Chapter Twenty
‘He’s being taken into surgery,’ Skyla snivels, coming out to see us in the veterinary waiting room after some time. ‘Simon said something about his lung being punctured. He called it pneumothorax.’
‘He’s in the right hands,’ James says, keeping his head low as he looks about, useless. We all are. There’s nothing we can do now but wait.
‘Did he say how long it’ll take?’ Raven asks, draping an arm around Skyla’s shoulder, who shakes her head in response.
‘No,’ she says, in the most morose tone I’ve ever heard, heavy and colourless.
‘You two should leave, go do something to take your mind off things,’ James suggests.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Skyla says, adamant. ‘Not until I know Alf is okay.’
My heart swells that she’s choosing to stay, inflates at the glimmer of my real daughter, the one before Raven came along and changed her.
‘There’s really no point sitting here for hours,’ James tries, but Skyla’s not having it.
She takes a seat beside me and stares at the closed door to the surgical room, unblinking.
‘Your dad’s right, I’m going to head off. If that’s okay with you, Skyla?’ Raven asks, searching my daughter’s face for a reaction. When she doesn’t get one, she gives her a small hug, one Skyla doesn’t return. ‘Text me. Tell me how he gets on, please?’
Skyla promises she will, wrapping her arms around herself as Raven clomps out of the vets in her Dr. Marten’s.
The air feels instantly lighter with her departure, like the frostiness is melting away, the density following along after her.
It is only for a brief moment because seconds later my phone buzzes in my pocket and I’m gripped with a chilling dread again.
I pull out my phone and open up a text message from an unknown number.
[DNA Match] Your DNA Match test results have been shipped out.
I cannot leave the vets to go home and collect the results.
I can’t leave Alfie, but I need those results more than I think I’ve ever needed anything.
I need the truth and knowing that the answers could be sitting on our doorstep within hours sends me into a frenzy.
I ball up my fists, fighting the urge to get up and pace.
James and Skyla don’t seem to notice the change in me.
They’re too busy fearing the worst. And I don’t blame them.
Alfie’s attack was savage. I can’t get the rake out of my head, the way it was just sticking out the hedge like that, as though tossed away.
To hide evidence? The worst part is I don’t feel like I can confidently go to James, let alone Skyla, with my worries.
This is just going to have to be another thing I investigate alone.
‘Did he—’ James pauses, rubbing at his tired eyes. ‘Did he say what caused this?’
‘Not an animal,’ Skyla says, looking between us, and there’s something there in her eyes. James may not notice it, but I do. She’s worried, too.
Those dark black pools stare at me, communicating unspoken concerns. If an animal didn’t cause this, what did? Or rather, who?
‘I don’t think so,’ I manage to say. ‘A fox wouldn’t attack a dog as big as Alf.’
‘You’re implying a person did this?’ James’s words are high and sharp.
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. And the only other person on the property besides us was Raven.’ They’re out before I can stop myself. Words I’ll never be able to take back, words that portray how I really feel about our daughter’s friend.
James lets out a gruff cough, running a hand through his hair. ‘Bella, please. Not now.’
But it’s too late. I’ve let the words slip in front of Skyla.
‘You’re blaming Raven?’ Her chin wobbles. ‘How could you say that, Mum?’
‘Baby, how well do you really know this girl? Honestly!’ I stare wildly between them.
‘Bella,’ James warns.
‘She’s my best friend! My only friend,’ Skyla sniffs.
I want to tell her you can’t have a best friend after just a couple of weeks.
I want to be back to a time where we’d be snuggled under the blankets watching the latest episode of Love Island, cackling at these people who cry when others are voted off after knowing them for just a few days, claiming to be their best friends.
Can’t she see how ludicrous it is, to call Raven her best friend! But I press my lips together and stay silent, knowing I’ve already insulted her enough. Knowing this is going to cause the current rift between us to only grow.
The silence between the three of us pulses like a living, breathing, terrible thing. A maggot. Something so swollen it could rupture at any moment.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mutter, casting my eyes down to the vinyl safety flooring.
I breathe in the clinical, sterile smell of the veterinary practice and hold the air in my lungs.
When she doesn’t respond, I look up to see if she heard me; perhaps I spoke too softly, but she has already turned away from me.
* * *
I lose track of time. The severity of Alfie’s injuries keep him in surgery for a couple of hours, but the longer he’s in there, I think, the longer he’s alive.
The longer I have to hope that he’ll make a full recovery.
He has to. He just has to. He is just as much a part of this family as Skyla. He is my other child.
When Simon does finally appear, peeling off his facemask and gloves, his eyes are heavily shadowed. Blood stains his scrubs, and I stare into the dark red patches as he speaks.
‘The anaesthesia is going to take some time to wear off,’ he says before anything else and I guess that’s his way of telling us Alfie made it. He pulled through. Everything else he says doesn’t really matter in the moment now I know he’s going to be okay.
‘He’ll need to wear a cone,’ Simon is saying, but I’m only half listening. The tears are falling, thick and fast.
‘He’ll want to lick at the wound, don’t let him.
And restrict his activity. No long walks.
’ Simon’s words are music to my ears. I let out a laugh, not dissimilar to the one I let out when I’d heard Robin had gone missing.
It is, I’ve realised, a laugh of disbelief.
This one though, brings about a love that surges through me so quickly I can’t contain it.
‘He’s going to be okay?’ I ask, just to be sure, and when Simon nods, I cave. Crumple into myself.
‘Baby,’ James says, and although I glance up, gone are the days he called me that. He’s looking over at Skyla, who blinks at him, struggling to hide the relief on her face.
‘Grandad’s coming. He’s going to pick you up and take you out, alright?’ James says.
‘What about Alf?’ she asks.
‘Will he need to stay overnight?’ I ask Simon, who shakes his head.
‘Usually, I’d say yes. But as long as you keep him in a comfortable, quiet space he’ll be okay. Any problems, give me a call. I’m just down the road.’
Simon living a few houses down from us has always been a comfort, especially after the cannabis incident. We’ve never needed to rap our knuckles on his front door in the middle of the night, but it’s nice to know he wouldn’t be against it if we did.
‘Thank you,’ I say, hoping he can hear just how grateful I am.
Oscar comes to collect Skyla, and we fill him in as best we can, which is hard when we still don’t know what really happened.
The hug Oscar wraps me into is unexpected, taking the breath from me, but I lean into it, needing the support.
I’ve never been overly close to James’s parents.
For some reason there’s always seemed to be some sort of a divide.
It isn’t like how it is with Harper’s husband, who they adore and treat like a son even though he’s more in London than he ever is at home, which is why he wasn’t at our family bake-off night. He never is.
Around me, James’s family seem to tread on eggshells though, and I’ve no idea why. So the hug, while surprising, is also wonderful, because as soon as his arms are around me, we are united. A family, regardless of blood.
‘C’mon you, how about you take your grandad for a stroll around the Model Village, eh?’ Oscar throws his arm over Skyla’s shoulder, steering her out into the daylight.
It is blinding out, humid too — the last of the summer showing off before autumn brings the falling leaves and plummeting temperatures.
Any other day and I’d be dying to head to Bourton-on-the-Water, my favourite village in the UK, with my family.
It’s where James proposed all those years ago, and I guess him buying a house in the heart of the Cotswolds, as close to that area as he could get was his way of being romantic.
He’d knelt down on one knee as I stood on an arched stone bridge above the river running right through the high street and asked me to be his wife.
Families and couples picnicking on the grass took photos of us and I’d secretly loved the attention, being the centre of it for once.
It was an untarnished time; one I love to hold close.
Every trip to Bourton-on-the-Water fills me with a nostalgia, a longing for that time when no one knew us but, on that day, wanted to, and besides being in love, we didn’t have much of a story back then.
Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. I mean, we’d already been trying to conceive for a while, hadn’t yet been given my diagnosis.
That news came later. But for the most part, it was a time in our lives that seemed, frankly, perfect.
I’d said yes on that honey-coloured bridge, young and hopeful for the start of our happily ever after — and it was.
Just not in the way I had imagined. I’d patted James’s wet eyes dry, and we’d called our parents over cocktails overlooking the bridge he’d popped the question on, my cubic zirconia flashing in the sunlight.
I never did change my ring, even after James started pestering to buy me something finer.
I didn’t want that, some loud garish thing weighing down my finger.
I liked my flimsy ring and the story it told, even when it started to lose its shine and discolour after a few years.
Stones and precious metal didn’t mean anything to me, and they still don’t.
I look at my engagement ring now, glinting in the sun’s rays as I wave off Skyla and Oscar before turning back to James and Simon.
‘Thank you,’ I say again to Simon. ‘For saving Alfie, and for being so good with Skyla.’
Simon nods, his expression hardening. ‘I suggest you check your security cameras, if you have any. Determine exactly what happened to Alfie.’
I gulp, wondering how that hadn’t already crossed my mind. Our security system is extensive; of course we have cameras out on the patio, with one positioned right over the kennel.
‘Skyla mentioned you said it definitely wasn’t an animal attack?’ James frowns.
‘I wouldn’t say so, no. The lacerations, they’re spread too far apart, and they aren’t consistent with teeth marks.’
With Simon hovering over us, James unlocks his phone and loads up the app.
‘Just waiting for it to refresh,’ he mutters, not taking his eyes from the screen.
I don’t either. I need to see what happened to our dog.
I need to know just how dangerous Raven really is.
A thunder rolls through me as the video clips start to load on the screen. What are we about to witness?
Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I count my breaths. Maybe now James will finally see how awful Raven is. I just need him to see it so that he can start to believe me. Maybe then we can get onto the same side.
‘Bella,’ James interrupts, reaching out for my leg.
I stare down at his hand, so warm against my skin.
A hand that used to be such a comfort, one I grabbed when walking down the streets, one I let touch me in all of those intimate places just last night.
My body reacts to him, wanting to lean in.
But I can see in his expression, something has rattled him.
His eyes are hard, brows scrunched together making his forehead a roundabout of wrinkles, deep creases in his skin streaming in every direction.
‘James?’ Even with all of our tension, our differences, I place my left hand on top of his. The metal of our wedding bands clink together, a reminder of our commitment to one another.
‘I don’t understand,’ he stammers, his finger dragging footage from our security camera back and forth. ‘It’s on some sort of static loop. Look.’
A video plays before my eyes, the time in the top left-hand corner not making any sense. We found Alfie practically bludgeoned in the kennel, but at the time that happened, the camera is showing the kennel was empty. We are nowhere in sight.
‘That’s not possible,’ I whisper, grabbing the phone and flicking through the footage myself, but there’s nothing there. Alfie’s attack, us finding him, it’s not there.
‘I’m calling Gary Quinn,’ James says, already prising the phone from my hands. ‘Something’s going on — and we need to find out now before something worse happens.’
As he gets DCI Gary Quinn on speed dial, a buzzing in my pocket makes me jump. I pull out my phone, and suddenly, I find I can’t swallow the lump that has formed in my throat.
[DNA Match] Your DNA Match test results are out for delivery.