‘Right.’
Ella crossed to the larder. ‘And I bought her different dog food. She’s used to it now. Devon recommended this as well. It contains more of the sort of nutrients a big dog needs. Mrs Bosworth ought to buy this one in future. The other one was really for small dogs.’
‘What else?’
Ella walked in an aimless circle for a minute, trying to think.
‘Lead.’ Where was it? Ah, in her coat pocket. ‘Poo bags. New packet. Anything else?’
The lump in her throat threatened to choke her.
‘Bed?’ suggested her mother looking pointedly towards the French door.
‘Oh, yes. I bought her a new one. You’d better take that. She’s used to it now. The old one is under the stairs. You can take that too.’
‘You’ve spent rather a lot of money on her.’ Ella’s mother looked a bit worried. ‘Are you sure you want me to take all this?’
‘It’s fine, Mum. It belongs to Tess.’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘I’m not going to need it, am I?’
Her mother’s face tightened and then her eyes softened. ‘I didn’t realise you’d become so fond of her. I’m glad she’s been company for you.’
There was a pause. Silence roaring for a second. Ella’s stomach turned over.
‘I’ll take this lot out to the car. Do you want to bring Tess?’
Ella nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her throat had closed up and her jaw hurt as she locked her back teeth together to stop any emotion escaping.
Tess wagged her tail. Ella took a deep breath. Tess was happy. That was the most important thing.
Ella followed her mother out to the car, trying not to think of all the times she’d walked along this path with Tess sniffing at every nook and cranny. Tess bounced along beside her, her nose in a flower, taking a sudden about turn diverted by the scent of something under the bush.
‘This way. Come on.’
Ears pricking up, Tess pattered through the gate and followed Ella’s mother who opened the boot of the car. Tess stopped, looking back. ‘In you go.’ Ella tugged at her collar and with an excited wag of her tail, Tess jumped into the car, turning three quick circles before looking at Ella, tongue hanging out as if to say, ‘So where are we going?’
Her mother stood, one hand on the top of the boot ready to shut it. Ella pinched her lips hard, feeling the tendons in her throat straining. She wanted to throw her arms around Tess, lift her back out of the car and run back into the house. Instead, blinking furiously, she rubbed Tess’s head and whispered, ‘Be good,’ and stepped back.
Her mother slammed the boot shut. Tess pressed her nose against the glass, her tail wagging. No doubt thinking she was going for another walk.
‘Bye, Ella, see you soon.’ Her mother started up the engine and Tess suddenly stilled, standing four square facing Ella, her nose up against the other side of the glass. Her eyebrows lifted up and down, almost meeting in the middle in her usual quizzical fashion as if to say,something’s different.
Ella reached and touched the spot which had already misted up. ‘Bye, Tess,’ she said, her voice hoarse. As the car pulled away Ella stood motionless, watching until it turned round the bend and went out of sight.
The kitchen felt horribly empty, the spot by the French doors now stark, just a few drops of water where Tess’s bowl used to be and a circle of black dog hair outlining the shape of her bed. Ella thought about sweeping them up but instead sank down into one of the kitchen chairs, laid her arms on the table, put her head down and cried.
Chapter Thirty-Six
She’d forced herself to paint for the last two days and it had been hard work. Like pulling teeth. The new picture was there – not coming quite as easily as that first painting but it was OK, the inner confidence and vision were still there. That was a huge consolation. It kept her busy, but nothing stopped her glancing round at the spot where Tess used to sit or drifting into the kitchen at six o’clock. The cottage seemed so empty. So quiet. She missed the pitter-pattering of Tess’s feet on the hard stone floors in the kitchen or the jangling of her lead when she’d grown impatient with Ella’s tardiness and a walk was overdue.
It was only because she was so sick of her own irritability and inability to settle at anything that Ella had decided to venture to the gallery this afternoon for something to do. Googling Margery Duffle had nearly put her off. She’d known Margery was a big deal, but not quite how big a deal her ‘little’ gallery in Great Missenden was.
Ella had very nearly turned tail when she walked in through the door. There were some amazing pictures on the wall. An Alison Ronson, for God’s sake. She’d been shortlisted for the Turner Prize last year.
‘Your pictures are superb, but especially this one.’ Margery Duffle prowled around the easel upon which she’d placed Ella’s reservoir picture. Looking at the finished painting with its palette of hazy greens, opalescent blues and silver lights made Ella’s heart ache. Capturing the essence of a picture often seemed like knitting with mist, almost impossible to transfer theexact impression onto canvas, but this time she’d done it. And even better, she knew she could do it again.
‘I love the other two as well but this is simply my favourite. What do you think, Jamie?’
Margery’s nephew, who happened to be in the shop when Ella arrived, screwed up his face in silent contemplation. ‘No disrespect, the secret bower one isn’t really my thing but I think the picture looking in through the window of the pub is brilliant.’ He laughed, dark brown eyes dancing. ‘The way you’ve captured all the different characters. There are so many stories there.’
