A Country Escape

by Katie Fforde

  He picked up a cotton-wool pad and dipped it in the lid of a thermos into which he’d poured some boiling water and a little cold. Then he wrung out the pad over his wrist to test the temperature. Satisfied, he reached into the box and picked up a puppy.

  ‘There’s a heat pad under the Vet-bed in the box,’ he said, holding the squirming little creature, ‘it’s vital to keep them really warm. It’s why I’ve got the wood burner stoked and the heating turned up.’

  Then tenderly, he began to dab the pad between the puppy’s legs. ‘Can you make a note of his markings? I can see it’s a boy.’

  Fran picked up the clipboard. ‘Long white streak? Patch of white on the ear? That’s Billy.’

  ‘Great,’ said Antony. ‘And he’s just weed, so put a tick in the box. I’ll feed him now, poor little starving thing, and then we’ll do the poo bit.’

  He looked up at her. She was gazing at the tiny pup he now had in the palm of his hand. Antony supported Billy’s head with his fingers and put the teat into the gaping mouth. Billy latched on and began to suck lustily.

  ‘June told me that the advantage of puppies over human babies is that when you’ve fed them and they’ve weed and pooed, you put them back and they go straight back to sleep. None of that trying to settle them that apparently goes on with ordinary babies.’ He paused. ‘Now you feed one.’

  Concealing her nervousness at picking up such a vulnerable creature, Fran reached into the box. Although the pup seemed to be completely asleep, the moment it was in her hand it squirmed into life. Instead of a little black and white tube, it was a puppy.

  ‘Oh …’ she whispered, cradling it.

  ‘You don’t have to be frightened of it. They are surprisingly tough. Now, who’ve you got there?’

  Fran examined her wriggling handful. ‘It’s got three white feet so that should help.’ She looked at the chart. ‘Oh no, there are two with three white feet and two with a bit of white on their backs. Oh, Antony! I don’t know which one it is.’

  ‘There’s something you haven’t looked for. Turn it over. Is it male or female?’

  Fran, feeling incredibly stupid, inspected the pup. ‘I still don’t know!’

  Antony didn’t mock her. ‘It’s a boy. See? It’s surprisingly far up, away from where you’d expect it to be.’

  Fran was abashed. ‘Honestly, the most basic thing. I just hope I can do this.’

  ‘You can. Really, if I can, it can’t be that hard.’

  Fran mentally put her shoulders back and started on the pup. First she persuaded it to wee, and then she fed it. That was the most satisfying, seeing the little thing full of a lust for life. Lastly, watching what Antony did (he’d fed another pup while she was still on her first), she got a little cylinder of yellow poo from him.

  ‘I can’t believe how satisfying that was,’ she said. ‘It was like watching paint coming out of a tube.’ She put the puppy back with its siblings and it promptly fell asleep. Then she blushed. She wasn’t sure she knew Antony well enough to talk about poo.

  ‘I expect there’s a posh paint colour called “Puppy Poo”.’ he said. ‘I might have it in here when I get round to redecorating.’

  She relaxed and picked up another puppy. ‘Hmm, not sure it would work in here. You might be better with “Elephant’s Belch” or whatever it is. Now.’ She inspected her new captive. ‘Who have I got here? Oh, you’re a girl!’

  When all six pups had been fed, and their various accomplishments had been marked off on the clipboard (ticks in all the boxes), Antony and Fran sat on the sofa together, looking at the sleeping litter, all close together in a heap.

  ‘I swear their tummies are all a bit bigger now,’ said Fran, ‘although I’m sure they can’t be really.’

  ‘Apparently they’re very tube-like when they’re first born and their stomachs swell as the days go by. Now, let’s a have a drink or a cup of tea or something before the next feed.’

  A few minutes later, Antony put a mug of hot chocolate in front of her. ‘It’s so much quicker with two,’ he said.

  ‘I can imagine.’ Fran sipped her hot chocolate. ‘How long were you doing it on your own?’

  ‘They arrived at eight this morning. I put off asking you for help as long as I could. And seriously, I wouldn’t have done that at all if I didn’t have to go away tomorrow. Although it’s only for a night,’ he added.

  Fran managed not to gasp in horror at the prospect of being in sole charge of so many helpless little creatures. She turned the subject to something she knew about: food. ‘Have you eaten much today?’

  ‘A lot of toast. There’s more bread in the freezer.’

  ‘Why don’t I make us supper? We’ve got just over an hour before the next feed. There’ll be time.’

  ‘That would be amazing. Cooking has been the last thing on my mind. I’m not sure what there is …’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll find something.’ When Fran had used Antony’s kitchen to cook her pies, she discovered that there were good basic – and less basic – ingredients in his fridge. And if all else failed, she’d do omelettes.

  An hour later she went quietly back into the sitting room to find Antony stretched out on one of the sofas, fast asleep. In between making supper (sausages and mash) she had prepared the boiling water, mixed up a double batch of milk and sterilised all the bottles. She reckoned they just had time to eat before the next feed.

  She cleared her throat and, obligingly, Antony opened his eyes.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ she said. ‘The pups are already getting restless, thinking it’s time for their next meal.’

  ‘That’s amazing,’ said Antony, looking at the loaded tray and swinging his legs down to the floor.

  She handed him a plate.

  ‘Would you like a glass of wine with it?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d kill for a glass of wine, but honestly? I think not while I’m in charge of puppies,’ Fran replied.

  He laughed. ‘I’ll be in charge. You could have a glass.’

  She shook her heard. ‘I’d rather have a cup of tea, frankly. I’ll make it afterwards.’

  They didn’t speak, both appreciating the sausages, which had just the right combination of meat, fat, cereal and spice, and the creamy mashed potatoes.

  ‘That was heaven,’ said Antony when he’d finished. ‘Now I’m going to make tea.’

  The puppies were stirring properly now so Fran measured milk into all the bottles. Then she went and washed her hands. The tea was waiting for her when she got back.

  ‘I should probably feed the pups before drinking the tea,’ she said, ‘but I’m afraid I’m going to look after myself first.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Antony, having taken a sip of his own tea. ‘Now, shall we get started?’

  And so it began again.

  For the night shift, they took a sofa each, neither of them wanting to go to bed properly for less than two hours’ sleep. Although she had set her phone to wake her, Fran slept through an entire feed. This meant when she heard her phone alarm again, she’d had four hours’ sleep.

  ‘Antony!’ she reproached him as he came back into the room with the thermoses and milk. ‘You should have made sure I woke up!’

  ‘You’ve got to do a whole day and night on your own tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I thought I should let you miss a feed. Now, there’s more tea on the counter in the kitchen. Would you care to bring it through? And home-made shortbread that June made for us.’

  They didn’t talk very much through the feed, mostly just commenting on how the individual puppies were doing. There was one, a bit smaller than the rest, who, though keen at first, tired quickly, that Fran took on as a challenge.

  ‘I’ll feed Betsy first,’ she said, ‘and then when she’s had a nap, after all the others have fed, I’ll do her again.’

  ‘You’re really into this, aren’t you?’ said Antony, stroking a tiny tummy with damp cotton wool.

  ‘I’ve never really looked after an animal – ani
mals plural, I suppose – like this before. It does make you really care about them. As you said, they’re so dependent.’

  ‘Even big animals, like cows, are dependent,’ said Antony. ‘Ask Tig.’

  Fran was beginning to understand a bit better now how Tig felt about his cows, and how, presumably, Amy had also. It wasn’t just because they were valuable and produced wonderful milk, it was because without care and attention they wouldn’t thrive. And caring for them made you love them.

  ‘I will talk to him about the cows a bit more,’ she resolved. ‘Apparently cows form family groups that it’s important to recognise. I’d like to know more about that.’ She took a breath. ‘Now, have we done all the others? Pass me Betsy. Come on, little girl, let’s get a bit more into you.’

  Fran insisted that Antony missed the 6 a.m. feed and went to bed properly, so he could sleep until he had to leave for London, shortly after eight. He was driving himself as Seb was still away at his best friend’s wedding.

  She was just preparing for the 8 a.m. feed in the kitchen when he appeared, fresh from the shower, shaved and smelling heavenly. When she turned to look at him, she saw he was looking wonderful too.

  ‘You don’t look like someone who’s only had four hours’ sleep,’ she said, taken aback by the impression he made on her.

  ‘I don’t know if people who’ve had very little sleep always look like you do,’ he responded, ‘but I must say, it’s a look I like.’

  Fran paused, halfway through filling the kettle. ‘Are you paying me a compliment?’

  He laughed gently. ‘I realise to the sleep-deprived that probably sounded a bit obscure. But yes. You look lovely. Rumpled, not remotely “groomed”, but delightful.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve probably stepped over a boundary when I shouldn’t have. Sorry. Forget I said anything.’

  ‘I’d rather remember, if you don’t mind,’ she said, suddenly shy. ‘And have you time for tea?’

  He walked over to his coffee machine, which was the size of a small car. ‘I think I need something fairly high-octane. Which is a double espresso.’

  ‘Toast? I could slather Marmite on to it to make it almost inedible? I’m afraid the thought of a double espresso at this time in the morning gives me a headache, but if that’s the sort of thing you like …’

  ‘Toast, with butter, and just the usual amount of Marmite would be heavenly.’

  ‘I’m on to it,’ she said.

  Seemingly seconds later, Antony said, ‘That was delicious,’ wiping his mouth. He cleared his throat. ‘I can’t decide which would feel weirder, kissing you goodbye or not kissing you goodbye.’

  ‘Oh …’

  ‘Actually, it’s probably wrong to kiss you in any case, but I’m going to do it anyway.’

  And he did. Not the peck on the cheek she was expecting, but on her mouth, firm and meaningful enough for her to remember for the rest of the day.

  Fran spent the day watching daytime television and dozing in between feeds. She was better at identifying the pups now, and had the knack of getting them to wee and poo quickly. Betsy, the little one, seemed to be thriving on her two-tier feeding system. Fran was quicker at measuring out the powdered milk, too. But she was a zombie really: the outside world seemed irrelevant. All that mattered was feeding the pups on time and getting ticks in all the boxes on the chart.

  The pups always weed, but sometimes they missed the other bit, which was worrying. Fran wished she’d clarified with Antony on how many boxes could have crosses in them, consecutively, before the vet should be called. While this hadn’t happened yet, she did look up the number of the nearest vet so she’d have it handy.

  Issi came over in time for the four o’clock feed. She was instructed in puppy hygiene and – as a huge concession to the fact that it was so time-consuming, and it was Issi – was allowed to help with the feeding. Being short of sleep and making the little family the absolute focus of her attention had given Fran lioness tendencies when it came to protecting them.

  ‘You probably don’t want to hear this now,’ said Issi, watching in admiration as Fran deftly produced wee from a puppy as if she were pressing a button and not just dabbing with damp cotton wool. ‘But Roy is due back later this evening.’

  ‘Oh no! I was hoping he’d spend a bit longer on his whirlwind tour of the British Isles.’

  ‘He went to Cornwall.’

  ‘Good choice.’

  ‘But now he’s coming home today. Not sure why but he muttered about B and Bs being expensive.’

  ‘Oh God, I’ve been dreading this. Because I live at the farm, he’s going to think that he has the right to as well. But I’m living off my savings. I’m not going to support him.’

  ‘Of course not! I do what I can with my rent but I’ve seen you worry about all the expenses.’

  ‘It’ll be OK,’ said Fran. ‘Honestly, as long as we keep these puppies alive until they’re collected, nothing else seems to matter. See little Betsy?’ She pointed to the pile.

  ‘You mean the black and white one?’

  ‘No need for sarcasm. She’s smaller than the others. Look!’ Fran offered the minute pup for inspection. ‘I’m feeding her twice, once at the beginning and once at the end of the session.’

  ‘Should you force-feed them? Isn’t that like what they do to geese to make foie gras?’

  ‘No, it isn’t at all like that!’ Fran was indignant. ‘But I’m not sure I should be doing it. She feeds well for a little but gets tired. By the time she’s had a rest she’s up for some more.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s absolutely fine,’ said Issi.

  Fran dragged her thoughts away from the little family that was currently her obsession. ‘About Roy. I really don’t want him poking round while I’m not at the farm.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Issi. ‘I’ll be there. I’ll guard your territory. And you will be back soon, won’t you? Aren’t the pups being collected tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I think so, but when is Roy coming?’

  Issi shrugged. ‘Not sure exactly. Late afternoon, early evening is what he said.’

  Fran looked at her watch. It was nearly five. ‘Maybe you should be getting back then?’

  ‘I’ll make you tea and toast and then go,’ said Issi. ‘I do understand, but you look exhausted. You should let me do a shift so you can get a proper nap.’

  ‘I’m coping! It’s hard but I’m coping.’ Fran forced a smile. ‘I can manage here if I don’t have to worry about anything else. If you cover my back at home, that will be wonderful.’

  ‘Then that’s what I’ll do. Tea and toast first though. Would you like me to make you dinner and bring it over?’ suggested Issi. ‘My pasta sauce is fairly edible.’

  ‘Your pasta sauce is great but really, please, all I want you to do is guard my farm. There are cold sausages here, and leftover mash. I won’t starve.’

  ‘I do hope it becomes your farm!’ said Issi. ‘And not just for your sake.’

  Fran put her hand on Issi’s. ‘I know. I think about Tig too. Now if you’re going to make toast …’

  It was a long night. Fran felt she was constantly washing her hands, boiling kettles and measuring milk powder. In between she was studying little bodies so she could identify them, rubbing them with damp tissue and – the least part of it all – actually feeding the puppies.

  She was washing bottles in the kitchen after the eight a.m. feed when she heard the doorbell ring. Somewhat anxious, she dried her hands and went to open it. Who could it be? Who would call on Antony at this time? Surely it couldn’t be good news.

  A couple in their sixties stood on the doorstep. ‘I am so sorry,’ said the woman. ‘I know it’s horrendously early, but we had to come and see about the pups?’

  ‘We’re Jack and June,’ said the man. ‘Antony’s friends. We own the collie bitch who had the puppies.’

  Fran opened the door wider. ‘You must be desperate to see them. But they’re all fine.’

  She felt oddly pro
prietorial as she opened the door to the sitting room and ushered the couple in.

  June went straight over to look in the box. Fran went with her. ‘I’m looking for Betsy,’ said June.

  ‘Oh, there she is,’ said Fran. ‘Do you want her?’ She picked up Betsy and handed her over.

  ‘She’s grown! I suppose they all have but it shows most with Betsy. She was the smallest.’

  ‘I fed her twice – I mean each feed. Once at the beginning and then a top-up at the end. Was that wrong?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said June. ‘How kind of you.’

  ‘Shall I make some tea or something? While you get reacquainted with the pups?’

  The couple nodded and then sat on the sofa, peering with wonder into the box. She left them to it and went into the kitchen.

  A little later, June said, ‘I can’t believe Antony found someone to take this on at such short notice. I just didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t not go to my daughter and baby granddaughter. When he said he knew someone who might help we were so relieved.’

  ‘And was it all right to leave them now? They’re both well?’ Although to Fran the puppies were the most important thing, she accepted that human babies mattered too.

  June beamed. ‘They are! Both fit as fleas now; although the baby is small, she’s doing really well. But you? Was it hard for you to drop everything for these little scraps?’

  ‘I was only too happy to help,’ Fran said. ‘Antony has been so generous to me.’

  ‘He’s such a lovely man, isn’t he?’ Sipping her tea, with Betsy on her lap, June had relaxed. ‘Not everyone sees that side of him. They think he’s all business, business, business.’

  ‘How did you get to meet him?’ Fran was delighted to be able to find out more about Antony.

  ‘He’s friends with our son. He used to spend school holidays with us when his parents first went to live in Switzerland, where his mother still lives. Although he came from a very different background, he was always very happy to muck in. We farm in a small way and have always had collies.’ She kissed the pup and put it back before picking up another one. ‘He could never have a dog at home, so he had one with us. Great working dog, she was.’