“Then what, if not an affair?” asks Ree. “Why else would you go round to Mr. Christensen’s house in the middle of the night?”
Because it’s not his home. It’s mine. Ours.
“I begged him to sell Shukes back to us,” Sally confesses. “I’d had such an upsetting dream, in which I hated the Hayloft and all I wanted was to get Shukes back. It’s funny, but I’m pretty sure it was soon after we found out the Gaveys were moving to Bussow Court. I don’t think I realized that at the time.”
“What did Mr. Christensen say?” Tobes asks.
“Not much. I didn’t give him the chance. As soon as I’d asked and heard myself say it out loud, it dawned on me how late it was, that I’d woken him up, and he might have had to perform open-heart surgery the next day for all I knew—”
“Unlikely. He’s a knee surgeon,” says Ree.
“—so I just started apologizing profusely and told him to forget everything I’d said, and of course I didn’t mean it.”
“This is typical of so many women,” says Corinne. “They ask for what they want, immediately feel guilty for wanting anything at all, start apologizing—”
“Oh, it’s nothing to do with what sex you are,” Sally saysimpatiently. “Nothing at all. It’s people who, as children, had to bury their own true feelings at all costs to appease difficult parents who only cared howtheyfelt and had to be pandered to.”
After a short pause, Corinne says, “True. It annoys me more when women do it, though, because I am one.”
“Do you really want to move back to Shukes, Mum?” asks Tobes.
Sally says, “I’ve had my turn. It must be someone else’s by now.” She doesn’t expect to get away with this deflection and is relieved when she does, then sad when the only explanation she can come up with is that no one else wants to buy Shukes back. They all like the Hayloft, and why shouldn’t they? It’s a lovely house, and the garden situation is perfect for Champ, totally secure. Yet Sally has always been convinced that he doesn’t sniff the flowers and bushes there with the same enthusiasm that he always had for Shukes’s front garden.
Even if that’s true, though, she can hardly go back to Henry Christensen and say, “Could you please ignore that I told you to ignore me, and reconsider my original hysterical request?” There’s no point, if Mark, Ree, and Tobes would veto another move.
“Your turn, Corinne,” says Tobes. Sally glances at the satnav as Corinne slows down and turns the car into a narrow lane. There’s a scratchy, thwacky noise that accompanies them all the way down this single-track road: the sound of leaves and branches brushing both sides of the car. The satnav says they’re four minutes away from the kennels.
“I tell you what,” says Corinne. “Can I wait to reveal my truth until we get there? I promise you, you’re going to love it so much.”
“No,” says Ree. “That’s cheating.”
“Can I bribe you?” Corinne asks.
“Like, with actual money?” Ree laughs. “Nope. I’m a woman of principle.”
“I’m bribe-able,” Tobes says. “Always.”
“We’re here, though. Too late.” Corinne pulls into a wide courtyard and turns off her car engine as floodlights come on. “But don’t worry. You’re all about to find out my truth. Here comes Jill.”
Jill, Corinne has told them in the car, is the wife of Niall, Corinne’s eldest son. The two of them own and manage West Acres Boarding Kennels. Corinne bought the land for them, on which to start a business of their choice, and this is what they chose. Jill, in particular, chose it, after her beloved Boston terrier, Yoyo, was banned from two other doggy day-care facilities for, according to Jill, no good reason at all. (“If you want an ideal environment for a human or a dog, don’t expect anyone else to create it for you,” Corinne said solemnly. “Make it yourself, or it ain’t never gonna happen.”)
Jill is wearing, among other things, a pajama top with “Beddybyes” printed on it in pink cursive letters. The smell of dogs is everywhere. It’s in the air, hovering over the fields that stretch out beyond the big house and the L-shaped outbuilding that make up three sides of the courtyard. It’s flat here, like at home.
Sally doesn’t mind the animal smell, but she imagines Mark is revving up to complain to her about it as soon as their hosts leave them alone. It will be wonderful, she thinks, if they can stay here long enough for Champ to make some friends. In Swaffham Tilney, he sometimes goes—went, Sally corrects herself, because who knows if they will ever go back? Champ sometimeswentfor walkswith Tippy, Kellie Dholakhia’s clumber spaniel. It’s unlikely that he’s started to miss Tippy yet, so now would be a great time for him to meet some new pals.
Jill gives Corinne a quick hug, then holds out her hand to Mark, who recovers well from his surprise. Sally smiles. He has been thinking of Sally as in charge and himself as a very minor character since they left Swaffham Tilney and was expecting anyone new they met to shake her hand first. “I’m Jill Harris,” says Jill. “Wife of Corinne’s son, Niall Sullivan.”
“Jill wants you all to notice that she kept her maiden name,” says Corinne with a grin.
“No, I’m just introducing myself—you know, like you do when you meet new people!” Jill says brightly, her smile hardening. “Come on in. I’ll show you to your room. I’m afraid you’re all in together—one big family room, single bed in each corner—but I think you’ll like it. We’ve just had it redecorated so everything’s brand-spanking new, and there’s a lovely, big en suite with bath and shower. There’s a state-of-the-art smart TV—”
“Wait, we’re not sleeping in a kennel?” Ree says, wide-eyed. “I thought we were sleeping in a kennel?”
Jill looks aghast at this suggestion. “No. The kennels are… Well, they’re just for dogs.”
“Surprise!” Corinne giggles. “That’s my truth! Guys, I can’t believe you thought I’d make you sleep in a fucking kennel!”
“But you said…” Mark begins.
