Joe went to have a root about. He didn’t have a lot of stuff, he’d always travelled light, not feeling the need to have much in the way of possessions, so there was little point checking the things he’d brought from America. There was a cupboard in the kitchen which had a mixture of things that the owner had said he could help himself to as they’d been left behind by previous tenants. He went to check and the little dog scurried along with him, his claws sounding on the lino floor.
Joe scanned the cupboard shelves: clingfilm, mustard. Yuck. That stuff was disgusting. In the cupboard under the sink he found string, a Spider-Man football and a pink skipping rope. Joe had an idea.
After a bit of work with some scissors, his rusty knowledge of knots from Boy Scouts and a very patient little dog, Joe managed to fashion a harness out of the skipping rope.
‘Right, little fella. Let’s test this out in the garden first.’ Given how the dog had run off earlier Joe wasn’t about to risk losing him again, and he had no idea how he would behave on the makeshift leash.
The dog pulled as soon as Joe opened the back door,but the harness held firm. It was around his chest and secured on top, so it wasn’t going to hurt him even if he did pull. The rain had stopped but it was still blowing a gale and bitterly cold, and Joe pulled his coat tighter around him. They set off around the garden in the light from the kitchen window, and the dog seemed very happy to be outside; he bounced about frantically sniffing at the strange plants. It lifted Joe’s spirits to see it.
This was why he loved animals. Despite how crap their life might be, they always took pleasure in the simple things. They lived in the now, not worrying about what had happened or what the future held, but enjoying the moment – despite everything. People could learn a lot from them.
Once the initial excitement had worn off and they were seeing the hydrangea for the sixth time, Joe’s four-legged companion had settled into walking quite sedately at his side, although he was now looking up at Joe as if questioning why they were lapping the small garden.
‘Okay, boy,’ said Joe. ‘Shall we test this out on a proper walk?’
Once he’d uttered the key word, the dog was back to bouncing up and down like he was on a trampoline. ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said Joe.
They were soon heading down the hill into Dumbleford. This was where he’d gone to school. Henbourne had been too small to have its own primary school, and so was Dumbleford really, but together they’d made up the numbers to keep Dumbleford village school going. Joe did a lap of the large village green, while the dog managed to wee at every other of the little white posts that held up the looped chain fence surrounding it. He took in the hotchpotch of houses lit up by streetlamps, andremembered who had lived in them all, wondering to himself if those people were still around. The tearooms was still there, but the grocer’s and pet shop had been turned back into homes. The Christmas tree stood grandly in the middle of the green, although he could only see its multi-coloured lights, flashing manically as if trying to hurry him along. Joe looked longingly at the pub. Its disturbing sign made him remember all the times he’d tried to get the name, the Bleeding Bear, into conversations with his mum and dad, as it was the closest he could get to swearing without getting into trouble.
The thought of his parents made him draw up his shoulders and increase his pace. He strode back up the hill, past Mr Bundy’s cottage, towards Henbourne. He had known coming back would mean facing his past, and he was ready to do that. Thanks to the American predilection for therapy he had had more than his fair share, some of which he had found helpful. It had certainly made him consider coming back to England more than once, but in the end, it hadn’t been a therapy session that had made him pack everything up and get on a flight.
Lost in thought, he found himself nearing the church. The sound of jolly voices drew both his attention and the dog’s, who pulled at the skipping rope.
The vicar was standing at the lychgate welcoming people, wearing more decorations than the village green Christmas tree. As Joe approached, the church bells started ringing in greeting. He glanced at the clock tower: it was coming up to eight o’clock.
‘Good evening,’ said the vicar, a middle-aged man with a beard and a happy face.
‘Hello,’ replied Joe. ‘Any chance you’ve seen this dog before? He’s a stray.’
‘Oh, now let’s get a good look at you,’ said the vicar, crouching down and making the dog pull to get a lick of his face. ‘She’s a lovely little thing, but I’m afraid I don’t recognise her.’
‘It’s a boy,’ said Joe, feeling he had to explain on the little dog’s behalf.
‘Right. Why don’t you come in? It’ll be a full house tonight, and you never know, it might trigger someone’s memory.’
Joe faltered. It was a good idea, but he wasn’t a churchgoer. He had been, once upon a time, but too much had happened and his faith had been challenged to its limit.
‘It’s the candlelit carol service, nothing too heavy,’ said the vicar.
Joe could feel the seconds ticking in his head as he took far too long to decide. It was like being in a game show as the time ran out.
‘Joe!’ someone shouted from up the hill. Joe looked to see Zach striding towards him with some of the Collins family, including Lottie, following behind.
Zach greeted Joe warmly, pulling him into a hug. ‘Good to see you, mate.’
‘You too,’ said Joe.
‘Ah, Lottie,’ said the vicar. ‘Perhaps you can convince this young man to join us.’
Lottie came to an abrupt halt and patted down her hair. ‘Everyone’s welcome,’ she said.More of her dismissive attitude, thought Joe, watching her bend down to greet the dog, who was pulling hard to jump up at her. Joe knew her tights wouldn’t last two seconds against claws and tightened his grip on the lead.
‘You should join us. Carols on Christmas Eve – what’s not to love?’ said Zach. ‘And there’ll be mulled wine backat the manor afterwards if you fancy it. And for you too, Vicar,’ added Zach, turning to address him.
‘Very kind, but I have a date with a turkey that needs stuffing,’ said the vicar, and he went to greet some new arrivals. The rest of the Collins clan arrived and all greeted Joe warmly, making him feel like a returning hero – a completely different vibe to the one he was getting from Lottie. Zach and the others headed into church, leaving Joe with Lottie still petting the dog at his feet.
‘That’s a special lead you’ve got there,’ said Lottie, standing up and eyeing the pink skipping-rope handle wrapped round Joe’s wrist.
‘The latest from the Paris catwalk.’ Both the dog and Lottie gave him a look.
