The man had splayed his hands, said something back to him, but Jack was in no mood to listen. ‘Now!’ he barked. ‘Piss off before I call the police.’
As the man had grabbed his jacket and tools from the back of the truck and stalked off, Jack had turned to watch him go. His face had paled when he saw me.
Obviously noticing my shocked expression, he walked towards me. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said with an embarrassed smile.
‘Is there a problem?’ I asked warily.
‘He’s been stealing stuff from the property.’ His expression a mixture of disgust and despair, he glanced past me to where Carl was disappearing down the lane. ‘He made some lame excuse about being in debt and he’s given it back, but… The owner of the property is elderly, you know? The jewellery Carl took has sentimental value, so…’ He drew in a breath. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry you had to overhear that. You too, Lola.’
Smiling tiredly, he crouched down to pet Lola, who, even as poorly as she was, had wagged her tail, loving the attention.
I understood why he would have been so furious. With a reputation as trustworthy, hard-working and reliable, Jack is the local go-to guy for plumbing and general building work. He had his reputation to consider. Plus, he was obviously concerned for the elderly owner of the property, which was commendable, but still I was taken aback. Up until then, I’d only known him as considered and quietly spoken.
Out of curiosity, I continue to watch him now as he stops pacing. I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but I can’t help myself when I hear him say, ‘Look, Dan, just give me a few more weeks, will you? I have some outstanding invoices. Things have been difficult, but I have two firm promises of payment by the end of next week. The customers are good for it, and the last thing I need is for you to cut my supplies.’
He pauses while whoever it is – his supplier, I gather – answers. Then, ‘Right,’ he says, and kneads his forehead. ‘Could you at least think of my daughter? She’s fifteen years old. Traumatised after all that’s happened. I’ve had to take time off for her. She really doesn’t need me stressed out right now.’
He sucks in a breath while he waits for a reply. ‘Okay, right. Thanks. I’ll get it sorted,’ he says tightly, and ends the call.
He’s obviously struggling to juggle everything, I realise, which might explain why he’d been so furious with an employee who would steal from one of his clients. My heart wrenching as I realise just how difficult things must be for him, particularly with a teenage daughter, I head for the front door. ‘Jack,’ I call as he turns back to the farm gate where his Land Rover is parked, ‘have you got a minute?’
‘Can do.’ He turns back, checking his watch. ‘Did you need me to take a look at something?’
‘No. The work you did is brilliant,’ I assure him. ‘Everything’s functioning beautifully. I just wondered whether you fancied a coffee, assuming you don’t have somewhere you need to be.’
‘I’m finished for the day and I don’t have anywhere I need to be. I’m actually waiting for the car rescue service. Land Rover’s packed up again.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘So yes, I would love a coffee.’
A minute later, he’s following me through to the lounge. ‘Wow,’ he says as he steps in. I glance back to see him taking in the many alcoves, some of which I’ve decorated with stained glass, the grand staircase and the floor-to-ceiling wooden beams we’d kept to form partitions between rooms.
‘You approve?’ I ask, recalling that he hasn’t been inside the house since he’d fitted the kitchen and bathrooms. It was just a shell then, the rest of the building stripped back to bare brick and beams.
‘Definitely.’ He nods, stepping forward to glide his hand almost reverently over the roughly hewn finish of one of the beams. ‘You’ve done an amazing job. It’s homey but opulent. That’s some achievement. I love that you’ve kept the original footprint of the place.’
‘Thank you. That was the idea.’ I manage a smile, but a painful wave of sadness sweeps through me as I recall Mark using those very words when we first discussed converting the house to sell on with Jack. I can’t help wondering whether Jack remembers him saying it.
‘Ah, there she is.’ Seeing Lola on the sofa and aware of how poorly she is, Jack goes across to her. ‘How’re you doing, sweet girl? Tired, hey, I bet?’
Watching her tail wag as she attempts to sit up and greet him, I realise how weak she’s becoming, and I feel another piece of my heart fracture.
‘There now, sweetheart,’ he murmurs, sitting carefully down next to her, stroking her head and flank so tenderly that I feel the tears welling up again. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you stay right here and keep Uncle Jack warm while Mummy goes and makes us a coffee, hey?’ He’s talking to her as if she’s a human, just as I tend to.
Once she settles, he glances up at me, giving me a reassuring wink. ‘She’s fine, aren’t you, girl?’ he says, focusing his attention back on her.
As Lola rests her head trustingly in his lap, I swallow hard and spin around to hurry to the kitchen, where the tears come, hot, fat tears of fear, spilling silently down my face.
Eventually, slightly more in control, I make the coffee and return to the lounge, only to find that Jack and Lola are both fast asleep, Lola with her head still in his lap, Jack with his hand resting gently on her back. In this moment, with him, I sense that she feels content and safe. She’s always been a man’sdog, snuggling up with Mark or Kai wherever they sat. Some say dogs don’t have feelings. It always astounds me. Lola feels the absence of their loss acutely.
I place the mugs on the coffee table. ‘Jack,’ I whisper, and shake his arm gently.
He wakes with a start. ‘Sorry. Must have drifted off.’ He attempts to straighten up, then stops, dropping his gaze to Lola, who doesn’t move. ‘Christ.’ He looks sharply up at me, then back to her. ‘Lola?’ he says, his hand travelling to her flank, where he rests it for a moment. When his eyes meet mine, his obvious grief unspoken, my heart stops dead.
FIVE
Opening my front door a few days later, my mind distracted, I’m surprised to find Jack standing outside. ‘I hope you don’t mind my calling uninvited,’ he says, looking a little awkward. ‘It’s just, I have a friend who runs a pet memorial site on Etsy. I had a browse and saw this, and… Well, I thought of you, if that doesn’t sound too much like a cliché.’
Bemused, I glance down and my heart misses a beat as I take in the contents of the box he’s holding. Lola’s ashes, I realise, contained in a beautiful sculpture of a sleeping golden retriever that looks so like Lola it could be her.
‘I hope I’ve done the right thing?’ he asks worriedly as I stare at it, stupefied. ‘I’m doing some work at the vet’s, and I knew you were due to pick the ashes up, so…Shit.’ He stops, clearly panicked as I promptly burst into tears.
