In the morning Emily was up with the dawn, listening to the birds through the open back door as she breakfasted. She hadn’t slept well – her dreams a viscous soup of Lena’s loss and Kate’s outrage, flashes of Mike shining through the fog of dread. She yawned and leaned her head on her hand. If Kate found out …
Find out she must, but when, how? Emily must grasp the nettle and do it. Soon … Today?
Lena came into the kitchen in a voluminous, threadbare grey dressing gown. She paused by Emily and surveyed her. ‘Good morning, girl. What’s up with you?’
Emily glanced up and found Lena’s sharp gaze steady. She smiled. ‘Nothing, Lena. Just tired.’
Lena dropped into a seat. ‘He isn’t worth it, you know. That husband of yours, the musician fellow.’
The air sharpened and hummed; Emily wanted to hold on to this moment and never let go. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know that now.’
‘So why so blue?’
It felt alien to confide, but Emily couldn’t resist. This was the woman to whom she had brought all her adolescent woes, to be considered, dismissed with ease, vanquished in flames of righteous anger on Em’s behalf. She missed that woman. God, how she missed her!
‘I’ve done something,’ Emily said. ‘It was a long time ago, but it still might matter … The guilt is driving me mad, and I guess I’m scared of it being told.’
‘I did something once,’ Lena said quietly. ‘Never told anyone, only James.’
Emily felt the mood of confession overtake Lena. She wanted to reach for a pen, but this didn’t feel like a usual memory-book tale; this was two women, talking, baring souls. She folded her arms on the table and leaned in.
‘I had a sister.’
‘Wait, what? I thought there was only you and Austin?’
Lena said severely, ‘Don’t go interrupting and asking your infernal questions, girl,’ so Emily shut up.
‘Her name was Annabelle.’ The name was precious, sweet as honey tumbling from Lena’s tongue.
As she spoke, it was like a film playing out on the screen of her mind; she was transported, no longer here in the kitchen with Emily, but in a house far away in time, living through every second of tragedy again. ‘She was seven years younger than me and she adored me, wanted to do everything I did. I had little patience for her trailing after me. I wanted to be out in the fields and woods playing with James and the other boys.’ Emily already knew much about Lena’s early life – the man who would become her husband once been her childhood playmate.
‘I was always telling her to go away,’ Lena said, her voice fading to a low thrum which resonated through Emily and filled the room. ‘I just meant to go back to the house, to play with her dolls, to leave me and James to our own devices. She wanted to be like her big sister. I told her she was too small to be any fun. She couldn’t do the things we did.’
There was a pause, which Emily knew better than to interrupt.
‘One day she must have followed us deep into the woods, hid from us so we wouldn’t catch her and send her home. She must have stayed very quiet and watched us play. We were climbing our favourite tree – daring each other to further heights and feats of bravery. I liked to prove that I was every bit as brave as James; he knew it, but he’d tease me and call me a girl to make me mad.’
Another pause. ‘We’d tired of climbing and were heading through the woods towards the river when we heard the scream. We raced back to our tree and there was Annabelle – on the ground, like a pale, broken doll. She’d tried to climb, to be like her sister.
‘We had the good sense not to move her – it was obvious her back was broken – and James ran for help while I stayed with Annabelle. She was unconscious then and I thought she was dead. I sat by her in the grass and leaves and promised that if she would only live I’d never send her home again. I suppose I was in shock myself for I was numb when the men came running through the woods. I couldn’t move even after they got her on a board and began to carry her home. James stayed with me; I remember he was crying and it seemed odd to me – I’d never seen James cry. Eventually, he persuaded me to get up and he walked me home. We could hear my mother’s screams when we reached my house.’
This time the silence stretched so long Emily couldn’t help prompting. ‘Did she … ?’
‘She lived. She never walked again. She couldn’t run after me, or climb trees. I got my wish.’ The bleakness in Lena’s voice made tears sting Emily’s eyes but she wouldn’t let them fall in front of Lena. ‘My mother never fully forgave me, I think. I never forgave myself.’
‘But—’
‘No, girl. I know. It wasn’t my fault, but also, it was. Six months after her accident, Annabelle caught scarlet fever; she was very ill and then she died.’ The word had weight and shape and texture. This time the pause felt right, reverent.
‘I learned from Annabelle to always listen to people’s desires. Not to dismiss them as stupid, or childish, or pretend they don’t matter because you think you know best. I could have let her play, shown her our woods, taught her to climb safely like James taught me. Maybe then she wouldn’t have hidden from me, wouldn’t have followed me a step too far. I never told a soul this story and there is no one left alive who remembers my sister.’ She looked at Emily, her expression heavy, old, significant. ‘I chose to erase her, but now I don’t want to.’
Emily was glad she knew it, even though she felt the sting of Lena’s grief and knew she’d carry a trace of Lena’s burden of guilt now. Every snippet and revelation of the girl her grandmother had been was precious and helped her to understand the woman she had become – the granny who had never stopped them doing what they wanted, but had been there every step of the way to make sure they were safe; and who had taught them to believe in all possibility.
A girl who didn’t fit – in a different time, when not fitting was harder: a girl who played with boys and came home covered in mud. A young woman with fierce independence and a determination not to conform. The boy who’d loved her as a child and become her husband, but only after she spread her wings, went off adventuring while he patiently waited for her to come back to him. The little country church where they’d married was the same one in which they’d whispered and passed notes in as children.
The Lena Emily was discovering through the memory book was a changeling to her mother’s eyes, source of so much bemused pride to her father – a girl who liked to dismantle engines to see how they worked, who argued and battled and fought to carve her own way in the world. A free bird.
When the mood deserted Lena so too did her awareness of the present. The interlude was over much too soon and Emily felt the ache of its passing, but also the import of the story, her time with Lena and the message Lena was once again trying to convey: life was too short to waste on guilt, or on trying to be someone else.
Emily understood. It was time to be true, time for her authentic self to shine through.
It was as well Emily had Mike and her work at the Book Nook to distract her over the coming days, since Lena retreated into an impenetrable fog and Luke kept showing up at the shop. It was innocent enough, just hanging out, helping where he could, but any fool could see the romance blossoming between him and Kate, a constant reminder to Emily of her resolve to reveal all in the wake of the Annabelle story. She still hadn’t managed to have the conversation.
*
By Friday Kate was starting to worry that Luke was neglecting the work on his father’s cottage, but she didn’t want to mention it because she was already growing far too attached to his presence. They hadn’t spoken about what, if anything, was happening between them, but she had told him, awkwardly, when she ended things with Ben and Luke had seemed quietly pleased.
‘I’m not the person you think I am,’ she had told Ben. ‘And I don’t think that’s fair to either of us.’
Ben had been silent for so long, Kate had wondered if they’d lost the connection. ‘So you’re not coming back?’
It had been Kate’s turn to be stuck for words. ‘I have no idea,’ she’d said, and the madness of it hit her. It was more than Luke; it was Emily and the Cottons, and maybe it was her mother too.
Kate could feel herself getting closer and closer to tapping a reply, telling Lily she was in Scotland, making that first terrifying overture, and getting further and further from New York.
‘There’s someone else,’ Ben said, matter of fact.
‘Yes.’ Kate felt a tug of guilt. ‘There is.’
‘No,’ Ben said. ‘I mean me. There’s someone else. Since we’re being honest and all. It was fun while it lasted, Kate. Good luck to you.’
‘You too.’ Kate felt curiously like they were ending a business meeting. ‘Take care, Ben.’
Kate returned from a chocolate run late on Friday afternoon to find Emily with a book spread out on her lap; it was a weighty tome, spotted with age. ‘It’s a tea anthology,’ she said, flipping it to show Kate as she squeezed past. They were taking a break from reupholstering the armchairs from Mike’s grandmother’s house clearance, armed with a stapler and lengths of uncooperative tweed – Emily was taking an unsanctioned break whilst Kate had nipped out for the victuals.
‘A what now?’
‘I’m thinking of doing tea tastings.’
‘Is that a thing?’
‘Yeah, it’s like wine tastings only—’
‘A lot less fun,’ Noah interrupted, with a huff as he hefted and manhandled another piece of wood. He and Luke were sweatily sawing and hammering, building a new bookshelf from reclaimed timber Luke had sourced for them. Luke laughed and straightened up.
‘Coffee time?’ he said. ‘Did you get chocolate, Kate?’
Emily yawned and perked up as Kate proffered chocolate from the depths of her pockets. ‘Put the kettle on, will you, Luke? Mine’s a—’
Luke nodded. ‘Tea. Strong enough to stand a spoon in, dash of milk, no sugar. Yep, I got the memo.’
Kate went to help him, touching his arm, his back, just for the sake of it; to feel the flex of muscle, the sweat where his T-shirt adhered to his shoulder blades. He had arrived as usual with his bag of tools, ready to help. ‘Are you sure you can spare the time?’ she had asked anxiously, as she did every day.
‘It gets lonely working out on the house by myself,’ Luke had said. ‘This will be fun.’
And it had been fun, the four of them working in surprisingly easy harmony. Upholstering chairs, however, was proving to be a lot harder than it looked and Kate was quite content to extend her break for a bit. They sat on the floor and surveyed their handiwork; the shop was bright and clean, a seamless blend of rustic and modern. The tables and counters had been sanded and smoothed and painted, the shelves gleamed, the wood syrupy and sleek, awaiting precious books.
‘You’ve all done a great job,’ Luke said, stretching out his legs as he propped his back against the wall. ‘And the place is in good shape. No damp or anything.’ He and Kate had been trying not to stare too obviously at one another, but their eyes kept drifting, connecting, remembering: the beach, the cave, the hand-holding, the slip and shush of the waves in the gathering dark.
‘So, d’you fancy getting something to eat after this?’ Luke asked. He opened the invitation gallantly to the others, but it was obviously meant for her.
Emily shook her head. ‘Nah. Can’t. Lena isn’t expecting me to be out for dinner.’
This wasn’t strictly true – Lena wouldn’t notice and Emily had put leftovers in the fridge as usual – but Emily had been a third wheel often enough. She was unwilling to confess that Mike might pop round as he had done on two previous occasions – once to take her out for a pint and once to bring pizza. She wasn’t sure why she was keeping him secret.
‘Noah?’
Noah was flushed, his eyes fixed on the picture window where a figure could be seen coming down the path.
Emily had her back to the window and couldn’t see what was obvious to Kate; Noah was transfixed by the sight of a girl weaving her way along the path towards the shop. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. She was very pretty, with a shy smile, caramel skin and huge, brown eyes. Her dark hair was tied back in a swishy ponytail.
‘Hello, Noah,’ she murmured, half hiding beneath the sweep of her fringe. ‘I hope you don’t mind me gatecrashing like this. You told me about working in your sister’s new shop and I thought …’ She gave a shrug and wrapped her arms about herself.
Noah couldn’t hide his grin. ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘Brilliant. Everyone, this is Becca.’
The girl looked nervous. She was tiny beside Noah, with skinny bird’s legs tucked into Ugg boots. She bit her lip, flicked her fringe out of her eyes and shook hands with everyone.
Kate and Emily shared a smirk. Noah was so sweet and attentive, glancing at Becca so proudly, that it was difficult to muster the required teasing.
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Emily,’ said Becca. ‘I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s beautiful.’
‘Thanks.’ Emily was surprised. This girl was different from the last one Noah had brought home; Charley was an unprepossessing creature, hard-eyed and insolent. She had been mixed up in all that business at school.
‘It must be daunting,’ Becca continued. ‘Starting up a bookshop here. Personally, I think you can never have too many bookshops.’
Emily raised an eyebrow. ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she said, looking approvingly at her brother.
‘Sorry if this is a bit cheeky, but I was wondering if you’re going to be hiring soon?’ Becca’s smile was embarrassed.
‘I hadn’t thought about it yet, but I suppose I might be.’
‘Great. I’d love if you could keep me in mind. I could give you a CV. I want to start saving money for university and I’d rather work in a bookshop than anywhere else.’
‘Sure, drop in a CV and I’ll let you know.’
Becca smiled again and Emily could see why Noah was mesmerised by her – with her dimples and dewy skin, dark eyes sparkling like a scatter of stars. Becca darted another coy look at Noah. ‘So, Noah, I wanted to ask you over to dinner tonight. Mum said it was OK.’
Noah gaped. ‘At your house? With your parents?’
Becca nodded. ‘If you like.’
‘Sure.’ Noah couldn’t agree fast enough. Kate didn’t think he had anything to worry about – it was patently clear that Becca was smitten. She and Luke watched their first sparks of young love, remembering how it felt.
Noah’s attempted nonchalance was funny. ‘Do you need me in the shop much longer?’
Emily dismissed him. ‘Go on. Have fun.’
Noah did need to be told twice. He took Becca’s hand and led her to the door. A moment later, the two of them could be seen framed in foliage on the path, laughing.
‘Well,’ Emily said. ‘What do you make of that?’
‘It’s great. Becca seems lovely and Noah needs something good to happen.’
‘She is … surprising. I think I like her,’ Emily said.
‘It’s hard to believe we were ever that young,’ Luke said, giving Kate a sidelong look.
She smiled at him. ‘Shall we go and get something to eat, then? Emily, are you sure you won’t come?’
Emily shook her head. She was looking forward to some alone time in the shop. She was feeling so much more positive about it lately and it would be a pleasure just to wander around and contemplate, and dare to dream about what her little bookshop might become. She might even start setting out books on the shelves – and there was always the possibility of Mike …
‘Where shall we go?’ Kate considered the eateries Wigtown had to offer.
Luke shoved his hands in his pockets, looking like his teenage self again; all he needed was his skateboard and she’d trip off to the Martyr’s Stake to make out amongst the nettles. ‘I was thinking maybe I would cook for you?’
‘In your caravan?’
‘Yeah. It’s got a decent kitchen.’
Kate blushed, thinking of the close confines of the caravan and being alone with him in a small, intimate space. He held out a hand to her and she took it, shivering where their skins touched.
Kate glanced over her shoulder as they left. ‘Later, Emily.’
Emily stayed at the shop to continue working on the armchairs, playing her music loud. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do with her Friday night, with Noah out with Becca and Kate having dinner at Luke’s. She was content enough as she cut and folded and stapled lengths of material – so long as she didn’t give too much thought to Kate being with Luke, the conversations they might be having. She’d been waiting for her moment all day, but it hadn’t arrived.
Just after nine, there was a tap on the door. Hoping for it, she leapt up, smoothed her hair and all but ran to unlock the door. There was Mike, holding a bottle of whisky and a pizza box. ‘Hungry?’ he asked with a grin.
They’d been texting back and forth and he’d dropped by the shop the other day after Kate and Noah had left; they’d shared a pizza and a dram, but nothing had happened yet – nothing decisive. Perhaps Mike could tell that Emily needed time to get used to the idea of a new relationship; the thought of even kissing him still terrified her, but she had to admit she was rapidly coming round to the idea.
‘You’re a bad influence,’ Emily said, finding napkins and digging into the pizza. ‘I can’t keep eating junk like this.’
Mike smiled. ‘Well, you’ll have to agree to come out for a meal with me, or let me cook.’
‘You’ll have to ask me. You cook?’
‘No, I’m a terrible cook, but it’s the thought that counts.’
Emily was still laughing when her phone rang. When she finally unearthed it from beneath a length of tweed, the caller had rung off. She checked her log: Lena. She quickly called back.
‘It’s Bracken,’ Lena said, without preamble. ‘Something’s happened to him.’
‘What?’
‘Come home,’ Lena said, and hung up.
Emily sighed. She grabbed her bag, offering a hasty explanation to Mike, left her tools where they were and locked up the shop. She didn’t think there was really much wrong with the dog, but once Lena got into a flap, she quickly descended into confused panic. She would have to go home and try to sort things out. She watched Mike walk back down the street towards his flat above the vet’s, suppressing a sigh of disappointment. Tonight had been shaping up nicely. ‘Call me,’ he’d said, touching her arm as he’d left. ‘If there really is something wrong with your dog.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.’
‘Call me anyway,’ Mike said. ‘So we can arrange for me to cook you a truly terrible meal.’
Emily found Lena in the kitchen, standing over Bracken’s basket with her hands on her hips. The dog looked up with pathetic eyes, dropped his muzzle onto his paws and sighed expansively.
‘He looks normal to me,’ Emily said. ‘How about a cup of tea?’
‘No. He’s off his food. He didn’t want his dinner last night or his breakfast this morning. And when I tried to coax him outside, he wouldn’t get out of his basket. He’s been like this all day.’
‘You never said.’ Emily sneaked a glance towards the pinboard where Bracken’s new feeding schedule was displayed; both last night and this morning were ticked. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing serious,’ she said, and tried to calculate Bracken’s age in her head; at least eleven, she thought – not young. She knelt by the basket and stroked the silky head. Bracken looked up at her with puppy eyes.
‘Perhaps we should take him to the vet,’ Lena said.
‘It’s late.’ A glance at the kitchen clock revealed that it was a little after 9 p.m. Of course Mike wouldn’t mind being disturbed …
‘We mustn’t wait.’ Lena was anxious and mutinous, wringing her hands.
Emily sighed, sat back on her heels. ‘OK.’
‘I don’t remember the vet’s name. I have a card somewhere.’ Lena opened the drawer beneath the kitchen table and stuff tumbled out as she began to rummage: receipts and postcards and rubber bands, notebooks, playing cards, stained recipes, loose change, batteries.
‘It’s fine,’ Em said. ‘I know the vet’s number.’ She pulled up Mike’s number on her phone. ‘Mike McKendrick is his name.’
‘No,’ Lena says. ‘It definitely wasn’t McKendrick. I’d remember.’
That was debatable, Emily thought uncharitably. ‘When was the last time you had Bracken at the vet?’
‘I think about five years ago.’
‘What about check-ups, flea treatments, worming, booster injections?’
Lena harrumphed. ‘Bracken has the constitution of an ox, never had to bother with vets much.’ Just like Lena’s attitude towards doctors.
‘Well, I think it’s safe to say that there have been some changes at the vet practice in five years, so don’t worry about who the vet is. Mike is very nice.’
Lena muttered about not understanding why things had to change. ‘Henderson,’ she said. ‘I think his name is Henderson. Old Jim Henderson. Or Herriot.’
‘No. That’s All Creatures Great and Small, Lena. It’s a television programme.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Lena snapped. She crouched by Bracken’s head and stroked his sides, trying to coax him to eat a few biscuits from the palm of her hand.
‘It’s Emily,’ Emily said.
‘Hello again, so either the dog is really not well or you’re pretty desperate for my cooking.’
‘That’s right.’ Emily carried the phone outside where Lena couldn’t hear her. ‘The dog part. I think perhaps I’d best do the cooking.’ She explained about Lena’s condition. ‘You see, she can’t wait. Now she’s got in her head that we need a vet now, there’s no arguing with her. She’ll just get agitated. So I was wondering if you could see him. The dog is very important to her.’
‘Of course,’ Mike said. ‘It’s no problem. Bring him straight down to the surgery and I’ll meet you there.’
Emily sighed with relief. ‘That’s perfect, thank you.’
She returned to the kitchen. Lena was sitting on the floor by Bracken’s bed, her expression deep and faraway. Emily hardly liked to disturb her manner of reflection, almost prayer.
‘It’s fine,’ she said softly. ‘If we take him to the surgery, the vet will meet us there. Now, what about something to eat; did you have dinner? I called, remember, because I was staying late at the shop.’ She crossed the room to the fridge and opened it, found the Tupperware of leftovers was still where she’d left it. She pulled it out. ‘I told you there was dinner in the fridge for you.’
‘Not hungry.’
‘You have to eat something. You have to look after yourself.’
‘Why should I when you’re doing such a great job of it for me,’ Lena snapped. ‘Always the infernal nagging: can’t you just leave me alone. I’m not a child.’ She stamped out of the room.
Emily sliced bread and made herself a sandwich. She hadn’t managed more than a few bites of pizza. She found Lena in the sitting room, wearing her dressing gown. ‘Lena, it’s time to go.’
Lena frowned. ‘Where are we going?’
‘The vet, with Bracken.’
Panic flared. ‘Is he sick?’
‘What? He … um, no. It’s nothing to worry about. Just a routine check. Must’ve forgotten to write it on the calendar. So, do you want to go and get dressed?’
‘I don’t think so, dear. I don’t feel like going out. You go ahead.’
Emily suppressed a sigh and sucked her teeth. ‘Right.’
With Lena refusing to move, and Kate and Noah both out, it fell to Emily to manoeuvre the malcontent dog into the car alone.
Emily drove carefully into the village, feeling the first tinges of anxiety as she pulled into town. She parked as near to the vet practice as she could. Still, when she tried to persuade Bracken to jump out of the back, he looked at her despondently and pressed himself deeper into his folds of his blanket. She closed the door and went inside. ‘Hello?’ Emily called.
The place was eerily silent, save for the banging of a door somewhere and Mike’s voice calling, ‘Back here. Just a minute.’
Emily hovered around the door to the reception, glancing down the unlit corridor from whence the voice came. The door at the end of the corridor opened and Mike came out, drying his hands on a towel. ‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Emily Cotton,’ she said with a grin. ‘I called about my dog.’
He grinned back. ‘The hustler.’
‘Sorry about bailing, and to have dragged you back to work at this hour.’
‘No worries. I’m used to it. Sleep and eat with one ear open, waiting for a call to go and stick my hand up a cow’s bottom or something equally lovely. Besides, at least this way I still get to see you.’
In the close quarters, she could smell his soapy, herby scent. She blushed.
‘I buy my vegetables from Lena at the farmers’ market on a Saturday. She often has a lovely looking Irish setter with her – is he the patient?’
‘Yes.’ Emily gestured over her shoulder. ‘He’s in the car. I can’t lift him I’m afraid. I’m also ashamed to tell you that he hasn’t been to the vet in five years.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll come and give you a hand, shall I?’
‘Thank you.’ Emily put her bag on a plastic chair in the waiting room and led the way.
Mike stroked the dog, had a cursory look at his eyes, mouth and paws, felt along his ribcage and abdomen. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Maybe nothing. Lena is convinced he’s off his food, but she may be overreacting. Her illness impairs her judgement at times and can make her irrational. But I guess Bracken won’t get up to go outside, which is unusual.’
Mike’s smile was gentle. ‘Nothing irrational about being concerned for her dog. Most people are attached of their animals. I know I am. Let’s get him inside and take a better look.’
When Bracken was stretched out on the examination room in Mike’s consulting room, his paws drooping over the edge of the metal table, Emily’s anxiety ratcheted up a notch: if something happened to Bracken, how would Lena cope?
She chewed her nails while Mike worked. He was thorough. ‘This might take some time,’ he warned. ‘There are no obvious signs so I’d like to run some tests. Why don’t I give you a ring once I know more?’
‘OK.’ Emily was reluctant to leave. ‘Um, I hate to sound callous, but any idea of the cost?’
‘I won’t do anything expensive yet, this is just a preliminary check so I’ll ring and discuss options with you later.’
‘Options?’ Visions of protracted goodbyes and vicious needles swam in her mind. Emily felt her eyes sting.
‘Payment options I mean, treatments,’ Mike said quickly. ‘It’s not time to panic yet.’
‘But he’s old, isn’t he?’
‘He’s not a young pup, but he could have a few years left.’
*
Emily wandered disconsolately down the street. Everywhere was closed and she wondered what to do. She could go home and wait for Mike to call, but that would mean dealing with Lena, which in her current frame of mind she didn’t relish.
She decided the best thing would be to go back to the Book Nook and wait there.
She loved to walk down the little lane leading from the high street to her shop, to duck beneath the leafy arch and see the shop appear magically before her, nestling amongst the trees and hawthorns. The wooden sign was still blank, sanded clean and awaiting their attention – Kate was designing the logo and lettering for her.
Emily let herself into the shop; it felt reassuring to step inside in the solitude, breathe in the scent of paint and varnish and new wood – mixed with pizza now – and enjoy soaking up the atmosphere of the shop. Her place. She set her bag on the counter and imagined that in the months and years to come it would become such a familiar ritual; drop her bag, switch on the kettle, lights, computer.
She checked her phone – she didn’t want to miss Mike’s call.
She nearly dropped it when she saw the display: the text message, the name she had fantasised about seeing …
Joe.
She opened it, fingers shaking, her breath shuddering uneasily in and out.
We could meet, just name a time and place. I miss you. I’m ready to talk about the future, Em.
Emily set the phone on the counter. Waves of nausea rolled through her. He was still hers if she wanted him; he wanted her, she knew it. Finally, he was willing to talk – but was she?
After all these months of wanting, when the only thing she longed for was contact, hope, a second chance – or was it third, fourth, or fifth chance by now? Such a tempestuous match, when was she going to get the message that it just wasn’t right? The divorce ought to have done it, but hadn’t. And now, Joe was offering her another go-round, and Emily was finally moving on.
She wanted to talk to Kate, but Kate was with Luke. She longed for Lena, but Lena wasn’t an option any more. There was no one else she could imagine discussing him with.
The divorce was finalised, signed and sealed and uncontested; it was too late. She had made the right decision leaving him when she did, she knew it, but she had been so miserable since, so dreary and wretched without him. All these months, nothing made sense.
Emily paced the shop. What am I thinking? It’s crazy even to consider it.
She wasn’t considering it, surely. They didn’t work. They had established that. But the pull of him, the yearning, the undeniable pleasure of knowing he wanted her again …
Emily sat at her laptop, her thoughts in turmoil, anchoring herself at the desk, her place. The screen saver pictured a photograph of a pile of her favourite childhood books.
This was what mattered: the Book Nook.
It was all hers, her future, and it had nothing at all to do with Joe. Well, apart from the money, but she had always been able to put that deftly out of her mind. She looked around with pride at the green walls, smooth and lush against the pale wood of the shelves; at the flagstones, clean and draped with new rugs; at the dark wood beams over her head.
Every brushstroke and nail reminded her how far from Joe she had come.
Was she willing to take a step backwards – into Joe’s arms and into a past in which she was so unhappy with herself?
On the questions swirled. Mike came into her mind, his honest face and gorgeous eyes. Mike would be uncomplicated and loving, she knew it.
As a distraction, she got back to work, taking out her frustrations on the armchair. An hour in, her mobile rang and her heart skipped again.
Not Joe.
Mike.
Her heart accelerated. She was happy just to hear his voice. ‘Can you come over?’ he said.
‘I’m on my way.’ Emily quickly locked the shop. She ran all the way to the clinic, her plimsolls slapping on the pavement, ponytail bouncing. It was dark out now and Wigtown was quiet but for the murmuring buzz of the pub.
‘Is it bad news?’ Emily gasped, bursting into Mike’s consulting room.
‘Not exactly,’ Mike said, looking up from his computer screen. ‘It is treatable, so don’t panic. Take a seat.’
Emily shook her head and went to the table where Bracken lay, asleep or sedated. She ran a hand over his shaggy head, wishing he would open his eyes and give her his usual dopey look. ‘Tell me.’
They stood with table and dog between them. ‘Does Bracken ever get human food, leftovers or cooking scraps?’
‘No. Lena has always been adamant about that …’ Emily hesitated. ‘But she has Alzheimer’s. I can’t tell what she’ll do any more. She doesn’t remember feeding him sometimes.’
‘I’m thinking specifically about onion poisoning. The signs suggest it at the moment although there are still some tests to run. Onions are toxic to dogs even in small quantities, but it’s rarely fatal. Chocolate on the other hand is fatal, so I’ve given him an emetic to make him sick, just to be on the safe side.’
‘But you can treat him?’
‘I’d like to keep him here for a few days just to be sure.’
‘OK.’ Emily rubbed her forehead. ‘I don’t know how to stop Lena from feeding him scraps.’ Suddenly she was exhausted, overwhelmed with the responsibility for looking after her grandmother and Bracken, and the feeling that everything was only going to get worse. Tears gathered in her eyes.
Mike washed his hands carefully at the sink, looking at Emily over his shoulder. ‘My granny had Alzheimer’s …’ he began. He didn’t finish the sentence. No happy ending there – there never was.
‘It’s bad enough that’s she’s losing her memories, I don’t want her to lose her dignity as well.’ Emily didn’t know where the words were coming from. She felt the pressure building behind her eyes and clenched her teeth. Before she knew it, she was crying, silent, soft tears slipping down her cheeks. Mike came around the table and pulled her gently into his arms. It wasn’t quite the romantic embrace she had been imagining, but still.
He reached behind him for a tissue.
‘I’m sorry about your granny.’ Em pressed the tissue to the rim of each eye, stemming the flow.
‘I’m sorry about yours too. At least Bracken’s going to be there to look after her a while longer.’ Mike smiled and stepped back.
Emily gave the dog a last pat. ‘Thanks for your help. And for this.’ She balled the tissue. ‘I didn’t mean to …’
He smiled. ‘It’s no problem, Emily.’
She turned towards the door, then paused and turned back. He was watching her, smiling. She met his eyes and felt human again, capable of love. She felt light and playful, able to converse normally with a man, able to want him and not be bound by her attachment to Joe. She walked back across the consulting room and into Mike’s arms. Before she had time to question it, she was kissing him.
She was more than the pieces Joe left behind, scattered shrapnel from the explosion of their war-torn love; she was whole.
They broke away from each other with goofy grins. Emily realised she was still crying, and was mortified. Mike wiped her tears. ‘It’s been a tough day,’ he said. ‘You should go home and let me look after Bracken. I am going to hold you to that offer of dinner really soon, though. You can even use my kitchen – it’s pristine, never been used except to make toast and beans.’
Emily smiled, scrubbed away the last of her tears and left.