She shoved the sad memories aside and pushed open the front gate with a smile. It was time to see her family.
Chapter 2
Mitchell Davis sat in the staffroom at the Macarthur Point Animal Hospital eating a late lunch. Outside, the wind sighed and whistled, rattling the branches of the trees against the windows. Another cold snap was forecast, and it had rained on and off all day. He cranked up the heater and through the window watched the weather roll in from the west.
Putting his feet up on a chair, he closed his eyes and yawned. Since taking over the clinic six months earlier, there were days it felt like he worked around the clock. He wasn’t complaining—buying the clinic was a dream come true—but he was still exhausted. At least he still had the clinic’s former owner, Ian, working part-time and sharing the load.
In the past six months Mitchell had made minor changes, such as setting up a website, starting a blog and marketing the clinic on social media, and, as a result, the practice had grown significantly. At the rate he was going, next year he’d be able to employ another vet, which meant he could get out to the farms which was where his passion lay. Not that he didn’t enjoy treating domestic pets, but he preferred cattle and sheep and horses.
The phone rang, and he listened to Stephanie’s singsong voice.
‘Macarthur Point Animal Hospital. How may I help you?’ There was a long pause, then, ‘I’m sorry to hear about your cat but we’re about to close for the day.’
They tried to close early on Fridays.
Another long silence while Stephanie listened to the caller on the other end of the phone. ‘I’m sorry, did you say you think your cat hasn’t peed for forty-eight hours?’
Mitchell’s ears pricked.
‘Are you sure?’ Stephanie’s voice rose in concern.
Mitchell shoved back from the table and went to Stephanie’s side. He hated to think any animal might be in distress and he’d stay open if the owner could bring the cat straight in.
She scribbled on a piece of scrap paper and pushed it across the bench towards him.
Male cat. Urinary retention.
Stephanie was one of the most experienced vet nurses he’d ever worked with and she hardly ever got flustered.
‘Tell them to come straight in,’ Mitchell whispered.
Stephanie nodded. ‘Can you get here straight away? Our vet is happy to keep the clinic open for you...okay...see you soon.’
She ended the call and turned to Mitchell with a look of relief. ‘Thanks. That was Clancy Fitzgibbons.’
Mitchell frowned. He thought he knew everyone in town. The name rang no bells. ‘Who’s Clancy?’
‘Bit of a hermit. Moved here about a year ago. He bought Blue Gum Farm.’
Blue Gum Farm had once been a racehorse training facility, but as far as Mitchell knew, no one had lived there or kept horses there in years. He hadn’t even heard it had been on the market.
‘Apparently he has no family,’ Stephanie said. ‘He lives alone except for his cats and his horses. He has a dozen of them.’
‘Cats?’ Mitchell asked.
‘Horses.’ Stephanie cocked her head to the side. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t met him. He’s the guy who has the horse-drawn carriage rides for the tourists.’
Mitchell nodded. He’d seen Clancy and his horses around town on weekends and during the holiday months earlier in the year. The team of magnificent black Percherons pulling an antique white carriage were hard to miss. Mitchell knew who Clancy was, but hadn’t met him yet.
‘Did he say how old his cat is?’ Mitchell asked.
‘Two.’
‘And what does he think is wrong with it?’
‘He thinks it might have a UTI. It’s straining to wee but not passing anything.’
Mitchell went through possible scenarios. If the cat hadn’t voided for two days it could have a urinary tract infection or worse, a blocked urethra or nerve damage. Hopefully it wasn’t that serious. Either way, he needed to check the cat’s bladder was intact.
‘If we treat it, will he follow through and look after it?’ There was no point working on an animal and saving its life if the owner wasn’t going to look after it.
Stephanie nodded vigorously. ‘Clancy loves his animals more than life.’
An hour later, a grateful Clancy arrived carefully carrying Boots, a black and white moggie, in an old pillowcase. On initial inspection, it felt like the cat’s bladder was empty, and although Mitchell’s examination must have caused considerable discomfort, the cat purred contentedly in Clancy’s embrace.
‘Give me half an hour or so,’ Mitchell said, before scooping Boots into his arms and taking him out the back.
After doing a quick ultrasound and ascertaining the cat’s bladder was empty, Mitchell decided it would be best if Boots stayed overnight. He needed to get a urine sample so he could check for an infection before starting any antibiotics.
After giving Boots some pain relief and an anti-inflammatory and leaving him in Stephanie’s capable hands, Mitchell went out to the waiting room where Clancy sat, drinking a cup of tea and stroking the purring clinic cat which sat on his lap. He and Ian clearly knew each other and were lost in deep conversation, but they both looked up when Mitchell entered. Clancy stood, dislodging the clinic cat who dropped to the ground with an affronted look. Clancy removed his weather-beaten hat, revealing a face wrinkled with worry.
‘Boots will be fine,’ Mitchell assured him. ‘I’d say he’s probably got cystitis. I’ll keep him here overnight so we can get a urine sample from him.’ He took a seat on the bench beside Clancy and waited for Clancy to sit again before holding out his hand. ‘We haven’t been introduced properly. I’m Mitchell Davis. The new vet. I’ve taken over from Ian.’
Clancy nodded as he shook Mitchell’s hand. ‘I know who you are, lad. You’re one of Bill and Beth Simpson’s foster kids.’
Mitchell smiled. ‘That’s right. You know them?’
‘Hard not to with that many kids. I grew up around here but moved to Melbourne for work with the horses. I came home last year to retire. How many kids did they foster in the end?’
‘Around sixty.’
Clancy shook his head. ‘Bloody hell. They deserve a medal.’
Mitchell’s heart expanded with love and pride the way it always did when he thought about the impact his foster parents had made on his life and on the lives of so many other kids.
‘They sure do,’ he agreed.
A medal and a long holiday.
‘I hear you’ve recently bought the Miller’s beach shack out on Young’s Point Road.’
‘I have,’ Mitchell said with a smile. How many years would it take for it to be known as his place, not the Miller’s?
The clinic cat jumped back onto Clancy’s lap and he stroked it again. The cat arched his back in appreciation.
‘You’ve got some work ahead of you,’ Clancy said.
Mitchell smiled. Clancy had clearly done his homework, or he knew the property. Not that Mitchell should have been surprised. News that he’d bought the Miller shack had travelled around town quickly.
And Clancy was spot on about the amount of work to be done on the place. When Mitchell had shown Bill pictures of the house online before he bought it, Bill had declared him stark raving mad. Everyone else told him a bulldozer was what the old shack needed, but it hadn’t put him off. He’d needed a project. And the shack held special memories.
‘Do you know the place?’ Mitchell asked.
‘Yeah. I drive past it on my way into town.’ Clancy looked down at his dirty boots and cleared his throat. ‘Thing is, I’m old and no tradie, but I’m pretty good with me hands. If you ever need some help, let me know.’
‘Thanks for the offer, but I’m sure you’re busy with the horses,’ Mitchell said. ‘You don’t need to be bothered helping me.’
‘What if I want to?’ Clancy answered gruffly. ‘Not much else for an old codger like me to do with myself these days. If I h
ad a son of me own, I’d want to help him. It would be nice to feel useful again.’
‘I know how you feel,’ Ian muttered. ‘The day I stop working will probably be the day I drop dead.’
Ian was nudging eighty—although he didn’t look it—and he’d admitted to Mitchell he found it hard to be on his feet all day which was why he’d sold the clinic. After the death of his wife, Gwen, eighteen months earlier, he’d also admitted he was lonely and bored, which was why Mitchell had kept him employed at the clinic doing smaller jobs. It was a win for them both.
Ian looked at Mitchell. ‘I’d be happy to help you out too. I’m still pretty good with my hands and I’ve done a bit of renovating myself over the years.’
Mitchell wasn’t sure getting two old blokes to help him renovate his house was a wise idea, but he weighed up their offer. He had more than enough work around the house if they wanted it and he could always find them the easy jobs and pay professionals to do the bigger things. The last thing he needed was for one of them to get up a ladder then fall and break a hip.
He put a hand on Clancy’s shoulder. ‘How about you come over this weekend and we can have a chat?’
Clancy beamed. ‘You got yourself a deal.’
Mitchell turned to Ian. ‘You can come too, if you’d like.’
‘Love to.’
Once he’d ensured Boots was going to be okay overnight, Clancy pumped Mitchell’s hand and left the clinic with a new bounce in his step.
An hour later, after checking on Boots one last time, Mitchell locked up the clinic and called for Indy, his black and tan Bernese Mountain dog, who was sniffing something along the fence line. She lifted her head and doggy-smiled at him before loping over to the Jeep and climbing into the front seat. Mitchell smiled as he rubbed her head. She knew the drill.
He had four dogs, but Indy was the only one he took with him to work. The others were older rescue dogs—an Old English sheepdog, a great Dane and a whippet—and they preferred to spend their days asleep in the sunshine at the farm.
As he drove home, an unexpected weight settled over him. Something about meeting Clancy, then listening to Ian talk about getting old, had struck a chord. Would he end up like them one day, alone, with no one except his animals? Sure, his fur babies were great company, but sometimes he got lonely.
His best mate Jordan said he needed a woman in his life, but women were all kinds of confusing and animals were so much easier.
As if she could read his mind, Indy put a paw on his thigh. He ruffled her ears and sighed.
He’d been seeing local primary school teacher Anna Watkins for a couple of months now—his first long-term relationship in years—but something about it wasn’t working. He couldn’t exactly put his finger on what it was, but it was there, just under the surface of every conversation.
There was a lot to like about Anna. She was sweet and dependable, had a good job, and didn’t appear to have any excess baggage when it came to past relationships, but from his perspective there was no spark and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend to be interested in her. Maybe he was destined to be a bachelor forever, like Clancy. He exhaled. There could be worse things in life, couldn’t there?
When he pulled up at the farm, he got out of the car, opened the galvanised gate and drove through before closing it again and driving between the neatly spaced gum trees he’d planted either side of the gravel drive. As always, the moment he saw the view over the ocean and his under-construction beach shack, the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders.
This wasn’t the first house he’d renovated in Macarthur Point, but it would be his last—his forever house. He’d created the perfect haven and had no reason to ever leave.
Because he’d grown up in foster care, having a place to call his own was what he’d craved more than anything, and now he finally had it. The Ark was everything he’d always dreamed of and so much more. His mates had always shaken their heads when they’d seen the dumps he’d purchased to renovate in the past, but once he was finished, they’d always agreed he had a knack for turning something scarred and damaged into something beautiful. Just as Bill and Beth had done for him.
He looked at the almost-constructed house and a ripple of discontent went through him. He’d designed the house for a family. A family he’d thought he’d have by now. Yet here he was, almost forty and still single, surrounded by an ark of animals he’d rescued to stave off the loneliness he sometimes felt at night.
He didn’t let many people see his vulnerability. Instead, he tried to always paint his world with the vibrancy of his kindness, his positivity, and his friendship. But deep down, he was like a cut flower with no roots, with nothing to anchor it to this world, yet still expected to be a thing of beauty and to continue to flourish.
People never saw the roots he lacked. All they saw was what they wanted to see. A man who’d made it, despite his upbringing. He’d perfected the mask of competence. The person he presented to others was mature and capable. A professional. Good at his job. Yet inside, he was still the same scared kid, worrying that someone was going to pull the rug out and walk away.
He wanted to be one of those people who others described as a rock. He wanted to be dependable. Someone who attracted people because of their strength. In a way, he was that person, but sometimes it was a charade and it scared him that it wouldn’t take much for the tower of cards to fall. He worried that his past would come back to find him, shake his foundation and reveal the abandoned child within. The child who still mourned being left behind.
Drawing to a stop in front of the house, Mitchell pushed his depressing thoughts aside for another time, turned off the ignition, got out, and opened the back door to let Indy out while whistling for the other dogs. They came running and after quickly sniffing him as they did every time he returned in his work overalls, they took off after Indy in the direction of the beach. He didn’t need to call them back.
Pulling on his beanie, he slipped his arms into his black puffer jacket before following them. At the fence line that separated the paddocks from the sand dunes, the dogs waited impatiently. He unhitched the narrow gate and they pushed ahead of him through the sand dunes down towards the water. They loved nothing more than their daily dips in the ocean when he got home from work. The beach below his farm was always deserted, especially in winter and it was the perfect place to let the dogs loose.
He walked west along the beach while the dogs romped ahead of him bounding in and out of the water, oblivious to the cold.
Out on the water, four surfers sat on their boards waiting for a wave. Mitchell loved surfing but he’d become more of a fair-weather surfer the closer he got to forty. He stood and watched them for a while before turning and heading back home. It would be dark in an hour or so and with the weather closing in, there wouldn’t be a sunset worth watching tonight.
He whistled, and the dogs came immediately.
‘Don’t shake,’ he warned them, jumping out of Raf’s way.
As usual, the Old English sheepdog disobeyed, spraying water everywhere. Mitchell grabbed towels from the stack he kept at the back door for this purpose and gave Raf and Indy a quick rub down before unlocking the back door and letting them all inside. Chester and Monty had smartly stayed clear of the cold water and were still dry. All four dogs went straight to their respective beds and flopped down as though the short run in the freezing air had zapped their energy. He smiled. What a hard life.
Toeing off his heavy work boots, he left them at the back door. In his job, his shoes trod in a lot of unpleasant places and traipsing across his carpet with animal gunk on the soles of his boots was not a good idea. He crossed the threshold, stripping out of his jacket and pulling off his overalls as he went. Tossing his overalls and shirt into the washing machine he added powder before closing the lid and heading straight to his bathroom, ignoring the chaos around him. He should have listened when Bill said living in a house and renovating it at the same time would be
a nightmare. It was the first time he’d done so and there were days he regretted it.
As the hot water streamed over his body, he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. It hadn’t been a bad day, just a busy one and he was looking forward to some quiet time and a cold beer. Food would be good too, but there wouldn’t be anything edible in his house. At least the pizza delivery kid didn’t mind coming further out of town—the tips Mitchell gave him made the extra drive worth it.
Mitchell stepped out of the shower, dried off, wrapped the towel around his waist and went in search of some clean clothes. He was good at remembering to wash his clothes, but often they never made it to the clothesline or dryer and sometimes he had to wash them a second or third time. On the kitchen table he found two large washing baskets of folded clothes, a piece of paper on top. He smiled, already knowing who it was from and roughly what it would say.
He grabbed the basket and balanced it on his hip as he read the note.
Mitch. Hope you don’t mind. I used my key to let myself in again. I hadn’t seen you much this week and wondered if you needed anything. I’ve done your washing. You know you don’t have to let it pile up, darling. I’m happy to help. I’ve also done some grocery shopping for you and left you some meals in the fridge. xxx
He smiled as he padded back to his bedroom to get dressed. Beth. The most gorgeous human being on the planet. He couldn’t imagine his life without her. She was an answer to his prayers and she always reminded him that he was to hers too.
Life as a foster kid had been tough until he’d arrived to live with Beth and Bill. Even so, it hadn’t been an easy upbringing. With dozens of mouths to feed at any one time, the Simpsons had always struggled financially which was one of the reasons Mitchell learned early on to be smart with his finances.
Holding onto Hope Page 2
