked his head to one side, still looking at her. ‘You don’t moan so much.’

‘What do you mean?’

He walked over to her. ‘Before the summer it was all woe-is-me, but now you seem calmer. More settled.’

‘I hope you don’t think it’s because of your influence that I’m happier in myself?’

‘But just think,’ he said, putting his hand on the doorframe
beside her, ‘if we didn’t work together you wouldn’t be having all the fun you have now.’

Charley raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘We have fun, do we?’

He leant in close. ‘All the time. Didn’t you notice?’

She noted the softer tone of his voice. The close proximity of him as he towered over her.

‘Talking of fun,’ he continued, fixing her with his dark eyes, ‘do you want to go out for
a drink on Saturday night?’

‘I’d love to but I can’t,’ she told him, lowering her eyes to avoid his gaze. ‘I’ve got a date.’

Mike pulled back slightly. ‘Really?’

She nodded.

‘Who?’

‘Just a guy. Friend of a friend thing.’

Charley squirmed in the short silence that followed.

‘Well,’ he said, straightening up and moving away, ‘I’m glad things are working out for you.’

‘Thank you.’

The mood
between them had abruptly become polite and stilted.

‘I’d better get back to work,’ he told her, walking towards the back door.

‘What about that cup of tea?’ called Charley after him.

But there was no reply as the door closed softly behind him.

CAROLINE HEADED ACROSS
the hospital car park, glancing around her but seeing nobody she knew. She should really have told someone else about the appointment, but after all it was bound to be okay.

Although what the midwife had actually said was, ‘Your blood pressure is far too high. It could be a sign of pre-eclampsia.’

‘But you just told me that the tests are fine,’ Caroline
had replied.

‘Even so, you’ve got to rest. Can your husband help out more around the house and with your daughter?’

Caroline had tried not to laugh in reply. Jeff was barely home these days, working all hours and most weekends. Her parents were spending autumn and winter in their villa in Spain.

Every time she asked, Jeff reassured her that he was overjoyed by the news about the baby, but she
wasn’t so sure. After all, his mood had rapidly deteriorated since she had announced she was pregnant.

When he was home, he was stressed and snappy at everything she said. The previous Sunday it had been about Flora’s homework, which had taken up most of the afternoon.

‘She’s only five!’ Jeff had protested, his voice loud with strain. ‘Why the hell does she need to do so much?’

‘It’s the school,’
Caroline had replied, trying to stay calm. ‘They think it’s better to push the girls as much as they can from an early age.’

‘It’s ridiculous. She should be out playing, not studying.’

It was a beautiful late-summer day and Caroline had silently agreed with him.

But instead she said, ‘Then why don’t you help her?’

‘I’ve got work to do. I think that’s a bit more important, don’t you?’

As he
stalked back into the study, Caroline sighed and rubbed her head. The onset of another headache threatened.

She glanced over at Flora who had been watching the argument and was now trying not to cry.

‘It’s all right, darling,’ Caroline said, going over to give her daughter a hug. ‘Let’s get a biscuit and then have a think. I’m sure we can create a nice collage together.’

Caroline longed for
a bath to ease her backache. Longed for a lie down on her bed. Longed for a happier atmosphere in the house.

She hadn’t yet brought up the subject of the invoice for Flora’s next school term, which lay hidden under a pile of papers in the kitchen. No wonder her blood pressure was so high. But hopefully Jeff would be in a better mood the following week. She would broach the subject then.

She
sipped from her cup of tea and began to cut out a picture of a happy family from a magazine which Flora wanted in her collage.

JULIE HAD BEEN
inundated with phone calls after successfully placing the advert about Boris in the local newspaper. She had arranged to see a couple of callers on Friday evening after work.

‘It’s for the best,’ she kept repeating out loud all week to herself, avoiding eye contact with Boris’ big black eyes.

She arrived home from their evening walk and went straight to the
pantry, grabbing the filter coffee and setting the machine on. Then she went upstairs and enjoyed a lovely long shower before changing into her jeans and t-shirt and coming back downstairs.

‘I know,’ she told the puppy who was lying on the kitchen floor. ‘You want your dinner. But you’ll have to wait until all the visitors have been and gone.’

She glanced at Boris who wasn’t moving. That was
odd. Normally, as soon as she went anywhere near the kitchen, he would be shadowing her, desperate for his dinner.

As she stared down at him, he was suddenly and very violently sick.

‘Oh God,’ she swore, going to get some kitchen paper to mop up the mess.

This was the last thing she needed, with people coming round to see him. She had no chance of selling him if he had eaten something dodgy
on his walk.

But Boris kept on being sick. Julie began to grow worried and reached out to stroke his head, to try and reassure him.

That was when she spotted some specks of blood in the latest vomit that he had produced. She rushed away to find the book on dogs that Caroline had given her and flicked through the pages, desperately hoping she was remembering her facts wrong.

But when she arrived
at the doggy illnesses page and quickly scanned it, she was proved right. Blood in a dog’s vomit was never a good thing. In capital letters, the book told Julie to go to the vet’s. Right now.

Despite his weight and size, she quickly swept Boris into her arms and ran out to the car. She placed the whimpering dog in the passenger seat before rushing round to the driver’s side. Later on she had
no recollection of the journey. Whenever she could, she reached across to stroke him.

She abandoned the car outside the vet’s surgery, picked up Boris and rushed in.

‘Please help me!’ she cried.

Wes was standing behind the counter, talking to one of the veterinary nurses. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked.

‘He’s vomiting blood.’

Wes strode over in three short paces and took the dog from her.

‘What’s he eaten?’

Julie half-ran to keep up with him as they went into one of the rooms. ‘I don’t know!’ she cried. ‘Maybe something on his walk.’

He gently placed Boris on the examination table before turning to wash his hands at the sink. ‘How long ago was that?’

‘About half an hour.’

‘Anything in the house he could have eaten when you got home?’

Before Julie could reply, Boris began to
vomit once more.

She looked up at Wes. ‘Do something!’

‘I will,’ he told her. ‘But was there anything he might have eaten? Poisons? Food? Think.’

Julie frowned in thought. ‘I don’t know,’ she said eventually.

‘Can you check?’

So she quickly rang Charley who was on her way home from work and was able to take a detour.

Julie paced up and down the room whilst she waited for her friend to call
back. In the meantime, she watched as Wes took Boris’ temperature and checked him over for any abnormalities.

After what seemed like an age, Charley called back.

‘The pantry door is open,’ she said, somewhat breathlessly. ‘There’s bits of what looks like chocolate wrapper. Could it be that?’

‘Oh God,’ said Julie. ‘Can you see a really big bar of cooking chocolate anywhere?’

‘No.’

Julie quickly
hung up. ‘He’s eaten loads of chocolate. The really dark cooking stuff. I must have left the door open when I went upstairs.’