The Village Vet (38 page)

I leave them together and return to collect Tia from the back garden where she has taken me seriously for once, still sitting exactly where I placed her in the middle of the lawn, a bee buzzing close to her face, tormenting her because she can’t hear or see it, only detecting it when it makes a brief landing on top of her nose or behind her ear.

‘Come on,’ I tell her, touching her collar to let her know I’m here, and she struggles up and follows me indoors where I shower and retreat to make dinner, Ash and Libby dropping by to say goodnight before they leave.

Sometimes I think I’m going mad being here alone in the bungalow in the evenings, apart from Tia. I blame it on the pressure of running the Sanctuary and my mounting debts, because although the money is coming through from the charity’s funds at last and I no longer have to shell out for cat and dog food, my salary doesn’t even cover the interest payments. It’s the first time too, when I look back over the past few
months
, that I’ve had time to reflect on the wedding and the anguish of losing my home. What’s more, my dad came round a couple of days after I spoke to Great-Auntie Marion to tell me she’d died in her sleep. I didn’t know her well, but I’m sorry.

It hasn’t been all bad though, I tell myself, trying to stay positive. In fact, there have been some real highs as well as lows; the nature of animal rescue, I suppose.

The sound of a car outside makes me jump, but has no effect on Tia, who lies sprawled across the kitchen floor at my feet, licking and biting at her claws, an annoying habit of hers. I continue to feel edgy, more so now that Buster has gone, which reminds me with a pang of anxiety that he’s still missing, either wandering the countryside, or lying injured or worse under some hedge.

It’s gone seven and I’m not expecting anyone. Abandoning the stir-fry I’m cooking and leaving the lights off on the way, I look out through the office window to find Katie’s car outside.

‘What on earth does she want?’ I grumble to Tia. I have nothing to say to her, and if she’s come here for sympathy because Nathan’s dumped her for someone else, as I expected he would all along, she’s wrong.

She’s broken the code, and it might sound like a squabble in the playground, but she went too far this time. Our friendship is irretrievable. I’ve moved on.

I’m so relieved though that it isn’t a stranger, someone following me or watching me, that I answer the door.

‘Yes?’ I say, coming face to face with the woman who slept with my fiancé, looking pale yet defiant beneath her make-up.

‘I have a surprise for you, Tessa,’ Katie says.

‘Haven’t you given me enough of those already?’

‘This is a nice one. I think you’ll be pleased.’

‘Is that Nathan with you?’ I look towards the car. The engine’s running and there’s a shadowy figure in the driver’s seat.

‘It’s all right. I told him to wait for me. I’m not staying.’ She undoes the top button of her coat, a short lime-green mac, and refastens it once more, flashing the ring on her left hand.

‘So that’s it?’ I say, annoyed now. ‘You’ve come to gloat.’ I start to shut the door on her, but she stops me.

‘It isn’t like that. I’ve brought you a dog. The one on the posters. You must have seen them – they’re all over Talyton. I recognised him straight away: Buster, the black dog, who used to live here at the Sanctuary.’

‘You mean, you’ve found him?’ I say, light dawning at last. ‘Where is he? Is he hurt?’

‘Hey, calm down, Tessa. You seem more excited about the dog than you ever were about any man. He’s fine.’

‘How did you get near him?’

‘Nathan and I were walking to the pub when we came across him on the Green. He was chasing a squirrel. The squirrel went up a tree, and the dog went straight into it. While he was looking a bit stunned – like Nathan after he’s had a few too many – we managed to catch him.’

‘Oh, never mind Nathan, where’s Buster?’ I can’t wait to see him again.

‘Have you got a lead we can use?’ Katie asks. ‘We used Nathan’s tie and a piece of string.’

I grab a rope lead from under the counter in the office and join Katie outside, where she’s opening the side door of the car.

‘No!’ I shout, but it’s too late. Buster – because there’s no doubting that it’s him – comes flying out of the car, and just when I think he’s going to disappear across the car park and into the night, he skids to a stop, just like a cartoon Scooby Doo, turns and bounds towards me, squeaking with joy. He leaps up, wagging his tail and landing his paws on my midriff, almost knocking me off my feet. ‘Buster! I didn’t think I was going to see you again. Where have you been?’ I say, half chiding him, half laughing with relief.

‘I don’t think he’s going to tell you,’ Katie says as I slip the lead over his neck.

I give Buster a massive hug before thanking Katie for bringing him back to the Sanctuary. Dolly has safely delivered a foal and Buster has returned in one piece. Perhaps life is looking up again.

‘There’s no need to thank me,’ Katie says. ‘I knew you were fond of him.’

‘I was fond of Nathan once,’ I say quietly.

Katie looks me in the eye. ‘You weren’t fond enough though, if you’re honest.’

The smell of petrol fumes is beginning to get right up my nose. ‘Who are you to talk to me about being honest when it was you who—?’

‘Let’s not go there,’ Katie interrupts. She reties the belt on her mac, pulling it tight around her waist. ‘Look, I hope the dog’s all right – and you too.’

She looks exhausted, dark rings around her eyes and her face gaunt.

‘How about you?’ I say, relenting.

‘I’m well.’ She pauses as if wondering whether or not to leave it at that, but a small smile touches her lips, and she continues, ‘I’m pregnant.’

I take a moment to respond. ‘Was it planned?’

Katie shakes her head. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to cope with two kids: Nathan and a newborn.’

‘You’ll survive,’ I say. ‘You always do. Congratulations, by the way.’

Nathan sounds the horn, making Katie start.

‘I’d better go,’ she says, and I watch her return to the car before closing the door once more, bringing Buster inside with me. I let him off the lead and he goes mad, tearing around the bungalow, barking and sniffing and squealing. He runs up and down the hall and then into the front room, launching himself onto the end of the sofa where he sits, panting, as if to say, I’m back. I’m home.

Tia, who’s been sleeping on the other end of the sofa, wakes and hauls herself up. Blinking, she stares blindly around the room before uttering a short, sharp, questioning bark. Buster responds by sliding towards her on his belly, leaning up to lick Tia’s nose and mouth, giving her an enthusiastic greeting. She whines and licks him back and, within five minutes, they’re lying alongside each other as if Buster’s never been away.

‘Hey, budge up. Make room for a small one,’ I say, wanting to sit with them, but they refuse to move, so I try another tack. ‘Buster, you must be starving. Do you want your dinner?’

At the word ‘dinner’ he jumps down, pushes past me and heads for the kitchen with Tia not far behind, rejuvenated by the return of her companion. Buster wolfs down his food before padding back to see me.

‘You’re like a boomerang kid. What am I going to do with you?’ I ask him, over the moon to have him back, but already worrying about what is going to happen to him next. I decide against disturbing Jack with news of
Buster
’s return until the morning. Instead, I take Buster outside to accompany me on my late-night tour around the Sanctuary, smiling when I glance down at his shadow at my heels. It’s just like old times.

‘Come on then, boy,’ I say to him once I’ve given the other dogs – a collie called Dandy, a Lab cross called Colin, and Benson, an odd-looking brown mutt with one ear up and one ear down – their last biscuits. ‘There’s just Dolly’s hay to go out in the paddock.’ She needs extra fodder at the moment so she can feed her foal, Apache. I head round to the barn and move past the stables to the back where we’re storing a ton of hay for the winter, clambering up onto the stack and pushing a bale off the top.

Buster utters a sharp bark.

‘What’s up?’ I peer down at him. ‘There’s nothing there. You’re making it up.’ I slide back down, retrieve the bale that’s bounced some way across the barn, prop it up against the base of the stack and take the knife to cut the strings, becoming aware of the sound of a vehicle rattling up the track. I hesitate, my pulse tripping into overdrive, as it approaches then stops somewhere outside and the engine cuts out.

I put the knife down, tucking it behind the bale before taking Buster by the collar and creeping out of the barn, switching the light off on the way and thankful that there’s no moon tonight. Buster barks again.

‘Sh,’ I hiss. I can hear voices. There are two men and they’re coming this way. I duck back against the kennel wall, pulling Buster close and praying he won’t draw attention to us as the men’s footsteps grow louder, and I catch the scent of cigarette smoke. No matter who they are, or what they’re here for, they are
up
to no good. I glance around for somewhere to hide, like when I played sardines with Jack, making myself as small as possible, scarcely daring to breathe, but all I can do is stand with my back pressed against the wall. I fumble for my mobile, flick it on, type the word ‘help’, and I’m adding recipients when they come around the corner. I press ‘send’ and start to dial 999, but it’s too late.

The flash of a powerful torch temporarily blinds me.

‘There she is.’

‘Don’t touch me,’ I say, hanging on tight to Buster.

‘It’s the manager. Where’s your boyfriend, Jack Miller, the bastard who stole Dolly off me and almost broke my heart?’

‘He isn’t my boyfriend and he isn’t here,’ I say calmly.

‘You’re lying.’

‘He isn’t here,’ I repeat.

‘I’ll have you then for what you done, aiding and abetting kidnap. This one deserves a good hiding,’ one of the men says, and I realise as my vision returns that it’s Frank Maddocks with his son. With a bloodcurdling growl that makes it clear he means business, Buster lunges towards them, sinking his teeth into the older man’s leg.

‘Get off me.’ Cursing, Frank lifts his stick and cracks it across Buster’s head, at which Buster lets go, only to go in again, embedding his teeth in Frank’s groin, which only serves to enrage him further. He gives him another thwack with the stick and, this time, Buster yelps, sways and falls to the ground where he remains, not moving.

‘Buster,’ I scream, trying to get to him, but Frank’s son has his hands on my shoulders, dragging me back.
‘Buster!’
I kick out to no avail, and my mobile goes flying, scattering into pieces.

‘What shall we do with her, Dad?’ the son asks, his teeth gritted with the effort of maintaining a vice-like grip on my flesh.

‘We’ll give her a good hiding, like I said.’

‘I don’t hold with duffing up a woman,’ the son says obstinately. ‘Why don’t we take her with us?’

‘No, she’d be a hindrance. Lock her up,’ Frank says gruffly, a cigarette between his rubbery lips. He’s bent almost double with pain, but it’s nothing to the pain I’m suffering with the dog lying there and me unable to help him.

‘Where?’ Frank’s son forces me to shuffle around the corner of the building where he opens the door into the kennels and pushes me on through, our presence setting off a chorus of ear-splitting barks. Frank follows close behind, bashing the kennel doors with his stick in an attempt to shut the dogs up. When we reach the empty kennel at the end of the block, Frank’s son shoves me roughly inside, knocking me off balance so I fall, hitting my head against the wall. While I’m sitting up and assessing the damage, he slams the door shut. Frank hands him one of the spare padlocks he must have picked up on the way in, and he slips it through the catch and clicks it shut.

‘Have a nice life, you little bitch,’ he says, laughing at his own joke.

‘Let me out,’ I say, struggling up and clinging on to the bars at the front of the kennel. ‘You can’t do this. You can’t do this!’ I repeat, screaming above the sound of the dogs, but the pair of them ignore me, walking away down the corridor, Frank tossing his cigarette into the kitchen before they disappear into the inky darkness. I
run
at the kennel door and slam into it with my shoulders, then my feet, but nothing happens. I turn my attention to the exit at the rear of the kennel that leads to the outside run, and curse my attention to detail when it comes to security, because that’s locked too.

I’m trapped. In despair, I sink down to the floor, my back against the wall. The dogs have fallen silent, listening to the sounds from the car park, the rattle of a trailer, shouting and yelling. I can hear my heartbeat too, hammering like an express train confined in a tunnel. My body is hot with anger and fear. What is happening to Buster? What are they doing out there? When will someone find me?

As my eyes become adjusted to the dark, I can pick out the lines of mortar between the breezeblocks and the shine on the stack of stainless-steel bowls that have been left on the floor in the corner. I become aware too, of a change, the smell of burning and the acrid scent of smoke unfurling its way along the corridor towards me. It takes me a moment to work out that Frank’s discarded cigarette must have set something alight in the kitchen, and it’s now that I really start to panic. There are bags of dog food, stacks of towels and old newspapers out there, plenty to feed a fire.