‘And tell Elliot I said goodbye when you see him.’
I sniffed a laugh and rolled my eyes at that, hoping she’d laugh too. ‘Hmm, all right then.’
‘Do you know what that book taught me, Jude?’ Anjali nodded to Elliot’s textbook in my arms. ‘What being a vet has taught me? You have to keep believing that the majority of people are intrinsically good, even when all the evidence is there to suggest they’re not and that we’re just a big trash fire scarring a planet and hurting everything. At first it was hard for me to see it. For every owner of a pampered, beautifully groomed and well exercised pony or puppy, there’s a person who beats their animals, or leaves them to be cold, or hungry, or afraid.
‘At the start of my career, I’d see the rescues coming in to the surgery, barely clinging on to life, and I’d be angry and spiteful and I’d start to wonder if humans were actually bloody awful things if they could hurt innocent animals and not mind it one bit.
‘Elliot says the same thing happened to him, in that book. But he wrote something that changed my mind. He said that he learned to count all the helpers too – all the volunteers and the vets and the charity workers and the carers and the activists – who give up their time to look after creatures that can’t look after themselves, and I realised there are millions of us, just doing our best to be kind. It helped me a lot, stopped me becoming bitter and hateful. We have to believe in the best of people, and remember there are more of us, more helpers, than there are the other kind. Don’t give up on Elliot yet. He’s one of us.’
She hugged me again and I wiped the tears from my face before she left me alone on the sea wall where I slumped back down and watched the sunfish waving their fins at the Clove Lore sunset, trying to think well of Elliot and keep my trust in his goodness, and that was how I spent my second last night in the village.
Now here I am with less than twenty-four hours of my holiday left, my commission for Minty almost finished. I snap off a bit of gingerbread biscuit and absently dip it straight into the orange-coloured icing I’ve somehow mixed up to a nice consistency whilst absorbed in my thoughts, and I taste it. The fire of the ginger brings me round and it’s so good I polish off the whole cookie with a mug of tea.
This will have to sustain me today. I’ve got all these spicy shapes to ice before setting off for the hunt. I won’t stay long at the estate, there’s no point. I’ve no interest in seeing wildlife being chased by hounds or whatever obscure countryside spectacle Minty’s got planned and I’ve still got to pack my case and lug everything downhill to Diane who is still, I hope, safely waiting for me in the car park behind the Siren. I’ll set off for Marygreen at first light tomorrow. The end of my adventure.
I seem to have had so many endings and so few beginnings in my life, so many avenues cut off to me, and my current situation makes the autumn ahead impossible to picture clearly. Maybe there’ll be a job at the retail park for me, or maybe New Start Village are looking for staff. That way I could go back to caring for Gran and I’d see her every day, though I know she’s really busy and probably wouldn’t have much time for hanging out with me. It would be something at least.
I sigh and reach for the piping bag. ‘Sixty cookies to ice,’ I gee myself up, ignoring the voice in my head repeating Elliot’s words, saying he’ll come back if he can, even if it’s just for one second, to say goodbye to me. With the last little bit of hope I have left I listen for his footsteps as I work.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It’s almost nine and as I’m getting ready for the long trudge uphill to Minty’s estate the shop phone rings, and I race to answer it, still praying that it’s Elliot. I’m greeted by Izaak’s beautiful accent.
‘Jude? I need a book.’
‘Ah, okay,’ I say bracing myself for what’s to come. What vague description will he give this time? Does he want the one with the thingy, you know? That big thingy and that man with the whatdoyoucallit?
‘Are you still there?’ he calls to me.
‘Sorry, Izaak, what can I get you?’
‘A book of poems… and love songs too.’
‘That’s it?’ I draw my neck back, surprised.
‘Yep. Something romantic. Do you have anything?’
‘I’ve got just the thing,’ I tell him, delightedly.
Within moments, I’m marching Up-along, clutching three big Tupperware tubs full of iced gingerbread shapes and, balanced on top, a mid-century copy ofPalgraves Golden Treasury of English Songs and Lyricsbound in berry-red leather with fine gold embossing on the title. It was twenty-three pounds – but it’s in great condition. It took up a sizable chunk of the money Minty gave me for the cookies, but it’ll be my farewell gift to Izaak.
I’m so glad I finally stocked something he asked for. The rest of my commission I’ll give to Jowan when I repay the shop’s missing cash. It’s weighed on my mind since Monday night when I learned it (and Elliot) was gone and I won’t be happy until it’s settled up and I know for sure Jowan isn’t out of pocket.
It doesn’t matter anymore how that money disappeared. I’ve worked hard, really tried my best with the shop money, and it’s been right every night since Elliot left me to it, so I know Icando it, if I’m very, very slow and methodical. There’s no reason why I couldn’t work in another shop back in Marygreen.
I think I’ve proven myself if not exactly gifted, at least quietly competent when it comes to figures, with a lot of checking and care – and maybe I will still make the occasional mistake, because nobody’s perfect, and that’s good enough for me. I did all this by myself and it was OK in the end.
I follow the signs to the estate entrance – through the visitors’ centre, across the car park out towards the main road and along a grassy path through woodland – and I take my time as I walk. The birds are singing in the trees all around me and the sun is bright and already hot in spite of the breeze up here at the top of the village.
Everywhere there are signs of the impending big event. Boards leaning against fence posts directing cars to the visitors’ parking, coloured bunting strung along the hedges, and in the distance across a wide lawn there’s a great white marquee, refreshment stands and tables all set out ready for the crowds later today.
It all looks rather civilised and I’m having a hard time reconciling the beautiful scene with what Ithinkis to happen here later today. I’ll be long gone before the hunt begins. The whole idea of people on horseback shouting Tally-ho or whatever it is they do feels so far from my upbringing back home I know for sure I won’t fit in, and as I give it more and more thought, I’m sure I won’t want to.
A caterers’ van rolls past me as I make my way onto the lawn. The big house in the distance is grand and imposing in its prominent position overlooking the Atlantic.
Clove Lore is out of sight from up here, hidden down in its steep valley, clinging to the rocks, hoping not too many people discover its secrets but that enough of them find their way here to keep the place afloat.
On my way I pass by Izaak’s caretaker’s booth and I spot him leaning by its open door, paying very close attention to a tall man with glasses and thick, curly blond hair. As I get closer I see they’re lost in conversation and not quite holding hands, but letting their fingertips touch in an easy, intimate way.
