In the doghouse
Time wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Who had come up with ‘Time heals all wounds’, or worse still, ‘Time will tell’?
! At this point, Kendrick felt that his life was only getting more complicated with each hour that passed.
In fact it had been exactly forty-two hours since the memorable surprise appearance of Glenna and Davina, but he couldn’t say that he felt any better or saw matters any clearer.
Instead, he felt more than ever stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Why were they pushing him to emerge from his self-imposed exile?
Why could they not give him the grace to mourn his old life and start a new one?
Why was he asked to take action instead of indulging in his – justified!
– suffering and then hopefully healing? It was all so bloody unfair!
And he meant what he had told Glenna and Davina that evening in his kitchen when he promised he understood their motives.
He really did. But he couldn’t forgive what they had done.
The longer he thought about it, the worse he felt.
They had been sneaking around behind his back for over three years before they had made it official.
Three years in which he had thought everything was alright.
Well, maybe not everything, but certainly most of his life.
It really drove him up the wall to know that Glenna had cheated him out of three years that he would never get back.
Kendrick was sure he would have acted differently if the situation had been reversed.
If he had developed such strong feelings for another person, he would have made a clean break immediately.
But would he really? Even if it meant questioning himself and his previous life choices?
It occurred to him how difficult these new feelings must have been for Glenna.
A bit of a shock, certainly, but how long could it take to trust they were real?
His mind was spinning, going round and round in circles, stuck in the vicious cycle of anger, sadness and self-doubt that had taken hold of him.
But he couldn’t go on like this forever.
Not only because it was detrimental to his mental health, but above all because, again, time wasn’t working in his favour.
The clock was ticking, and even though he had refused to put a deadline on his decision for Davina and Glenna, he knew the probing calls would start anew a few weeks down the road.
If the silence lasted that long. More realistically, he had a few days.
It didn’t make matters any better that he had become the beating heart of the town’s juiciest gossip.
He wasn’t surprised that Kirkby’s grapevine had lasered in on him given how many people had noticed his rushed exit from the harvest festival, and presumably some had also overheard their argument outside the community centre.
He’d rather not know what exactly people were saying about him or what rumours were circulating, but no doubt he would find out sooner or later, whether he wanted to or not.
What really bothered him was how flippantly he had abandoned Shona that night.
But what explanation could he have given her?
There wasn’t a good one, nor a short one.
Never mind that he had been too taken aback in that moment to explain anything to her.
After Glenna and Davina had left, he had briefly considered returning to the event and picking up where Shona and he had left off earlier.
But that was probably not one of his better ideas.
Or was it his best yet? He couldn’t tell.
And now he would never know because he had been too cowardly to find out.
Instead, he had stayed home and got drunk on the bad whisky.
Unfortunately, he had little practice, and the desired obliviousness had not materialised.
The only thing the drinking had got him was a killer hangover.
Yesterday had been brutal! Oh well, that part was very much his own fault.
Earlier today, when he had driven to the village square to get some breakfast at the bakery, he had spotted Shona entering the shop.
With her bright red raincoat and red wellies with white polka dots, she had looked so cheerful and charming that his heart skipped a beat.
Should he just get out and follow her? But that would mean he would have to give her an explanation for Saturday and share things with her he preferred to keep to himself.
So he had pivoted to the pub and begged Jon for breakfast, which was normally only served to overnight guests.
This was when he learned that Kirkby’s grapevine was working overtime, obsessing over his personal life.
Fortunately, Jon was sensitive enough, after two gentle attempts to get Kendrick to talk, to accept that his guest was unwilling to fan the flames further.
Jon himself had been vague and only mentioned that people had brought up some pretty wild speculations.
Kendrick could vividly imagine why their imagination was running rampant, but he was not inclined to set the record straight, especially not as the facts were beyond anything they could have made up.
Today, Kendrick had been busy with routine appointments around town all day.
Hoof checks, vaccinations, aftercare – the bread-and-butter of a rural vet.
Fortunately, there had been no emergencies, which gave him time for another visit to Azzedine before he called it a day.
Yesterday, Kendrick had been too hungover to make it to the stable, but today he absolutely had to check on him.
Rupert had mentioned on the phone earlier that he felt the retired racehorse was well enough to be allowed into the large paddock.
The dainty gelding certainly had plenty of excess energy to burn.
If they hadn’t paired him up with Shona’s alpaca, he probably would have blown a gasket a while ago.
As Kendrick drove into the yard, he recognised Marlin’s old Land Rover with one of Rupert’s horse trailers attached.
Had the farrier brought a customer’s horse round?
That seemed unusual. Even more unusual than the fact that Marlin Fraser worked as a farrier to begin with.
Kendrick had known him for years now and held him in high regard.
Marlin was a level-headed sheep farmer and skilled blacksmith who had helped a number of horses with deformities and tendon problems by providing specialised shoeing, and Kendrick was keen to involve him in the further treatment of Azzedine.
Nevertheless, something about the wiry man donning the old-fashioned blacksmith’s outfit didn’t sit quite right with him. The image just didn’t fit.
It was as clear as day that Marlin bred sheep and shoed horses because he liked it.
Any income from these activities would barely be above minimum wage.
Still, it seemed like the old fox had plenty of money.
Kendrick knew that Marlin had financed both the renovation of Alex’s resort hotel and the construction of Isla’s restaurant and, most recently, invested a considerable sum in Shona’s distillery.
He had also supported a variety of community projects over the years, including the renovation of the town hall and the Old School, their new community centre.
A few days ago, Kendrick’s ornithologist friend had been in Kirkby to talk to those interested about reintroducing of birds of prey.
Kendrick hadn’t been able to attend the gathering, but had learned since that Marlin would cover most of the costs for nest boxes and alterations to public buildings and the church.
In fact, it seemed Marlin had rather unlimited financial means, well beyond what was common for landowners in the Highlands.
Kendrick shook his head at these ruminations.
What was it to him where Marlin’s money came from?
It was none of his business, and if he started to make assumptions, he was no better than the local chatterboxes.
Besides, he was curious to find out what cargo Marlin had brought to his brother’s horse farm.
When he entered the guest stable, where Azzedine and Nessie shared a box, he was surprised by the noise level.
This part of the stable tended to be calm and quiet, but today, there was a ruckus of human voices and unidentifiable animal sounds from the box next to Azzedine’s.
Curious, he approached, and as his horse neighed happily to greet him, Rupert emerged from the other box and gave him a wide grin.
“Perfect timing! We have a few new patients for you.”
“Is that so?” Kendrick patted Azzedine’s neck and held out a piece of carrot to him before offering the same to Nessie. Only then did he walk over to the neighbouring box – and could hardly believe his eyes!
Instead of another horse or two, he found himself facing three skinny alpacas and two even skinnier Irish Wolfhounds, alongside a very content-looking Marlin and a slightly dishevelled Shona in the overcrowded box.
Shona was still wearing her polka-dot wellies from this morning, but she had hung up her red raincoat on the outside of the sliding door.
Her denim dungarees had a few peculiar stains, and her shiny yellow blouse had suffered a little too.
Kendrick assumed that the dark, damp patches were not fashionable special effects, but rather of animal origin.
“Now that’s ... um ... an unexpected sight,” he remarked good-naturedly.
“Right on!” Rupert laughed. “My brother has once again outdone himself.”
While Kendrick waited for further explanations, he took a closer look at the alpaca that approached him, sniffing curiously. “Who are you?” he softly asked the brown and white spotted animal and started to examine it with gentle but experienced touches.
“That’s Hamish,” Shona volunteered. “Or Alvarez. I’m not sure who’s who.”