Follow Me Home

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘I was driving back from Talymouth when I found her tied to a tree. She’s in the car.’

  ‘Why don’t you bring her straight in?’

  ‘Actually, I wondered if you could come and get her. I was bitten by a dog when I was a kid.’ I’m annoyed with myself for wimping out, but I’m feeling a bit wobbly now.

  ‘I’ll grab a muzzle just in case. Does she seem friendly?’

  ‘She didn’t try to bite me. She’s sick, I think.’

  ‘Oh, she is, the poor thing,’ Maz says, when I open the car door for her. ‘Let’s get you indoors.’ She carries the dog into the practice, where she rings the bell, summoning Izzy, the head nurse. I’ve met Izzy several times before at Greenwood Farm and Talyton’s annual Country Show – her husband is a sheep farmer and one of Murray’s cousins. She’s over forty, but looks younger with her cropped hair and freckles.

  ‘Come through,’ Maz says. ‘I expect you’d like to see how the dog gets on.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I begin, but I go along with them anyway, not wanting the dog to think I’ve abandoned her in the same way that her owner has.

  ‘Izzy, set up some warm IV fluids and a heat pad. Oh, and I could do with a stethoscope. I can’t find mine.’

  ‘You really should get one surgically implanted,’ Izzy grumbles lightly as she marches ahead into what appears to be the animal version of a hospital prep room, complete with table and sink. It smells like a doctor’s surgery – of scrub and surgical spirit. ‘There it is, hanging from the hook where you left it.’

  I smile to myself. I don’t know what doctors and vets would do without us.

  Soon Frosty, as I call her, is lying on the bench on a drip and with a blanket wrapped around her.

  ‘Where did you say you found her?’ Maz asks. ‘This is a welfare case – the owner should be prosecuted for neglect.’

  ‘If I had my way, I’d lock them up and throw away the key. Or worse,’ Izzy adds darkly. ‘There’s no excuse for treating any animal in this way. It’s appalling. Not only is she completely emaciated, she could have frozen to death. She would have, if you hadn’t found her.’

  ‘I don’t recognise her. She isn’t one of ours,’ Maz observes. ‘I’ll get Jack Miller in tomorrow morning. For now, we’ll take some pictures and get a weight for her.’

  At the mention of weight, I smile wryly to myself. The dog could really do with the extra pounds I’ve put on this past couple of weeks.

  ‘She can’t have been fed properly for a while,’ Izzy says.

  ‘We’ll get some food into her when she’s warmed up,’ Maz says. ‘Some of that new convalescent diet would suit her.’

  ‘I don’t understand how a human being can do this to an animal – and I don’t even like dogs.’ Aware of Izzy’s sharp intake of breath, I soften my opinion. ‘What I mean is, I’m not mad about dogs.’ I pause, gazing at the raw gash made by the rope around Frosty’s neck. ‘Is that going to be all right?’

  ‘It’s the least of her problems at the moment,’ Maz – says. ‘We’ll clean it up and see what we can do, but her body’s been starved of nutrients so it will take longer to heal than it would in a fit animal.’

  ‘How old do you think she is?’ I ask.

  ‘I’d say about six to eight months, wouldn’t you, Izzy?’

  ‘I’d go for eight,’ Izzy says.

  ‘So she’s still a puppy, really.’

  ‘A teenager,’ Maz smiles. ‘Leave her with us – we’ll look after her. And thanks for bringing, her in. If it wasn’t for you, she wouldn’t have made it this far.’

  ‘She is going to get better?’

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see if she makes a full recovery. We don’t know if she has any underlying health issues yet.’

  I’m aware the dog’s eyes are on me, as if she’s trying to say something.

  ‘You can stroke her,’ Maz says. ‘She could do with as much TLC as possible.’

  I take a breath. The dog isn’t going anywhere. What’s the worst that could happen?

  ‘She won’t hurt you,’ Izzy says. ‘She seems like a real softie.’

  Taking another deep breath, I tell myself to relax. I want to stroke the dog, to let her know I’m thinking of her and praying she’ll be all right. Can I trust her? She seems to trust me. I let my fingers touch the top of her head and I can see her relax, the tension melting away. Her coat, which I thought would feel bristly, is smooth to the touch.

  ‘What will happen to her if she does get better?’ I swallow past a painful constriction in my throat at the thought of the alternative, which seems more likely the longer I look at her. She isn’t just thin, she’s a size zero.

  ‘We’ll keep her for as long as she needs medical attention, then she’ll go to the Sanctuary where Talyton Animal Rescue will find a new home for her,’ Maz says.

  ‘You will let me know how she gets on.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I could drop in tomorrow morning on my way to work.’

  ‘Come in whenever you like. Someone will be here.’ Maz starts to organise a kennel for the dog, while Izzy heads out to find a camera to take photos as evidence, giving me a chance to talk without embarrassing myself in front of them.

  ‘Good luck, Frosty,’ I whisper. ‘I hope you make it.’

  ‘What did you call her?’ I turn to find Maz looking in my direction. She grins. ‘It’s like a whispering gallery in here. You can hear everything.’

  ‘I called her Frosty because she had frosty whiskers when I found her. It sounds a bit lame, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I quite like it. We’ll call her Frosty then. We’ll see you tomorrow. Can you see yourself out?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  Back at the newsagent’s, the lights are on in the flat and Gran is still up. She’s nodded off in front of the television, with Granddad’s photo in her lap and Norris lying across the back of the chair.

  ‘Gran,’ I call softly.

  She starts. ‘Oh, you gave me such a surprise. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having a flatmate.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I touch her hand. Norris opens one eye and gives me a malevolent glare.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  I explain about the dog.

  ‘And you’re telling me you lifted it into your car and drove it to the vet’s? I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I couldn’t leave her there, could I? I’d never have forgiven myself if she’d frozen to death.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re over your fear of dogs, thanks to the shepherd,’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ I say. ‘She was so distressed I could see past the fact that she was a dog, and recognise a creature – a person, even – who needed my help.’

  ‘Well, I’m – what’s the word?’

  ‘Amazed?’ I suggest.

  ‘No, gob, gob-stoppered.’

  ‘I think you mean gobsmacked.’

  ‘That too. Can I tell everyone?’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re asking, because you’re going to tell everyone anyway,’ I smile. ‘I’m going to bed. Shouldn’t you be on your way too?’ I hesitate at the door. ‘You’re making me feel like I’m a lightweight.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Sometimes I think we speak different languages,’ she says. ‘You’re right, though. I should turn in, but I haven’t been sleeping too well since your mum and dad started talking about selling the shop and putting me in a home.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. They can’t make you do anything. Oh, one more thing,’ I say, remembering. ‘We saw Paul at the leisure centre. Did you know he has a girlfriend?’

  ‘I heard a rumour, but that’s all it was, so I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry, but it’s for the best. Now perhaps you’ll see that there’s no going back.’

  ‘I knew there wasn’t anyway.’ I remove my scarf from around my neck.

  ‘But in spite of that, you’re still in love with the man.’r />
  ‘Not “in love” as such.’

  ‘I wish I could believe you.’

  ‘And I wish you goodnight, Gran.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  Dismissing any thoughts of my ex-husband, I go to bed, but I don’t sleep for thinking about Frosty – what she must have gone through and whether or not she’ll be alive in the morning.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Beyond the Call of Duty

  When I turn up at Otter House the next morning, Jack Miller is in reception, dressed in a navy showerproof jacket, cargo trousers and boots with odd laces, one black and one tan. His hair is dark blond with natural highlights, and his cheeks are clothed in stubble. He’s roughly the same age as me and married to one of mine and Emily’s friends, Tessa.

  Maz, who reminds me of how I look when I’ve been on my feet all night, invites us both through to the kennels to see the dog.

  ‘So she’s made it so far,’ I say.

  ‘More than that,’ Maz smiles. ‘She’s on her feet.’

  ‘Shouldn’t that be on her paws?’ Jack says cheerfully.

  Frosty is bumping into the bars of her cage with a huge, lampshade-like Elizabethan collar around her neck.

  ‘What’s she wearing that for?’ I ask, feeling more upset than I thought I would be at seeing her confined.

  ‘It’s for her own good,’ Maz says. ‘She chewed through her drip tubing during the night.’

  ‘I’m glad my ladies don’t do that kind of thing.’ Amused, I lean down towards the cage, but not too close. ‘Hi, Frosty.’ It takes her a few seconds to respond to my presence, but when she does, she gives a squeak of delight, which cuts through my wary reserve and brings tears springing to my eyes. As she wags her tail, repeatedly bashing the stainless steel walls of the cage, I swallow hard. She likes me. In spite of the cruel treatment she’s received at somebody else’s hands, she’s prepared to give me the benefit of the doubt.

  ‘She recognises you from last night,’ Maz says. ‘That’s sweet.’

  ‘I think she’s trying to say ‘let me out of here’.’ Jack whistles through his teeth. ‘She’s one of the skinniest dogs I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘She’s had two small meals so far and she hasn’t been sick. We’ll keep feeding her little and often throughout the day.’

  ‘I’ll be looking for a prosecution under the Animal Welfare Act, but I’m not optimistic about the outcome,’ Jack says. ‘I don’t suppose she’s micro-chipped?’

  ‘Dream on. We’ve checked and there’s no ID. I’ve spoken to Alex about her.’ Maz is married to Alex Fox-Gifford, who owns Talyton Manor vets, the local farm animal practice. ‘He’s seen a dog of this description, a lurcher/bull-terrier-cross type, once or twice when he’s been riding his horse down by the river. She’s a very distinctive dog. Someone must recognise her.’

  ‘I’ll make some enquiries,’ Jack says. ‘I’ll start with Frank.’

  ‘Frank Maddocks?’ Maz exclaims. ‘Wasn’t he banned from keeping animals after the incident with the mare and foal?’

  ‘He was, but he did a disappearing act a while ago. He’s a hard man to keep track of.’

  ‘I know of him.’ Frank used to live in a mobile home on a site next to the industrial estate on the edge of Talyton St George, and he’s been in and out of prison for various reasons. I made some antenatal and postnatal visits to a flat in Talymouth a few months ago, to Frank’s elder son’s girlfriend, who had a baby girl by C-section. Frank came to visit them, bearing armfuls of gifts. ‘He didn’t give me the impression he was a bad man.’ In fact, I can hardly reconcile the image I have of the adoring granddad with a man who could starve and then abandon a dog like Frosty. I wasn’t so sure about the son when I met him – he seemed as if he could have another side to him. ‘So what happens next?’ I continue. ‘How long will Frosty stay here?’

  ‘If she continues to improve as she is, she can go in three or four days – after the weekend, anyway.’

  ‘Can I come in and see her again? I’ll pay the bill, too.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to do that. Talyton Animal Rescue will fund her treatment – we charge cost price for waifs and strays. They’d appreciate a donation though, I’m sure. And you can drop by whenever you like, as long as you let us know when you’re coming.’

  I thank Maz and Jack and say one last goodbye to Frosty before I head off for work, picking up my car to visit Chloe who lives in a barn conversion near the Old Forge in Talyford. She’s a high-flying lawyer and probably the most anxious first-time mum I’ve ever met. She opens the door to me in a blouse and pyjama bottoms. Her dark hair is long and lank, and I don’t think she can have had a shower since she came out of hospital four days ago.

  ‘Hello, Zara. I’m so relieved to see you – I’m very worried about Joshua. He’s crying all the time – I don’t think he’s getting enough milk.’

  I pause to listen, but I can’t hear anything apart from the murmur of a radio somewhere in the house.

  ‘Come in,’ she goes on, and we chat over coffee and biscuits in the open-plan living area. I look out through the long windows at a herd of black and white cows at the end of the garden, and the Devon countryside beyond, while Joshua snores quietly in his Moses basket.

  ‘How are you?’ I ask eventually.- ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Exhausted,’ she says flatly. I notice how she’s chosen the chair facing away from the baby, as if she wants to ignore his existence. She continues, ‘I didn’t realise how hard this would be. I thought criminal law was challenging, but I find myself dreaming of being back in court, defending thugs and murderers.’

  ‘Are you eating and drinking plenty? Does the baby latch onto the breast? Do you have any pain, cracked nipples or red patches?’

  She shakes her head in answer to all my questions.

  ‘Let’s wake Joshua up and have a look at him.’

  ‘Do we have to?’ Chloe looks pale already, but her complexion blanches further at the suggestion.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ I say, in the positive, no-nonsense tone I adopt for these situations. ‘Now, you pick him up and show me how you feed him.’

  Chloe moves slowly across the room – she’s had stitches – picks the baby up and shuffles back to the sofa, where she sits down, opens her blouse and cuddles the baby to her breast. He doesn’t cry once throughout my visit. When he wakes, he opens his eyes, and looks around for a minute, his head wobbling about as his mum tries to support it.

  ‘I’m afraid he’ll hurt his neck,’ she says, her voice wavering.

  ‘Babies are pretty tough little things.’ Chloe has lost her confidence since the birth. She wasn’t like this at her antenatal checks, when she was excited and looking forward to being a mum. ‘That’s it. He’s got it. He’s latching on now and sucking.’

  ‘But is he getting enough?’ she wails. ‘How do I know?’ She glares down at her breasts. ‘Why don’t these things come with some kind of gauge?’

  ‘You can tell because he’s thriving. Look at those chubby cheeks.’ I pause. ‘Is Dominic taking paternity leave?’

  ‘He’s had to go back to work and my mum’s gone home to Leicester. Dom doesn’t like her staying with us.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Have you been out with your baby yet?’

  ‘I thought I’d give it a couple of weeks yet. I’m not sure I can face getting everything together.’

  ‘I’m going to ask Dr Mackie to visit you,’ I decide. ‘He can check on Joshua – that might help to put your mind at rest.’

  ‘He came to see us two days ago.’

  ‘I think he should come again. Ben can have a chat with you at the same time and then we can assess what help you might need.’ I smile encouragingly, but she doesn’t smile back. She’s going to require a lot of support to get through what should be one of the happiest times of her life. Emily has the baby blues, whereas Chloe seems to be sinking into full-blown postnatal depression.

  Back in the car, I call Ben and arrange for hi
m to add her to his list of house calls for the afternoon before I go to Celine’s to carry out a stretch and sweep in an attempt to induce labour.

  ‘This baby is going to be overcooked by the time it makes an appearance,’ Celine says ruefully. ‘And my sister will be back from her bloody honeymoon,’ she adds.

  Blonde, with hair extensions, false nail and eyelashes, and a well-practised pout, Celine could have walked straight out of TOWIE – she even has the Essex accent, having moved to Devon a few years before with her husband, who works as a sales team leader for a company in Exeter.

  They live on the new estate in a detached house that’s been extended and revamped with the latest appliances, home cinema and hot tub, and every room has been painted in a different colour, every wall in a different shade, so it feels like a Dulux catalogue; but it’s the kind of home that’s always filled with the sound of laughter and children’s voices – Celine’s and other people’s – and the scent of coffee and baking. Today I can smell cold curry too.

  Celine shows me past the oil painting in the hall of her and her husband, who bears a passing resemblance to Keith Lemon, gazing into each other’s eyes against the dramatic backdrop of dark skies and a stately home.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here. Mum’s here with the kids so we can go upstairs and you can get on with what you have to do.’ Celine looks at my trolley bag. ‘What’s all that for?’

  ‘Sometimes it’s more comfortable if you have some gas and air for this procedure.’

  She grimaces. ‘I don’t want it if it’s going to hurt.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to go to the wedding.’

  ‘I do. Oh, all right. Let’s get this over with.’ I follow her up the stairs. ‘We tried the curry and the you-know-what. We could hardly get it on for laughing. Ray said it was like having sex with a giant space hopper, even down to the colour. Look at me. I’m orange – something’s gone wrong with the fake tan.’ Soon Celine is roaring with laughter and I’m surprised her waters don’t pop spontaneously. As it is, I have to do it for her.

  ‘What happens next?’ she says as she takes one last puff on the gas and air.