by Rebecca Shaw
‘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 Pie
rs’ 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.
Chapter 17
‘Now Myra, I’ve got the l
ead we bought, we’ve made up his bed, we’ve organised the food, the boys have got his toys wrapped up ready to give him, you’ve got the rug to wrap him in seeing as it’s very cold today, all that’s missing is the boys. Oliver! Piers! Come along – it’s time!’
Piers stood at the top of the stairs looking down at the two of them. He was almost trembling with anticipation. Oliver was beaming. Piers opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t, so left it to Oliver. ‘We’re going then, its true? We can collect him today?’
Myra answered him. ‘Yes. We’ve rung again this morning to confirm it and we can go and collect him. He’s ours. Graham’s got his debit card out ready and we just have to sign a few papers then it’s done.’
‘I thought after yesterday when that man turned up saying Tyke was his, that was it. No Tyke.’ Piers hastily brushed away a tear that he felt on his lashes. ‘I’m so glad. I’ll get his bag of toys out then, shall I?’
The four of them paused for a moment remembering about the shock they’d got yesterday. Mr Bush had agreed they’d go in about nine a.m. to pay for Tyke’s treatment and collect him and then whilst they were at the clinic, agog with excitement, a man had appeared and said Tyke was definitely his. He’d seen his picture in the paper and was so glad he’d been found. Four months old he said he was and his name was Clarence.
‘Come along, Clarence there’s a good boy,’ he’d said in a wheedling tone. ‘Come, good boy. Come.’ He’d reached out to take hold of Tyke’s new collar and fasten on an old scruffy lead he’d brought with him, but Tyke wouldn’t even look at him, he was shuddering from head to toe.
Graham had squatted down to bring himself on a level with Tyke and, clever dog that he was, Tyke retreated to the safety of Graham’s arms as best he could with his bad leg.
‘Come on, then,’ the man had said again in his most persuasive voice. He’d clicked his tongue trying to entice Tyke, but that didn’t work. He rooted in his trouser pocket and brought out a broken biscuit to tempt him with.
