Читать книгу Cathy Kelly 6-Book Collection: Someone Like You, What She Wants, Just Between Us, Best of Friends, Always and Forever, Past Secrets - Cathy Kelly - Страница 24

Rampant kennel cough had affected what seemed like half of the dogs in the area. Leonie felt she would scream if she had to listen to one more painful canine cough or see the accompanying look of bewilderment on the poor animal’s furry face. Most owners were so good about bringing their dogs to the vet but there were always those terrible few who thought that animal healthcare was on a par with tearing up fifty-pound notes for fun. They’d paid out for the initial parvo-virus shots when their dog was a puppy and had never been seen over the threshold of the surgery since. They’d seen four cases of kennel cough that morning, although because it was the most infectious thing imaginable, Angie had examined the dogs in the surgery hallway. They never admitted a dog with kennel cough.

The latest patient was very bad with it. Leonie didn’t know how the owner could have let it go on for so long. It was such an unmistakable cough, you couldn’t listen to your dog coughing in that way without your heart breaking.

‘She’s never sick,’ the man had explained off-handedly when he’d brought in a spaniel who was obviously in agony with kennel cough. Her eyes were rheumy with ‘flu-like symptoms and each time she coughed, her small body was racked with what had to be painful spasms. ‘The last dog never got anything,’ the owner complained as Angie examined the dog with Leonie helping. Bloody miracle, Leonie thought venomously, if this was how well they looked after it. This poor little dog must have been sick for days and these bloody pigs wouldn’t bother their backsides bringing her in. Money couldn’t be the problem, either. The man dangled Saab keys in one hand and the sheepskin coat slung over his Lacoste shirt was hardly bargain basement. Leonie longed to let him know just what she thought of him, one swift prong with the bovine rectal thermometer and he’d know all about it. She’s never sick. What a load of old…

‘Leonie,’ said Angie, who recognized the signs of rage in her friend, ‘would you hold Flossie for a moment while I listen to her heart and lungs?’

Flossie, dear little thing that she was, wagged her feathery tail in a friendly manner as Leonie held her expertly. ‘You’re a lovely girl, aren’t you,’ she said softly. ‘All you have to do is wait here for a moment and we’ll soon have you better. Good girl.’

The owner stood back and leaned against the wall. He looked bored, as if this entire trip had been a waste of his valuable time.

He even managed to sigh once and look at his watch. Leonie and Angie’s eyes met over Flossie’s liver-and-white back. Angie’s eyes were just as narrowed as Leonie’s.

When the examination was over, Angie faced him.

‘I’m afraid your dog is very sick with kennel cough,’ she said icily. He didn’t react. ‘In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t bring her sooner. Most people come in at the first sign, your dog has been ill at least two weeks.’

The man stopped leaning against the wall. ‘Well, you know, Christmas and all that…’ he stuttered.

‘Yes. It’s easy to neglect animals because of Christmas,’ Angie said pointedly. ‘But a few more days and this would have become very serious. And she’s quite thin. Has she been wormed recently?’

The man had the grace to look shame-faced. ‘I’m afraid we never think of things like that.’

Leonie couldn’t help it. ‘Why do you have a dog, then?’ she snapped.

Angie shot her a fierce look. They weren’t supposed to say things like that. Furious owners might never bring their poor dogs back to the surgery again if they were given grief when they did come.

Flossie’s owner was looking shocked.

‘How often you worm your dog or otherwise is your business,’ Angie said formally, ignoring Leonie for a moment. ‘To clarify matters, we are only obliged to inform the authorities when we think a dog is being neglected.’

He paled at the word ‘neglected’.

‘She’s a sweet little thing and the children love her,’ he mumbled. ‘I didn’t mean to neglect her or anything.’

‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ Angie interrupted smoothly, ‘but she’ll need a course of antibiotics and I’d like to see her back here in a week to see how she’s doing and to worm her. Would that be possible?’

‘Of course, of course.’ He began patting Flossie anxiously and Leonie was pleased to see that the dog liked him. At least he wasn’t beating the poor little thing.

He was the last client and when he left, Leonie tidied up as Angie wrote up the dog’s medical file, noting the antibiotics they’d used. As they’d both suspected, Flossie had been to the surgery four years before for her initial vaccination shots as a puppy and she’d never been back.

‘Too expensive, I bet,’ Leonie said with disgust. ‘Like that man with the pub.’

Angie nodded wearily. Every vet and nurse in the surgery had been horrified by the fabulously ostentatious owner of two city-centre pubs who’d refused to have his pet dog’s cataracts operated upon because it was ‘too bloody expensive’.

They’d all known that he could have easily afforded it, even though it wasn’t a cheap operation, yet he preferred to let the lovely German Shepherd go on banging clumsily into things until she’d stumbled out on to the main road and been killed. A regular in the gossip columns, he’d even had the nerve to mention he was upset about his beloved dog because he ‘adored animals and would do anything for them’.

‘Hypocrite. He’d have paid that much to get the headlights fixed on his bloody Rolls,’ Leonie had howled with fury when she’d heard. None of the staff members had felt themselves able to speak to the man again, even though he drove past the surgery on his way to work every day in his flashy ice-blue Rolls-Royce.

Angie swore she was going to throw broken glass in his way to see him get a puncture. In her angrier moments, Leonie said they ought to blindfold him and let him see what it was like trying to live in the dark.

‘Well, why the fuck don’t people like that get a goldfish?’ Leonie said now, wiping the examining table with disinfectant. She never swore, only when she was really angry or upset. ‘Then they could throw a few crumbs on top of the water every week and forget about the bloody things.’

‘Fish require lots of care,’ Angie reminded her mildly.

‘Yeah? I don’t care for fish, except on a plate with white wine sauce on it,’ Leonie replied. She couldn’t help it: she was furious with all these pigs who pretended to love animals and wouldn’t bother to care for them properly. No, they weren’t pigs. Pigs were animals and no animal would ever treat another creature in that way. When she thought of some of the lovely animals who came into the surgery, hobbling on fractured limbs, bitten out of their minds with fleas or half-starved, all because of sheer neglect, it was all she could do not to hit their owners, those feckless, useless people who thought that owning a pet was like owning a car that didn’t need petrol, water or oil.

‘Calm down, Leonie,’ Angie said gently. ‘You’re having a bad day. Go home, have a big glass of wine and forget about it. When the revolution comes, we’ll put all those crappy pet owners up against a wall and shoot them.’

Leonie managed to smile. ‘Only if I can pull the trigger,’ she agreed.

She and Angie closed up the surgery and she drove home, not particularly looking forward to that, either. Home was not the refuge it normally was, mainly because Abby and Mel were squabbling. Leonie sighed. A mere month ago, she’d have said it was hard to imagine Abby squabbling; the usual suspects in a grudge match were Danny and Mel, who fought like warring Medicis over everything from the last piece of toast to the control of the television remote. Abby was the peacemaker, pacifying all parties in the endless war that went on between her siblings. But for some reason, Abby hadn’t been getting on with her twin for the past few weeks and their rows were frightening to behold.

Yesterday, they’d had a screaming match in the bathroom because Mel had dared to wear Abby’s glittery, bought-specially-for-the-Christmas-disco T-shirt.

Leonie was used to hearing Mel squealing like a four-year-old. But she’d been shocked to hear Abby doing it: ‘You cow, I hate you, hate you!’ followed by door-slamming, loud music, more shouting and more door-slamming.

Tonight, not feeling ready for a repeat performance, Leonie parked the car outside the cottage and walked slowly to her front door. The paintwork was peeling again, she reminded herself as she did every evening. It was two years since she’d last had the cottage exterior painted and the lovely rich dark green of the door was getting shabby. You didn’t notice it as much in the summer because the climbing roses hung so prettily over everything, hiding flaking paint and chipped stonework with a cluster of pale pink, glorious-smelling buds. But in the bleak winter, the place was starting to look shabby, Leonie decided. Dear little Flossie wasn’t the only thing to be neglected, she thought ruefully.

Inside, it was blissfully warm and blissfully quiet. Nobody was screaming ‘spannerhead!’ at anyone else and Penny didn’t race frantically to greet her mistress, meaning somebody had kindly taken her for a walk. One more chore ticked off the list, Leonie smiled to herself.

‘Hi! Mel, Abby and Danny, I’m home.’

Silence. A note in the kitchen explained that the girls had brought Penny out.

Danny rang, he’s home late. Save dinner for him, Mel had added in her nicely rounded handwriting.

As if she’d cook dinner and not save any for Danny. When did she not save dinner for him, Leonie asked wryly. She had a waste-disposal unit for a son and all he did was eat. In the peace and quiet, she decided to do exactly what Angie had suggested: she opened a bottle of wine (£5.99 special from Superquinn) and poured herself a glass.

Dinner was going to be the chilli she’d taken out of the freezer that morning, baked potatoes and salad. Switching the oven and the radio on, Leonie sipped her wine, and scrubbed the potatoes under the cold tap. She half-listened to news updates and traffic reports, enjoying the rare solitude. When Penny erupted into the kitchen via the back door twenty minutes later, barking delightedly at finding her beloved mistress there, a green salad was crisping in the fridge, the potatoes were beginning to sizzle and Leonie had laid the kitchen table for the three of them.

‘Hiya, Mum,’ said the twins in unison.

Mel hurried in without taking off her anorak or runners and threw herself on to the chair nearest the radiator. Her heart-shaped face was flushed with the combination of exercise and cold air, her big dark eyes were shiny and the biting wind had coloured her lips ruby red. Even windblown, she was so pretty.

Abby hung up both her anorak and Penny’s lead before hunching down beside the radiator with her sister. You’d never have believed they were twins, Leonie reflected, looking at Abby’s round, open face with its solid chin so unlike Mel’s pointed little one. Although Abby was looking a little thinner, she suddenly realized. Nothing major, just a faint thinning of her cheeks. It suited her, Leonie decided with a jolt of pleasure. Perhaps Abby wasn’t destined to look like her, with the peasant’s face that no amount of make-up could really hide. Nothing would give Leonie greater pleasure than to see Abby turn into a swan. Being an ugly duckling was such a difficult burden to bear. Well, perhaps not an ugly duckling, she told herself. But large, solid and sensible-looking as distinct from petite, dainty and Bambi-eyed.

‘You’re both in good form tonight,’ she said, smiling at them.

‘Yeah, sorry about last night,’ Abby said apologetically. ‘Dunno what got into me.’

‘Steven Connelly!’ smirked Mel evilly. ‘Or you wish he’d got on to you.’

Abby pulled her sister’s hair in retaliation. ‘Cow.’

‘Ouch,’ yelped Mel. But it was a good-humoured yelp.

They were friends again, thankfully.

Leonie sat down on a kitchen chair and sipped more of her wine. God only knew what year it was, but it certainly tasted like a good one.

‘Who’s Steven Connelly?’ she asked, knowing she wasn’t supposed to ask but unable to resist.

‘Who cares about him,’ Abby said primly. ‘He’s someone Mel thinks I fancy. We’ve much better news.’

‘You do fancy him,’ Mel said simply.

‘I don’t. Now shut up. Dad phoned,’ Abby went on.

‘About the wedding,’ Mel finished for her, sloe-black eyes glittering excitedly. ‘He wants you to come.’

‘Fliss and he want you to come,’ Abby said, emphasizing Fliss.

It was their mother’s turn to mutter ‘ouch’ to herself.

‘That’s kind of him,’ she said as nonchalantly as she could, ‘but I don’t think so, girls.’

‘What did I tell you?’ Mel said to her twin. ‘I knew you’d say that, Mum.’

‘Did you now?’ Leonie got up and bustled around at the cooker to hide her distress. ‘You’re great at knowing what I’m going to say, aren’t you? What if I said you’ve got to run the Hoover over the sitting room before dinner – were you expecting that?’ She spoke lightly, hoping to deflect them from the conversation at hand.

Mel groaned. ‘I hate hoovering, Mum. It’s Abby’s turn, anyway.’

‘He wants you to go and so do we,’ Abby spoke up.

Leonie got a packet of green beans she hadn’t intended cooking out of the freezer and slowly put them in a microwaveable bowl.

‘It’s bumper to bumper on the Stillorgan dual carriageway,’ trilled the traffic reporter on the radio, ‘and in Cork, the Douglas area is a no-go zone because an articulated truck has jack-knifed…’

‘Mum? You’d love it, you know you would. Dad wants you to phone him. You will, won’t you?’ Abby pleaded.

‘Of course I’ll phone him, girls, but I really don’t think it’s such a good idea. I mean, it’ll cost a fortune and your dad doesn’t really want me there, does he?’

‘He said he does,’ Mel pointed out. ‘It’ll be fun, Mum. Dad says he’ll pay your airfare. He’s paying for ours too.’

He must be making a bloody mint, Leonie thought. ‘I’ll phone your father, but that’s all. I’m not making any promises.’

‘Please,’ begged Ray. ‘I’d love you to. You always said we had to stick together for the children’s sake and show them people can divorce in a civilized fashion.’

Three thousand miles away, Leonie grimaced. Hoist by her own petard. She had said that, and not just for the children’s sake. She hadn’t wanted the kids to be used as pawns in the sort of vicious break-up most people had; used as blackmail in a fight that was all about power and blame, where parental responsibility counted for nothing.

Leonie had seen too many marital break-ups disintegrate into a litany of whose fault it was and why the kids couldn’t possibly see ‘that bitch’ or ‘that bastard’. It was all so unhelpful and childish, she felt.

She’d wanted to be able to talk calmly with Ray about the welfare of Abby, Mel and Danny, to do what was right for their family even though they were splitting up as a couple. And they had, always had. This very adult and mature state of affairs suited Leonie too because she’d instigated the break-up and she couldn’t face years of Ray’s venom bouncing off the kids and back at her simply because he resented what she’d done. It would have been devastating for them, and acutely painful for her. But there had been no venom. Ray had been as good as his word and their divorce had been civilized, just as she’d hoped.

Now, ten years later, her own words came back to haunt her.

‘If it was you getting remarried, I’d be there for you, Leonie,’ Ray pointed out. And he wasn’t lying, she knew.

Leonie wondered if she’d have wanted her ex-husband there if she got married again. She would, she decided. It would be nice to have him there, smiling, encouraging, giving his blessing. Proof that she hadn’t ruined his life. Which was a joke, she thought wryly. The only life she’d ruined in her attempts to find true love had been her own. Ray was happy, the kids were happy, and she was the one who longed for the passionate encounter she’d dreamed about since she was old enough to watch black-and-white movies on the telly on Saturday afternoons. Unfortunately, she was turning into a facsimile of Stella Dallas instead of an episode of Dallas.

‘What does Fliss think about this, about me coming to the wedding?’ she asked.

‘She’s as eager as I am,’ Ray said happily. ‘She had a wonderful view of the whole thing. Her parents are divorced and see each other all the time. They both own this skiing lodge in Colorado and share holidays with their new partners. It’s very civilized here. Fliss wants you to be there because she’s going to be the kids’ stepmom and she wants you to meet her. It’ll be great, Leonie. A holiday. We’ve got two extra cabins booked, so you and the kids could share one. I’ll pay your fare.’

‘Nonsense,’ Leonie said automatically. ‘I’ll pay my own fare.’ She had said it before she realized what it meant: capitulation by mistake.

‘So you’re coming! Great! It’ll be wonderful to see you, Leonie. Thanks, I really appreciate it,’ Ray said enthusiastically.

They discussed arrangements briefly but, because Ray was at work, he couldn’t talk for long. ‘I’ll call during the week, when I’ve got everything planned,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to see the kids. And you.’

How different America was from Ireland, she reflected as she hung up. Americans had it all sorted out in their heads. Enlightened, that was the word. People broke up and went on with their lives, ex-spouses met current spouses and nobody threatened to beat anyone senseless because they all hated each other’s guts and resented the hell out of each other. Leonie tried to think of one wedding she’d heard of where the ex-spouse turned up to watch the proceedings – well, other than weddings where the ex turned up uninvited to try and wreck the proceedings. She couldn’t think of any. It was all too civilized. She’d heard of people who refused to go to their children’s weddings because their ex-partner would be there. How pathetic.

Now she was getting in on the enlightened act by going to Colorado to the January wedding of her ex-husband. How very modern. What a pity she would be going on her own. She’d have loved to have a partner to bring along: someone to act as a personal talisman, to remind her that she was a lovable person. Her talisman would also be proof to the rest of the world that she wasn’t some lonely hasbeen who had scoured the personal ads looking for love and come up with nothing.

Mel was on a high during dinner, volubly discussing what she’d bring to the wedding.

‘Liz thinks I should go dramatic in black,’ she said, nibbling salad and chilli daintily. ‘I don’t know. Black makes me washed out; white would be good because it’ll be snowy, but it’s bad manners to wear white to weddings, isn’t it?’ she chattered away. ‘I’ll have to phone Fliss to check what she’s wearing. Or maybe a clingy shift dress would be nice. Susie’s older sister has this chiffon minidress. It sounds deadly.’

‘You’re not wearing anything clingy, white or chiffon,’ Leonie said firmly. ‘You’re fourteen, Melanie, not eighteen. If I’d wanted you to turn into Lolita, I’d have named you Lolita.’

Mel groaned but took no notice. ‘I have to look fab, Mum, that’s all. Who knows who’ll be there. All the movie stars have houses in Vail.’

‘It’s not Vail, is it?’ her mother asked, horrified.

‘Yes,’ Mel said happily.

‘God, we’ll all have to dress up,’ Leonie said, ‘won’t we, Abby? Can’t let Ireland down by turning up like a gang of down-and-outs.’

Abby was very quiet with all this talk of outfits and clingy shift dresses. Poor thing was undoubtedly fed up thinking that Mel would look like a superstar while she melted into the background yet again, put in the shade by her much prettier sister.

‘Are you not hungry?’ Leonie asked Abby, noticing she was only picking at her dinner. ‘You have been off your food lately.’

Abby shook her head quickly. ‘I’m fine,’ she said and began to load up a fork with chilli, as if to prove that she was hungry. ‘Fine, really.’

Abby closed the bathroom door quietly. It didn’t take her as long these days but it was still good to get in there quietly, before anyone realized how long she’d been gone and that she was actually in the bathroom. That had been a dodgy moment earlier when Mum had asked if she was feeling all right. Abby had been sure she’d managed to hide the fact that she’d been dieting. Over the past few weeks, she’d fed Penny surreptitiously under the table and had hidden bits of dinner in her napkin at mealtimes, anything to avoid eating too much. It had been so difficult and it hadn’t worked. She was always hungry and she wasn’t getting any thinner, she was sure of it. The ancient bathroom scales weren’t exactly accurate so it was hard to check. Nobody ever used them any more. Mum just ate what she liked and didn’t seem to worry about her figure; Mel was skinny no matter what she ate and Danny only cared about how muscular he was getting. He was always admiring his biceps in the hall mirror when he thought nobody was looking.

Abby’s only other option for weighing herself was the speak-your-weight machine in Maguire’s chemist and it was so hideously embarrassing to have to stand on that with all the other girls from school wandering in and out, buying nail varnish and spot concealer, that she never used it.

Either way, she wasn’t thinner, despite all her efforts at avoiding chips and lasagne, her favourite. Dieting had seemed hopeless until she’d come up with the perfect way to lose weight. She’d read about it two weeks ago in one of her mother’s magazines. You could eat all you wanted and still be thin. It hurt the back of her throat, though. But it would be worth it if it meant she became as thin as Mel. That was all she wanted really: to be beautiful like Mel, just for once, for Dad’s wedding. Then she’d stop. Abby tied her hair back in a scrunchie so it wouldn’t get in her way and leaned over the toilet bowl.

Only Penny’s pleading eyes made Leonie grab her anorak and brave the hideous December weather. It had rained solidly for three days, great sheets of rain that defied any raincoat, scarf or hat. No matter how well wrapped up you were, the rain insinuated itself under some hem or other, soaking clothes until the wearer was wet and freezing.

The girls were cuddled up in the sitting room with the heating on full blast, pretending to revise for their Christmas exams but really watching a crucial episode of Home and Away. In the oven, a lemon and herb basted chicken was roasting succulently for dinner. Leonie’s plan had been to read the paper and, exhausted after a busy day in the surgery, veg out until dinner. But Penny, who hadn’t been walked for the entire water-logged three days, looked so mournful that Leonie finally gave in.

‘If they gave Oscars to animals, you’d get one for sure,’ she muttered as Penny sank to the floor in abject misery, resting her nose miserably on her fat golden paws. ‘Nobody can look more depressed and abandoned than you. Skippy, Flipper and Lassie wouldn’t have a hope.’

Wearing waterproof leggings, her big waterproof anorak and with a pink knitted hat under the hood, Leonie hoped she’d stay dry.

Penny danced around her mistress’s feet, singing in her high-pitched canine voice, thrilled with herself. Shivering, Leonie trudged down the road, wondering if she was stone mad to be doing this.

It was ten days before Christmas and every house along her road had candles or small lights in their windows. The brightly coloured gleam of Christmas tree lights shone through windows and glass porches, and the atmosphere of cosy warmth inside made it feel all the more cold and wet outside. Leonie huddled into her anorak.

Even watching Penny delightedly bouncing in and out of the myriad enormous puddles didn’t make her laugh the way it usually did. Ten minutes, that was all she was doing. After ten minutes on an evening like this, she’d be a drowned rat. Once they’d left the main road, she let Penny off the lead and followed slowly, hating the sensation of needles of rain hitting her face with ferocity. She was so cold.

Penny buried her nose in a puddle and whisked it up joyfully, splashing water over her laughing face. With her rainproof fur coat, designed by nature for all kinds of weather, she didn’t mind the rain, although she always quivered when she was being hosed after a particularly dirty walk, as though the cold water she’d leapt into moments before was painfully cruel when it was coming out of a hose instead of a big puddle.

‘You’re lucky I love you, Penny,’ Leonie grumbled to her gambolling dog, ‘otherwise I’d never bring you out on an evening like this.’ She moved to the other side of the narrow road because it was more sheltered from the rain.

She was so busy trying to cover as much of her face as possible from the icy rain that she never even noticed the giant pothole beside the big forbidding black gates. As Penny bounced about the gates, sniffing excitedly and peeing, Leonie stepped on a cracked bit of asphalt, her foot in its wet wellington boot wobbled and she fell heavily, barely managing to protect her face with her hands. She was up to her knees in the water-logged pothole and her elbows ached from landing heavily on the road.

‘Ouch!’ she cried with pain, tears flooding her eyes. Penny instantly ran back and started barking. Feeling jarred and shocked by her fall, Leonie didn’t know what to do for a moment. She could feel the water seeping into her clothes, and her knees and elbows stung, but shock meant she couldn’t move.

‘Are you all right?’ said a masculine voice. She moved her head, only then noticing the car lights behind her. Suddenly someone was putting arms around her and helping her gently to her feet. She swayed in this person’s embrace, feeling unsteady and shaky. Penny hopped anxiously from paw to paw, knowing something was wrong but not able to do anything.

‘You’re in no fit state to go anywhere,’ the man said decisively. ‘Come with me and we’ll get you dried off and see whether you need the doctor.’ He half-carried her over to a big Jeep with headlights blazing.

Normally, Leonie would have resisted and said she’d be fine, really, and that Penny couldn’t get into the Jeep because she was filthy and wet, but she was too shocked and tearful to say anything. The man helped Leonie into the passenger seat as if she were light as a feather and then opened the back door for Penny to leap in.

Leonie closed her eyes wearily, still in shock. The pain in her elbows was getting worse. She felt them gingerly, sure she’d torn her anorak in the fall.

‘Don’t,’ he advised, ‘you’ll just make it worse. Wait till we’re home and then we’ll have a look at you.’ He paused. ‘Maybe I should bring you straight to the doctor’s house now.’

Leonie shook her head. ‘No,’ she mumbled tearfully, ‘don’t. I’m OK, really.’

Suddenly she realized where they were going: in the gates where she’d fallen. It was his house, he was the big bear of a man who she’d seen walking the two exuberant collies.

‘It’s my fault,’ he said. ‘That pothole’s been getting bigger all the time and I should have done something about it.’

‘It’s the council’s fault really,’ Leonie said, trying to feel if her leggings were ripped.

The Jeep bounced along a winding drive and stopped at a house that Leonie had never seen before. A small wood hid it from prying eyes on the road, which was just as well, she realized, because if people could see it, they’d want to come in and gawp. It was beautiful: an elegant Palladian villa, perfectly proportioned with big windows and graceful columns on either side of the wide front door. Painted a soft honey colour, the house was surrounded by beech trees that nestled protectively around it.

‘It’s beautiful,’ breathed Leonie, the pain receding somewhat as she gazed at the most lovely house she’d ever seen. ‘I had no idea this was here.’

‘Seclusion is one of the reasons I bought it,’ the man said, getting out of the car.

He helped Leonie to hobble to the door.

‘We shouldn’t go in the front door, Penny’s filthy,’ she said suddenly.

‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘The floors are all wood so there are no carpets to muddy.’

A cacophony of barking greeted them and two glossy black collies jumped on the man excitedly when he opened the door. They then spotted Penny and all three dogs went into a frenzy of excited tail-wagging, plumy tails competing with Penny’s damp blonde one.

‘They’re males and they’re very friendly,’ he said. ‘They never fight.’

‘Good,’ said Leonie, feeling sick. ‘Do you have a cloakroom?’ she asked weakly.

He quickly showed her to a small, pristine bathroom and, as soon as she’d locked the door, Leonie threw up. Shock and adrenaline, she diagnosed, as she sat shivering on the floor beside the toilet bowl, still in her wet, torn clothes. She sat there until the nausea passed, trying to breathe deeply. After a few minutes, she felt well enough to admire the room, which was decorated entirely in caramel Carrerra marble. It was very European and spotlessly clean. Even the white towel edged with caramel braid was as white as snow. She wished there was another bathroom in the cottage: if somebody fell into a pothole outside her house, she’d have to rush in with the bathroom cleaner and spend half an hour in there before she could let a stranger loose in it.

‘Are you all right?’ he said from outside the door.

‘I am now.’ She got to her feet and unlocked the door. There was no sign of the man, but the three dogs immediately tried to rush into the small room, tails wagging and tongues lolling happily.

‘I’ve left some dry clothes outside,’ he called.

She couldn’t get the dogs to leave the bathroom. The collies wanted to sniff her, shoving inquisitive wet noses everywhere, and Penny wanted to be petted and be assured that she was still the favourite. Furry heads jostled for attention and they banged happily into Leonie, the sink and the loo, cannoning off each other.

Leonie obliged with petting for a minute, then picked up the bundle of clothes and tried to eject her admirers. ‘Shoo,’ she said, shoving the dogs out and trying to shut the door on three disgruntled wet noses.

He’d left her a white T-shirt, a huge grey woollen jumper, a pair of men’s jeans and black socks. Gingerly, she peeled off her wet things, wincing with pain as she pulled off her anorak, which had a big rip in one elbow. Amazingly, she wasn’t cut anywhere, although her elbows were already bruising and there was an ugly dark mark on one of her legs where she’d banged her shin painfully on the asphalt.

Everything ached, but Leonie was so relieved that she hadn’t cut herself to ribbons that she didn’t mind. Nothing was broken, although she knew she’d be stiff and sore for a few days.

Just as well I’m not planning on wearing a little flirty outfit to Ray’s wedding, she told herself, looking at the hideous purple colour of one elbow. She used the towel to dry her hair and wipe the mud from her face and neck. When she was finished, she left it and her clothes in a neat pile. She’d bring it home and wash it: she couldn’t leave it here filthy.

The dogs whirled around her when she opened the door again and she followed them through the parquet-floored hall, down a half-flight of stairs into the kitchen. All wooden flooring and old wooden units, it was a warm, friendly room with two comfy dog baskets beside an ancient, squashy russet couch in one corner. He was standing near the sink and didn’t turn round when she spoke.

‘Thanks for the clothes.’

‘How are you? Do you want to go to the doctor?’ he said, still not turning round.

‘No, I’m all right. Sore though, and my career as a photographic model is finished, obviously,’ she joked. ‘I look like I’ve done a few rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson.’

He turned with a half-smile on his face. It was the first time she’d got a proper look at him. He was perhaps ten years older than her with a shock of dark auburn curly hair that was streaked with grey and a bushy beard to match. A huge man well over six foot, he had broad shoulders yet his clothes hung from them, as if he’d lost a lot of weight from his big frame. His face was curiously hollowed, dark russet eyebrows beetling across opaque, hooded eyes. The smile lifted his face miraculously, made him almost handsome: without it, his expression was cold and grim.

‘I’ve got some painkillers, if you want them,’ he offered. ‘I got them for my face,’ he added bluntly.

Leonie looked at him. She could see the scars on one side of his face, dark and angry purple spreading from his jaw up to his cheekbone yet hidden by the thick bushy beard. They were like marks from a fire, she thought. He kept looking at her, as if daring her to look away. But Leonie was made of sterner stuff. She’d seen animals hurt in fires, their skin a mass of cooked flesh and their agonized eyes begging for the pain to disappear.

It was torture to look at. She was much better coping with injured people than injured animals.

‘You’re healing well,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Was it a fire?’

‘Yes,’ he said, as if stunned that she’d mentioned it at all. ‘Two years ago.’

She held out her hand. ‘I better introduce myself. I’m Leonie Delaney and this is Penny.’

Penny, stretched happily out in one of the collie’s baskets, wagged her tail at the mention of her name.

‘I better be going,’ Leonie said, ‘my two daughters are at home waiting for dinner and, although they probably wouldn’t miss me if I disappeared, I better get home to them.’

‘I made you a hot whiskey,’ he said. ‘I thought it would help. They help me. I don’t know if it’s advisable to have one with painkillers or not, but I daresay it won’t kill you.’

‘I’m a glutton for drugs and alcohol,’ Leonie said wryly, sitting down on the couch where she was immediately surrounded by dogs. ‘I’ll stay for one whiskey.’

She didn’t know why she’d agreed to stay. She must be mad. This guy was obviously shy and anti-social. He was also blunt and very edgy, as if he wasn’t used to company and felt uncomfortable having someone in his home. And he was utterly hung up about his injuries. He hadn’t even told her his name…

‘I’m Doug Mansell,’ he said, handing her a glass wrapped in some paper towels. ‘This is very hot and quite strong.’

‘You mean I’ll be so plastered after this that I’ll fall back into the pothole on my way out,’ she remarked, taking the glass.

He laughed, a deep, hoarse laugh that sounded as if it hadn’t had a good airing in months. ‘I promise to drive you,’ he said. ‘I also promise to get that hole filled in. Can’t have the neighbours killing themselves outside my property.’

He sat on one of the kitchen chairs, a few feet away from her, so that she couldn’t see the scarred right-hand side of his face. The collies sat either side of him, arching their heads back for him to pet them. He had huge hands, she noticed as he fondled the dogs. They quivered ecstatically under his touch, obviously adoring him.

She remembered seeing him walking the dogs and thinking that he looked like the gruff sort who’d keep them in a shed and never let them inside the house or call them honey-bunnies. Grinning, she realized that she’d been as wrong as you could be. They clearly had the run of the house and their baskets were stuffed with dog toys. Although she still couldn’t see Doug being the sort of man who went in for cute pet names.

‘What are they called?’ she asked.

‘Jasper,’ he said, nodding to the dog with the silky, all-black coat, ‘and Alfie,’ petting the one with white socks and a white blaze on his chest. ‘Alfie is Jasper’s son. He’s two and Alfie is eight.’

They talked about dogs for a time, while Leonie sat back and drank her hot whiskey.

‘The only problem with dogs is having to walk them when it’s raining and freezing,’ Leonie remarked, petting Penny’s silky ears. She drained her glass.

‘Let me get you another one,’ Doug said.

‘No, it’s OK. You’ve done your good Samaritan bit,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to intrude any longer.’

‘You’re not intruding,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’m not used to having visitors; turned into a bit of a hermit, really. But it’s been nice talking to you.’

‘Oh.’ She sat back and let him take her glass.

‘I think I’ll join you,’ he added.

‘You must come to dinner some night,’ Leonie found herself saying. ‘I only live over the road and you’d like the kids. It’s bad to turn into a hermit.’

‘It’s your turn to be the good Samaritan, is it?’ he said caustically.

‘I’m only offering dinner, not emergency rescue services,’ she replied easily. ‘And my humble abode isn’t a patch on your palace, so I can understand if you say no.’ She got up to go.

‘I’m sorry,’ he looked humble. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…I’ve forgotten how to behave in polite society,’ he said. ‘Forgive me. Please stay. I’ll show you round. I’m sure you’d like to see the rest of the house, although it’s no palace, I promise.’

Leonie treated Doug to the sort of don’t-mess-with-me look that Danny, Mel and Abby were familiar with and would have instantly recognized as teasing. ‘Bribing me on the grounds that women are terminally nosy and can’t resist a sneaky glimpse of other people’s houses, eh?’

He nodded.

‘It’s a deal.’

Clutching her second hot whiskey, Leonie followed the procession of Doug and dogs around the downstairs. It was a truly beautiful house, but somehow unloved. Graceful, airy rooms with large windows, exquisite marble fireplaces and cornices picked out in subtle gold leaf looked lonely without any homely clutter.

‘I pretty much live in the kitchen,’ Doug confessed, as they trailed from one cold room to another, ‘and in my studio. I’m a painter.’

‘It’s a lovely house,’ Leonie said truthfully, but she’d have liked it much better if there’d been plants spilling out of tubs or newspapers flung carelessly on the low tables. It was like a museum exhibit: a perfect re-creation of a regency villa yet with only paying guests passing through, gazing at the huge white couches and the armchairs upholstered in pretty striped fabrics, yet never actually sitting in them. There were no paintings anywhere. She decided that Doug was so reclusive he didn’t like anybody seeing his work.

‘You live in one of the cottages on the main road, don’t you?’ Doug said, when they returned to the kitchen after their tour of the ground floor.

‘It’s about an eighth of the size of this house and there isn’t a spare inch of it that isn’t given over to teenage clutter, empty crisp wrappers and videos that haven’t gone back to the shop yet,’ she said. ‘You obviously like the minimalist look; you’d hate my house.’

‘I don’t like the minimalist look, as a matter of fact,’ Doug remarked. ‘I bought this place as an investment. I didn’t intend to live here. The…’ he paused, ‘the accident changed my mind about that. It’s secluded enough to be suitable. I just never did anything with the rest of it when I moved in. I haven’t been in the mood for making it more homely.’

‘Buying stuff for a house can be a pain in the neck,’ Leonie agreed, deliberately misunderstanding what he was implying. If Doug thought he was too hideous to be seen out and that was why he hadn’t been shopping, that was his problem. She wasn’t going to go along with it.

He shot her an amused glance. ‘When is this Samaritan’s dinner on, then?’ he enquired. ‘As I haven’t met any of the neighbours up to now, I may as well start with your family.’

‘I’ll have to check their diaries,’ she said. ‘Boring old mother is always in, but the three of them are always out. I’ll get back to you. I better go home,’ she added. ‘Doubtless the girls won’t have missed me yet, but in case they are wondering where I am, I should push off.’

‘I’ll drive you,’ Doug said. ‘It’s still raining and you’ll be drenched.’

They drove in silence until Leonie told Doug which house to stop outside.

‘See you soon,’ she said, opening the door. ‘I meant it about dinner. No hassle, just a neighbourly evening.’

‘I’d like that. I hate people asking me things,’ he said awkwardly, ‘and you haven’t.’

Leonie shrugged. ‘I hate that too. People like placing you,’ she said ruefully. ‘You know: are you married, single, divorced, interested in golf, whatever. As a divorced mother, I’m fed up to the back teeth of nosy people trying to figure out where I fit into the grand scheme of things, if I’ve got a boyfriend, why my marriage ended, all sorts of personal stuff. As an attractive, apparently single man living in isolated splendour you would be a five-course banquet for all the local gossips. I am not one of them, so if you want an uncomplicated dinner with us, you’re welcome to take pot-luck any time. And I won’t be hitting on you, either.’

He laughed again. ‘You’re refreshingly frank and an awful liar at the same time, Leonie. I can’t imagine anyone hitting on me ever again.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said brusquely. ‘You’re not Quasimodo, you know. Pity is short on the list in my house. I’m offering food not counselling, but why don’t you roll up with some red roses and let’s really get the locals talking?’

He was still grinning when he drove off. A nice man, Leonie thought, as she and Penny ran up to the cottage front door. But he was deeply scarred both on the outside and the inside. She wondered what had happened to make him so suspicious and hostile. It was more than the accident, she was sure of it. A woman, definitely. Someone who hadn’t been able to cope with a fire survivor who’d become introspective and untrusting.

Telling herself to stop trying to analyse people, she stuck her key in the lock. Her clothes were dry and she didn’t feel like trudging round to the back door, having to bypass all the dripping evergreen bushes.

The telly was blaring and the smell of burned chicken filled the house.

‘Girls,’ called Leonie mildly, ‘didn’t you smell anything?’ Anaesthetized after two hot whiskeys and a Ponstan, she couldn’t summon up the energy to get angry.

‘Oh er, we forgot,’ said Mel shamefacedly, sniffing the air in the kitchen. ‘Sorry. Mum, what are you wearing?’ she added, finally noticing that her mother was clad in unfamiliar and far too big men’s clothes.

‘I was abducted by aliens crossing the road and they took me to their planet, performed experiments on me and then sent me back in these clothes,’ Leonie dead-panned.

‘Oh, Mum, what are you like?’ Mel rolled her eyes to heaven.

‘What happened?’ Abby demanded.

‘I fell into a pothole down the road,’ Leonie began, and explained the whole thing. ‘It’s lucky I wasn’t really abducted by aliens because you pair wouldn’t even notice. I said I was only going out for ten minutes and I’ve been gone an hour and fifteen minutes. I could have been raped and murdered and you two would just change the channel and start watching Coronation Street, completely ignoring the sounds of wailing police sirens in the background!’

‘We were watching something good on TV,’ shrugged Abby.

‘What are we going to do about dinner?’ Leonie wondered aloud as she peered into the fridge. The chicken, dried up like it had been charcoaling in a kiln all day, sat on the worktop. Even Penny, who usually slavered over any food left out, turned her head away in disgust.

‘I’m not hungry,’ Abby said quickly.

‘Me neither,’ Mel said.

‘Toasted cheese sandwiches, then,’ Leonie said decisively. ‘And you two can make them.’

Two days later, she met Doug as she trudged along past his house in the late afternoon, walking Penny in yet another downpour. Even the holly bushes slumped miserably in the rain, prickly leaves cast down. There were no bushes with berries left: festive locals had denuded all the berry-bearing bushes for Christmas decorations.

‘Nice weather for ducks,’ Doug said, stopping the Jeep beside her. ‘When are you having the grand dinner?’

‘Tonight, if it suits you,’ Leonie replied, peering up at him from under her sopping baseball hat. ‘I’ve done my pre-Christmas grocery shopping and the freezer is full. You can have lasagne, mushroom and chicken pasta or chilli.’

‘Lasagne, definitely,’ Doug said.

‘I’ll see you at seven,’ she said and trudged on, secretly pleased. It was nice to have a new friend and she felt a certain frisson that Doug had befriended her when he’d blatantly ignored all attempts at camaraderie from his other neighbours. Subtle questioning of the woman next door had revealed that, in his eighteen months in the area, Doug had rudely slammed the door on the outraged emissaries of the Best-Kept Village group and he’d told the curate to ‘bugger off’ when he’d bicycled up with the Easter dues envelope.

‘Really?’ said Leonie, enthralled.

‘Why are you asking?’ enquired her neighbour.

‘No reason, I just wondered who lived in that house,’ Leonie lied blandly. ‘What does he do, anyway?’

‘Something arty-farty,’ sniffed the neighbour. ‘Painter or some such. Wouldn’t hurt him to paint those gates, if he’s so good with a paintbrush. They’re peeling something rotten and it’s letting the whole tone of the neighbourhood drop.’

As she bustled around getting ready for dinner, Leonie wondered about Doug’s career. She’d never heard of him, but then, she liked watercolours of roses and baskets of fruit, things that the artistically inclined Abby thought were naff.

She defrosted a big lasagne, made a crisp, green salad, put baked potatoes in the slow cooker and bustled around tidying the house. After half an hour, she realized it was a waste of time. The house was too small to contain four people, one dog, one cat and a hamster, and remain even vaguely minimalist. Remaining tidy would be a miracle. At least it was clean.

She began to change from her old leggings and sweatshirt into something a bit glammer, when she stopped herself.

Poor Doug was obviously traumatized over a woman and would run a mile if he spotted her all tarted up and reeking of Samsara. She’d promised she wouldn’t hit on him and even though that was the last thing on her mind, because he wasn’t her type in a million years and she was damn sure she wasn’t his, he’d be bound to suspect it if she dolled herself up.

So she brushed her hair, put on a slick of lipstick and exchanged her old sweatshirt and leggings for a baggy denim shirt and cotton skirt instead of the silky purple blouse and velvet pants she’d planned to wear. Now, she thought, staring at herself in the mirror, nobody could accuse her of setting her cap at Doug. With her face almost devoid of make-up, except for eyeliner and mascara, she looked very natural. Not her femme fatale, Mata-Hari of the make-up counter self. She settled on a gentle squirt of Body Shop vanilla perfume as an alternative to overpowering Samsara, and then went back to the kitchen to check on dinner.

It was nearly half seven before Doug arrived. Danny had given up watching television with the twins in order to moan at intervals about how ravenous he was and how it was bad for your body to be denied food for so long.

‘You had a pizza three hours ago, you human dustbin,’ his mother replied crushingly. ‘You’ll just have to wait until Doug arrives.’

‘Did you buy crisps?’ Danny demanded, opening cupboard doors and banging them shut in his attempts to find something edible.

‘Doug’s here,’ announced Mel, bringing him into the kitchen. He was carrying two bottles of wine. ‘Can I have wine, Mum?’ asked Mel. ‘It is nearly Christmas.’

‘Did you buy beer?’ demanded Danny, having waved hello at Doug and now searching the bottom cupboards systematically for Budweiser.

‘I have hidden all the goodies because you know you’ll wolf it all down in one go and I am not shopping again before Christmas. And, yes, there is beer,’ Leonie said, rolling her eyes. Everything yummy was hidden at the back of the cupboard which held Penny’s dog food. They’d never think of looking for it there. That way, she could magic chocolate Kimberlys out of nowhere when the kids thought everything nice was gone. ‘Bet you’re sorry you came,’ she said to Doug.

‘Not at all,’ he smiled, sitting down at the table and petting a delighted Penny. ‘If you give me a corkscrew, I’ll do the wine.’

Nobody had looked at his face or paid him much attention at all, Leonie realized, which was probably just what he needed.

Dinner was great fun. Buoyed up by a glass of wine, Mel and Abby were chatty and giggly. Danny clearly enjoyed having another man at the dinner table, muttering about how he felt outnumbered normally. ‘Even the dog is a female!’ he groaned.

They all ate lots of lasagne, and Doug even asked for seconds.

There was only one sticky moment when Mel looked wonderingly at Doug and said, ‘Your poor face, does it hurt?’

Leonie felt her stomach disappear. But Doug wasn’t upset by the ingenuous question.

‘Not any more,’ he said. ‘Plastic surgery is next on the list, but I don’t think I want to go through with it.’

‘I would, I’d love plastic surgery,’ said Mel artlessly, eyes shining. ‘I’d have my boobs done.’

‘What boobs?’ demanded Danny. ‘You have to have some in the first place to have them done.’

‘Shut up, smart arse,’ Mel retorted. ‘That’s why you’ll never need brain surgery, not having any brains to start with.’

Leonie was relieved to see the corners of Doug’s mouth lifting.

After dinner, Abby announced that she wasn’t studying because there was only one more Christmas exam left and it was art, so no studying was required. ‘Let’s get a video,’ she said eagerly.

Leonie didn’t think that Doug would be impressed by that idea and half-expected him to say he was going home. Instead, he surprised her by offering to drive the girls to the video shop.

‘I better come too,’ Danny said, ‘in case you pair get some romantic shit.’

‘Danny!’ said Leonie. ‘Language.’

‘Sorry, some romantic rubbish,’ he corrected himself.

The four of them came back with a comedy, proof that a truce had been reached because Danny and the twins never agreed on any sort of video. Mel made coffee while Abby broke open a tub of ice cream and they all had dessert while watching the film.

Abby and Doug began discussing art history quietly and Leonie pretended not to notice. If he wanted to discuss what he did for a living, he would. She certainly wouldn’t pressurize him.

It was a relaxing, enjoyable evening. When the film was over, Leonie was surprised to find that it was nearly eleven o’clock.

‘Come again,’ Danny said as Doug put on his coat.

‘Yeah,’ said the twins enthusiastically.

‘I had a nice time,’ Doug remarked as Leonie saw him out.

‘Evidence that not all neighbours are inquisitive busy-bodies who spend their lives peering out from behind their net curtains,’ Leonie laughed. ‘We must do it again. See you, bye.’

‘He’s a painter,’ Abby announced. ‘He’s going to show me his studio.’

‘Really?’ Leonie said, with what she felt was Oscar-winning astonishment.

‘He’s a cool guy,’ Danny said as he passed her on his way into the kitchen for refuelling. ‘D’you fancy him?’

In response, his mother slapped his behind. ‘No you big lump, I don’t fancy him. I reckon he’s a bit lonely and I thought it’d be nice to have him over for dinner, that’s all. You can be friends with someone without it being romantic, you know.’

‘Just wondering, that’s all.’

It would be so simple if she did fancy someone like Doug, Leonie thought as she tidied away the dishes. Imagine how handy it would be to date the man who lived around the corner. But Doug, though a decent guy, really wasn’t her type. Too moody and difficult to live with, she felt. And she hated men with red hair. Although his was more tawny red, the colour of darkening beech leaves. He’d been great tonight because he enjoyed the relaxed family atmosphere, but she reckoned he’d be a nightmare in a relationship: tense, uptight and very high-maintenance. Not her type at all. Leonie wanted a man who lived life with passion and vigour, someone who would grab her in a giant bear hug every morning, not one who looked as if he could be grumpy and who had locked himself away like a prisoner in a fairytale because he couldn’t face the world.