Tara nearly slipped over twice in the rush from one end of the muddy field to the other, and Toby had to grab her by the hood. Molly hurled herself into Tara’s open arms and sobbed into her coat.
‘It’s OK, Molly, we’re here.’ Tara stroked her hair and mouthed, ‘Dog?’ at Toby.
‘I’m so sorry!’ Molly’s voice was muffled. ‘I’m so sorry!’
‘No need to be sorry!’ Tara hugged her. ‘You got a bit lost. No harm done.’
Toby crouched so he wasn’t looming over her. ‘Where’s my pal Lloyd?’ He said it in his kid-friendly voice, but it set Molly off sobbing again and it took another five minutes to calm her down.
‘I thought I could be useful if I took Lloyd out for a walk,’ she hiccupped heartbreakingly. Rain had soaked her pink coat magenta, and her jeans were crusted with mud. ‘He was chewing things, and I could tell you were getting cross with him.’ She tried to speak but her sobs were swallowing whole words. ‘We were meant to go the way we went yesterday but I got … I got lost! The trees look the same!’
‘Deep breaths.’ Tara rubbed her narrow back. ‘Deep breaths.’
‘We came out on a road and …’ Molly struggled. ‘There was a fire engine, with its siren on, and Lloyd was scared …’
Tara and Toby exchanged dismayed glances over her head.
‘And he … he tried to run away, and I couldn’t hold on to him, and I don’t know where he went!’ she finished up hysterically. ‘What if he’s been run over?’
‘He won’t be run over,’ Toby reassured her. ‘It’s a quiet road, and everyone’s at home because it’s raining. If anything, he’s more likely to …’
Tara glared at him.
‘Labradors are excellent swimmers,’ he said.
That set off fresh sobs. Molly clung to Tara, suddenly much younger than eleven. ‘He’s lost! He must be so scared! It’s my fault.’
‘It does dogs good to have an adventure, now and again,’ said Toby firmly, seeing Tara’s own lip start to wobble. ‘Tara and I will find him. First, let’s take you home.’
Someone in a mackintosh was waiting on the doorstep when they arrived back at the house: David.
He was scribbling something on a pad but stopped as they approached.
‘I was leaving you a note, I need to talk to you about something. Nice day for a country stroll,’ he added, seeing their drenched clothes. ‘Or was it a swim?’
He’s got the job, thought Tara, her heart plunging. He’s here to tell me he’s got the job and he’s excited because he doesn’t know I wanted it too.
The strange thing was, even though Toby had said he didn’t want his share of the house, Tara realized she cared a lot about the Centre Director role.
She’d really wanted it. Not just for the money, but for the team. The projects. The chance to challenge herself, to make a difference.
‘Hi, I’m Toby,’ said Toby, holding out his hand. ‘This is Molly, my sister.’
‘David Dalloway.’ They shook hands, and when Molly heard Toby say ‘sister’, she smiled through the last of her tears.
‘Molly’s been for a cross-country run,’ said Toby. ‘Unfortunately we’re now one Labrador short.’
‘Can I help?’ David looked between Toby and Tara. ‘An extra pair of eyes on the search party?’
Tara knew David could locate Lloyd in an instant – if he could do what he said. But she didn’t really believe he could. The stakes were too high now; she didn’t want him to pretend, and let Molly down.
However, he could always help her look.
‘That’s very kind of you, David,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you and Toby—’
‘Nu-huh. I don’t have the footwear for this.’ Toby pointed at his ruined shoes. ‘You two go, and I’ll ring the police or whoever’s in charge of finding runaway Labradors these days.’
‘Lloyd likes you, Tara – if he hears you shouting, he’ll come back.’ Molly reached in her pocket and gave Tara some damp kibble. ‘He sometimes comes back if I give him treats?’
Then she buried her head in her big sister’s coat. Tara bit her lip and threw back her head to stop herself letting out an audible gulp.
‘Better go and find this dog, eh?’ said David.
They took Tara’s Mini, in case Lloyd had gone further than the fields they’d already searched.
It was still raining, and the monotonous swish of the windscreen wipers replaced the conversation that normally unfolded between them as easily as a map.
‘Pull over,’ said David suddenly.
Tara nearly swerved as the Mini hit a pothole under a large puddle. ‘What? Have you seen Lloyd?’
‘No. Just pull over. This is only going to take a minute, but I need to tell you what I came round to say.’
There was a layby ahead. She pulled over and sat without taking her hands off the steering wheel. Her knuckles were white. This was it: I’m now your boss.
David turned in his seat. Tara didn’t.
‘I had a meeting this morning with Jacqueline …’
‘I know,’ said Tara, staring at the rain. ‘And for what it’s worth, I hope you’ve got it.’
‘What?’
‘The director’s job. I hope you’ve got it. I had a bit of an epiphany while I was in there with Jacqueline – it’s ridiculous to consider taking on a project like that when I need some time out. I mean, this year. It’s been a lot.’ She decided not to mention Phil in her portfolio of emotional crises. ‘I’ve decided to take six months out. Perform a complete life laundry on myself for a change, instead of tackling other people’s.’
David was stunned into silence and Tara was pleased she’d taken the high road. The air was so fresh and rewarding up here.
‘I understand why you didn’t tell me,’ Tara went on, encouraged by the inner lightness she felt at making her time-off plan feel ‘real’, ‘but you’re probably the best person for the job. I mean, you combine pure psychotherapy with animal communication. Can’t get much more holistic than that!’
‘Tara, I didn’t—’
‘Do you mind if we leave it there? My interview was painful.’ She checked her mirrors in an exaggerated driving-test manner. ‘Can we get back to finding the dog now?’
She indicated to turn back on to the road, but David put his hand over hers on the steering wheel to stop her. ‘Tara.’
The physical contact surprised them both.
‘Tara, that wasn’t an interview. I mean, it was, but it wasn’t … the one you were doing.’
‘So what was it?’
David raked a hand through his hair. ‘It was an informal meeting between me and two trustees and Jacqueline, to discuss allegations that had been raised about my practice.’
‘What?’
‘Allegations that I was mentally unstable and/or deliberately abusing the therapeutic relationship.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Someone shopped me about the animal communication. It’s my own fault, I take full responsibility. I should have made it transparent, instead of just being …’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘Lazy.’
Tara hadn’t been expecting that. ‘What? Oh, David.’
‘Yes, it made for an uncomfortable half-hour. I’m suspended, pending further discussions. Jacqueline wanted me to go away and think about what I’d done, and to come back in a fortnight’s time and tell them it was all a joke, or that I’m getting psychiatric help. Words to that effect.’
Tara didn’t know what to say. Suspended.
‘You don’t think …’ Her chest tightened. Did he think she’d dropped him in it? That she valued Jacqueline’s opinion over his trust? ‘David, I didn’t tell Jacqueline, if that’s what you came round to talk to me about.’
He looked at her, and Tara suddenly felt hurt that he seemed to be weighing it up. She didn’t want David to think badly of her. His opinion mattered. His friendship mattered. More than she’d realized until now.
‘I wouldn’t,’ she insisted.
His face softened. ‘I know it wasn’t you.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. You wouldn’t have snitched to the teacher without telling me first. It’s not your style.’ He paused, then added, ‘And we’re friends. Work friends, obviously.’
His eyes were locked on hers, searching her face, and she wondered what her own eyes were giving away. Work friends didn’t generally drive round the flooded countryside on mercy missions like this.
‘Plus you could have checked in with Sybil,’ she pointed out.
It seemed to break the spell. ‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘But right now, she’s more concerned about finding this stupid dog you keep letting in her house.’
They slithered round a couple of fields, with no sign of Lloyd, and then Tara’s phone rang. She grabbed it, thinking it might be Keith, but it was Toby.
‘Molly’s hysterical,’ he said. ‘She hasn’t stopped crying since we got back and she’s making noises like she’s about to be sick. What was that stuff Mum used to funnel into us every time we sneezed?’
‘Calpol.’ She could hear Molly crying in the background and it went through her like a knife, right under the ribs. ‘I don’t think we’ve got any.’
‘Brandy? Can you still give kids brandy?’
‘No! Don’t give her brandy. Just … just make her a cup of tea and put a boxset on.’
‘Any word from Dad?’
‘No, not yet.’
David was giving her the full mind-reading stare when she ended the call. ‘Everything OK?’
Tara closed her eyes, but when she did, Molly’s ashen face floated up. Tara needed to help her.
‘Lloyd means the world to Molly,’ she said. ‘He’s the one stable thing in her life. She’s an only child, her mum’s struggling with addiction, and her dad’s a …’ She stopped the automatic words spilling out. They were Ruth’s words. What did she really think of the man who’d reappeared? A man who was full of problems, but attempting to find some solutions at the same time. Without once bad-mouthing her mother, though he had every reason to.
What did she think?
‘Dad’s trying to be a better father this time round, but I don’t know how much he’s there. Lloyd’s her rock.’
As she spoke, Tara saw another little girl. Another dad and another dog, her two favourite things in the world. She pushed the thought away, but David seemed to understand the pain in her face.
He patted her shoulder. ‘We will find him.’
Could David somehow connect with Lloyd, wherever he was? She couldn’t make him do the one thing he’d explicitly said he’d never do. It was enough that he was here with her, in the mud, searching.
They stood under a sycamore tree by the side of the road. The rain was heavier again and Tara imagined Lloyd sliding in the mud, distressed and disorientated. Had he found somewhere to shelter? Was he hurt? Worse, had some stranger picked him up – and driven him away? The fields were covered with standing water, and it was impossible to see where the swollen streams started and the fields ended. Very easy to fall in. Very easy.
Poor, scared Lloyd. If he was stolen or injured, Molly would blame herself. She’d carry his pain like a scar for the rest of her life. Tara covered her mouth to keep the sob in.
‘Right,’ said David, without warning. ‘I think we should get back in the car and head down the road.’
‘Are you …?’ Was David seeing what Lloyd was seeing?
But he was walking back to the car, with a determination that made her want to follow him, quickly.
They drove in silence for another mile or so until they came to a tarmacked entrance to a cider orchard.
‘The footpaths cross just over here,’ he said, pointing to a sign. ‘Lots of dog walkers, lots of smells.’
Tara couldn’t tell if he was being logical or just pretending to be logical to cover his less easily explained intervention, but they braced against the rain and set off down the footpath, slipping around as they tried to search and call and avoid sliding down the bank at the same time.
Neither of them spoke, other than to shout, ‘Lloyd!’ and grunt at the mud and the rain. Tara’s lungs burned keeping up with David, but something about the way he was striding out made her feel as if they were getting nearer.
They’d walked for what felt like miles – but probably wasn’t – when David stopped so abruptly Tara nearly pushed him off the path. He pointed over the hedge into the next field. ‘There!’
‘Where?’ David didn’t seem to notice her grabbing his arms to keep her balance. He hoisted her easily on to the higher bank so she could see.
Tara couldn’t make it out at first, because instead of a yellow Labrador there was now a chocolate one, merging in with the water and mud, but there he was: cowering and surrounded by water, trapped in a field of sheep. Lloyd.
‘Lloyd! Lloyd!’ Tara waved, and the dog barked in response, but each time his paws touched the water he shied back with a whimper.
David turned to her. ‘Aren’t Labradors supposed to be water dogs?’
‘He’s a city boy. Don’t think he’s seen a sheep before.’
‘Him and me both.’
Tara surveyed the field with zero enthusiasm. It was beyond muddy, bordering on boggy, and there were sheep – which she’d never felt totally comfortable with either, despite growing up surrounded by them.
But who else was going to do this?
Tara took a deep breath. For Branston. For Mum. For Molly.
For herself.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and get him.’
‘Have you found Lloyd?’ said Molly before Tara could even speak. Her voice was scratchy with fear. ‘Is he alive?’
Tara swivelled round in the driver’s seat to check the state of a mud-encrusted, drenched-to-the-bone Lloyd wrapped in David’s mac, on the back seat. His eyes were closed with exhaustion and he was limping badly on three different paws. But he was alive, yes.
David sat next to him, looking equally drenched and shattered. He’d staggered the length of a field bearing the whining Labrador to the nearest point Tara could reverse the Mini without it getting stuck. Which, it turned out, was nowhere near enough for David’s lower back.
‘We’ve got him! He’s fallen in the river and he’s a bit, um, soggy, so we’re just taking him to the vet’s for a check-up.’
Molly started saying, ‘Hurray!’ but the word dissolved into tears of relief. A lump rose in Tara’s throat. Deep in the hidden folds of her subconscious there was a shift, a balance restored.
She heard Toby saying, ‘Is that good crying or bad crying?’ over more sobbing, then he’d taken the phone from Molly and was on the line.
‘Good job, Sis,’ he said. ‘I’m proud of you.’
‘Call me if Dad calls,’ said Tara, and hung up before her voice broke.
She busied herself with the windscreen wipers, but when she glanced in the rear-view mirror, David looked straight at her.
‘Tara? Are you all right? You’re crying.’
She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘Sorry, I’m just … I did something similar with our dog when I was Molly’s age.’ She gulped. It felt like David already knew.
‘Branston?’
‘Yes. Branston.’ Had she told him that? Probably. That was how cold readers worked; you forgot what you let slip. Still, what did it matter? ‘I let him out hoping he’d get lost and Dad would come home. He was hit by a car. I managed to blank it completely, but not the guilt. It all merged with Dad leaving and Mum’s unhappiness.’
And why I’ve spent nearly twenty-five years trying to make up for it by wading into other people’s problems, she thought, by shouldering as much responsibility as I could. More and more, and never enough to make it right.
David’s voice from the back was kind. ‘You know, I bet it wouldn’t even make Branston’s top five memories.’
‘He had plates in both legs, David!’
‘That’s not what he remembers. How many more years did he have with you? Eight? He was an old boy when he went. A very happy old boy.’
Tara checked in the rear-view mirror. Lloyd was lying with his sodden head over David’s lap, soaking his trousers. David didn’t seem to have noticed. He was focused on Tara’s brimming eyes in the mirror.
‘Yes,’ she nodded.
‘Well, then.’
It was only much later that Tara realized she’d never told David how old Branston was when he finally went to sleep for ever in her arms, after a breakfast of mashed potato and steak, and a walk around the garden. Probably a good guess, she told herself. A good guess.
Lloyd was limping badly, but managed a brave thump of his tail for George the vet when they struggled into the surgery with him.
‘You hauled this big lump across a field?’ George wasn’t one to mince his words. ‘Do you play for Longhampton Rugby Club, sir? And if not, would you like to?’
David massaged his shoulder with a grimace. ‘He seemed reluctant to walk.’
‘He’s a Labrador.’ George was checking Lloyd’s legs, squeezing and prodding. Lloyd wagged his tail. ‘Given half a chance he’d have you carry him round the house.’
‘Whatever treatment he needs, just go ahead,’ Tara insisted as George checked Lloyd’s heart, his laboured breathing, his twig-crusted paw pads. The Sindys could pay for any medical care he needed. She’d cover the rest. Her heart clenched thinking of Molly’s voice on the line, so small, struggling with the heavy responsibility of love.
‘I don’t think that’s going to be necessary. He’s fine. Come on, you beast.’ George gave the dog a gentle but firm prod. ‘Up you get. Show’s over.’
To Tara’s astonishment, Lloyd staggered to his paws, then wobbled over to the food display and started sniffing it.
‘Keep him warm and quiet tonight, plenty of water, any change give us a call.’ George replaced the stethoscope round his neck. ‘But if you need a chiropractor,’ he added to David, ‘I can give you a number. I see her twice a year, after lambing. Excellent. Utterly brutal.’
Lloyd maintained an intermittent limp for effect as they returned him to the car, and Tara clipped him in with the harness the receptionist had sold them on the way out. She wasn’t thrilled by the concept of a dog on her back seat, but a tiny part of her liked the idea of being prepared for Lloyd’s company. Somewhere in the future.
‘Well, the good news? Is that that mac is dry-cleanable,’ said David, and Tara was overwhelmed by a powerful impulse to hug him.
Since there was no one around, and she couldn’t work out how to thank him in the right words, she did.
It took them both by surprise how easily Tara’s arms wrapped around David’s neck, how neatly her head fitted into the curve of his neck. How easily – after a moment’s hesitation – David’s arms slipped around her waist and pulled her body into his.
It was strange, Tara thought, breathing against the tender spot just under David’s ear, that the same tingly, silvery shivers of excitement she’d felt that night on the fire escape were exploding over her skin now, even though she hadn’t had a drop to drink. This felt like the right way to express the surging gratitude in her heart.
Gratitude. That was it, she told herself. Relief.
She hugged him tighter, resting her lips against the smooth curve under his strong jaw. More gratefully. Then she dropped her forehead to his shoulder, conscious of where her lips wanted to go next.
‘I know what you did in that field, David,’ she said into the fine cotton of his shirt, damp with rain and warm from his physical exertions. He’d walked so specifically to the right place. So surely.
‘I would never have asked you,’ she added. ‘But thank you.’
David didn’t reply, but he tilted his head so his cheek pressed against hers. For an uncomfortable moment, Tara wondered if his silence meant he was about to admit it was bollocks after all, and she felt oddly disappointed.
But would it matter if he did? They’d found Lloyd. He was safe. Would it change what she thought about David?
‘Love has a loud voice.’ He sighed, his breath hot across her wet hair. ‘Sometimes … sometimes it’s too strong to ignore.’
Tara squeezed her eyes to hold in the tears.
‘It’s incredible what we animals will do to come home,’ he said. ‘When you love someone, you always sense where home is. Always.’
I’ll stay here until I’ve stopped crying, Tara told herself, burying her eyes in David’s shirt. I don’t want him to see me crying.
Although that was a weak argument when he’d seen her crying all day.
David’s arms didn’t slacken either. The hug had now gone on for several minutes, and if anything, it was evolving into something different.
The rain had started again around them, fine rain, but Tara didn’t really notice.
She didn’t want to break the hug, because once it was broken, they’d have to talk about it. She didn’t want to hear David say he’d felt something different than the sparkling, tingling electricity she was feeling. Because, Tara realized now, there was no way she would be getting on a plane with Phil Shawcross. He was from a different life.
She turned her head and rested her lips against the softness of David’s neck again – not a kiss, not quite a kiss – and she heard his sharp intake of breath, then a slow sigh over her hair. Something new shimmered inside Tara, like the solar fairy lights twinkling in the midnight garden.
It rained, and they stayed tight in each other’s arms.
Tara sensed David’s arms release first and as they did, she felt as cold and bereft as a city Labrador scrambling out of a cold beck.
I need him to hug me again, she thought. I …
‘David,’ she started to say, but got no further as David leaned in and kissed her properly, on the lips.
The kitchen window was brightly lit with many candles when they pulled up outside Wye Villa.
Most of Lloyd’s mud had transferred itself to the back seat of Tara’s Mini, and the Labrador who emerged on to the slick pavement was already more yellow than the miserable chocolate creature they’d found.
Tara unclipped his lead. Lloyd leaped out, dashed straight up the garden path and scraped at the front door to be let in.
The door was flung open. Molly stood there in her unicorn pyjamas, and opened up her arms. ‘Lloyd!’
With a woof of pure joy, Lloyd nearly knocked her over in his frenzy of licking and wagging and barking.
‘See?’ David nudged Tara as they followed him in. ‘Lloyd’s forgotten already. And if he hasn’t, he’s already forgiven her.’
‘Well, his limp seems to be cured anyway.’
‘Lucky for you. I was going to make you carry him this time.’
Keith was standing behind Molly, and the candlelight made his hair darker. For a surreal moment, Tara thought the years had rolled away to the dad she remembered, the dad she’d dreamed of seeing standing on the steps with his arms open to hug her. Then he moved, and his hair was silvery again, his chin silvery too, his handsome eyes baggy with weariness. But she could see love in his eyes. Love, and relief to see the same reflected in hers.
We all change, Tara thought. We have to look back at things we don’t want to, because it’s the only way to see how we’ve changed.
‘Come on in, my darling,’ said Keith, holding out his arms. ‘Let’s get you a cup of tea.’