LITMIR.BIZ

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house. Closing the door front behind me, I leaned against it, suddenly feeling quite shaky, tearful and nauseous. Dealing with scenarios like that had been part of my day job for seven years. Regular. Normal. But today was anything but a normal day for me. I was in a bridesmaid dress with no medical equipment, I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since breakfast, I was hopelessly lost and the man I loved had just married my cousin.

      Get it together, Sam. Focus on the pet hunt. I made my way into the kitchen but couldn’t see any dog or cat bowls in there although that didn’t mean there weren’t any pets.

      I wandered round the rest of the ground floor, opening and closing doors, an air of sadness engulfing me. The rooms were huge and each had oversized windows with stunning views. The place oozed with potential to be an amazing family home but it felt tired and unloved. The décor was dated and the whole place was in desperate need of a good clean. In my years as a district nurse, I’d seen homes like this so often: once loving-family abodes full of love and life, which were now prisons to one surviving spouse who didn’t have the energy, enthusiasm or perhaps the good health to keep on top of everything.

      The lounge at Hedgehog Hollow told a tale of TV dinners for two, except one of them was only present in photographs rather than in person. Opposite a green lumpy sofa stood a Welsh dresser – the only surface not thick with dust – covered in photos in gleaming silver frames. They showed what appeared to be the same woman develop from a fresh-faced twenty-something brunette to a woman probably in her late fifties with greying hair.

      A black and white wedding photo took pride of place in the middle of the dresser. They’d certainly been a handsome couple back then. The style of her wedding dress was very similar to Nanna’s so they’d likely wed in the early or mid-sixties.

      There weren’t any children in the photos but animals featured heavily – dogs, cats, horses, sheep and several hedgehogs. I smiled as I peered more closely at a triple frame showing a picture of the woman holding three tiny hoglets in the palms of her hands, another of her holding a large hedgehog curled into a ball, and one of her feeding an injured hedgehog.

      ‘Was the farm named Hedgehog Hollow especially for you?’ I whispered. ‘I love hedgehogs. Looks like you did too.’

      It wasn’t just hedgehogs I loved. Any animals did it for me – probably unsurprising with Dad being a vet and Gramps being so passionate about wildlife. While I was growing up, Mum refused to let me have any pets. She always said that if she let Dad bring one waif or stray home, it would open the floodgates for them all and the house would be ‘over-run with moggies, mongrels and one-legged rabbits.’ Between the garden at Meadowcroft and helping out with cage-cleaning and odd jobs in the veterinary practice where Dad worked, I managed to get my animal fix.

      Straightening up from the photos, I scanned round the rest of the lounge, shaking my head. I toyed with the idea of using the landline to call Dad but the state of the farm suggested money was tight and I didn’t want to add to the phone bill without permission. I needed to get going. I’d do the washing up, dispose of that milk on the side and empty the bins so at least he wouldn’t return home to an infestation if he was in hospital for some time. Assuming he ever returned home.

      I was just about to leave the house when my ears pricked up. Was that a cat mewing? I put the binbag down and listened again. Definitely mewing and coming from the back of the house.

      Opening the door to a large cloak and boot room, I looked down at the most stunning grey striped tabby cat. Greyish-green eyes fixed on mine and its head tilted to one side as if trying to work out who I was and whether I had food.

      ‘Hello, Tabby,’ I said. ‘Where did you appear from? You weren’t in here earlier.’ I shifted aside a coat dangling from the external door to reveal a cat flap. I hung the coat on one of the hooks. ‘You won’t be able to get out again if that stays there.’

      I bent down and offered my fingers for a sniff. Tabby weaved round my legs, purring loudly, tail high in the air revealing that she was a girl.

      I found an empty water bowl hidden by some wellington boots that had toppled over. I filled it with fresh water from a Belfast sink and lay it down on the floor. She must have been thirsty as she instantly lapped from it.

      ‘Food,’ I muttered, opening and closing cupboards. Inside the third one were several boxes of wet and dry cat food and a couple of bowls. ‘I’ll put this out for you and then I’m going to have to leave you but I’ll come back tomorrow to feed you if I can find a spare key. I’ll leave food outside if I can’t. Hopefully your owner will be home soon but I promise I won’t let you starve.’

      When I’d filled the bowls and put them down, Tabby tucked in, still purring.

      The cloakroom door had been closed when I arrived so she was obviously an outdoor cat who came in for sustenance. She’d be fine at the farm providing I dropped by occasionally and I was more than happy to do that until her owner returned. Please let him return.

      10

      Glancing at my watch, my stomach churned as I dashed across the car park at Aversford Manor some time later, clutching that damn plant. Four hours. I’d missed four hours of the reception and here I was turning up in a dress and shoes caked in mud, with dishevelled hair, and handing back a car that looked like it had been off-roading in a mudslide. Yet I’d hopefully saved someone’s life. And I’d delivered the plant intact. Would Chloe be able to focus on those positives and not be too mad that her only bridesmaid had gone missing in action?

      ‘Dad!’

      He was pacing up and down in the hotel reception. I’d discovered a mobile signal in a corner of the farmyard so had been able to ring him just before setting off.

      Dad opened his arms and I rushed into them gratefully, holding the plant out to the side.

      ‘Sounds like you’ve had quite an ordeal,’ he said, when I pulled away.

      ‘You could say that. I’ll tell you all about it over a large drink.’

      ‘You might want to clean up a bit first,’ he suggested, wrinkling his nose.

      I reached up and touched my hair which was rapidly escaping from the beautifully styled up-do. ‘I can probably salvage the hair.’ I looked down at my dress and shoes. ‘Not so sure about the outfit. Chloe’s going to go mad, isn’t she? I bet she’s livid with me already.’

      Dad’s grimace told me the answer to that. ‘I’m sure she’ll understand when she hears it from you. Besides, it was her fault. What was she thinking, sending her only bridesmaid back for a plant, of all things?’

      My natural reaction was always one of being protective towards my cousin. ‘She wasn’t to know that the sat nav would mess things up and get me hopelessly lost.’

      ‘Even so, any of the other guests could have done it. What were we saying earlier about you being too kind for your own good?’ Dad sighed. ‘You go and get yourself ready. I’ll find Chloe, let her know you’re here, give her the plant then meet you in the bar with a large glass of wine.’ He reached into his pocket and handed me a key card. ‘I’ve already checked you into your room and taken your bag up.’

      I accepted the card in exchange for the plant. ‘Thanks, Dad. What would I do without you?’ Blowing him a kiss, I headed up the stairs towards the bedrooms.

      ‘Did Chloe tell you who the plant was for?’ he called.

      ‘No. Who?’

      ‘Who insisted on organising the flowers?’ he asked, ruefully.

      ‘No! So I went through all that for Great-Aunt Agnes?’

      ‘But you saved someone’s life. That’s an amazing thing.’

      I sighed and shook my head. ‘I’ll be back down soon.’

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