Читать книгу Love Is the Answer - Tracy Madden - Страница 11

Slowly and languidly I drifted back to consciousness, deliciously stretching. It was so quiet here, last night I had slept the sleep of the dead. With my eyes still closed, I snuggled further into the warmth pressed against my back, enjoying the feel of another person. And then quickly one eye snapped open. From the mattress on the floor, I saw the early morning light creeping through the window. Where was I? Instantly the other eye opened. I blinked rapidly. Turning, I hurriedly pulled away from the sleeping body.

‘No you don’t. Up,’ I commanded, pushing with my foot. ‘No Wilbur, I’m sorry, but dogs do not sleep on beds, much less with their heads on the pillow. Come on… off.’ I attempted to shoo the sleepy labrador off my mattress with some difficulty, as his body weight appeared to be not much less than mine. His dark brown eyes looked at me and for a minute I softened, stroking his blonde head. ‘Yes, I know. You don’t understand where your master is, do you?’ He cocked his head to the side and looked at me, clearly attempting to decipher what I had said.

‘Don’t worry boy, I’m at a bit of a loose end too. This is all new to me, but we’re family now.’ I ruffled his fur.

With a deep snuffle, his heavy tail hit the floor once with a thud, as if that was as much joy as he could muster. However, I felt it was a promising sign. We had officially been friends for less than 24 hours.

*

Yesterday, with some measure of excitement, I had wiped my feet on the front door mat, weathered and worn with age, and turned the key in the stiff lock, ready to begin my new life in my new home. Breathing through my mouth, even the stale air did nothing to dampen my excitement. Dropping my bags in the hallway with haste, I walked towards the window with the heart hole curtain. Reefing it back, I was rewarded as sunlight cascaded into the once dark kitchen. Walking around, I had flung open every window, letting light and air flood through the home, as once again, I began exploring my new domain.

John Scott had allowed me free access for some time. On my second visit, I had found the staircase to the attic. There was a door to the left of the entry, which I had originally thought to be a cupboard. Upon opening it, a staircase, softly illuminated by an ethereal amber glow from a stained glass window above, was revealed.

Timidly, I had trod each step lightly, up towards a small landing with a door on either side. On the left, was a small dark grimy room lined with shelves. At first glance I was dismayed. I shoved aside the dark curtain. Mr Carmody had been damn keen on awful heavy old drapes. Natural light lit up the room. With some resistance, I opened the small attic window, and delighted in the breeze that instantly hit my face. At second glance, I could see that if I stripped the room bare, and painted it white, it really could be a lovely room, although somewhat small. For what purpose I was uncertain.

Next, I explored the room to the right. As I opened the door, magically I was greeted by a sizeable sunlit room filled with small lost planets of golden drifting dust motes. The side wall was dominated by a marble fireplace, much the same as the one in the formal area downstairs. Stroking the marble mantle, and feeling the thick caked dust I pulled my hand away. The room’s ceiling sloped towards the front of the house where, to my pleasure, a huge window overlooked the entire front garden.

The room had to be at least nine metres wide. By the time I had taken in the view from the back windows, my mind began to tick over and excitement was building. Already I could see it once completed. This was indeed the icing on the cake.

Glancing around, I had taken in the remnants of old newspapers and cardboard boxes, and realised that in recent years Mr Carmody must have used it as a storeroom. However, for me, it would make the perfect bedroom.

There were times I still had to pinch myself that this house and garden were mine. Lost in thought, standing at the back window in the kitchen, entranced by the view, the sound of a car on the gravel came to me.

From the front door, I saw the battered old EH Holden utility pull to a stop. I guessed the driver to be Wilbur’s recent carer, old Alex Smith. Sitting tall in the passenger seat, Wilbur had given a yelp and bounded from the car, running in circles, foraging around, sniffing.

Laughing with delight, I greeted Alex. ‘Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? I have a kettle and some tea bags but not much else. The truck comes tomorrow with my things.’

It was a hot day, and Alex was wearing well-worn navy stubbies. He was a weathered man, his face heavily wrinkled and craggy, the skin on his knees falling down a bit. Briefly, he lifted an Akubra that had definitely seen better days. ‘No thanks luv,’ his gravelly voice said.

His response surprised me as Alex had been a carpenter back in his day, and not only worked on the house but had forged a lifelong friendship with Mr Carmody. When I had called him about Wilbur returning home, we had spent ages talking about how the house had been in former years. Perhaps he wanted to keep his memories as he remembered them from the past. After all, the house was rather sad at the moment.

Leaning against the utility, he licked his dry bottom lip as he stuck a Tally-ho paper to it. He pulled out a pouch of tobacco and began to roll a scrawny cigarette. Taking his time, he put the cigarette to his lips, holding it between his index finger and thumb. I noticed his scrutiny of the house. A long plume of smoke escaped his lips.

‘A glass of water then perhaps?’ I offered.

‘Never have me water straight luv. I figure if it can rust iron, I don’t want to see what it’ll do to me insides.’ He must have missed the look of surprise on my face as he continued. ‘Got to get back up to Cooroy. Traffic’ll be heavy this time of day.’ He squinted at me through the haze of his cigarette smoke. ‘As I said on the phone luv, we’re ready to go to our little place at Donnybrook. Good spot for fishin’. Always saw meself finishin’ off me days there. We were just holding out ’til we had Wilbur sorted. Wasn’t really sure what we were going to do.’

Climbing back in the car, cigarette still in his mouth, he muttered through the open window, ‘I’ll miss the old mutt though, but he belongs here. Frank’d be happy.’ He lifted his hat once more. ‘You take care luv.’

I waved as Alex’s car disappeared around the curve of the gravel driveway. At the sound of Wilbur’s bark, I spun around in time to see the white cat I had seen on the very first day, bound across the yard, Wilbur hot on his heels, before the cat managed to scale the fence. Looking very happy with himself, Wilbur stood at the base of the fence and gave a few good natured woofs. I wondered if these two were old friends.

‘Haha, you’ll have your work cut out for you keeping Whitie out,’ I called to the dog. ‘I daresay he’s had complete run of this place while you were gone.’

In a frenzy of excitement, Wilbur began to dash around the garden. He went from one tree to another, from one place to another, madly sniffing, nearly turning himself inside out with excitement. I knew what he was doing. He was searching, searching for Frank Carmody. I wasn’t sure if he remembered me, as we’d only met briefly a couple of times at the shops. I stood on the front veranda and watched as the dog bounded through the house, exploring every room. A few times he dashed into the laundry, but then ran straight back out again.

With pride, I took the new, shiny stainless steel water bowl into the laundry and filled it. Next time Wilbur came in, he made for the laundry once again. This time he drank furiously from the cool bowl, the registration tag on his collar hitting against the metal with a ting. Like a proud mother, I stood watching his every move as if the dog was a genius. We were forging our lives together and these were firsts for us.

And then, back out the front door he went. With my one folding director’s chair pulled up at the window, I busied myself ringing the tradesmen I had lined up for the next few days. My wish was to retain the historic elements of the house, but put a contemporary spin on the place, like making over a glamorous old lady.

Not one moment had been wasted during settlement time. Once the documents were signed, I’d had a one month intensive shopping period sourcing antique doors to be used throughout the house, antique beams that would be installed in the main living area, and adding to my cache, six exquisite seventeenth century torchiers for lighting, and many more decorative objects.

Next, on the advice of John Scott, I engaged a draftsman who was well versed in the council requirements for a house of this genre, to draw up plans for the renovations. He put me in contact with a certifier who would do on-site approvals.

My first move was to change the proportions of the internal spaces, knocking out the walls of the smaller rooms, upsizing doorways and removing doors altogether in some areas to create open thresholds. The house pivoted around the great main room with a lovely high ceiling. Pushing the room out into a former chamfered bay window, extending the glass to the floor and adding a deck, would enable me to capture the view to connect the spectacular garden and river below.

Not surprisingly, the kitchen was, and would be the heart of the home.

John Scott, who I had originally thought formidable, had been quite different once the contract had been signed. His help and wealth of information regarding the property was invaluable, his interest and friendly, although always formal manner, endearing. He had gone to great lengths to supply me with a list of people who Mr Carmody had formerly relied upon.

Brownie who had maintained the garden a few years prior was starting in two days’ time, although I was certain one man would not be enough. On the phone he had explained that he would happily come out of retirement for Mr Carmody’s garden. I had the feeling he was more of a maintenance man, even though I envisioned the garden needed a complete makeover first.

A bevy of tradespeople were about to descend upon the property, turning the old house into a luxurious B&B. Anyway, that was my plan. In the last few months, I had researched B&Bs and knew exactly how I wanted Carmody House to be.

For me hospitality was about being generous - the magnificent surroundings, the food I would present, and the time and effort that would go into planning day trips. I wanted my guests to experience all the best things that New Farm had to offer – the cafes, the little local gourmet shops, the river walks, transport via the City Cat ferries, the spectacular New Farm Park, the local markets and more.

Running a cooking school, where I took my guests to the markets before returning to a magnificent kitchen to cook up a storm, intrigued me, and was an idea that had taken up residence in my mind, refusing to budge. I had always cooked from the heart and with passion, right back to those first cupcake days. It delighted me no end, to imagine creating special dining experiences: enormous breakfasts, gourmet hampers, summertime garden lunches. However, I may have been jumping ahead of myself. I needed to open the B&B first. Papa’s money had given me the luxury of time. I could do things properly and take one step at a time, and I also had my trip to France with Bea in a few months, so it was imperative I be well organised.

With much thought, I had decided to co-ordinate the renovation work myself. I knew it would be a challenging project, however I was up for it. My settlement with Davis had been finalised a few months ago. He had tried to talk to me once or twice since but I hadn’t taken his calls. What was there to say?

*

I finished my phone conversation with John Scott and checked my watch. Where was that dog? He seemed to have been gone for a long time. With my arms folded, I tapped an index finger on my top lip, a habit that used to annoy the hell out of Davis. Big deal was the thought that crossed my mind now.

I shook my head. Good God, I had just gotten the dog, I could hardly lose him. What would Mr Carmody think of me? My feet crunched over the gravel driveway as I went to check the front gate was locked. Not for the first time, I realised that heels were going to be a problem. As second nature as they were to me, they certainly weren’t compatible with gravel paths.

Sometime later, after combing most of the garden, I spotted Wilbur right at the bottom of the garden, under the haunting horizontal limbs of a Chinese Weeping Elm. He was sitting beside an aged teak garden bench facing the river.

I called to him, and although he turned his head to me, he then looked back towards the river. I called to him a few more times, however he refused to budge.

Making my way down, I was determined to buy proper garden shoes the first chance I had. Wilbur gave me the courtesy of a brief look as I approached. I had never seen a dog’s eyes look sadder. Spreading out the skirt of my colourful jersey Charlie Brown dress, I sat on the bench. It was a very peaceful place.

‘Is this where the two of you used to sit?’ I asked, stroking his head. ‘Hmmm?’ I spoke, as if expecting him to answer. In that twilight hour, I talked to him, attempting to reassure him with my voice. I felt terribly sorry for the poor dog, after all how could he know what was going on.

At one point, in the distance, I saw the white cat stalking around the garden. ‘Look Wilbur,’ I whispered. ‘Whitie’s back.’ However the dog took not one ounce of notice.

As dusk loomed, the heat of the day still clung in the air. I could hear birds gathering for the night and the gentle sound of the lapping of the river. The male cicada buzzed their song, their mating call. While the bustle of the cosmopolitan New Farm shops were less than a kilometre away, this little pocket of land felt secluded, and a bit like my own little secret. My throat ached with the beauty of it all, and I knew this was my home.

It was nearly dark and I began busily slapping, first this way and then that, at a few pesky mosquitoes. However, I still could not entice the poor dog to budge. He appeared to be on a vigil. Attempting to bribe him, I promised a bone if he came up with me. All I received in return was a blank look.

‘Now you’re being silly,’ I told him. ‘We can’t sit here all night. You should come up with me.’ I turned to go, hopeful he would follow. No such luck. With some hesitation to leave him, I explained, ‘Five minutes, okay? I’ll give you five minutes more and them you have to come up.’

In the blue spangled dusk, I made my way across the wide expansive grassy area, around the pool, and up the terraces, following the path around the side of the house, delighting that at this hour all of the white roses magically gleamed.

It was dark by the time I reached the front door and I had to fumble to find light switches inside. I left the door ajar, hopeful the dog would follow. I was concerned about my dog raising skills, not something I had given thought to before.

It was so quiet here. No sound of traffic from outside the front door, no buses belching toxic clouds as I was well used to, just the sound of peace. Although I could still smell dust and old, when I glanced around I found myself unexpectedly filled with a buoyant sensation that took me a moment to recognise as excitement.

The house had an old soul from its history and had that indescribable quietness which bought me a wonderful sense of peace. I felt as though I was custodian of the property, and would add layers of memory to the place. I knew it would be a privilege to live here.

The sadness, hurt and betrayal I had felt, and the huge sense of loss, had not suddenly evaporated, although I had begun to notice a certain equilibrium returning. For the first time in many years, I was going to be on my own and what’s more, strangely enough, I was looking forward to it.

Briefly, I paused at the back window in time to catch a perfectly positioned big yellow moon above the Story Bridge. Striking a match to a Jo Malone vintage gardenia candle, the air was filled with femininity, just how I wished my home to be from now on. Roaming from room to room, I was enthralled with my purchase. There were so many elements of the house, however it wasn’t just about looks, it was the way it made me feel. From the kitchen window, I noticed with delight how the city lights twinkled behind the massive gum trees.

It was some time later before Wilbur returned.

‘Well hello.’ I jumped to attention and followed him into the laundry, where he devoured the dinner that I had so recently placed in his bowl. With a look that gave nothing away, he collapsed on the timber hallway floor, one brown eye opened, watching as I poured over the new plans for remodelling the house.

Every now and then I paused and chatted to him, attempting to make him feel welcome. ‘I think you’re going to like this place when it’s finished. It’s going to be a new start for us Wilbur. In fact, I think I’ll even have a picture of you on the website. After all, this is your home.’ He closed both eyes.

Goodness, even the dog found me boring. What was happening to me? If I wasn’t invisible, I was boring.

‘Give me a chance?’ I asked, patting his head, as I readied myself for bed. I was rewarded with one half opened eye. It closed just as quickly. I left the bedroom door open and hopped under the covers on my mattress on the floor. I said a silent thankyou to Johnny for dropping the mattress of the day before.

In a fatherly fashion, he had walked through the house, checking the doors, making sure they were sturdy and lockable, attempting to be handy. He was too well dressed to ever be handy, but I loved him for it all the same. When he left he kissed the end of my nose.

‘Abso-bloody-lutely phenomenal Peach. I’m pleased for you sweetheart.’

I blinked rapidly. Tears still never far away, even these days.

Johnny hugged me and kissed the top of my head, murmuring, ‘Ahhh Peachy. Your dad loves you. You know that, right?’ He always told me he loved me and I loved that about him. And then, as if I was still a teenager, he attempted to press fifty dollars into my hand. ‘Buy yourself something nice,’ he said, as he usually did.

‘Dad no, I’m fine,’ I insisted pushing it back.

It would probably be some time before Bea ventured over, even though it was in her neck of the woods. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she had said, as I kissed her cheek, when leaving earlier. I was uncertain if she meant to the unpacking, or life on my own.

Years ago, I had overheard her speaking to someone regarding Lou’s rebelliousness at school. ‘I don’t like to intrude on the school. It’s not my style,’ she had said. ‘I’ll leave her behaviour to them.’ I remembered thinking that Lou was such a handful, I bet the school wanted to leave her behaviour to Bea. She had also said the same thing, whenever I asked why she didn’t ever do canteen duty or volunteer at the school. ‘Not my style darling,’ she’d say. ‘I’ll leave it to them.’

Who? I’d wanted to ask. Teachers? Other parents?

Looking back, it was as if she was half in, half out of our lives. I think we accepted it, knowing she was different. She once told me, some women are mothers and some are lovers. ‘I am a lover,’ she had explained. I wondered how I was supposed to take that comment in a positive light, seeing I was only 12 at the time.

However, for all of those things that I could either choose to see as shortcomings, or just as Bea being Bea, she had certainly come through when she withheld Papa’s money until the timing was perfect. She had given my best interest thought, and acted wisely. It was very motherly of her, and I liked that.

*

Cup of coffee in hand, I padded over to the window in my Peter Alexander pink ruffled short nightie and fluffy slippers with the kitten heel, and watched as the early morning light brought the garden to life. My garden, I reminded myself with pleasure.

It was nice to wake up to the sound of birds. For many years, my norm had been listening to Davis in the bathroom, giving himself a pep talk for the day, telling himself how good he was, how many sales he would achieve that day, and how he was the Top Gun. All the while he looked at himself in the mirror admiringly, examining himself first this way and then that. He’d flex his muscles, and when he was satisfied that all was good, he’d slap his hand on his abs in a sign of approval.

Thinking about it now, I almost gagged, wondering why it had taken so long to irritate the hell out of me.

I glanced over at Wilbur. I must admit it was nice to wake up beside such a quiet sleeping companion.

‘Come on boy. Let’s go for a walk around the garden before the truck comes. We’ve got a big day ahead and then the boys are bringing dinner for us. You’ll like them and I think they just might like you.’ I patted his blonde head and I was sure those black lips smiled, if only briefly.

*

‘More champagne babe?’ Steve asked, filling my glass without waiting for an answer.

From behind me, Thomas began kneading my exhausted neck muscles with those wonderfully powerful hands of his. I rolled my neck. ‘Mmmm,’ I moaned. ‘Don’t stop.’

‘Darling please tell me this is not going to be the new you? Your hair is ghastly. Let me organise a blow-dry for you tomorrow with Carmen. You know you love her big Texan blow dries. Treat yourself, please,’ Thomas begged.

I laughed and swept my long dark curls up into a ponytail. ‘Thomas I’ve spent all day with the movers and tradespeople. I promise you this is not the new me.’ Swinging myself around, I placed my legs over the side of the armchair.

‘Well what time is Marty coming? You mustn’t let yourself slip,’ Thomas admonished, taking a sip of champagne.

‘Just leave her be, Thom,’ Steve chided over his shoulder, as he continued to investigate the house further. ‘I love this armoire,’ his voice came from the next room, his boots loud on the naked wooden floorboards. ‘I’m taking a walk outside before it gets dark. Wilbur’s coming with me.’ I heard the sound of the heavy front door close.

With folded arms, Thomas turned to me and demanded, ‘Well, what time?’

‘He’ll be here shortly. He’s picking up dinner from Sitar for us. And Thomas I need to remind you…’ I enunciated clearly, ‘he is just a friend.’

Thomas waved a hand at me. ‘Darling, both Steve and I love Marty. Steve just won’t admit it yet. He’s in a tough spot. He’s struggling to be loyal to Davis on any level. He may be his brother, but God knows, he’s behaving like a horse’s arse.’

I laughed at his honesty. ‘That’s putting it mildly.’

‘Truly he is. But what can you do? He’s been led around by his dick… Sorry darling, that didn’t help did it?’

I hardly needed reminding. I shook my head, my heart sinking rapidly. ‘Thom, I don’t think it’s just that. I think it’s his ambition as well. But he’s gone too far. I’ve been thinking about it, and I know this all began when I wanted to step back from the business, when I stopped making it my first priority and decided that I wanted to spend more time at home and have a baby. God, we know how driven Davis is. To be honest I think he and… I’d rather not say her name… are cut from the same cloth. They suit each other perfectly. They’re both completely ruthless and they deserve one another. I’m sorry to say it has taken distance for me to see him clearly, and now I wonder how I could not have seen it before.’

‘Oh darling...’ he said, patting my knee. ‘I feel just dreadful for you.’

‘Yes I know, but it’s even more than that.’ Standing, I walked over to the window and then I spun around. ‘If he wasn’t happy, I wish he could have told me, been honest. It’s the lying that I hate the most. I think he got to a stage where it just rolled off his tongue, and he no longer knew what the truth was, and what was a lie.’

Thomas shook his head with disgust. ‘Tell me you’ve at least heard from the dragon?’ and he drew inverted commas in the air.

I smiled at his terminology for my ex mother-in-law, Eileen. ‘Not a word.’ I shrugged. ‘I know you’ve had a few run-ins, but I’ve always gotten on fairly well with her.’ Now that I was reminded, I was rather miffed. ‘You’d think I was the one who’d run off with someone else, not the other way around.’

Thomas flapped his hands around. ‘She’s hopeless darling. I think she’d like to call, but some people just don’t know what to do at times like these. You and I made such great outlaws together, now…’ He threw himself back on the couch with typical Thomas theatrical style.

I attempted to change the subject. ‘I’m ravenous. Hope Marty’s not too much longer.’ I caught Thomas’s look. ‘Thomas, stop it. You’re hopeless. He is truly a good friend and he’s been invaluable over the past few months. It’s been great having someone to share my ideas with. But that’s all.’

‘Well my dear, all I’m going to say is, I believe it’s about bloody time you made up a shopping list of exactly what you want in a man, because it may just bloody-well be under your nose. Now where the heck is that champagne bottle? A man is not a camel.’

*

The house was in far too much disarray to have dined inside, and as it had been a spectacular early evening, I had suggested we spread our Indian feast upon the front steps and gaze at the garden. I had even found the brand new white damask tablecloth, crystal champagne flutes and candlesticks, all of which, among other things, I had purchased last month for my new home. As I had set up the formal picnic, I had seen all three males give each other the “she’s crazy” eye, however it did not deter.

After dinner, Steve, the gadget guru, attempted to set up a small TV in the kitchen. One by one, the other two males had drifted from the front steps to assist. Even Wilbur appeared to have offered his help as one minute he had been beside me and the next he was in the kitchen.

Finally, realising I had been deserted, and with the sound of good natured jesting coming from inside, I joined them in the kitchen and began to rummage around to find four new mugs for instant coffee. I was hanging out for the new coffee machine to arrive.

‘Truly Steve, don’t worry too much. I have never really been a TV person,’ I told him over my shoulder, as I searched a large box labelled “new kitchen things” for the sugar bowl.

‘I’m almost there,’ he told me, fixated on his task, while the three of us watched on.

Finally, Thomas had had enough. ‘Take me home gorgeous or loose me forever.’ He draped himself over Steve’s back.

With the remote control pointed at the TV and not taking one bit of notice of Thomas’s dramatic behaviour, Steve muttered, ‘One more sec. I’m almost done.’

‘I’m simply exhausted,’ Thomas exaggerated, while Marty and I shared a fleeting smile. Pouting with impatience, Thomas roamed off, only to be heard seconds later shrieking. ‘Oh my God. Nooooooo! Peach!’

I quickly followed Marty and Steve towards Thomas’s cries. In unison, both men came to a direct halt at the front door and began laughing.

‘What?’ I demanded, pushing past them, unable to see what they were laughing at. And then, I too stopped in my tracks.

There stood Wilbur, frozen to the spot, guilt written right across his face, in amongst the Indian picnic, the remnants of dahl around his mouth, the tandoori lamb container now licked scrupulously clean, a new crystal wine glass on its side. All that remained of our dinner was a few pieces of well licked, but obviously not liked, onion in the bowl that had held the leftover fish boona, a dish full of spices, garlic, and ginger, slathered in a thick onion sauce.

I groaned. ‘Will it make him sick?’ I looked between the three men for an answer.

Through his laughing, Steve shrugged. ‘I’m not sure, but I sure as heck would not want to be around him tomorrow. For that matter, Thomas we’re out of here now.’ And then all three men began to laugh once again and Wilbur took it as his cue to bound down the steps and off into the darkness.

I must have looked worried, because Marty attempted to reassure me. ‘He’s probably gone to eat some grass…’

‘What on earth for?’ I interrupted.

‘It will help him to throw up.’

‘Oh no…’ I put a hand to my chest. ‘I should have cleaned it up immediately. I didn’t even think of him. ‘

‘Come on, I’ll help you clean up and then we’ll check on him.’ Marty began to carry dishes inside.

‘You guys go,’ I shooed Steve and Thomas.

Steve kissed the side of my cheek, taking both of my hands. ‘Peachy… take care lovey, we’ll speak soon. Let me know when you want to start the PR for this joint. I think you’re onto a winner. Got to get this tired boy home or he’ll miss his beauty sleep.’

Thomas bent to kiss me. ‘Get your sexy arse in to the salon soon. I’m going to have to keep an eye on you now that you’re living off the land.’

I gave him a flat measured look. ‘Thom I’m two kilometres from the city centre. I’m hardly going to turn into Granny Clampett.’

He began to laugh. ‘Perhaps not Granny, but Elly May more than likely.’ And then he lent in closer and whispered. ‘We’re doing up that list Miss.’ He looked down the hallway towards the kitchen and then gave me a wink. I slapped him on the shoulder.

I could hear the two of them laughing as they headed down the driveway. Bending to pick up the new white damask tablecloth, I frowned at the red curry footprints courtesy of Wilbur. And then I glanced around into the darkness and wondered where the poor dog had taken himself off to. I guessed it was time I became friendly with the local vet.