and circle the blooms daily
And take peace as yours
Blessed be
Madga x
‘She’s nuts.’ Ella shook her head. Definitely barking. Imagine a floatily dressed sergeant major and you had Magda. How on earth had the Women’s Institute stalwart that was Ella’s mum hooked up with her and stayed friends for thirty years?
Walk among the blooms daily. Yeah, right. About to throw it in the bin, Ella tapped the card thoughtfully and with a sudden change of heart pinned it back onto the noticeboard.
Chapter Two
‘Do you have to do that? It’s very unnerving,’ Ella said to the dog, as she sketched the outline of one of her characters, frowning when the shape of the head didn’t look quite right but not looking up from the heavy white cartridge paper. If she didn’t look at the dog, it might get bored and stop watching her with that amber-eyed intensity. Annoyed that she’d been side-swiped by her mother’s emotional blackmail, she’d deliberately put off the prescribed walk until later. She had work to do. Her publisher was waiting – with shortening patience, if the last email was to go by – for the latest in the series of Cuthbert Mouse books. And at this rate, she was going to have a long wait.
Ella had gone straight up to the loft and got out the bare minimum of art stuff. Pencils and paper. The rest could wait. If she just made a start it might ease the pressure.
The dog sighed and lifted its eyebrows in an amusingly quizzical way. She carried on pencilling in Cuthbert’s tail, trying to ignore the definite snake-like aspects that weren’t supposed to be there. The dog yawned, with a yowly sound-effect, before walking round to the other side of her chair.
‘What?’ Ella said after it had shifted and fidgeted its way around the room for ten minutes. ‘It’s hard enough trying to do this without you disturbing me.’
Damn, Cuthbert looked more like evil Yoda than happy dormouse.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ With sudden slashes, she scribbled over the feral little face and chucked down the pencil. ‘OK. We’ll go for a walk.’
The weather outside didn’t look promising. ‘If I get drenched I won’t be pleased.’ Nature and she weren’t exactly at one. In fact, she was pretty sure it hated her as much as she hated it at the moment. Rain ran in haphazard, maverick rivulets down the Velux windows. She didn’t even own a pair of wellies. Snow boots or trainers? What had possessed her to pack either? Not that the process of filling her cases and every last bag had been anywhere nearing methodical. Trainers were fashion suicide – she wasn’t even sure how she came to own a pair and certainly not these lurid atrocities. The bloody snow boots had cost a fortune, the one time they’d been skiing. Neither she nor Patrick had taken to it.
Day-glo pink trainers, then. What else though? It was so cold this morning and would be even colder up in the woods which crowned the Chiltern Hills. It’d have to be layers. Tights, baggy leggings and an ancient pair of cargo pants usually reserved for decorating. Might as well go the whole hog and look totally ridiculous. She topped the ensemble with a turquoise ski jacket. Lord knows it wouldn’t ever be worn on the ski slopes again.
By the time her laces were tied, the dog was waiting by the front door, lead in its mouth, tail going like a windscreen wiper on full speed. At least one of them was glad to be getting out. Ella caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and wanted to cry. Seriously? What did she look like? Thank God, no one round here knew her.
She drove, or rather trundled, the short distance up to Wendover Woods in Magda’s funny little red car. The whole way she had to keep winding up the window because with each rattle it worked its way down again. As soon as the boot was opened, the stupid dog jumped out, knocking her flying into a puddle on the gravelled surface.
‘Urgh!’ Dark muddy water immediately soaked through her shoes, tights, leggings and trousers. The dog didn’t so much as look back. No, the darned animal hit the ground running and was off, darting in front of a car just turning into the car park. Shit. An irate horn blared. Not even a full day and she’d nearly killed the stupid thing.
The dog came dancing back to her side and she grabbed its collar, trying to ignore the cold slap of wet material against skin. She was so not a country girl. Managing to successfully avoid the eye of the driver, it took Ella several attempts before she latched the lead onto the metal ring of the collar.
‘Idiotic creature.’ Her heart banged against her ribs. God, what would she have told Magda if she’d damaged her dog on its first outing? What did you do if a dog got hurt? Did you have ambulances for animals? Where was the nearest vet? Were they like doctors? Did you have to register with them? Did they have accident and emergency, like for people, where you sat dry-eyed, in bloodstained embarrassment, for hours?
She tugged sharply at the lead. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here, before that bloke spots us.’ Semi-jogging to get away from the car park before he got out of his car, she hit a speed not managed since school days. As soon as she was out of sight, she had to stop. Clutching her knees, she bent over, desperately trying to suck air into tortured lungs. Her heart pounded so vigorously she could feel the pulse attempting to fight its way out of her temple. Any moment it might explode. Everything went black. Heavens, was she having some kind of heart attack?
Gradually catching her breath, she stood up, worrying she might be sick at any second.
Sucking in lungsful of air, praying no throwing up would be involved, she took a slower pace, cautiously letting the dog off its lead. Thankfully it didn’t run off. Like a newly released prisoner, it sniffed and snuffled the verges on either side of the lane, criss-crossing backwards and forwards in front and behind, chasing some elusive scent of goodness only knows what.
The dank air closed in. Ella could hear the steady incessant drip, drip of water through the trees. Damp seeped into her layers, spreading fingers of cold, as she plodded along behind the dog, feet squelching in trainers which were not built for the uphill path down which streams of water chased their way.
Why on earth had her mother thought this would do her good? All she wanted was to curl up under a duvet and sleep for ever. Snuggle in with imagination and memory to keep her company, replaying the elusive imaginary conversation in her head where Patrick would admit he’d made a terrible, terrible mistake. That he’d changed his mind.
The hollowness in her stomach stopped her in her tracks and she looked around at the trees melting into the hazy air. If she kept walking could she fade into the mist too? Dissolve into the landscape. Not have to face the cold reality of what she’d lost.
She stared sightless into the gloom until a wet head nudged her hand. She flinched.
‘Urgh.’ She searched for a tissue in her pocket.
The dog wagged its tail and bounced away before coming back to waddle around her feet in circles, batting the back of her knees as if to urge her on. She moved stiffly.
The woods, perched high up in the Chilterns, outlined the contours like a thick pelt of velvet, softening the undulating hills in a tapestry of vivid greens. The air smelt of peat and grass, a musky, grubby scent that brought back images of muddy boots and puddles. Her footsteps were muffled by the mulch of years of leaf fall. Overhead, leaves just unfurling their shades of bright spring greens fluttered in a light breeze with the occasional rusty groan of tree branches rubbing together. As Ella listened, she realised that far from being totally silent the woods reverberated with sounds. Bird song, wood pigeons cooing, others whistling,the dog’s heavy pants and the pad pad of its paws as it nosed through the undergrowth.
