5
Dorothy
D orothy pulled on her ancient down jacket and a scarf and headed outside with Bailey by her side. The dawn sky was milky white and the ground and the trees were covered in a silvery frost. She loved the hushed stillness of these early winter mornings, the sense that the world around was snuggling down. The trees around had shed their leaves, as if tired of carrying them all year.
“It’s a cold one today.” She talked to Bailey the way she talked to all her animals. As if they were family. Which to Dorothy, they were.
Every animal she cared for had a story, usually a tragic one. They’d come to her because no other help had been available to them. She’d given them a home and a second chance.
Dorothy believed in second chances.
These animals needed her, and she needed them every bit as much. Every animal she rescued gave her a small degree of exoneration for her failures. She didn’t need a psychologist to analyze what she was doing. Even now, twenty years later, she was trying to make amends. Saving as many as she could to make up for the one she hadn’t been able to save. And it didn’t make up for it, of course. Not really. It didn’t compensate. But it helped. The animals benefited, and they kept her busy. And Dorothy needed to be busy. Busy was her therapy. Busy had saved her.
In those early days when her mind and her thoughts had tortured her, when her heart had broken, and then broken again, there had been days when she’d thought she wouldn’t survive it all. When she hadn’t wanted to survive it. But she’d always found a reason to carry on.
First it was Sara. Then Sara’s children—her grandchildren. The vineyard. The animals. They were her life now, and despite everything that had gone before, it was a good life. She was content. Yes, she thought about that time. She thought about it more often than she would have admitted to Sara, but the pain had settled into a dull ache that on some days she barely noticed.
But at this time of year, she noticed.
Christmas. The moment the berries on the holly bush turned red, she started to feel it. Her solution was to make sure she was even busier than usual. She spent more time in London. She involved herself more in the business. She filled every hour of her day and a fair few of her nights.
It was hard, but ultimately she knew she’d be fine. She’d done this before, so many times. If you survived something once, you could survive it again. And again. She couldn’t block it out in the way that Sara did, but she’d learned that the way to make it through the season was to focus on what she had, and not what she’d lost. Gratitude, not bitterness.
She crossed the yard cautiously because it was icy underfoot. As she approached the paddock, the alpacas came to greet her and her mood lifted.
It was impossible to feel low when you were in the company of such beautiful, gentle creatures.
It hadn’t started with alpacas. It had started with a donkey, and a call from the local animal shelter. Then it was a litter of kittens someone had tried to drown. She’d had sheep, an old police horse who needed a quiet life in the country, a donkey, chickens and a couple of rabbits.
Never an alpaca.
As was so often the case with all her animals, it was Miles McEwan, her vet, who had called her. He’d visited a smallholding where a couple keeping alpacas had lost interest because of the work involved. The alpacas were in a bad state. They needed to rehome them. Could Dorothy help?
She’d heard the anger in his voice, which was unusual because Miles was always calm and levelheaded, particularly in a crisis. But something about the plight of these animals had touched him, and it had touched her, too, as he’d known it would.
He’d known she wouldn’t say no. Dorothy could never have said no to anything that was lost and needed her, and these alpacas seemed to need her. Miles had waited for her to agree before breaking the news that there were four of them.
Dorothy had known nothing about alpacas, so she’d quickly taken herself on a course, visited an alpaca breeder locally for advice and prepared the paddock closest to the house.
The alpacas had arrived on a bright, sunny spring day, and Miles and Dorothy had transferred them to their new home. They’d been in poor condition then, and Miles had visited regularly for those first weeks and months. Together they’d done what needed to be done, and before long the alpacas were thriving. A year later she’d taken in Benson, so now she had five of them.
Looking at them now, so healthy and alert, she found it hard to remember those early days.
She fed them, checked their hay, cleared the barn area where they sheltered overnight and gave them fresh water. While she was doing that she talked to them, checked their coats and general health. Miles visited frequently when he was passing on his way to visit farms, and anytime she was worried all she had to do was call.
But she didn’t call him often. She’d learned all she could about them. Studied what they needed. Spent time with them.
She was closing the gate to the field when she saw Miles’s car approaching down the drive.
It had been a few weeks since she’d seen him and she brightened at the prospect of his company. She felt more than a little maternal toward him, which was ridiculous really because he certainly wasn’t a man who needed mothering. But he was the son of her oldest friend and she’d always looked out for him. She felt a pang as she thought about Sybil. It had been five years since her friend had died, but she still missed her every day. Seeing Miles somehow kept a small piece of her in Dorothy’s life.
She smiled and waved as he parked and strode across to her, crossing the icy yard in long confident strides, not picking his way as she had done.
“Morning, Dorothy.” He was wearing a thick sweater and heavy boots, and there were mud splashes on his trousers.
“Good morning, Miles. It’s good to see you. Have you been up all night?”
“Most of it.”
She couldn’t resist teasing him. “Hot date?”
“She was a stunner. Legs like a racehorse.” He grinned and leaned on the gate. “Which could have been because she was, in fact, a racehorse. I’ve been at the Morton Stud. Horse with colic.”
“Oh dear. Is she going to be okay?”
“I think so, although I wasn’t so sure of that at 2:00 a.m. Long night.”
And now she could see how tired he was. His jaw was dark with stubble and his eyes were shadowed.
“You’re not part of the equine team anymore. Why you?”
“I used to be, as you know, and we had a busy night so I stepped in. I’ll be calling in the favor at some point.”
But she knew that wasn’t why he’d done it. He had a generous nature. He’d always been the same.
She put her hand on his arm. “You must be exhausted. And hungry, I’m sure. I was just about to put the kettle on and make some breakfast. Would you join me?”
“Why do you think I’m here? I was about to go home and put my own kettle on, but then I remembered that my cupboards are bare and so is the fridge, so I thought I’d drive here and look pathetic in the hope that you might take pity on me.”
“Why are your cupboards bare?” Maybe he did need mothering. “Aren’t you looking after yourself?”
“Barely.” He gave her a sad look. “It’s possible that I’m slowly starving. Look at me. Emaciated.”
She looked and saw long legs, broad shoulders and strength honed by a life spent outdoors doing hard physical work. She thought about the incident in the summer, when he’d been called to help rescue a cow from the river. He’d waded waist deep into the river, sedated the cow just enough to stop her from trying to kill him and herself, and then hauled her to safety with the help of the farmer. The story had been all round the village before the evening, and Miles hadn’t had to buy himself a drink in the pub since.
Sybil would be proud , she thought.
“You’re positively puny,” she said briskly. “It’s a wonder you have the strength to lift your own mug of tea.”
“I struggle. Cake might help.”
“Cake?” She tutted her disapproval. “For breakfast?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been up all night so technically this could be dinner. I suppose I could force down a large bowl of porridge too if that would make you feel better. That special version you make with cinnamon and maple syrup. And maybe a bacon sandwich.”
Now she was frowning. “Do you seriously have no food at home?”
“Of course I have food at home, but my food never tastes as good as yours.” He leaned on the gate and studied the alpacas who had emerged from their shed to investigate the noise. “They’re looking good, Dorothy. You’re a wizard.”
“Teamwork.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Benson is going to have a starring role in the school play at Christmas. I don’t suppose I can tempt you to join me for animal duties.”
As Sara had predicted, he shuddered. “No thanks. Not after last time. I’m sure you’ll be fine, Dorothy. You don’t need me.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” She smiled. “Come on. If you eat a decent breakfast, I’ll give you chocolate cake to take home.”
They headed to the house, and he took his boots off by the door before following her through to the kitchen.
The table was covered in branches of holly and mistletoe that she’d cut the day before and she pushed it to one side, making room for him.
“Ignore my Christmas preparations. Sit down.”
“Now I’m feeling guilty for taking your time.” He washed his hands and then rescued some holly that had fallen onto the floor. “You’re busy.”
“Nothing that can’t wait. And it’s always good to see you.”
Not just because he was a connection to the past, but because she genuinely enjoyed his company.
She busied herself in the kitchen while he sprawled in a chair at her kitchen table, telling her about his week.
Soon the room was filled with the smell of fresh coffee and the sounds of bacon sizzling.
She enjoyed having someone to feed and spoil and watched with satisfaction and amusement as he devoured everything she put in front of him. He’d been the same as a boy.
“You’re not at all hungry, then?” It delighted her that he considered her home and company a respite.
“No.” He cleared the porridge bowl and reached for the bacon roll she’d placed in front of him. “I’m only eating this to be polite.”
“Tell me honestly—are you cooking properly for yourself?”
“Honestly? Not much. Too tired.” He finished the bacon roll and closed his eyes. “When I get home from my calls I collapse on the sofa. And this is supposed to be a quiet time of year. That was delicious, Dorothy. Marry me.”
“You’re thirty-two,” she said dryly, and he opened his eyes.
“So? I’m an old thirty-two. And given the number of nights I work, I’ve crammed an extra life into the years I’ve lived, so if you do the calculation based on waking hours and life experience, I’m probably closer to fifty.” He smiled at her and she thought to herself, not for the first time, that the woman who eventually persuaded Miles to leave behind his bachelor ways would be a lucky person.
“When did you last go on a date? A proper date.”
“What’s that?”
“Dinner? Movie?” She made him a fresh cup of coffee. “Remember that?”
“Not really. When am I going to fit that in?”
“You make the time.” She put the cake on the table and cut him a thick slice. “Where are you spending Christmas?”
“I’m on call, so probably in a stable, pretending I’m a wise man.” He suppressed a yawn. “Animals don’t stop being sick just because it’s Christmas. You are an incredible cook. Have I told you that?”
“Flattery like that will get you an invitation for Christmas lunch. Spend the day with us, Miles. Sara, Patrick and the girls will be here.” She was about to wrap up the cake for him to take home, but he put it on his plate and started to eat it. She hid the smile and cut another generous slice for him to take with him. “We’d love you to join us.”
“Do not invite me for lunch. You know what will happen. You’ll put the most delicious meal I’ve ever seen in front of me and then my phone will ring and I will have to leave to tend to a cow or some other four-legged beast who doesn’t know it’s Christmas. And you won’t speak to me again.” He licked chocolate from his fingers. “Trust me when I tell you that I have offended more people than I’ve charmed in my life. If you need proof, I can give you the number of the last woman who made the mistake of trying to live with me. I believe she has only recently stopped therapy.”
She wasn’t fooled by his flippant tone. She knew the end of that particular relationship had hurt him and made him wary. It had ended almost three years ago, and to the best of her knowledge he hadn’t dated anyone seriously since, which was surprising because she knew for a fact that he was the object of fantasy for all the single women for miles around, and a good proportion of the married ones. Plenty of people would be more than willing to tolerate his occasionally antisocial work hours in return for being able to spend time with Miles McEwan.
“If you’re called out, then I’ll keep your meal warm until you’re back to eat it. And I won’t need therapy. I don’t stress about small, unimportant things.” She sat down opposite him, nursing the cup of coffee she’d poured herself. “I mean it. Please join us. In fact, I insist.”
He sighed. “Dorothy—”
“Turkey, stuffing—”
“I don’t—”
“Maple roasted parsnips—”
“Damn you, woman. Fine, I’ll be there.” He stood up and loaded his bowl and plate into the dishwasher. “Will you be inviting any other waifs and strays? Just checking this isn’t a setup.”
“I thought I might invite Erin.”
He paused, eyes narrowed. “Erin from the bakery? Erin who is in her late sixties?”
“Is there another Erin?”
The sudden streak of color on his cheekbones told her that there was, or had been at one time, another Erin. Maybe his love life was more active than she’d thought.
“Erin from the bakery is a warm and wonderful woman,” he said. “I look forward to the pleasure of her company. Particularly if she brings one of her sourdough loaves. And maybe a cinnamon twist.” He closed the dishwasher and bent to make a fuss of Bailey. “Do you know how lucky you are living here? Having food put in your bowl every day?” Bailey’s frantically wagging tail suggested he did indeed know.
Miles straightened. “I should go.”
“Hold it right there. I want to hear about the other Erin.”
He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and gave her a wicked smile. “You definitely do not.”
“I’m a lonely old woman who deserves some excitement in her life.”
“My love life wouldn’t excite anyone, as you well know. And if you’re lonely I could bring you another animal. Paula Lightfoot’s cat had a litter of kittens this week. She can’t cope with them all.”
Dorothy felt a pang but ignored it. “Sara would kill me if I took in another animal. She keeps telling me I must learn to say no. Also we both know that if Paula can’t find homes for them, she will simply keep them.”
“That’s true.” He walked across the kitchen, but then paused in the doorway and turned to look at her. “Are you really feeling lonely?” The sudden concern in his eyes made her all the more determined to find him someone deserving. He was a good man, and good men were not to be wasted.
“No. I don’t have time to be lonely.”
“But this isn’t your favorite time of year.”
She shrugged. “In the past, no, but Sara and family are coming to me at Christmas, and the girls are so excited it’s hard not to get caught up in that. Better to focus on what you have than what you’ve lost, I always think. They’ll be here soon. We’re going to start decorating the house for Christmas. They come every Saturday.”
“I know.” He smiled. “How is the riding going? Is that pony behaving itself?”
“Thelma is a gem. Iris is doing well. She’s a natural. She reminds me so much of Sara at the same age. I can’t thank you enough for finding the perfect pony.”
“She needed a good home and you gave her that. It’s an arrangement that works for everyone.” He suppressed another yawn and she gave him a little push.
“You’re asleep on your feet. Go to bed.”
“Good idea.” He headed to the front door. “Thanks, Dorothy. That was delicious. You should open a café.”
“If all my customers ate as much as you, I’d be out of business within a week.” She waved him toward his car. “Drive carefully.” She couldn’t help saying it and he leaned in to give her a hug.
“I always do. You take care of yourself.”
She watched him go and thought about Sybil. She missed their chats over a glass of wine. Missed sharing books and recipes and going for country walks together.
She was about to distract herself by taking a bale of hay to the field for Thelma, when she heard Sara’s car.
Moments later she heard the children calling her.
“Nanna!”
“I’m here. I was about to feed Thelma.”
“I’ll do it.” Iris took the animal duties seriously, paying attention and giving Dorothy a full report on how each animal was. “Can I ride her later?”
“I was hoping you’d want to. The exercise will do her good.”
It was a routine that at weekends her grandchildren came over to help. They didn’t mind getting muddy or cold. They just loved being near the animals. Dorothy enjoyed seeing them absorbed by outdoor, wholesome endeavors. She hoped that never changed.
Most of all, she liked seeing the way they were together.
“I want to ride Thelma too!” Ava danced across the yard, oblivious to patches of ice and mud. “But first I want to feed Benson.”
“We’ll feed Benson together. And it’s not your turn to ride today, it’s mine.” Iris took her sister’s hand and they walked together to the alpacas. She helped her sister climb onto the gate. “Hold on tight. Don’t fall.”
“She’s always helping her,” Dorothy said to her daughter. “Always looking out for her.”
“I know. Iris is very protective. Oh, and while we’re on the subject, you only need to make up one room for them at Christmas because they want to share.” Sara watched the girls and so did Dorothy.
It warmed her to see the two sisters as close as they were.
They were so innocent, their lives simple and uncomplicated. It was about playing, school, ponies, friends. Home was their safe place, their parents a loving barrier between them and the harsh realities of life. It was impossible, looking at them, to think that things could ever go wrong. But she knew that they could. And they did.
“How is Iris doing at school? Does she have a nice group of friends?”
Sara looked at her. “Mum—”
“I’m sorry. Ignore me.” She cursed herself for allowing her anxieties to spill out and infect the happy atmosphere.
“Her friends are lovely,” Sara said gently. “Stop worrying.”
“I’m not worrying.”
“I know you are, but it’s fine. I understand.” Sara paused for a moment, watching Iris take her sister’s hand and hold it flat so that Benson could eat the carrot she was holding. “Iris is sensible. She’s not afraid to stand up for herself when the need arises. She will say no if she doesn’t want to do what they are doing. I’ve heard her. She isn’t easily led.”
“That takes real strength.” Dorothy felt emotion threaten to choke her. “You’re a good mother, Sara.”
“You were a good mother too. You still are.” Sara gave her arm a squeeze. “Enough of this. We have alpacas to feed and ponies to ride.”
“You’re right, we do.”
“I passed Miles on my way here. Is one of the animals sick?”
“No. He just came to check everything was okay because he happened to be passing.”
Sara laughed. “You mean he was hungry, and he knows you always bake a cake for the weekend.”
“That too. But I don’t mind. I love seeing him—you know that. I worry about him. He’s working too hard.”
“He’s a brilliant vet.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have a social life.”
Sara looked at her, amused. “I think Miles is big enough to take care of himself.”
“Maybe.” But sometimes when you’d been hurt, you needed a nudge. She knew that. It was simpler and safer to protect yourself than take a risk again, and she had a feeling that was what Miles was doing.
Benson, having dutifully eaten all the food offered to him and gifted the girls with his best soppy look, wandered back to the rest of the herd, and Iris and Ava headed to the next paddock.
“I don’t see why I can’t ride too.” Ava was saying as they walked toward Thelma.
“I told you. Today is my turn.”
Ava thought about that. “I could just have a quick turn.”
Iris sighed. “Why does she never listen to no, Mummy? She argues all the time.”
“She’s persistent, that’s for sure.” Sara scooped up Ava. “No means no. Not maybe. And while Iris is riding, I need you to look after Bailey.”
“I want to watch Iris.” Ava wriggled and twisted, but Sara held her firmly.
“We will watch together.”
Dorothy slipped a head-collar over Thelma’s head and led her to the stable block. Mostly it was used for storage, but two of the stalls were kept for horses. One for Thelma, and one in case she had a call from Miles or one of the animal charities asking for her help.
Iris picked up the brush and started brushing the mud from Thelma’s coat with a practiced movement.
“You’re so muddy. What have you been doing?” She giggled as Thelma turned her head and gave her a gentle nudge with her nose.
Sara stepped closer so that Ava could stroke the pony. “Gently. And not near her eyes because she doesn’t like that.”
Ava stroked Thelma’s neck. “She’s soft.”
“It’s her winter coat. It helps to keep her warm.” Dorothy tacked up the horse, led her into the yard and helped Iris mount. “Hitch your leg forward while I tighten the girth.”
She made sure the saddle was secure and then walked with them to the small indoor school.
Ava was talking nonstop and Sara listened attentively, occasionally responding, asking Ava’s opinion and listening to the answer.
Dorothy felt a rush of love and pride. Sara was always engaged with the girls, and careful to be evenhanded with her attention. She treated them as individuals, but made sure they knew they were both equally important. And she never seemed daunted by the responsibilities of parenthood. She was kind, practical and remarkably relaxed.
Dorothy admired her. It wasn’t easy, she knew that. You did what you thought was right, but then when things went wrong you wondered what you could have done differently. How much of it was your fault. Nature versus nurture. She’d read so much about it in her search for answers. What could she have done differently? To what degree was she responsible for everything that had happened?
There were words she wished she’d never said. Wished she could unsay.
“Nanna?” Ava wriggled out of Sara’s arms and ran to Dorothy. “You look sad.”
She pulled herself together. “I’m not sad at all. Just a little cold. I’m thinking maybe hot chocolate would be a good idea.” She was grateful to have her grandchildren to bring her back to the present. “We’ll just wait for Iris to finish riding.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Sara said. “We’ll join you when we’re done.” She glanced at her daughter who was trotting round the school, a look of determination on her face. “Hands down, Iris! Shorten your reins. That’s good.”
“She’s a natural. Just as you were.”
“I loved it. The animals. The outdoors.” Sara paused. “It was a great childhood. The best. And you and Dad were wonderful parents. I know how much you miss him. I miss him too. Which is crazy, given how long it has been. Or maybe not so crazy.”
The memory of it made her eyes sting. Phillip taking Sara swimming in the sea for the first time. Dressing like Santa while he’d stuffed stockings just in case she’d peeped out of her bedroom and saw him. Teaching Sara to read. “He was proud of you, Sara.”
“I wish he could have met the girls. Ava is so like him.”
“She is. She has his exuberance and zest for life. Your father never used to take no for an answer. No matter what the objection, he’d find a way to talk someone round.”
Sara nodded. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad—certainly tiring for the person on the other end.”
They exchanged a look and Dorothy smiled.
“My fingers and toes are freezing. Time for that hot chocolate, I think. Ava and I will go ahead and start making Christmas decorations.”
“Beware glue and glitter,” Sara warned and then stopped as Dorothy’s phone rang.
Dorothy checked the number. “It’s Imogen—I should take this. I promise to be quick.”
Sara’s expression changed from warm and happy to wary. “Mum—”
“It’s fine, Sara. Hello, Imogen? Is everything all right?” She listened as Imogen spoke and then nodded. “That sounds perfect. I’ll see you then. I’m looking forward to it.” She ended the call, aware that Sara was still watching her. “She was just confirming our lunch next week, that’s all.”
“I can’t believe you’re going back to London just for that. It’s Christmas. The streets are packed. Why don’t you stay here and push your lunch with Imogen into the new year?”
“Because I made a commitment and I always honor my commitments. And I like London at this time of year. I enjoy the buzz and the atmosphere, and I enjoy Imogen’s company. She has been working hard for us.”
Sara sighed. “We both know that’s not why—”
“Can we have hot chocolate now, Nanna?” Ava, bored with horses and her sister, reached for Dorothy’s hand. “I’m cold.”
“I’m cold too.” Dorothy took her hand. “We’ll see you indoors, Sara. Don’t stay out too long.”
She knew there was more Sara wanted to say. She knew Sara didn’t want her to go back to London again, but that wasn’t going to stop her going. She would do what she needed to do.
You couldn’t undo the past, but you could do your very best with the future.