“Adam,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
She moves a little further into the room, seeming to come to a decision.
“Woody was my husband’s dog,” she says at last. “At least, at first. Adrian was the one who got him from the rescue place, who brought him out of his shell, trained him.” She stops, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, this is all a bit of a shock coming so out of the blue.”
She lays the collar carefully on the sofa and takes a black-framed picture from the mantelpiece, handing it to me. It’s a countryside shot of a slight, bespectacled man in a green anorak, with a kind, open face. His hand is laid affectionately on the head of a scrappy, caramel-colored cross-breed with its tongue hanging out; the dog looks as if it is smiling.
“We got Woody from a rescue kennel when he was already two or three, they didn’t quite know how old he was but they knew he’d been horribly mistreated. Took him a week to come out from behind the sofa, a month before he’d let anyone stroke him. He was just frightened of everyone, and everything. But not nasty with it, just petrified. Adrian brought him around. We both loved him. But I never thought…” She sits down on the armchair. I notice for the first time that she wears a gold band on the fourth finger of her right hand, not her left. The only other jewelry she wears is a plain silver necklace, one hand now sliding a locket along the chain. “Never thought I’d end up looking after that dog on my own.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Just brings it all back, you know?”
“Your husband…?” I let the question hang in the air, trying to think of a delicate way of phrasing it. “You’re not… together anymore?”
“No.” She looks at the other pictures lined up on the mantelpiece. “No, we’re not together. I’ve not seen Adrian in more than twenty years.”
Adrian
Woody didn’t care about the rain.
In fact, he seemed to enjoy it, racing through puddles with his coarse yellow fur plastered to his back, splashing and skidding along the path by the woods. Running for the old green ball again and again, returning each time with a delighted wag of his tail. It was hard to believe he was the same dog as a year ago, back when he’d been a skinny little thing frightened of his own shadow.
Adrian checked his watch, drops of rain spattering the digital display. Almost time to head back, to get both of them dry and warm, to put the fire on for Woody. Time to sit down with Max and ask about her day. Tea would be almost ready.
He was winding up to throw the ball one last time when he heard the cries. The same name, over and over again, a single word that he couldn’t quite identify over the steady patter of rain on the hood of his anorak.
The calls grew louder as a figure came into view, splashing unsteadily along the path and still shouting that single word into the woods, thick with dark dripping trees. A slight figure in a long yellow coat, face hidden beneath the soaking spines of a purple umbrella. Young, perhaps twenty, a brown leather leash doubled uselessly in their other hand.
Adrian called to his own dog, who came obediently to heel to have his black collar clipped to the lead. He looked into the treesas the figure approached, but the light was fading and his rain-spattered glasses made it difficult to make out any movement.
“Are you OK?” he called out. “Have you lost someone?”
The figure turned toward him, tentative, but moving a little nearer.
“My dog, she’s still a puppy really and we’re still training her; my dad said I shouldn’t let her off the lead yet but I thought if I kept her close it would be OK.” The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other. “Then she saw a rabbit and just went flying off into the woods and I couldn’t keep up with her. Dad’s going to kill me.”
“She can’t have gone far,” Adrian said calmly. “What’s her name?”
“Bella.” The voice was high and tight, almost hitching with a sob. “I’m just worried that if she gets through to the other side of the woods there’s a road there and she’s not really the best with roads; she doesn’t understand the danger. She’s lovely but she’s silly, you know? She loves everyone she meets but when she gets excited she just runs and runs, oblivious to everything else. God, I’m so stupid for unclipping her. She’s a Dalmatian, as mad as they come.” Woody allowed his head to be stroked, tail wagging slowly. “What breed is yours?”
“Oh, this little guy is a Heinz beans breed—fifty-seven different varieties.” He took his glasses off, wiped them on his jeans. “Look, do you have any dog treats on you, that Bella likes?”
“No, they’re at home.”
“She’s probably close by,” Adrian said. “Don’t run when you see her because she might think that’s part of a game and run away even further, or else she’ll get scared. And when she does come back to you, don’t be cross with her, OK? Just be calm, and positive.”
The stranger stared into the trees.
“Could you… help me look?” Another sob. “Just for a few minutes?”
Adrian checked his watch again. He didn’t like leaving Max at home on her own too long. She’d been so low recently, always blaming herself—especially after the last time, getting to fourteen weeks before things went wrong. He’d been thinking maybe it was time they asked for help: there was a lot they could do now on the NHS. They would find a way. And maybe one day it would be his own son or daughter out by these woods, walking a dog, asking a stranger for help.
He would help a fellow animal-lover today.
Then he would go home.
“Of course,” he said. “Come on, let’s find Bella.”
