‘I’m going to give him an anaesthetic now so that I can fix this leg, Alan,’ Guy said.
The dog looked trustingly into his eyes. ‘We need you to give this your best shot, Hamish,’ Guy said. ‘And we’ll do the same.’
He gave the dog an injection into his front leg and within seconds Hamish was fast asleep. ‘I need you to hold Hamish tight while I put in this breathing tube. Here, like this.’ He showed Alan what to do and was surprised to see tears rolling down the man’s face. ‘He’ll be fine,’ Guy said. ‘He’ll be just fine.’
Alan wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his scrubs. ‘Aye, Vit.’
There was sweat on his own brow. Alan stroked the dog’s head lovingly.
‘Ready?’
‘Aye,’ the man said. ‘Get on wi’ it, Vit.’
‘Right.’ Guy took an unsteady breath. Never in his life had he wanted a dog to pull through as much as this one. He picked up his scalpel. ‘Here goes.’
Chapter Eighty-Three
A
lan and Guy sat in the recovery room watching Hamish sleeping off the effects of his anaesthetic in one of the big cages while they systematically worked their way through a box of Heroes.
‘We’ll spoil our dinner,’ Guy said.
‘Aye,’ Alan agreed and ate another chocolate.
Their surgical scrubs had been dispensed with and all Guy was waiting for now was to see Hamish wake up. This dog was indestructible, he was sure. He’d come through the operation brilliantly. The vet smiled to himself. He liked it when operations had a happy ending. Guy felt a strong bond to this crazed handful of animal and he got up and ruffled Hamish’s floppy ears affectionately. The dog stirred in his drug-induced sleep and twitched his front paws.
Already, he’d phoned Amy to let her know that Hamish was fine. He could picture her now sitting anxiously in front of the Aga at Helmshill Grange with the children by her side waiting for him to come back. It was a nice, comforting image.
‘Did you like being married?’ he said to Alan as he still fussed with Hamish’s ears.
‘Aye,’ the man replied.
‘You’d recommend it?’
‘Reckon so.’
Guy turned to look at his very efficient and capable nurse, but Alan was intently studying the contents of the box of Heroes.
‘Do you miss Mrs Steadman?’
‘Aye,’ Alan said. ‘Every single day.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t really know her.’
‘She was grand.’ Alan looked up and met Guy’s eye. ‘Give it a go, Vit. Reckon you’d be good at it.’
For Alan, that was the equivalent of delivering the Jonathan Dimbleby lecture.
‘I’d like to,’ Guy admitted. ‘I’d like to very much.’ He let out a heartfelt sigh. ‘But what if Mrs Steadman had been in love with someone else, someone who wasn’t actually around but was there in pretty much every way? Would you have waited for her, or would you have given up hope and found someone else?’
Alan’s gaunt cheeks coloured up and he studied his shoes. ‘Don’t know, Vit.’
Clearly that was an emotional conversation too far for the man. Then Alan pointed at Hamish, glad of the distraction. ‘Dog’s up.’
Sure enough, Hamish was rousing from his sleep and looked quite bright, considering his ordeal. He gave them an enthusiastic woof and his tail thumped against the bars of his cage.
‘There’s a good lad,’ Guy said, as he went to pet the dog. ‘None the worse for your ordeal, eh?’
Alan came over to fuss Hamish too. Guy could see that the man was crying and he felt tears on his own face.
‘What a couple of silly old farts we are,’ Guy sniffed.
‘Aye, Vit.’
He put his arm round the elderly man and clapped him on the back. Relief washed over Guy and, more than anything, he wanted to be with Amy. He wanted to be with her right now. Technically, he should stay here for a few more hours and monitor Hamish, just to be on the safe side. But, damn it, it was Christmas. How could he spend the night here? How could Hamish?
‘Fancy risking putting our backs out again?’
Alan waited to find out how.
‘I think we’ll take this fellow home,’ Guy said. ‘No one should be in hospital at Christmas. Not even a dog.’
Alan smiled. A rare event.
‘One other thing.’ He held up a hand to Alan and then rushed out to where Fluffy was still shuffling about in his cage. The little hedgehog stood up on his newly mended back legs and scrabbled at the glass when Guy appeared and let out a grunt in greeting. He could swear that Fluffy was getting more like a dog with every passing day. Guy was sure that Amy wouldn’t mind feeding one more mouth at Christmas. ‘Want to come on an outing, Fluff?’
He picked up the cage and took it back through to where Hamish and Alan were waiting. ‘Let’s go and get our Christmas dinner,’ he said.
Chapter Eighty-Four
‘
W
e just have to wait now and see,’ Guy says. ‘But he looks like he’s going to be fine.’
Alan and Guy have hefted Hamish into the kitchen in a big wire cage. He’s lying inside it looking quite perky despite the horrible metal contraption that’s attached to his broken leg, and his tail is beating time against the bars of his temporary prison. He looks just like Hamish should - ready to be out of there and ripping up the house as soon as he can.
‘Thank goodness.’ I feel like sagging to the floor with relief. The children go crazy, huddling round Hamish and cheering, my earlier attempts to keep them tucked up and resting in bed having failed. To be honest, I’m just grateful that they seem to be none the worse for their ordeal.
It’s late afternoon now and we’ve all been sitting in the kitchen, huddled by the Aga waiting for news. And, at long last, we’ve been joined by Alan, Guy and the star of the moment, Hamish. I hope I’m not speaking too soon, but now our Christmas celebrations can finally start. Which is usually the cue for the roof to cave in or a meteor to hit the yard. I pause for a moment, tensed, but I’m relieved to find that nothing happens. You don’t know how good that feels.
‘Alan made a lovely nurse,’ Guy teases.
Saint Steadman flushes and studies his boots.
Even though Alan isn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, he looks drained by the events of the day and his craggy face is paler than it normally is. Despite that, he still insisted that he was the one who went outside into the cold to sort the animals out for me, securing the chickens for the night and tending to the sheep including the expectant mother, the goats and Pork Chop.
I allow myself a little tear and Guy gives me a hug.‘Thank you.’
‘Glad I could help,’ he says. Guy looks exhausted too and I think it’s about time that I got those omelettes on the go before we all nod off.
‘I have a confession.’ Guy glances sheepishly at Alan. ‘There’s another little visitor here if you’ll have him.’
Alarm bells ring, but I know that I can deny him nothing. He has saved my children and has saved my dog. Even if he’s brought a bloody great boa constrictor to visit then I’ll smile and welcome it.
He goes out to his car again and comes back with a cage with a hedgehog in it. ‘This is Fluffy,’ he tells us. Of course, the children go into raptures.
The hedgehog’s extraordinarily cute, but I still eye it warily. ‘Aren’t they riddled with fleas?’
‘This one is flea-free and very nearly house-trained.’ Guy turns on the charm. ‘He’d make someone a lovely pet.’
‘Oh, Mummy,’ Jessica trills. ‘Can we keep him?’
‘You wouldn’t have to do anything,’ Tom adds, seeing that this is a contributing factor to the residence of all of our charges.
‘For the time being,’ I say evasively. Guy might be the saviour of all mankind, but I will kill him for this. How can we take on a hedgehog now?
So my daughter lets Fluffy out of his cage and he trundles like a mini-tank across the kitchen floor. Milly Molly Mandy narrows her eyes and spits at him.
‘Alan, sit down near the fire,’ I instruct. ‘I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve done for us.’
I kiss him on the cheek and hug him warmly and, this time, he succumbs to my embrace. ‘Can I get you a drink? I reckon you’ve earned one,’ I say.
‘Aye, lass,’ he says, and I pour him out a glass of Selbies’ Strong Ale, a local beer and his favourite tipple according to Guy. He takes off his cap and stretches out in the armchair, luxuriating in the warmth. Milly Molly Mandy eyes his lap covetously and, sure enough, pounces before padding round to find the most comfortable spot and curling up with a contented purr.
I splash out some champagne for the rest of us, even giving Tom and Jessica an inch of fizz in the bottom of two flutes. ‘To Hamish,’ I say. ‘May he get better soon.’
‘To Hamish,’ we all toast and raise our glasses. The object of our good wishes howls his approval.
I throw back my champagne, thinking that I’ve earned it too. ‘I’ll get the dinner on,’ I say. ‘I bet everyone is starving.’ There are assenting murmurs all round.
The chickens have been busy and, thankfully, there are enough eggs for big, duvet-sized omelettes for all of us. I’ve also got a big block of local cheese, so we can have some of that grated in them too.
In an effort to take my mind off the trauma of the day, I spent part of the afternoon setting the Christmas-table in the dining room in lavish style with my fine bone china and crystal glasses that I unpacked for the first time, even though I know I’m going to have to pack them all again straight away for our move.There’s a strategically placed fan heater in there too, to try to chase away the last of the chill. Already there’s a big roasting pan of potatoes browning nicely in the Aga and a pile of vegetables steaming on the top of the stove. I go over to the working end of the kitchen, get my mixing bowl and start breaking the freshly laid eggs into it in batches of three. A moment later, Guy comes up behind me. ‘Can I help?’ he asks.
‘You’ve done more than enough,’ I tell him thankfully. ‘It’s your turn to relax now and let me look after you.’
‘And what about you, Amy?’ He rests his hand lightly on my shoulder and I can feel the warmth of it searing through my sweater. ‘Who will look after
you
?’
‘I’m fine,’ I assure him. But my voice is more wobbly than I would have liked. I turn to face him and we’re inches apart. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face.
‘I wouldn’t have been able to bear it if anything had happened to the children or to you.’
‘Thanks to you, we’re all fine.’
I’m thinking that if we were alone, if we weren’t in a room full of people, that he might just take me in his arms and kiss me.
Instead he looks at me sadly and says, ‘I’m going to miss you when you go away, Amy Ashurst. I’m going to miss you more than you’ll know.’
And I have a horrible feeling that I’ll feel exactly the same.
Chapter Eighty-Five
‘
W
hy did the turkey cross the road?’ Tom reads out his cracker joke. ‘Because it was the chicken’s day off.’
After too much booze we all find this hilarious and laugh uproariously.
‘I don’t get that,’ Jessica complains.
‘It doesn’t matter, sweetheart.’ I kiss her hair. ‘It’s not really that funny.’
‘Then why are you all laughing so much?’
‘Because we’re all glad that you’re safe and well.’
‘I don’t get grown-ups either.’ She slumps forward at the table, head in her hands, perplexed by the mysteries of the world. To be honest, even if I understood them myself, I’ve had way too many glasses of champagne to be able to explain them to her.
Outside, the snow is falling again, but inside we’re all warm and snug and happy. Only thoughts of my dear husband are marring the enjoyment of the day. How different this Christmas has been to the one before where Will was, as far as we were aware, fit and healthy; there was no heart problem looming large, no mention of a better life in the country. I push my mind away from dwelling on this, but raise my glass and silently make a toast to Will, telling my husband how much I miss him and that I’ve never stopped loving him.
Across the table, Guy catches my eye and he gives me a melancholy smile, raising his glass too as if he’s reading my mind. This has certainly been a Christmas Day to remember.
The omelettes were a resounding success and, frankly, I’m not even sure that I’ll bother with a turkey in years to come.Though, judging by the way Milly Molly Mandy has stuffed her face all day, the turkey is pretty good too. I wonder whether Fluffy might like some and then I realise I’m behaving like a big, old animal softie once again and wonder what happened to the hard-bitten, pet-hating, cynical me. Where on earth did she go?
I turn to my children who seem to think I’ve forgotten it’s past their bedtime. ‘It’s about time that you two went off to bed.’
‘It’s early yet, Mummy,’ Jessica whines.‘And it’s Christmas Day.’ Then she stifles a yawn.
‘And you spent half the night out on the moors rather than in your beds. You should be tucked up again by now.’
‘But I want to stay with Guy and Uncle Alan.’ She curls into my side in supplicant pose.
‘We’re going now too,’ Guy says diplomatically. He’s persuaded Alan to spend the night at his home, so that the man could enjoy a few glasses of Selbies Strong Ale and not have to drive home. Alan is looking pleasantly contented. ‘We’ll probably see you tomorrow.’
‘But what about when we move to London?’ Jessica says. ‘Then we’ll never see you again.’
‘We’ll come to London,’ Guy assures her. ‘Won’t we, Alan?’
Alan doesn’t look too sure about this turn of events.
‘All of our friends said that when we moved here,’ my astute child points out. ‘But they never did.’
‘Enough chatter,’ I tell her, not liking the way this conversation is progressing. ‘Bedtime. Kiss Guy and Uncle Alan.’