Freya North 3-Book Collection: Secrets, Chances, Rumours. Freya North
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had grown so fond of Lisa, Joe was back. Joe was here and Wolf would be coming home and everything else would just have to wait.
‘Lisa,’ said Joe vaguely, looking back to the playground.
‘She's lovely.’
‘Well, what do we need?’
Tess thought about it. I need this, she thought, I've missed this.
‘Oh – just pick up what you fancy.’
‘I'll see you back at the house,’ Joe said, doffing an imaginary cap. ‘Back at home.’ He headed down the hill and Tess and Em walked back up it slowly towards the house. She passed Lisa in the playground, now chatting to another mum. Lisa motioned to Tess the universal gesture for ‘phone me’. Tess's response was an expansive, double thumbs-up. Lisa thought, poor old Seb – you don't stand a chance.
Back at the house, Tess gazed at Em who seemed unaware of her mother's state of heightened excitement. Tess dropped to her knees, though the cold flagstones met her, giving her daughter a gentle prod in her rounded little tummy.
‘Em,’ she said in a whisper, ‘Joe's back. Joe's come home. And Wolfy's coming back too and by tonight, everything will be back to how it should be.’
Em held onto her mother's probing finger. Tess touched Em's nose. ‘Wish us luck,’ she said, ‘wish us lots of luck. All of us.’ Em said the word that only her mother knew was ‘nose’ and Tess took time out from her grown-up ponderings to complete the points of the face with her daughter. Yighs. Years. Mowf.
‘Clever Em,’ said Tess, scooping her up and hugging her close. She stood, silent and still. Please let today be lovely.
‘Quick! We need to tidy!’ and Tess scooted off from room to room, flinging up windows, plumping cushions, straightening furniture, checking for dust, her every move shadowed by Em.
Joe returned, laden with shopping.
‘I thought we'd do a simple lunch,’ he told her, busying himself putting stuff away because Tess was standing peculiarly motionless in the kitchen holding Emmeline's wrists, who was standing barefoot on the table. ‘Then we can have a celebratory dinner to toast the return and the speedy convalescence of the Wolfmeister.’
He laid out cheese and crusty bread, some celery sticks and fresh tomatoes, a jar of chutney. ‘Excuse me, Emmeline,’ he said as if Tess wouldn't know that her daughter was in the way but he ended up having to lay the plates and cutlery at the other end of the table and moved the food accordingly. He looked at Tess. ‘You all right? Hungry?’ He nudged her and broke the trance.
‘I'm starving,’ she said, as if she'd just come into the kitchen.
And there they were once again, eating together and chatting away.
‘I can't believe you're here,’ said Tess. ‘Wolf is going to be thrilled.’
‘Wolf won't know what hit him, hey?’
‘God knows what hit him, Joe – but I wouldn't be surprised if it was a steamroller. No one stopped – can you believe that?’
‘Perhaps they didn't realize.’
‘How can you not realize if you hit a dog the size of Wolfy?’
Joe glanced at his watch. ‘So we can pick him up at six?’ ‘You ought to be the one to pick him up,’ Tess said quietly. ‘It should be you to go.’
Joe thought, that's thoughtful. He found his gaze lingering until Tess made a sudden move and said, tea?
‘Thanks,’ said Joe. ‘I'll do a couple of hours’ work, then.’
Tess made him a mug of builder's tea. A KitKat too – he hadn't seen those when he'd put the digestives away. ‘I keep them in the fridge,’ she told him, ‘in the door – where the eggs could go. But it's a trade secret – KitKats taste better chilled and eggs should be kept at room temperature.’ She opened the fridge for emphasis, then pointed to a little wire basket which he remembered seeing in the box in her room, now on the dresser with half a dozen eggs in it. When they both looked at the eggs they couldn't help but catch sight of the photo of Joe in KL right next to them. They'd forgotten about all that. If they started talking about it, they'd have to confront the other stuff too, like mother Mary. It had been easy and lovely thus far. It was a special day. Neither wanted to sabotage it. They glanced away from the photo and stared at the eggs before taking their cups of tea and proceeding with their separate afternoons.
‘Any washing?’ Tess knocked at the study door and used her hushed tone. ‘I'm doing darks.’
‘There's a heap on my bathroom floor,’ came Joe's disembodied voice. ‘Help yourself, if you really want to.’
‘Oh, I don't mind,’ Tess said to herself as much as to Joe as she climbed the stairs, ‘I don't mind at all.’
Tess had so wanted Em to stay awake for Wolf's return – a welcome party befitting him – but though Joe had left before six, over an hour later he was still not home and Em had dozed off. Tess went from window to window, craning a view in any direction. Like a magical omen, the weather was so warm today she'd been able to keep many windows open. At this time of evening, with birds busy singing the glories of the day just gone, the light golden and mellow and promising all good things for tomorrow, the breeze a little fresher but still benign and the dimensions of the house's windows – broad, tall sashes – allowing it all to sweep through the house, the division between outside and indoors became wonderfully indistinct. I ought to change, Tess thought. And then she thought, Wolf won't mind. And she didn't think Joe would mind either.
She went downstairs and opened the fridge. At the playground, she'd asked Joe to buy fresh liver for Wolf. It was there. So was a fresh trout and, by the looks of things, various accoutrements for a fine dinner. She rummaged around. Fresh dill. New potatoes. Where did he find the asparagus? She looked in the freezer: luxury vanilla ice cream. It all made her smile, and it made her hungry too. No good staying in the kitchen, she'd only pick. She went back to the hallway where, in the side return, which was simply an aesthetic space with no prior function, she'd made a parlour for Wolf. His blankets, a cushion, his favourite rubber toy and one of Joe's moccasins. On a tray, his bowls and underneath it all, newspaper to guard against accidents. She'd said to Joe that Wolf could feel part of the action here, without being in the thick of it. He won't want us tripping over him if he does his usual splay halfway across the kitchen floor, she'd said. And they'd both looked pensively back into the kitchen, the expanse of flagstones looking bare and cold without Wolf lolling about in his trademark sprawl.
She glanced at the grandfather clock though she knew the real time bore no relation. She gave the pendulum a swing, as she often did, like she'd seen Joe do. She thought, they must be back soon.
‘He's a soldier, this one,’ the vet says to Joe.
‘He certainly looks like he's been in the wars,’ Joe says, stroking what he can of Wolf. ‘Don't you, old man? You brave old boy. Poor lad.’
‘I have every faith in him,’ the vet says, ‘and in my skills.’
‘He does look a state,’ Joe says affectionately.
‘He was no oil painting before,’ the vet laughs. ‘Were you, Wolf?’
‘No, you're right.’
‘He'll be a conversation starter – you won't be able to go two steps without someone asking all about it.’
‘Well, it'll make a change from being stopped and asked, what the hell kind of breed is that?’
‘Exactly – he'll have a whole new notoriety and a new following too,’ the vet says. ‘Now, in addition to the appointments we've made, I'm going to have the nurse show you how to change the dressings – and what to look for in the tail stump particularly.’
She watches Joe shift. She thinks he's gone a little pale but she can't be sure because she likes a sunbed