‘The earmarking! Cairey’s got his ear tattooed, like all registered racing greyhounds! I bet you didn’t even think -’
Ewan looked completely crestfallen. ‘I honestly have no idea. We’d do a check normally, naturally, but I don’t know if my colleagues have or not, with it being the holiday period. Anyway, now you know he’s OK, it’s New Year’s Eve – and I really should be getting back in there and – ’
April shook her head. ‘You’re going nowhere until I get Cairey back. How far away is he? Oh God – not down in Dorset?’
‘No, it was some of our local people who rescued – er – well, you know – um – took him. We have a network of safe houses all over the country. He’s in Barking. No – really . . .’
‘Barking?’ April’s head reeled. ‘That’s not far from Bixford – but it’s bloody miles away from here, isn’t it? Where are we, anyway?’
‘Somewhere in the leafy glades of poshest Surrey. Er, sort of Epsomish, I think.’
April walked away. The pantry was almost the size of her flat at number 51. She stared at four shelves of bottled plums. It was wonderful to know that Cair Paravel was alive and well, of course it was. He must be so bewildered, though. Being yanked away from the yard and whisked off by strangers: people who wouldn’t know that he loved egg sandwiches, or having his tummy tickled, or that he had to have his blanket tucked under in a special way so that he could slide his nose into it while he slept.
She whirled round on Ewan. ‘We’re going to get him. Now. Where’s your car?’
‘In Ampney Crucis. We had a minibus up here – and, anyway, I’ve had far too much to drink to be able to drive anywhere. Look, if I give you directions, you could go and – ’
‘We came on a coach!’ April yelled. ‘From Bixford! I don’t even know where I am!’
‘But at least you haven’t been drinking . . . and anyway, it’s the early hours of the morning, so my – um – Barking counterpart is probably asleep and – ’
‘Ring him and wake him up, then.’ April flapped her hands. ‘You’re bound to have a mobile. People like you can’t exist without mobiles. Ring him, tell him you’ve made a mistake – tell him you’ve scared the shit out of me and pinched my dog. Tell him we’ll be there!’
Ewan sighed. ‘OK, I’ll ring him. Maybe we could go tomorrow – ’
‘We’re going now!’ April was almost in tears. ‘You ring him and I’ll find someone with transport – and if you run away I’ll tell your lovely girlfriend and everyone in that room exactly what you’ve been up to! Just the pervy bits, of course.’
Making sure that Ewan was punching out numbers on his mobile, April braved the kitchen. The chefs were yelling at each other and the waitresses, there were unwashed plates and dishes and cutlery and pots and pans on every surface, and in the corner, the wispy guitarist and the kilted piper were drinking champagne from each other’s glasses, their arms entwined.
‘I want a car!’ she announced loudly to no one in particular.
Me too, dear,’ the guitarist sighed.
The piper shook his head. ‘I’d like a nice little bungalow in Esher.
‘I want to borrow someone’s car for about – oh – an hour.’ April had no idea how long it would actually take to get from the Frobishers’ to Barking, home to Bixtord, and then for Ewan to drive back here again. Tough that he’d been drinking. If he got caught it was nothing less than he deserved. ‘It’s a matter of life or death.’
‘You can have mine if you like,’ one of the washer-uppers said mournfully. ‘I’ll be here til next Tuesday at this rate.’
‘Brilliant.’ April kissed him. ‘Which one is it? I mean, there are about a thousand cars outside.’
‘It’s the gold Cavalier under the oak tree at the top of the drive. I parked it out of sight.’
‘Has it got petrol?’
‘Petrol, yes. Tax and MOT, no.’
April shrugged. What the hell? She pocketed the keys. ‘You’re a star. And I promise to return it.’
‘Don’t matter too much,’ the washer-upper said. ‘The owner don’t know I’ve got it, anyway.’
Deciding not to give any of this information to Ewan, on the grounds of what he didn’t know couldn’t possibly hurt him, April belted back to the pantry.
As she drove inexpertly, in a possibly stolen and definitely not roadworthy car, round the M25 in the early hours of New Year’s Day, April started to fill Ewan in on Cair Pravel’s training regime, and the plans she and Jix had for his future.
Ewan looked down at the floor of the car. ‘Hang on a minute – have you taken your shoes off?’
‘Mmm,’ April sighed blissfully. ‘They were killing me. They’re not mine anyway. I needed black T-bar straps with a kitten heel for tonight to go with the uniform. Joel in the flat upstairs borrowed them from a bloke he works with – no, don’t ask – anyway, I was saying . . .’
Because she found both the M25 and the Cavalier quite frightening, and because it was easier to drive and talk than drive and tremble, April continued to tell Ewan all about how well Cairey had done in his few races, and how his training was coming on, and how they’d decided to enter him for the Frobisher Platinum heats.
‘Don’t mention the Frobisher Platinum!’ Ewan groaned. ‘It’s like being the only person in the country who doesn’t know who won the election.’
April allowed him a sympathetic glance. He’d acted from the best of motives, after all. And he hadn’t even complained too much when she’d told him he’d be navigating because she’d never done this stretch of the M25 in her life. He had begged to be allowed to let Clara and Peg and Jasmine know where he was going in case they were worried, but April, sure that once Ewan returned to the Ampney Crucis mob she’d never extricate him again, had refused. He’d also said that his rescue friend in Barking had been most annoyed to be disturbed in the middle of the Kendall MacNulty Hogmanay Special on ITV2, but that he would be waiting for them.
‘With Cairey?’
‘With Cairey,’ Ewan confirmed. ‘And yes, he has checked the tattoo. And we’ve removed him from the rehoming list. And I am terribly, terribly sorry. But even if you aren’t mistreating him, your bloody boyfriend certainly was.’
April gripped her hands tighter on the wheel. ‘Yeah, I know. Jix kept telling me I was mad ... I just put up with it because I loved him. OK, OK – don’t start. Everyone has had a go on the subject. I’ll deal with it. We’re going to move away and live in the country. The French country.’
‘You don’t sound particularly delighted.’
‘I’m not. Oh God – I don’t know – it’s such a long story . . .’
You might as well tell me,’ Ewan yawned, leaning back in his seat. ‘We’ve got plenty of time.’
By some miracle, they arrived in Barking still in one piece and without being arrested. Irritatingly, April had found Ewan excellent company, and even more irritatingly he’d come down heavily on the side of Jix and Antonio and everyone in begging her to think seriously about her future with Noah. He’d understood, he’d said, about the long-term love thing and the happy-ever-after dream – but he’d made the same awful mistake with his ex-wife – and had been so lucky to escape and get back together with Clara. He wouldn’t wish that sort of heartache and upheaval on anyone.
April really didn’t want to think about Noah at the moment anyway. He’d been very calm about her working on New Year’s Eve. Far too calm, really. She’d have liked him to have protested just a bit, and said that as it was their first New Year back together, he’d got something special planned. But he hadn’t. He’d seemed perfectly happy to stay in with the television and baby-sit Bee while she went to work. Jix had been invited to Joel and Rusty’s party upstairs, and as it didn’t mean a trip outside, Daff was going too. She had been quite excited about being the only woman.
‘This is it,’ Ewan said eventually. ‘The one with all the lights on,’
April was out of the car, sprinting barefoot up the p
ath, and hammering on the door before Ewan had released his seat belt. And if she’d thought that Ewan was an unlikely animal right’s activist, then the elderly man who opened the door was even more so. He looked like – and probably was – a retired schoolmaster, balding, rheumy-eyed, and with the compulsory beige cardigan and baggy cords.
‘You’ve come for Evelyn, I take it.’ He peered uncertainly through hefty bifocals. ‘We were watching television. I like a proper New Year’s Eve show, with dancing and swords, don’t you?’
‘Oh yes, definitely. Er – is Evelyn your wife?’
‘Avis is my wife, Evelyn is your greyhound. You’d better come in.’
April got as far as the hall. Cair Paravel, whom she’d just spotted sitting on a cushion in front of the television with several cuddly toys and what appeared to be the carcass of a wild boar, hit her before she got any further.
‘He recognises you then,’ the schoolmaster said happily. ‘That’s nice. I like a satisfactory conclusion.’
April couldn’t say anything. Mainly because of the joyous tears, but also because having an ecstatic greyhound in her arms meant she couldn’t breathe or see or even stand up.
Ewan squeezed past her and shook the schoolmaster’s hand. ‘Nice one, Aubrey. Sorry about the mix-up – and to have disturbed you and Avis.’
‘Not a problem, dear boy.’ Aubrey blinked back tears behind the bifocals. ‘As long as they’re reunited, and we know he’s being looked after. He’s a lovely dog. What did you say he was called?’
‘Cair Paravel,’ April managed to mutter through a mouthful of blue hairs.
‘Ah, C. S. Lewis! Grand chap!’
Managing to return herself and Cair Paravel to almost normal positions, still stroking him, determined never, ever to let him out of her sight again, April spat out the remaining brindled coat. ‘Why on earth did you call him Evelyn?’
‘Looks the image of Evelyn Waugh in his early days,’ Aubrey said. ‘Grand chap, too.’
‘Aubrey taught English,’ Ewan said rather unnecessarily, and now that everything’s sorted, I think we should be making tracks . . .’
Waving goodbye to Aubrey, and with Cair Paravel, dangerously spread across both their laps in the front seat, April wiped her tears, blew her nose, and set off for the homeward part of the journey.
‘You don’t mean,’ she said, indicating to rejoin the A13, ‘that Aubrey scaled the wall in my yard and hauled Cairey over? He must be seventy if he’s a day.’
‘Avis does the commando stuff,’ Ewan said, removing a slender blue paw from the pocket of his tuxedo. ‘She belongs to the W1. ’
New Year’s Eve had apparently been and gone at Bixford. Everywhere, including number 51, was in darkness. April assumed that Bee and Noah had both gone to bed and that Joel and Rusty’s party had ended without the need to call out any of the emergency services.
Cair Paravel, still stretched across April and Ewan’s laps on the front seat, had fallen asleep somewhere near Plaistow, and continued to snore contentedly.
‘Shall I come in with you?’ Ewan asked. ‘And explain to whatshisname about all this?’
‘Best not.’ April was forcing her feet back into her shoes and shaking Cair Paravel awake. ‘Hopefully Noah will be asleep and I’ll be able to do all the explanations in the morning.’ She slid out of the car, dragging the dozy Cair Paravel after her. ‘Right, when you get back to the Frobishers’, can you leave the car where we found it? And give the keys to the washer-upper with the nose ring and the Arsenal tattoo on his neck?’
‘Should be easy to spot,’ Ewan said, sliding into the driving seat. ‘And I’m truly sorry about all this – and especially that I scared you.’
‘’S OK,’ April grinned through the window. ‘Everything’s going to be all right now. And anyway, I think what you do – the rescuing stuff – is really great. You’re pretty cool.’
‘Thanks.’ Ewan started the Cavalier. It sounded very noisy in the silent grey street. ‘You’d better get indoors. It’s freezing – oh, and if by some miracle Ampney Crucis have got the Frobisher Platinum and if by some other miracle young Cairey here makes it through the heats, I’ll be seeing you on Valentine’s Day, won’t I?’
April blew him a kiss. ‘You bet. It’s a date. Take care driving back, won’t you?’
‘Too right.’ Ewan released the hand brake. ‘Mind you, I sobered up hours ago – on that first bit of the M25 when we did two miles on the hard shoulder . . . Good night.’
April watched the Cavalier’s taillights turn the corner of the High Street and slide on to the ring road. She actually did hope Ewan got back to the Frobishers’ in one piece and without being breathalysed. She didn’t want anything else on her conscience.
As quietly as possible she slid her key into the lock of number 51, tiptoed across the communal hall, and, praying that Cair Paravel wouldn’t bark and that Noah wouldn’t wake up, she unlocked the door to the flat. Everything was completely silent.
Switching on only one of the table lamps, she scuttled across the living room and opened the kitchen door. Cair Paravel, with a lot of scrabbling toenails, bounded joyfully towards his blanket, leaped on it, turned round three times, then sank down on to his haunches with a sigh of pleasure.
April kissed him, and wiped away the tears again. He was home and he was happy. And so was she. Well, almost.
Without switching on any more lights, she peeped into the bedroom. There was no sound. No sound at all. Not Noah’s low rumbled snore, not Bee’s restless movements April clicked on the bedroom light. Both beds were empty and untouched.
She blinked, not immediately feeling the shock. She was dead tired, and overemotional. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Noah, however casual about his paternal role, wouldn’t have let anything happen to Bee, would he? Oh God! The shock suddenly kicked in and April’s imagination went into overdrive.
They’d gone to the hospital! Bee had probably choked on an illicit peanut, or swallowed some of Noah’s paint, or electrocuted herself with the Christmas-tree lights or – She flew out of the flat and up the stairs, hammering on Daff and Jix’s door. There was no reply. Knowing that Jix sat up, reading and listening to music long after Daff had gone to bed, April hammered again. Nothing. Of course, they’d been to Joel and Rusty’s party. They’d probably had loads to drink and were both comatose . . .
Feeling more sick than she’d ever done in her life, April flew up the next flight of stairs. Joel and Rusty’s door got the same treatment. They’d probably passed out, too, she thought, almost choking on the mingled perfume of cloying scented oil and hot Indian spices. She’d got Cairey back and lost Bee! She shouldn’t be at work! She should stay at home like a proper person and take care of her family! It was divine retribution or something.
The door opened a couple of inches. Daff, wearing a very jaunty paper hat with yellow feathers, peeped out. ‘Oh, hello, sweet. You’re back early. I thought you were staying down there until – ’
‘What’s happened to Bee?’ April’s tongue seemed to be far too big for her mouth. Her legs were shaking, is she in hospital? Daff – what’s happened?’
‘Happened? Nothing that I know of. Bee’s here, April! Steady . . . Oh, come along in, sweet . . . Look, she’s here. She’s quite safe. She’s as happy as a sand boy. . . April, still clutching the doorframe, peered into the flat. Bee, dressed in her pyjamas and with a party hat low on her brow, was sitting on the floor between Jix and Rusty, playing Monopoly.
April tried to speak but couldn’t. Her knees were knocking and her heart was thundering and she was sure she was going to pass out. She managed to grab hold of the back of the sofa.
Bee looked up at her and smiled. ‘Mummee! I’ve stayed up late and I’ve won! Did you bring me a present?’
April nodded. ‘A big greyhound present.’
‘Cairey?’ Bee’s eyes were round. ‘Cairey’s home?’
April nodded, knowing she was going to cry again.
�
��Honest?’ Jix was on his feet. ‘You’re not kidding? I mean, it’s not a replacement like Mum used to do with my goldfish when they snuffed it?’
April shook her head. ‘The genuine article – no, please don’t ask me about it. I’ll tell you later. But he’s fine . . . What the hell is going on here, though? Where’s Noah?’
Daff perched on the arm of the sofa. ‘Well, to be honest, sweet, it’s been a bit of a mix-up. Lovely party, though, and the boys did us proud – but they were all couples, April. Mixed couples. I thought it was going to be all Boy George and bitchy.’
Joel appeared from the kitchen carrying a coffee pot. ‘We do have straight friends, Daff, as I kept telling you. Oh, happy new year, April.’
‘And you . . . Yes, so?’
‘Well, we were having a grand time, when your Noah comes upstairs with madam there – oh, about ten o’clock I reckon – and says he’s going out, and could we keep an eye on her? So we take her in and she’s had a whale of a time. He said he’d leave you a note.’
April gratefully accepted a cup of Joel’s strong black coffee. ‘He probably has. I didn’t look. I wonder where he’s gone – he certainly didn’t have any plans.’ April felt the caffeine surge dizzily through her body. She really didn’t care. She was home, Cairey was home, and Bee was safe. If Noah had decided to go out and celebrate on his own she really didn’t care.
Twenty minutes later, with Bee clutching half a dozen hotels, she made her way downstairs again. The flat was still in darkness. Feeling guilty at the relief surging through her, she left Bee giving Cair Paravel a welcome cuddle and a million kisses in the kitchen, and turned the living-room lights on.
Everything was as it had always been. Everything except the blank spaces along the far wall. All Noah’s paintings had gone.
Taking a deep breath, she looked round for the note. There wasn’t one this time. There didn’t need to be. His buckled canvas carriers, the paints, the brushes, were all missing too. And the suitcases from behind the Christmas tree. April bit her lip. He’d done it again. Left her without saying anything. Only this time he’d taken the paintings. The paintings that were her and Bee’s insurance for the future.
Nothing to Lose Page 35
