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A year ago she'd thought her heart was broken. But the prospect ahead of her could be infinitely worse than anything she'd suffered then. And she was frightened to confront him in case her worst fears were confirmed and she found herself entering the New Year in total isolation, faced with a long and agonising struggle for the right to bring up her own child, or even be allowed proper access.
I told Nick I wanted to be set free, she reminded herself unhappily. That I wanted to get on with my life without hindrance. I insisted on it.
Beware what you wish for, someone had said once. Because it might come true.
She sighed, and gave an apprehensive look at the sky as a faint rumble of thunder sounded over the far hills.
'Time to go home, lovely,' she told Baz, whose ears were suddenly pricked attentively. And then she heard what he must have done—the distressed and muffled yapping of a dog in the distance. 'But we'll go and look first,' she added, clicking her tongue to quicken his gait.
She left the bridleway, and rode through the trees, bent low in the saddle to avoid overhanging branches, listening intently for the increasingly frantic barking and whimpering.
Eventually, in a small clearing, she found the dog—or his rear portion anyway. It was protruding from an overgrown bank, and Cally guessed that the animal had gone into a hole after a rabbit and had earth and stones collapse on him, so that he couldn't move forwards or back.
She slid down from Baz and looped his reins over a convenient bush. It didn't take long to shift the debris and free the dog, a Jack Russell, who immediately repaid her by nipping her hand.
'Not nice,' Cally told him gently. 'But I know what it's like to be trapped and frightened, so I forgive you.'
The name on his collar tag was unfamiliar, and the telephone code wasn't local.
'But you must belong to someone,' Cally mused, winding her hankie round her hand. She tucked the now shivering and subdued dog under her arm, and began to lead Baz towards the edge of the wood and the road beyond.
As they came out from the trees she heard a shrill whistle, and a voice call 'Tinker!' An elderly man came round the corner. He was using a stick, and walking with a pronounced limp, but his thin, anxious face lit up when he saw Cally and her suddenly wriggling burden.
'Tinker, you little devil. My dear young lady, I can't thank you enough. Where did you find him?'
'He'd managed to get stuck in a rabbit hole, but I was able to dig him out.' Cally handed the dog over, and saw his leash securely attached to his collar.
'At home he's no trouble at all,' the man said, sighing. 'But I'm afraid whenever I bring him away he invariably runs off at some point. And I've just had a hip replacement, so I can't chase him as I once did.' The faded blue eyes sharpened. 'My dear, your hand—did he do that?'
'Yes,' Cally admitted. 'But it's not that bad. He barely broke the skin, and he was in an awful state.'
'I'm staying not far from here.' His voice was firm. 'You must let me disinfect the cut and put on a plaster. And I think a cup of tea is indicated too.'
'Really, there's no need,' she began, but he raised a silencing hand.
'I insist. Besides, I think we need to get indoors before we become soaked. It really isn't far, and there's a shortcut across this field. My name's Geoffrey Miller,' he went on, as he opened the gate for them. 'And this, of course, is Tinker the Terrible.'
'And I'm Caroline Maitland.' Was that a Freudian slip? Cally wondered, realising she'd given her maiden name. 'And I think Tinker and I met before,' she added. 'He once gatecrashed a picnic I was at.'
Her companion groaned. Two things draw him like magnets—food and rabbits. I'll have to start keeping him on a lead while I'm here.'
'Are you on holiday?' Cally enquired, as the first heavy spots of rain began to fall.
'Not quite. I'm spending a few weeks with my daughter. Convincing her that I'm going to be able to manage on my own.' He shook his head wryly. 'She does worry about me, bless her. And she has so much else to cope with. She's spent her life recently running between two hospitals. Visiting me in the mornings, and spending the afternoons with her husband. She's so brave and hopeful, but I suspect it's useless.'
'Oh.' Cally digested this. 'Is he seriously ill?'
'He's in a coma, after a bad road accident just over two years ago. At first it was thought he'd come out of it, then tests revealed serious brain damage. But she won't give up. She talks to him, reads and plays music, but there's no response.' He sighed. 'So far she's refused to allow the life-support to be switched off, but I'm afraid that can only be a matter of time.'
'That's terrible,' Cally said quietly. Oh God, she thought, if that was Nick lying unconscious and helpless, wouldn't I do the same? Keep vigil beside him, praying for a miracle? Try to keep the flame alive, even when hope is gone?
