‘Really?’ Rosie felt something shift. She’d always assumed Nessa wasn’t interested in the hotel, but of course she was. She was always suggesting things. Rosie just hadn’t really been listening. She’d been battling on, martyring herself, and it had all been unnecessary. She had a great team, and a sister who loved the hotel as much as she did. ‘Why don’t you get more involved?’
‘Oh, I can’t do that,’ said Nessa, in an overly dramatic fashion. ‘You’re so controlling. Older sister and all that. You like everything done your way.’
‘I’mcontrolling?’
Nessa laughed. ‘Oh my God, yes! But I love you, so it’s okay. But if you do want to hear any of my ideas, you know where I am. I was also thinking of a weekly book group or maybe garden tours. We could rope Dad into the tours. He’s a natural. And then we serve them tea and scones.’ She shrugged, as though she had lots more ideas but these Rosie could take or leave. ‘Anyway, hadn’t you better get back to the hotel? Isn’t the wedding starting soon?’
Just as Rosie was pulling away, she saw there was a text from Grace.
CRISIS! Pedro has fallen down the side of the cliff! By the fecking altar thing. Lucinda is having a panic attack. And we’ve only an hour until the fecking wedding!
Rosie zoomed back to the hotel, abandoning the Land Rover on the driveway. Guests were beginning to arrive, beautiful dresses and high heels and men in suits, everyone greeting each other, excited about the day ahead, but Rosie dashed through them all, running across the gravel, towards the lawn, and then she spotted Patrick, just walking in through the main gate. He opened his mouth to speak and she put her hand up. ‘I can’t! Pedro has fallen down the cliff.’
‘Pedro’s that dog, right?’
‘Yes, he’s Lucinda’s and is absolutely horrible. The most narky, unpleasant and unfriendly dog in the world. Honestly, he’s like a bad-tempered cat in dog form. But Lucinda is having a panic attack… and if she’s still wailing and sobbing, it’s going to ruin the wedding.’
For a moment, they looked at each other, as though both remembering the effect Lucinda’s meddling had on their lives.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he insisted.
‘No, you have to get ready. It’ll be fine.’
But Patrick was already walking across the drive and around the hotel and Rosie had to run to keep up with him. Along the long lawn and past the marquee, they saw the new white canopy, which looked as though made from a sail from a yacht, over the altar and the chairs. Ahead, at the edge of the cliff, they spotted Lucinda, her head in her hands, staggering around, as though possessed. Grace was lying on the ground, hanging over the side of the cliff, shouting something down.
‘Oh, thank God. A man,’ said Lucinda as Rosie and Patrick drew closer. ‘We need a strong man to sort this out. My little Pedro slipped and fell. He was trying to look over at the view. He does like a view, you know. But look…’ She began to sob. ‘He’s on the ledge. Hanging on to the precipice of life and rock…’
‘Hello, Lucinda,’ said Patrick, nodding at Grace. ‘Busy day?’
Lucinda looked confused. ‘My dog is about to fall to his death,’ she said, plaintively. ‘And no one will care.’
Rosie knew this part of the hotel well, having spent her life crawling towards it and looking out to sea as the seabirds swirled ahead and the waves crashed below. She got to her knees and inched towards the cliff edge.
And there he was. The small brown figure of Pedro was a few metres below, teetering on a small outcrop. Instead of being aware of his tricky predicament, he was yapping bad-temperedly and incessantly at a seagull. There didn’t seem to be many ways to rescue him. Except for calling in the coastguard’s helicopter, which would cause incredible disruption to the wedding and also be a waste of their resources. You had to be clinging to a life raft after three days at sea, about to expire, before local residents would agree that the helicopter was justified. But poor Pedro. However unlikeable he was as a dog, they couldn’t let him fall any further.
‘A net?’ Rosie suggested to Grace. ‘Could we scoop him up? A net on a pole?’
‘That’s a STUPID idea, Rosie,’ shouted Lucinda. ‘We can’t make a net. We are not ancient fisherfolk! And even if we were, it would take months! We don’t have months. We have minutes! Pedro will starve to death.’
Grace had turned her face to one side so Lucinda wouldn’t see her smile and then shout at her next.
Rosie tried to think of what else they could do. A drone with a hook on it? Could she be lowered out, her legs held by Grace, and grab him? A fishing rod with a bone on the end of it?
But Patrick had already lowered himself over the cliff and, clinging to the rock, taking careful little steps, was inching down. The three women watched with horror, as Patrick clutched tufts of grass, made little handholds in rocky crevices, slowly making his way towards Pedro. Pedro was still barking at the seagull, completely unaware that his life hung in the balance. But worse was Patrick’s life.
On her knees, Rosie clung to the grassy edge, watching him moving closer to Pedro. And then he stopped, crouched down, and with one hand holding on to a grassy tussock, he reached his other arm, in a giant span, and managed to brush the top of Pedro’s head.
Lucinda let out a blood-curdling scream. Patrick looked up with a face of complete irritation.
‘It’s not helping, Lucinda,’ said Rosie.
Lucinda turned on her again. ‘Well, if your child was about to plummet to their death, you’d be upset as well.’
Patrick was still trying to sweep tiny Pedro up, by balancing even more precariously. Any second now, Patrick would be dashed to his death. Talk about ruining the wedding vibe. Lucinda was now having palpitations, her breathing coming in tiny gasps. Grace and Rosie locked eyes.
‘Give me your hand,’ ordered Patrick. ‘I can get further down.’
Rosie grasped his hand, as Grace hung on to Rosie, acting as the ballast in the operation, and Patrick inched slightly lower, straining to grab Pedro. And then he made his move, sweeping down his arm, palm upwards, he scooped up Pedro, holding him so tight the dog yelped, and in one arc through the air, Patrick let go of him, flinging him onto the grass, at the feet of Lucinda.
