Myra hurried to get the evening meal in the oven. Dressed in some of the clothes she’d bought just before Oliver went missing, she felt like she was starting her new life, her new beginning. The red sweater she wore was brighter than anything she’d owned in years, and the straight navy skirt was stretchy and fitted, unlike the others she owned that could quite easily have hung in her mother’s wardrobe rather than her own. Over the top she’d put on one of her old aprons so as not to drip anything on her new outfit. This was her first plunge into being a modern mother. Well, not exactly, she still had a long way to go. But to the world, to the people she saw in town, in the shops or the cafe where they ate, she now looked like a mother of two young sons, not a dowdy faded old misery-guts, beaten by life as she had been. She caught a glimpse of herself as she passed the hall mirror and paused to take stock.
It was a good start, but instantly she knew that the hairdressers was the next move. First thing tomorrow morning after she’d taken Piers to school, she wouldn’t come straight home and tackle the ironing, she’d get her hair done. Myra turned sideways to examine her shoes. Ten years in flats and now she had her first pair heels in a decade. Small enough to walk in easily, the heels did a lot towards making her legs look almost elegant. Tomorrow she’d go back to the same shoe shop, she thought and buy another pair – with heels perhaps a little higher than these navy ones. Black patent perhaps. Then she’d go back to the department store and choose another outfit for every day. And perhaps even something to wear in case they went out in the evening. But before all that she couldn’t wait for Graham to get home. Tonight it would be a small surprise, but tomorrow night a big one.
Piers hadn’t see her new skirt and sweater until she took off her coat when they got home. He was delighted. ‘Oh Myra! You do look nice. You nearly match Uncle Graham now.’
Myra forgot herself and almost asked for more approval. ‘Only nearly?’
‘Yes. Because he had a fancy haircut to match his new clothes and that means you can have one, too. If you want to, of course.’
Myra knew he was right. ‘I’ll see to that tomorrow. It’ll be a new Auntie Myra tomorrow night waiting outside school. You won’t know me. I promise.’ She heard Oliver opening the front door and put her finger to her lips and winked. She hadn’t winked for years, consequently it was verging on grotesque, but Piers sensed she was trying hard and winked back without a comment.
Oliver had been equally as impressed as Piers and the two boys couldn’t wait for Graham to get home. Graham walked in just as the casserole was placed on the kitchen table. Having missed lunch he was longing for food. The sight of his wife smiling, in a bright colour she’d not worn for years, and the two boys beaming with delight at his arrival, filled him with deep pleasure. This, he thought, is what coming home really means.
‘My word! Myra, you look great!’ Graham leaned towards her and kissed her with an enthusiasm that both the boys realised was different from before. This time they could sense he meant the kiss, he wasn’t just being polite.
Myra blushed and waved the soup ladle in the air saying, ‘Beef casserole?’
Oliver managed to smother his grin and Piers remembered to keep quiet about the surprises Myra was organising for tomorrow.
But their joy did not last for very long. Something happened that night which threw the Butler world into chaos yet again.
The two boys were preparing to go to bed. Oliver wanted to watch a programme about rugby but Myra had said it was a school night and he needed to get his sleep so he agreed to get ready for bed with Piers and then go as soon as the programme finished.
Piers called out from the bathroom, ‘There’s someone crying outside! Uncle Graham, did you hear me? They’re in the garden.’
Graham went outside to see for himself. Turning on the outside light, Graham peered into the shadows. Right there beside the greenhouse was a small dog. A black and tan terrier, laid on its side and obviously in pain. Tentatively, Graham extended a hand to him thinking he might bite. He’d no experience with dogs whatsoever, never having been allowed to have one when he lived at home and Myra had always thought pets were unyhgienic – until she met Little Pete.
The dog couldn’t get to his feet, he tried but didn’t succeed. ‘Myra! Bring me a torch. Please.’ He waited but Myra didn’t come. He shouted louder. ‘A torch, Myra, please!’
Eventually Myra came. When she shone the torch on the dog she said, ‘Don’t bring him in the house. I don’t want it. If it’s a stray it’ll be riddled with fleas and worms and things. Don’t let it in. Do you hear me?’
‘But . . .’
‘I mean it. I don’t like dogs.’ She never had. All her life she never had and this one was not coming into the house. ‘No buts about it.’
‘Myra! The poor thing’s in pain.’ Graham protested.
All the changes wrought in her by the two boys had disappeared in a flash and the old Myra returned. Full strength. ‘Leave it out here till tomorrow, perhaps then it will be dead – which would be a mercy, then you can bury it.’
She hadn’t noticed the children had followed her out and Piers wept painful searing howls of despair at her words.
Oliver, close to tears himself, felt the agony of the little dog’s pain. In a strangulated voice he whispered, ‘He’s only a baby. A little baby. Please, Myra. We can’t leave him to die, not on our own doorstep. He’s a puppy. He needs his mum.’ Inside himself he knew how that felt. Oliver Butler needed his mum even if he’d no memories of her. ‘Please Myra. Please, let’s take him in.’
Graham, once again became the man of the moment. ‘The vets have an all-night clinic in case of emergencies, I know someone at work had to get them up in the night because their dog was terribly ill. They’re just off the High Street. They’ve got the works, operating theatres and everything apparently. I’ll ring them up and take him. Or her. I can’t tell in the dark. Myra, can you bring an old blanket and that cardboard box the new microwave came in. Right now. Please.’
Myra didn’t move an inch. The three men in her life waited for her to move. But she didn’t. Oliver said, ‘I know where the box is.’
Graham said softly to Myra. ‘Right now, Myra, please. Please.’
‘I’m not coming near it.’
‘I know you’re not, I’ll pick him up if you can just get a blanket. Oliver, you and Piers stay close to him, talk softly to comfort him, keep him still. I’ll phone the vets and let them know we’re coming.’
Myra scorned his suggestion. ‘It’s a waste of time. They won’t be open for animals all night, Graham, they’re not human beings are they now?’
‘I’m telling you they do. We can’t leave him crying all night with the pain he’s in.’
The puppy made absolutely sure they knew he was in pain because he howled as he struggled to get more comfortable. Piers shed even more tears if that was possible, murmuring, ‘Please, Myra, I’ll go and get the blanket. Where do you keep them?’
Though it choked her to say it, she admitted there was one in the top of the blanket box on the landing. ‘The purple one, that’s the tattiest.’
Piers had raced off inside the house almost before she’d finished speaking. Oliver found the cardboared box in the garage and rushed back as Piers came down with the purple blanket.
‘Now,’ said Graham using his you-can-rely-on-me voice, ‘they perhaps won’t be able to operate or whatever they want to do for him at this time of night, but one thing’s for certain, they will give him pain relief and make him comfortable. So you boys must go to bed right now and get some sleep. Myra will stay here, won’t you, and I’ll let you both know everything that happens in the morning.’
Reluctantly Myra nodded her agreement and winced just as much as the boys did when the puppy howled as Graham gently lifted him into the box.
She made more hot chocolate for the boys and persuaded them they must sleep because the puppy was in the very best place he could be right now. ‘Where better than a vets for a sick dog?’ she asked.
She went to bed angry and disappointed with herself. She’d thought that anger, that fear, had left her. But it turned out it was still there, waiting. How could she be such a crazy mixed-up person all wrapped into one? This new Myra with the two boys and Pete the rabbit and the new clothes was what people saw, but there right under the surface was the old Myra lying in wait. How could that be? She thought about all the ways in which she’d changed – and not just the big things, like how she felt about the boys and Graham, but the little things like hugging Viv or letting a rabbit play in the house. So why had this puppy somehow changed her back to the old Myra in an instant. Before she knew it, there was that fearful, isolated, withdrawn Myra in all her terrible self-righteous glory.
Unnerved by her outburst she’d gone to bed in Graham’s bed. Quite why she didn’t know. She wanted to talk to him when he got back, but it was more than that. It was comforting. For herself, she didn’t really want to know what had become of the puppy. But she was concerned for the boys’ sake. They’d be upset when the vets found out who it belonged to and with any luck, they’d return it directly and that would be it.
She’d just check to see if the boys had got to sleep yet. Myra crept into their bedroom. Piers was asleep, his face tear-stained but at least he slept. She bent over him and placed a very gentle kiss on his forehead, pulled the duvet closely round his neck and tucked one of his bare feet back under the bottom edge of the duvet too. Then she stood smiling at him. Remembering the happy time they’d spent together when he’d come home from school earlier in the day.
‘I need tucking in too.’
Myra jumped with fright. Oh, it was Oliver. She hurriedly pulled herself together. ‘I was just coming to do that very thing.’ And she did. His duvet needed straightening, and in the half light she thought she’d give him a kiss too. On his forehead like with Piers, or was he too old for kisses? Then she recalled the night the police brought him home when he’d run away and how she’d hugged him, so she impulsively kissed his forehead.
‘Goodnight, Oliver.’
‘That little dog was desolate wasn’t it? It needs a good home like Piers and I have doesn’t it? Goodnight, Myra.’ In the half light Myra couldn’t see the slight smile on Oliver’s face as he settled down to sleep.
An hour later she heard Graham turning his key in the front door. At last! In the time she’d spent thinking after kissing the two boys she’d decided that first of all they’d do their level best to find to whom the puppy belonged, because surely to goodness the owners would be distraught. If he was truly homeless then she’d make sure the vet would find a deserving home for the poor thing. That was the kindest thing to do, because Myra Butler definitely did not want a dog. It was obvious Piers and Oliver were both taken with the little beggar. They didn’t need to say a word. She just knew they wanted to keep him. She thought she was getting better at this motherhood business but to add in a dog, and a young one at that, would set her back to square one.
Graham got into bed, exhausted. He’d been right they did have an all-night service and they’d treated that little scrap with such care, he was mightily impressed. If it had been his own grandmother being examined she couldn’t have had better treatment. Under the bright lights at the vet’s, it was obvious even to Graham that one of the puppy’s back legs was strangely twisted into quite the wrong shape. They had decided to give an injection to relieve the pain but to leave X-rays until the morning to give the dog a chance to rest and recuperate.
Graham was taken aback by the close questioning he received as to how the puppy had ended up with such a damaged leg. Keen to make it clear he had nothing to do with the injury he gave a detailed account of finding the dog.
‘The first we knew about it was hearing it yelping and we found him in our back garden in this dreadful state. Our two boys were terribly concerned for him. I decided that because of his obvious pain I’d ring you. I’ll call again in the morning about ten and ask what you’ve decided to do about him. Will that be OK?’
‘We might need to ring you before then. Please leave us your mobile number. And your address and of course, your name.’
Finally he’d been allowed to leave. No doubt they wanted the name and address so they could bill him. They’d checked whether the puppy had a microchip and found he hadn’t so the vets wanted to know who would be paying before they’d proceed. Thinking of of the boys waiting anxiously for news, Graham said he was more than willing to pay. Before he’d left Graham had gently stroked the puppy’s head, but got no response as he was already under the influence of the injection they’d given him.
Lying in bed trying to get some sleep he remembered how much he and his brother John had wanted a dog when they were boys, and how their longing had been scoffed at by their parents. ‘Absolutely not. We are not having a dog. Blessed smelly nuisances they are, and the expense . . .’ That had been the end of their hopes.
Myra, the old Myra, certainly wouldn’t have wanted a dog, but maybe the new Myra might be persuaded. He recalled how vulnerable the little dog had looked knocked out by the injection, how badly shaped its back leg was, it needed such a lot of care. His bedroom door quietly opened and there in the soft glow of the night light on the landing he saw it was Myra. He pretended to be asleep – he wasn’t ready for a tirade about why they couldn’t have a dog.
She brought a coldness to his bed that he had only just warmed but he didn’t complain, aware that this newly revived habit of sharing a room was still delicate and strange to them both. ‘Are you awake?’ she asked.
Graham didn’t reply.
‘I thought you might be thinking about the dog.’ Getting no reply from Graham, she carried on nevertheless as she desperately needed to hear how he stood on the question. ‘I don’t want him, you know. I really don’t. The rabbit, yes I can cope with him because he’s locked up most of the day but you can’t do that to a dog. He’ll need exercise and playing with like dogs do and I know I can’t do that. Think of the mess, the mud, the hair. I honestly couldn’t cope.’ Graham still didn’t respond; she shuffled nearer to him. Foremost in her mind was a picture that wouldn’t go away: Graham tenderly lifting the little dog onto the blanket and wrapping him carefully to make sure he kept warm. ‘Do you want him?’
Despite herself, Myra found herself beginning to relax into sleep. The heat of Graham’s body was warming her up and it felt comforting and pleasant on this cold winter night. Almost asleep now and genuinely wanting to be close to him, Myra fell asleep with one arm around his waist.
Graham, silently enjoying the pressure of Myra’s arm around his waist, lay there consumed by the sensation of togetherness. He’d longed for this closeness all the long, futile years of Myra’s pain. He thought about the changes the boys had triggered in both of them. Perhaps having the little dog to care about might be the last piece in the puzzle. He didn’t want to push Myra too far, but maybe she just needed some time to get used to the idea. And he knew how much it would mean to the boys. Oliver and Piers had got used to everyone tiptoeing around them, treating them as if they were damaged – it would do them the power of good to be the ones giving the care and helping the puppy heal. They all in their different ways needed big hugs and to give big hugs to others at this moment in time. Was a father hugging you the same as a mother hugging you? You could briefly turn into a small child when your mother hugged you, but if Dad hugged then you had to measure up to the man and be older and braver than you really were. Or maybe he’d got that wrong – he knew he was from a different generation – his parents had always been old-fashioned in their views, and he had never had the need to see what all of this ‘modern dad’ stuff meant that some of his work colleagues talked about. He was pretty sure Myra was as oblivious as he was to the mores of modern parenting. He fell asleep wondering what the two of them would say to each other when they woke in the morning. Would she be stuck being old Myra again, or would her anger have vanished with the night?
Being Saturday morning there was no need to scurry about getting organised for the office or for school for which Graham was grateful, but Myra was up and on the go long before he woke. Immediately he’d eaten breakfast he intended ringing the vet, to ask if the little chap had lasted the night. Little chap. He didn’t even have a name and everyone deserved their own name. What were some of the names he and John had intended calling the puppy they longed for so desperately? Roscoe, after that lovely man who lived two doors down and was so kind to them? Beano, after the comic he and John enjoyed so much. Then he remembered the name John chose for the imaginary puppy the two used to pretend to own. Tyke. A good Yorkshire name. But he was getting ahead of himself – an owner might already have come forward.
He glanced at Myra as he took his place at the breakfast table, better get this over with before the boys woke up, he thought. ‘We’re paying for the medical attention that dog is getting for his leg, that’s if they can do something for it. I thought you ought to know.’
Myra didn’t even look at him when she answered. ‘It won’t be cheap. I wonder who owns him. They’ll be worried to death, him being so young. Still, the vet might know who he belongs to, and if he doesn’t he might know someone who would take him on.’
So that’s the way the land lies thought Graham while chewing on his Shredded Wheat, realising it tasted even more like old straw than it normally did. ‘If he belongs to no one at all then we really should adopt him.’
Myra slapped her spoon down in her cereal bowl and splashed milk all over the tablecloth. ‘There now look what you’ve made me do. I do not want a dog. How many times have I to say it before it sinks in!’
‘I heard the first time. You didn’t want a rabbit. Remember? You wanted me to leave Little Pete behind and leave the door open so he would hop away. Now you’re bringing him into the house all by yourself.’
Myra had to bite her tongue as Piers had just walked in the kitchen, his head full of names for the dog. ‘I’ve been thinking. How about Ben for a name? Or Mack? Or better still we could call him Duke or something else very dignified, like Prince, couldn’t we Myra? Prince Butler. That sounds good.’
She swallowed hard. ‘Don’t think about him too much, Piers, he may belong to someone and they’ve probably spent all night worrying about him. We’d have to hand him back to them wouldn’t we?’
Piers fell apart but tried to be hopeful. ‘Maybe. But . . .’
Graham caught his eye and gave him a small shake of his head, it spoke volumes to Piers and he decided to leave the whole matter to the grown-ups. He felt he could rely on Uncle Graham.
‘Just saying, if he doesn’t have an owner, Oliver and I would love a puppy and I’ve found just the right place for his bed, where he’ll feel safe and and not afraid the whole night long. You see, I think he’s been hurt on purpose by somebody. That funny twisted leg you know?’
Myra didn’t even inquire how he’d come to that conclusion. She wasn’t having him and Oliver trying to persuade her otherwise. She glanced at Graham and he looked back at her, an innocent look on his face, as though all he cared about was his breakfast cereal.
She buttered Piers’ toast for him as otherwise, as the plaster came halfway down his hand they would have the problem of getting it free of butter. He looked at her and those gentian blue eyes so like Mo’s stole her heart. But, no, this time she wasn’t giving in, not like with Little Pete, and she vigorously pushed away that soft bit of her heart that Piers could always reach.
‘What are we all doing today?’ asked Myra brightly.
Graham said ‘Well, what I shall be doing is going to the vets to find out what plans they have for Tyke.’
Piers face lit up. ‘Tyke? You’ve given him a name? Oh Myra, I like that don’t you?’ He paused. ‘What does it mean, Graham?’
‘Well, it doesn’t mean he’s ours because we don’t know that yet but Tyke means a naughty, mischievous person that you can’t help but smile at him, and I think that when he’s fit and well he is mischievous.’
Myra steamed into action yet again. ‘Did you not hear? I said no and no means no, it does not mean perhaps.’
She saw the light go out in Piers’ eyes and they began to fill with tears.
‘I know perhaps he truly belongs to someone, but if he doesn’t what are we going to do?’
She comfortingly patted Piers’ nearest hand saying, ‘Don’t worry, someone is bound to want him . . .’
At the thought of another family taking the puppy in, Piers leapt from his chair and shot out of the kitchen. They heard him clattering clumsily up the stairs and the bedroom door slammed shut.
Graham and Myra continued eating their breakfast in silence.
‘There’s no need to look like that,’ Myra eventually said, all doleful. ‘I told you I didn’t want a dog but you didn’t listen. Who is it who would be looking after the dog all day every day? Who will have to buy its food, wash the kitchen floor every day because of it running in and out of the garden? Walk it? Tell me. If you can’t I can.’ Her voice rose to a crescendo. ‘Me!’ She stood up, her chair fell over backwards with an enormous crash and she stormed out.
Graham drank the last of his tea, placed his cup quietly down in its saucer and put his head in his hands. It wasn’t until Myra said that final word that he knew what he hadn’t faced all night: he wanted that puppy with the same intensity as Piers and Oliver. Why? He knew not, but he did. For some reason he knew the puppy would bring all four of them together in a way that was not happening right now. Beginning to happen but not yet quite. It would give the boys a break from being the focus of everything. He could visualise him and the children striding over the hills, the wind blowing them along, Tyke rushing about loving the scents he picked up. He could buy a ball and throw it for Tyke to chase . . . He stopped himself. There was no point imagining all of this without checking to see how Tyke actually was, if an owner had been found. He’d go to the vets right now to hear the latest on Tyke, how badly he’d been hurt, would the operation to straighten his hind leg work? He had a thousand questions and he didn’t care what it cost to put Tyke in order.
‘Oliver! Oliver! Come and get your breakfast. Now! That’s an order. We need to get to the vets to see Tyke! Hurry up.’
The urgency in Graham’s voice drew Oliver out of his bed in a moment, but for Myra, lying on her bed, hands clenched, seething internally, his words sounded like a death knell. All the effort she’d put in to making things right for those two boys – and for Graham for that matter – was unravelling before her eyes. She’d just begun to discover she might be able to care for these boys in the way she deserved, it was as though the right words had been there all the time but she’d never realised and now that blasted dog was ruining everything. Graham didn’t even trouble to knock on her bedroom door, he simply walked in and stood there looking at her. Sometimes on Saturdays she didn’t get dressed until after breakfast, she was glad she was fully dressed this morning because she felt like she needed the armour. He was looking at her so, well, so intently. Not speaking. Just looking. For a split second she wondered if he had something else on his mind – the way his eyes bored into her reminded her of those early days – and nights. But he wouldn’t be thinking anything like that, would he? Not with the boys around. She tried to dismiss her flight of fancy as he finally started to speak.
‘You were asking what we were all doing with it being Saturday? After Oliver’s had his breakfast, the boys and I are going to see the puppy. You are welcome to join us. I shall pay whatever has to be paid to get him well. I promised I would.’
The intensity of his gaze still alarmed Myra. She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that, all kind of hot under the collar and determined. Even if now definitely wasn’t the moment, she realised something had definitely reawoken in her. How could she let him know without actually saying it that she really wouldn’t mind if he wanted her. After all these years? Did you have to ask?
Somehow, the heat of her hidden desire eclipsed all her anger about the puppy. Was she really going to destroy her second chance at love, at being a family by fighting about a dog? She shrugged her shoulders as though she’d no alternative but to give in.
As had happened several times these last few weeks since the boys came she said words she had never intended and didn’t even know were in her head. ‘I’ll come with you,’ Myra blurted out. ‘We’ll go together, it’s a family thing is buying . . . a dog.’ There! It had happened again, as though inside herself there was another nicer person driving her on to do the right thing.
As she passed him on her way to her en suite to clean her teeth she almost kissed him on the mouth but decided against it at the last moment. Not yet she thought. Not yet. But yes. Soon.
She was mightily impressed by the wonderfully clean antiseptic aroma in the vet’s reception area. It gave her hope that there might actually be dogs and cats that didn’t smell. Graham explained why they’d come.
‘Oh! Yes. Mr . . .?’
‘Butler.’
‘That’s right. Yes. We are going to operate on him this morning, he’s being prepared right now. His right hind leg, isn’t it?’
‘To tell the truth I don’t know if it’s his right or his left.’ Graham felt foolish. ‘You can do something for him then? He’ll be OK?’
‘It’s very complicated but yes, fingers crossed, Mr Bush is confident. I think the best is for you all to go home, or shopping or whatever and ring back in about three hours. He should be coming round by then. You boys don’t worry, Mr Bush is an excellent surgeon, he’ll put him right.’
Myra was standing behind the two boys keeping a low profile, she might have given in to the idea of visiting Tyke, but she still felt anxious at the prospect of owning him. Perhaps there was still a chance his real owner would be found. She clung on to this thought as she heard her voice asking when he’d be fit to go home.
‘We’ll keep him here for a day or two, I don’t know how many as yet, we’ll see how he recovers, then he’ll be back home with you on a strict exercise regime.’ She leaned over the counter and patted Myra’s arm. ‘Don’t worry we’ll take good care of him. That’s our speciality.’
She could only give the receptionist the briefest of smiles. ‘You’ve still no idea who he belongs to then?’ She heard herself ask.
‘You mean he’s not yours?’
Graham answered for her. ‘No, we found him hurt and crying with pain in our garden. He’s not ours, but we are concerned about him. And I’ve promised to pay for his operation if you don’t find his owner. And yes, we would very much like to give him a home if he doesn’t appear to have one.’
She checked her notes about him. ‘Ah! Right, yes. I didn’t know. Its very kind of you. I see from the file that the puppy is down to be included in our regular piece we have in the local paper – his owner might see that, if they want him back, that is. But like I said, ring in about three hours and we’ll see how he is. But he definitely will not be going home today. She hesitated and then added, ‘Wherever that is.’
The Butler family went home. Oliver and Piers talked all the way back about how much they hoped no one would come to claim him.
Graham chanced his arm finding the courage to say, ‘I cannot say he’s ours because we don’t know for certain but if he can be ours would you like that idea?’
He was in truth only asking the boys, but Myra assumed she was included and didn’t want to waste an opportunity to voice her concern. ‘I’m still not sure. Not sure at all.’
‘But,’ said Piers, ‘you love Pete.’
When she glanced at him she saw the light in Piers’ eyes had dimmed.
They counted the hours. After two and three quarter hours Piers could stand it no longer.
‘Uncle Graham, can we ring now?’
‘No.’
‘One more game of bumper cars and then we can, can’t we, Graham?’ Oliver suggested.
‘Oliver, you and Piers have one more game and then we’ll go. Coming Myra?’
The two boys waited with bated breath, desperate for Myra to show willing about the dog.
Graham caught her eye and she saw the message in his eyes. But there was more than just asking about the dog in his eyes and foolishly she agreed she was going with them. She even got changed into one of her new outfits. The coat that looked as if she’d been issued with an army coat two sizes too large had been abandoned now, she was wearing a bright red warm jacket with slim trousers, new furry knee-high black boots and a big shiny handbag. There was scarcely anything in the handbag but that didn’t matter – no one else used it except herself. It would fill up in time with her bits and pieces.
The practice was very quiet. In the reception there was one over-anxious lady with a yowling cat in a basket and that was all. The four of them sat down to wait. They waited until the boys’ patience was almost at fever pitch.
‘Uncle Graham!’
‘Piers! it won’t be long now. Honestly.’
Through the door came Mr Bush. ‘Good morning, everyone. I’m pleased to say that your puppy has come through the operation very well indeed. It’s been difficult putting it right but I do believe we’ve been successful. I’ve every hope that eventually he will be walking normally. He’s not quite come round properly yet from the anaesthetic, but come in and see him.’
Myra said urgently, ‘Gently, boys, don’t alarm him.’ Just as a mother should.
Tyke was in a cage wrapped in a special blanket to keep him warm and comfortable. His face was close to the wire and Piers couldn’t resist poking a finger through and touching his nose. Tyke opened his eyes and looked to see who was there. The vet began talking to the boys about how they would need to treat him when they got him home, and Myra, following some instinct she didn’t know she possessed, put a finger through the bars and tickled him under his chin. Tyke licked her hand three times, looked up at her and then closed his eyes in sleep again.
Emotionally, Myra was in pieces. She was glad she was used to hiding her feelings as it would be impossible to explain why she was so moved by such innocent friendship from a dog? This was ridiculous. Totally ridiculous! She was obviously going mad. There was no other explanation for it. Trying to act normal she asked Mr Bush the same question she’d asked of the receptionist. Before anything else, they had to know if the vets had found an owner for him.
‘He’s never been to this practice before, Mrs Butler, and as yet no one has inquired about him. It will be another few days before he will be well enough to go home, so if you are interested . . . now’s the time to say so.’
Graham intended to speak out on this subject but Myra very softly spoke up first. ‘On the understanding there’s no real owner for him wondering where on earth he is, we’d like to have him. He’s healthy other than his twisted leg is he?’
Piers and Oliver froze with shock. Graham opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t say a word because he sensed more than any of them in that clinic that this was a critical moment for Myra.
‘He’s just what we need, the four of us,’ Myra continued. ‘How old do you think he is?’
‘Difficult to say with me not seeing him in full health, I would think nowhere near fully grown, about four months old I should estimate, judging by his teeth, that’s all. He seems to have been well cared for wherever he’s been until this last injury. Although one of my nurses has suggested that his twisted leg could be due to cruelty by persons unknown. And that is a serious possibility. I can guarantee nothing about his personality if that is the case. But loving care can do miracles.’
Piers spoke up using an indignant tone of voice. ‘We’re not cruel, are we Oliver? We’d love him. All of us.’
Mr Bush smiled. ‘With parents like yours, I’m sure you wouldn’t be. Think about it. I have another emergency operation to do right now, so I’ll leave it to you. Come again tomorrow if you wish, he’ll be more lively then.’ Mr Bush shook hands with each of them in turn and left at speed.
Myra couldn’t believe it. That other nicer Myra had done it again. Now, not only was she saddled with two boys and a rabbit, but now possibly a dog too. Tyke! She liked that name, she admitted to herself. Before Graham had turned the ignition key she said, ‘So . . . if no one claims him, Tyke is coming home to 12 Spring Gardens. Good thing we’ve got a big garden, isn’t it boys?’
Both Oliver and Piers were speechless with excitement. They dared not utter a single word at first, in case by mistake, they shattered their dreams. But Oliver remembered his manners. ‘Thank you, Myra, for deciding about Tyke. Thank you very much.’ He nudged Piers.
‘And I want to say thank you too. I’ve got all my fingers and my toes crossed because I don’t want anyone else to turn up. He’s meant to be ours, I’m sure he is. Otherwise why would he turn up in our garden? He knew we’d help him.’
Graham, so filled with delight he was unable to find the right words to say, gripped Myra’s knee for a moment. If Tyke was reunited with his owner then they’d have to buy another dog. Black and tan, as like Tyke as possible. They definitely would. He felt as though he was a young boy again, desperately longing for a puppy. A huge balloon of delight arose somewhere inside him and he wished they were collecting him right there and then. They passed a pet shop and he was in two minds whether to rush in and buy a bed and a bowl with ‘dog’ written on it. Perhaps not yet – he didn’t want to tempt fate. But what else would Tyke need? Another bowl for his water. Toys! Yes, toys to play with. An identification disc, of course. He was so intent on thinking of what they needed to buy that he drove straight past Spring Gardens and it was Myra who brought him back down to earth.
‘Graham! You’ve missed the turning!’
‘My word! I have.’ He pulled up and began to laugh. Oliver began laughing too and then Piers and then Myra. They sat there, all four of them laughing like lunatics.
Oliver complained of a stitch, Piers really didn’t know what he was doing, laughing or crying, he didn’t mind either. But what he did know was that just at this moment, they all belonged to each other. Normally wary of his Auntie Myra even at her happiest, because he knew if he got turned out one day it would be her who would do it, he glanced at her, but she was laughing too, helplessly roaring with laughter and it sounded to Piers that it was the nicest sound in all the world.
‘It must be Tyke living up to his name, being mischievous even before he’s ours!’ chuckled Myra.
It took a week before Mr Bush decided Tyke was fit to go to a home. It was surely the longest week ever. Graham wouldn’t allow anyone to buy anything Tyke might need before they actually got the word that he was theirs.
Only Piers knew about the toy he’d secretly bought when Myra ran out of bread one day but the pudding she was tending in the oven was too critical for her to leave and go herself, so she had allowed him out on his own to buy a loaf. The bakers was just round the corner from Spring Gardens, flanked by a few other shops, one of which Piers knew had a small section for pets.
It was a miniature tennis ball that he couldn’t resist. Bright yellow and bouncy. He could picture himself in the garden throwing it for Tyke and in his imagination he could see him chasing the ball and bringing it back to him time and time again. He went to sleep seeing him and woke up seeing him. He was so completely possessed by the whole idea of a puppy that he realised one day as he sat down for his evening meal that he hadn’t grieved all day for his dad. Guilt flooded over him and before he knew it, he was crying. He couldn’t explain because he felt so ashamed and so choked by his emotions.
Myra was putting out the plates, serving the food, calling for Oliver to come and wash his hands and welcoming Graham home all at the same time. Piers weeping was the very last straw. Stung by his distress Myra quite simply did not know what to do except hug him as hard as she could.
Graham often missed out on lunch if work was hectic, and therefore came home in serious need of food. She normally prided herself on having it ready as he came through the door, but she couldn’t serve Graham now she was hugging Piers. He was clinging to her and wouldn’t let go. No one could eat because she hadn’t served everything and the lamb chops would be burning to a crisp in the oven, the sliced green beans would be going cold now she’d strained them . . .
So this was what happened when you had a family? Everything went pear-shaped all at the same critical moment.
But not everyone had a man called Graham Butler who would step into the breach and save the day. In a trice he had the chops out of the oven, the potatoes served and the green beans saved from going cold by being briskly served onto the hot plates. He even remembered the mint jelly.
‘Now, Piers, stop crying, if you please. Myra wants to eat and so do I because apart from a ginger biscuit around eleven o’clock, I haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast and I’m starving.’ He picked up his knife and pointing directly at Piers’ dinner plate with it and instructed him to eat. ‘Go on, pick up your knife and fork and begin. We’ll talk after you’ve eaten. Whatever it is, you’ll feel better after a good meal. You’d better get cracking, too, Oliver,’ Graham added as Oliver dashed in.
‘Sorry. I’ve been doing homework, I’ve got so much to do, I’ll never get it all done tonight.’
‘I’ll have a look at it then when we’ve finished eating, I might be able to help. There’s a limit to what they can expect you to do.’
Myra sank onto her chair and began to eat. This confident, decisive Graham was not only refreshing but surprising too. In a trice he’d restored calm. Even Piers’ crying ceased, and Oliver was getting stuck into his food. And so was she. For years she’d only pecked at her food and here she was actually enjoying it. Really enjoying it. What had happened to her? And the pudding! She was looking forward to it so much. How long was it since they had trifle? Proper trifle: no jelly, just sponge spread with raspberry jam, sherry (just a small amount because of the boys) leaked carefully and evenly over the sponge, tinned peaches, custard, double cream beaten into thickness on top and then lastly cherries spaced out over the layer of cream. If taking care made it good, then this trifle should be extra special.
All four of them ate their trifle in greedy silence and when they’d finished, first the boys and then Graham acknowledged how wonderful it had tasted.
‘It was gorgeous, Myra,’ said Piers. ‘Just gorgeous. Thank you very much.’
Graham said nothing but he did do a thumbs-up.
Oliver laughed. ‘If my homework goes horribly wrong I shall blame it on the sherry in my Auntie Myra’s trifle. Mr Cox will like that. He’s a brilliant teacher, strict and clever but he does enjoy a joke.’
Graham asked what his subject was, aware he still had so much to learn about Oliver’s teachers, and which subjects he thrived at and which he needed a little more help with.
‘Physics. And even if you’re not that way inclined he gets you interested.’
‘Does the trifle bowl need scraping out?’ asked Piers.
‘I intended to finish it off tomorrow night. There’s enough for all four of us for tomorrow.’
‘OK. I can wait. Do puppies eat trifle?’
‘Absolutely not.’ Graham replied. ‘They have a strict diet so as not to upset their tummies and no feeding them from the table. Right? That is a law that must not be broken. Four meals a day they have when they’re growing fast.’
‘Four meals a day? Four proper dinners a day?’ Piers’ eyes were enormous with the surprise he experienced. ‘Did I get four meals a day when I was little, Myra?’
‘At least, more like five or six.’ She’d said it before she knew what she was saying. She wasn’t his mother. How could she possibly know, she was only guessing really. What a fool she was – she felt the curious glances of the boys resting on her, and sensed even Graham had paused, mid-trifle, to see how she’d go on. ‘All babies get that many, they grow so fast, it’s to be expected.’
The moment passed. Oliver smiled at her, Graham’s spoon scraped up the last of his trifle and Piers licked his spoon, saying as he put it down in his dish, ‘You’ll have to keep your eye on the clock, Myra, won’t you? Four meals a day! I guess he’ll do a lot of poo, won’t he Dad?’
Graham saw the shock-horror on Myra’s face and the vision of a puppy quickly faded away. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t allow that to happen. Too much depended on this puppy to permit a small matter of dog poo to interfere. ‘I think the gentlemen in this household would have to be responsible for that department. We’ll take it in turns clearing up the lawn, it won’t be too onerous and then as Tyke gets older he’ll learn to always do it in the fields when he’s out.’
Myra smiled one of her rare smiles at her husband’s quick-thinking. Graham asked for another helping of trifle and got it.
Sensing an opportunity, Oliver also asked and so did Piers. So, as one helping was no good to man nor beast when there were four of you at the table, Myra ate the remains of the trifle and felt completely full. She said she wouldn’t need to eat anything at all for at least a day, but was amazed to find herself munching a chocolate digestive along with her bedtime drink.
‘Looking forward to it, Myra?’ Graham asked.
There was only a moment’s hesitation before Myra replied. ‘Yes. I think I am.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘He licked my hand in the vet’s – did you see? Three times. To a dog that’s the human equivalent to three kisses, isn’t it? Yes?’ She almost begged for his reassurance.
‘It is. Tyke, I think, will be very loving, and it’s up to us to make the most of it.’ He paused for a moment. ‘The boys are thrilled, aren’t they?’
‘Absolutely. Both Oliver and Piers. You saw Piers’ tears tonight, but I don’t think we can expect his grieving for his dad to stop any time soon, can we? It just kind of comes over him, and he can’t stop it. Tyke will be a great distraction for him.’
‘And for Oliver, too.’
‘Yes, and it’s made you smile properly, as well. You haven’t done that for a long time.’
Graham protested. ‘I often smile.’
‘Not a real smile, it’s been forced and has been for a long time. I see that now.’
He sat looking at her, taking in what she’d said, finding it painful. Was this her being like she’d been for the last ten years – mean, withdrawn, unhappy, unkind? But no it wasn’t, it dawned on him that she was being honest. And perhaps he hadn’t realised how much of a front he’d been putting on, too. But if they were being truthful now, well that was the first step to looking forward, being hopeful. In fact, as he looked at Myra now, she almost looked contented. Graham had forgotten what she’d looked like when she was happy.
‘Time for bed.’ He picked up her empty mug from the coffee table and she smiled at him saying, ‘I’m glad we’re smiling properly now, that’s so good for Piers and for Oliver, they need people who smile a lot, grieving as they are.’
‘You’re amazing, Myra. I know you’ve found it hard adapting, and it’s not been plain sailing, but even after everything you go and come out with some pearl of wisdom like that and I know you’re going to be the best parent for those boys. I know you didn’t want them, but what else could I do? Leave them with Delphine? I think not. And you’re giving them something special – they’re used to having their dad around, but they’ve never had a mum they can remember. I’ve said before we’re not trying to replace their parents – and we’ll always help them remember them and how special they were – but we get to be something new. We, the four of us, get to make up the rules about this patchwork family. Because that’s what we are: a family. For life. And I reckon that is spectacular.’ He paused for a moment and then added, ‘For you, and for me. And for them.’
‘It’ll be a while yet before it feels normal. Perhaps never.’
‘One day it’ll happen all unawares. There will be a day when things don’t feel new or different, when grief isn’t the boys’ first thought on waking, when you don’t feel lost or I don’t feel like I’m not doing as good as a job as my brother hoped. That day will come, just when we least expect it. Things like that take time you know.’
‘Well . . . I am trying, but I don’t have much faith in it happening, I don’t really feel like a mum. And I don’t behave like one.’
‘Yes, you do, Myra. Often. Piers didn’t realise the significance of what he’d said when he asked you about how many meals he had as a small baby, but you managed it very well indeed, I felt proud.’
Suddenly Myra sensed a strange warmth flooding through her body. Was this how you felt as a mother? More likely she was kidding herself. She could never feel like a mother because she wasn’t one. And never would be. But the warm feeling persisted all evening, and though it had gone by morning, she remained hopeful that there was a possibility it would return.