‘Our charity manager, if you don’t mind, Mum. Bought it with her redundancy money. Painted it with our volunteers. You should see the money she’s taking on the mobile coffee machine in the park.’ Rachel shifted in her chair to allow her neat bump more room. ‘She does a special cap-pooch-ino with ten per cent to Four Oaks Rescue Kennels.’
‘Very enterprising.’ Val smiled, and Rachel felt a genuine, womanly companionship that had never troubled her relationship with her mother before. Pregnancy was doing odd things to her. She’d even written Amelia a thank-you note for the mountains of baby clothes she’d turfed out of her loft, with a photo of the dog she was now sponsoring for Grace and Jack. It was a collie, called Dot.
While the mood between them was warm, Rachel made herself broach the last remaining thing on her emotional to-do list.
‘Mum, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.’ Rachel hesitated, before framing the white lie as best she could. She didn’t want to wrap one secret in another, but she could see her dad’s problem. He didn’t deserve the backlash, just for protecting Dot’s pride. ‘I found something while I was clearing out the cupboards . . .’
As she told her mother about Dot’s one big love, and Felix’s confession and proposal, Val’s eyes filled with tears. Rachel left out the unfortunate encounter between Felix and her dad, and tried to make the rest sound positive – her years of unconditional love from the dogs, and the respect she’d been held in locally – but she knew her mother was crying for something else: the children Dot might have once dreamed of having, her nieces and nephews to shower love on. That, for Val, was Dot’s sacrifice, not so much Felix, or the life she could have lived.
‘I’m sorry.’ Val dabbed her eyes as Rachel finished. ‘Oh, poor Dot. What a thing to live with all those years. I had no idea. Oh, I’m glad you told me. I always blamed myself.’
‘Why?’ Rachel held her breath. Was this the terrible thing she wouldn’t tell Dad? She wondered whether she should declare a parental secret amnesty and see what else came out.
Or maybe not.
‘I thought I’d cursed Dot. At Amelia’s christening.’ Val stirred her cappuccino until the froth began to vanish.
That was pretty good, thought Rachel. Even for Mum’s masochistic passive aggression. A whole curse. ‘Do you want to tell me?’
Val looked up. ‘I suppose I can now, now you’re having a baby.’ She sounded pleased, as if it had just occurred to her, then her expression turned guilty again. ‘You won’t remember, because you were just little, but it was very hot that day. I’d bought myself a new outfit, because Dorothy was gracing us with her presence, with this new man we’d heard so much about . . .’
‘The dress with the big flowers, like Gran’s bathroom wallpaper?’ Rachel pointed at her. ‘And the hat like a UFO?’
‘It was very expensive, that outfit,’ said Val, hurt. ‘And very fashionable. But obviously next to
Dot
I looked like some fat old housewife.’ She sighed. ‘And I
was
a fat old housewife, and she looked ten years younger, and everyone fawned over her, all, “Oooh, Dorothy, tell us about London”, even though it was my day. I mean, Amelia’s day. Our family day! And then you were sick because of the sweets she’d brought for you, and you wiped your hands on my dress, and I had to take you home early.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ said Rachel, thinking, ‘Dad obviously doesn’t either’ at the same time.
Val pursed her lips and sighed. ‘I went into the bar of the hotel, where everyone was listening to Dot and Felix holding forth about the Rolling Stones and some nightclub they’d been at, and I tried to say goodbye to everyone. No one paid me a blind bit of notice, and then Dorothy pipes up, “Off to the nursery then, Mummy?” like it was some sort of punishment.’
Val’s face darkened, and Rachel could see the clouds of contradiction battling in her face. She’d never seen her mother so conflicted before. She’d never seen her so emotional, full stop. She wanted to tell her that Dot’s flippant comment was the sort of painful joke she’d often made herself, to hide her awkwardness around happy mums, but Val was lost in her memory.
‘And the thing was . . .’ Val twisted her mouth, ‘right at that moment, it
did
feel like a punishment. I loved you two, more than anything in the world, but it was hard work, two of you under three. I never had more than two hours’ sleep. I smelled of vomit for years.
I
wanted to be in that bar, in that skinny trouser suit, with my own money! I’d have
loved
it. And so I said something I shouldn’t have.’ She bit her lip as if she was trying, too late, to stop it coming out.
‘What did you say?’ Rachel breathed.
‘I looked right at her and said, “You’ll never know what love really is, Dorothy, until you have children. And you’ll never have children, because you’re just too selfish.’’ She gazed contritely at Rachel. ‘My own sister. I said that, and I meant it, but only for that one second. I could have bitten my tongue out the next.’
‘I’m sure she didn’t . . .’
‘And then Felix broke it off with her, and she never married, and she spent the rest of her life taking in strays, and cutting herself off from us.’
Rachel pushed a paper hanky towards her mother. ‘Mum, do you have any idea how many Yummy Mummies have told me that I’d never understand real love ’til I had kids? And do you know what I said to them?’
‘Don’t tell me, Rachel. You know I don’t like salty language.’
‘I just said
nothing
, and told myself they’d had a bad day with their whiny, screamy brats and were jealous of my nice life. I only hated them temporarily.’ She hesitated for a moment, then added, since it was the time for getting things into the open, ‘It didn’t help that you more or less said the same thing to me for years.’
‘I didn’t!’
‘You did, Mum.’ Rachel widened her eyes. ‘Every time you called me and told me how blissfully happy Amelia was with her two, and then immediately asked if I’d met anyone. If I was thinking of settling down. If I’d thought about getting my eggs frozen.’
‘I didn’t mean to.’ Val dabbed at her runny mascara. ‘And if I did, I was so scared that you’d end up like Dot. On your own and lonely. I couldn’t bear to see my beautiful little girl on her own surrounded by mangy dogs instead of a family that loved her. Though now I know
why
poor Dot broke it off with Felix, I suppose it’s understandable . . .’
‘Mum, I don’t think Dot was lonely really. I’m not just saying that to make you feel better.’ Rachel finished off the last few muffin crumbs with her finger. ‘And I haven’t been your little girl for
years
.’
Val slapped her hand away from the plate. ‘You’re always my little girl. And you didn’t make it easy for me, Rachel,’ she went on. ‘I never knew whether to talk to you, or not talk to you, or what. And that reminded me of Dot, as well.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Rachel knew in her heart what Val meant. But that had been a different life. That was in the past. She slipped her hand into her mother’s and squeezed. Val squeezed back, her thick gold wedding ring pressing into Rachel’s finger.
There was a knock on the window. George was standing outside, his Land Rover parked on a double yellow, and his sleeves rolled up. He still wore a padded gilet and checked shirt, despite the August heat.
‘He’s come to pick us up,’ explained Rachel. ‘I said three o’clock – there’s no more shopping to be had here, I’m afraid.’ She waved back at him and made a ‘C’ for coffee shape with her hand. He shook his head and tapped his watch, a pretend stern look on his face.
Val nodded at Rachel’s hand, where a pretty old sapphire ring glinted in the light. ‘Is there an announcement in the offing?’
‘That’s Dot’s,’ said Rachel. ‘Before you get any ideas. George and I like to do things backwards. If we get married, it’ll be after this one does.’ She patted her stomach happily. ‘There’s no rush.’
‘Well, I’m glad he’s making time for you.’
‘Mum,’ said Rachel seriously. ‘He’s doing a lot more than that.’
‘All your father and I want is to know that you’re happy.’ Val lifted an eyebrow as she began gathering her bags together. ‘And that’s something you’re going to understand soon enough.’
Their eyes met, and Rachel felt the years of mutual suspicion begin to crumble away. For the first time, she saw something of herself in Val – she wasn’t just her father’s daughter, or Dot’s strong-featured niece, she was stubborn like Val too.
Maybe she’d be the same mother hen type, thought Rachel. Maybe motherhood would bring out the cleaning gene. She’d found herself echoing Val’s caustic thoughts on expensive travel systems for babies. It could be all downhill from there.
God help us, she thought, as the waitress cleared away their plates. If someone had told her last year that she’d be bonding with her mother over the most economical pram, prior to being swept off home by a country vet, she’d have had their blood tested for narcotics.
‘Thank you,’ Val was mouthing through the glass at George. ‘Come on, Rachel. There’s a parking warden on the other side of the street and you know they’ve got cameras these days. Do you need a hand?’
‘No. I don’t. I’m still trying to pretend this is a big lunch, not a baby, Mum.’
Rachel’s bump was definitely hiding a whopping countryside baby. With another four months to go, she still wondered if it might be twins. Amelia had sent her two whole suitcases of maternity outfits, but so far Rachel was clinging to her one good pair of jeans and George’s t-shirts. It was her high-heeled boots that she really missed but George had given her a pair of Hunter wellies (‘like Kate Moss has, I understand from the man in Countrywide’) as a present, and she rarely took them off.
Gem sprang up from under the table where he’d been waiting patiently, and wagged his tail, ready for the off, wherever that was going to be.
‘Aren’t you coming with us?’ Val’s face adopted a familiar concerned expression. ‘Oh, you’re
not
going to walk back up that hill, are you?’
Rachel glanced down at Gem, and felt a tug of wordless communication, the same tug she felt every morning when she woke to see him lying by her bed, and each night, when he lay down with a contented sigh.
‘He needs to stretch his legs,’ she said. ‘And so do I. I’ll see you up there.’
‘I’ll tell George to put the kettle on.’ Val gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and Rachel didn’t brush her away. Instead she kissed her back, then clipped the lead onto Gem’s collar.
‘Come on, you,’ she said, waving at Natalie and Bertie as she left the café.
With the café bell jangling behind her, Rachel and Gem strolled slowly down the high street towards the park, where the path curved around the lawns and then led up the path towards the hill. Rachel nodded at the other dog walkers as they passed, and Gem sniffed them politely in greeting. Familiar faces, familiar dogs. The routine of it made her feel as rooted and as joyful as the late summer roses still blooming in the ornamental beds.
Then, once they were safely onto the quiet footpath, Rachel unclipped Gem’s lead, and let him herd her gently and silently home.
An Interview with Lucy Dillon
What inspired you to write LOST DOGS AND LONELY HEARTS?
Getting a dog of my own! I never realised, until I started walking Violet, our Basset hound, that there’s a Secret World of Dog Walkers: you meet so many different kinds of people on the same paths, at the same times, day in, day out. It’s like being in a club. I don’t know anyone’s names, but the dogs usually introduce themselves. Violet’s very fond of spaniels, but sometimes the bigger dogs look at her, as if to say, where have your legs gone?
As a writer, always looking for new ideas and characters, I found it fascinating to watch how owners interact with their dogs. My imagination rambles all over the place – why Scottish terriers? Why ‘his and hers’ dogs? Why so many? When I finished The Ballroom Class, Longhampton’s municipal parks and canal paths were still very vivid in my mind, so it was very easy to create another community of different people who are brought together by a shared interest, and have their ideas of love and loyalty challenged by family members who can’t actually talk back. Just as people can express emotions they can’t articulate through dancing, sometimes we use our pets as a way of communicating our real feelings. You only have to see British stiff upper lips wobbling at Battersea Dogs’ Home appeals to know we’re a nation of softies.
Tell us about Violet! How did you come to adopt her?
Violet adopted us, more like! My husband and I wanted to get a dog, and went to meet some Basset hound puppies as part of our endless research mission. We were cooing over the pups when Violet strolled in, took one look at me, and arranged herself on my lap, all five stones of her. That was it – I was utterly smitten by her huge brown eyes and lovely ginger eyebrows. Violet’s story melted my heart too: her breeders wanted to find a new home for her, because her first owner had became ill and had to give her up. She and I were a similar age in dog years, and I was, apparently, the first person she’d snuggled up to since she came back – we had an immediate bond, and from then on, I knew we had to be together!
Is she the inspiration for Bertie? And is she as naughty as him?