‘You and your grandfather look like nice people. Vanessa is one to avoid.’
With a smile, I took hold of the tray. ‘I’m Rachel by the way.’
He gave me a cheerful smile. ‘Darren. Nice to meet you, Rachel. My wife, Abi, is out the back sorting out more bread.’ A woman poked her head from around the loaves and waved. ‘Hi, I’m Abi.’
Darren gestured towards his wife. ‘What you can’t see is that my beautiful wife is pregnant. Baby is due in January.’
‘Congratulations,’ I said. ‘Is it your first?’
Abi laughed. ‘I wish. It will be our third child.’
‘The more the merrier,’ joked Darren.
I smiled before taking the tray over to where Grandpa was sitting. After unloading the tray, I told Grandpa what the guy behind the counter had told me.
‘Well, we’ll have to go meet this Vanessa,’ chuckled Grandpa. ‘I came here for an adventure and a tussle with an angry landlady sounds like fun.’
‘Grandpa, you’re a bad influence.’ I laughed. ‘I wonder why she hates Frank?’
‘He probably complained about her pub or the food she serves,’ Grandpa said, pouring out his tea.
I nodded. ‘You’re probably right. So… what are we going to do about Humphrey?’
Grandpa shrugged. ‘Don’t worry about it. He’ll turn up.’
‘I can’t just leave it. I think when I get back to the house, I will make some missing dog posters with my mobile number on them and pin them around the town.’
Darren came to our table carrying a mobile phone. ‘Abi has had an idea about your runaway dog. Why don’t we stick a photo of the dog and your contact details on Harp Brook’s town Facebook page.’
‘That would be great.’ I took out my phone and scrolled through my photos. ‘Ah, here’s one of Humphrey. He’s been microchipped so if he’s handed to a vet, they will be able to see who he belongs to.’
I showed it to Darren, and he grinned at Humphrey looking angelic. After sending Darren the photo, my name, and my contact number he put a post on the town’s Facebook site and sent me a link.
After our drinks, we thanked Darren and Abi and left the café. We did one more scan of the high street before getting back in my car.
‘I used to love driving my car,’ Grandpa said, as I turned into the Manor House drive entrance. ‘Your mother made me sell it a few years ago as, according to her, I was too old to be driving.’
‘Well, you’re not missing much, Grandpa.’
There was no sign of Humphrey back at the house. Anxiety crawled over me. Even though I grumbled a lot about Humphrey I didn’t want him to come to any harm. Maddie and the family would never forgive me if something happened to him.
The kitchen was filled with the sounds of drills, hammers, wood being sawed and men laughing, all drifting out from behind the construction sheet. I needed something to do so I pressed my face near to the sheet. ‘Does anyone want a tea or a coffee back there?’
In a few seconds, the sounds of heavy boots got closer to the sheet. It was flicked back, and a young guy with blond spikey hair grinned at me. ‘We thought you’d never ask.’ Behind him, I could see the new kitchen. It was a huge space with giant windows on either side. In the ceiling, there were a myriad of wooden rafters.
The smart-ass builder whom I spoke to earlier glanced at me and I scowled at him, ‘Two mugs of tea please,’ said the blond guy. ‘My name’s Tom and my boss who, I have been told you’ve already met, is Ben.’
‘Hello, Tom and… Ben. I’m Rachel and I better get to work making your teas.’
After sorting out mugs of tea for the builders I created some ‘Missing Dog’ posters and printed them out in Frank’s ground floor office. Layla was off to a cleaning job in town, and promised to pin them up.
As time passed there was still no sign of Humphrey. I left my phone out on the kitchen table and at one point tried to telepathically communicate with Humphrey. This didn’t work. I decided to lose myself in making Grandpa and me my legendary steak and caramelised onion stacked sandwiches for lunch.
They were one of Olivia’s favourite lunches and they were one of my happy pennies.
On weekends we’d still be on the sofa in our PJs at lunchtime. Our Saturday and Sunday mornings always went at a glacial pace. We used to watch something on Netflix, idly swiping through photos of men on her dating apps, social media stalking someone we both knew, brainstorming her next novel or making pointless online clothing purchases. I’d decide to make us some lunch and she’d persuade me to make steak and caramelised onion sandwiches.
Once, as we sat on the sofa savouring every bite, she said, ‘Rachel, you are wasting your time with a career in project management and also the world is missing out on your wonderful cooking.’
