Lost Dogs and Lonely Hearts (26 page)

She rechecked, keeping her eyes shut.

Oliver, dumped. Job, none. Probate, now done, but with a massive bill to come any moment. Kennels, nightmare of sick dog. George . . .

Her eyes snapped open, and the good mood fluttered out of her grasp like a butterfly.

George. Last night. It had been perfect, a real, promising date, right up until she’d got drunk and hauled him off to bed like a teenager home alone for the first time.

Rachel sat up, ignoring the warning swells in her chest, and checked out the room. There was no sign of George, and her jeans and shirt from last night were piled onto the chair by the door. She looked down, and saw she was wearing an old yoga t-shirt that she’d thrown over the chair a few nights ago.

Fragments of the previous evening drifted back across her cringing mind. The free-flowing conversation. Feeling like she’d known George for ever. That amazing, knee-melting moment where she’d kissed him, and felt his strong arm wrap around her waist when he kissed her back.

And then it went blurry. She hadn’t been
drunk
,
just that it had happened quite fast . . .

Rachel dredged her memory ruthlessly for details. Now was not the time to go blurry.

He’d carried her up the stairs, she still shivered at the thought of that. And when she’d pulled off the checked shirt, she’d been delighted that her guess about the cow-wrangling muscles had been spot on. And for a man who allegedly hadn’t had a girlfriend in years, he’d touched her with a confidence that had reduced her to a series of inarticulate gasps. But there were gaps. She didn’t remember falling asleep, for one thing.

Oh God. Rachel covered her face. She hadn’t had a reckless one-night stand since she was at university. What kind of rebound cliché was she?

There was another knock at the door.

‘Rachel? Tea?’ Megan sounded chirpy. ‘I’ve put two sugars in it this morning. Case you need it!’

Rachel stared in horror as the sultry Dot on the wall seemed to wink at her. What time had George left? Had Megan seen him on her way in?

‘Or would you prefer a Berocca?’ Megan went on, in her helpful tone.

I’ve got to get up before she thinks I’m a drunken slapper, thought Rachel, and with a superhuman effort, she hauled herself out of bed, grabbing her cashmere dressing gown and slinging it on in one movement.

As she moved, she nearly fell over Gem, who was lying in his usual place by the door.

Rachel’s stomach rolled. ‘Oh, great,’ she said, aloud. ‘Don’t tell me you were here the whole time? That would be . . . just weird.’

She yanked open the door, and Megan handed her the mug of tea. She looked fresh as a daisy in a clean version of the sort of t-shirt Rachel was wearing, and cut-off denim shorts and Uggs. Sleeping over at her mate’s hadn’t affected Megan’s tea deliveries.

‘Morning!’ she chirped. ‘Looks like you had a good night!’

Rachel ran a nervous hand through her hair, which she could see from the big oak-framed landing mirror was sticking up at all angles. How much did Megan know about last night? ‘Meaning?’

‘The pans! In the sink! Kitchen looks like a bomb’s hit it. I never had you down as a cook.’

‘I didn’t cook. George stayed for dinner and refused to eat what I was making,’ said Rachel, before any hinting could be done. ‘He stayed for a drink afterwards.’

‘Great!’ Megan lifted her eyebrows in what looked worryingly like an ‘And?’ gesture to Rachel.

Pause.

‘And?’ prompted Megan.

Rachel’s head throbbed, but underneath her embarrassment at what George must have made of her, she could still feel the delicious Christmas morning glow. The tiny smile at the corner of her lips gave her away, even if she hoped she sounded cool.

‘And nothing. We had a nice chat. He’s . . .’
He’s absolutely gorgeous
. ‘He’s very good company.’

‘You mean he didn’t spend the night winding you up?’ said Megan. ‘Blimey. Listen, I’ll stick a bacon sarnie on for you.’ She turned to go. ‘Freda’s downstairs, wants your advice about seeing a show in London for Ted’s birthday, seeing as you’re our expert. Nothing with nudity or sudden flashes, please. Sets off his angina.’

Rachel clutched her tea and leaned against the doorway as Megan trotted down the stairs with Gem. When she caught a second glimpse of her own reflection, she saw a dishevelled but happy woman she hadn’t seen in a while.

By the time Rachel came downstairs, freshly showered and feeling more like herself, Freda had done all the washing up and had moved onto polishing the glassware. Rachel boggled at the array of pans now on the draining board, but knew the price of this domestic favour would be a rundown on the previous night.

Megan was mixing up some rice and chicken for Chester, who was sniffing around the kitchen, significantly perkier than the previous evening, and she gave Rachel an apologetic smile in advance for the cross-questioning to come.

‘Did you have a nice night in?’ asked Freda, hanging the damp towel over the Aga rail.

‘Very, thanks,’ said Rachel. ‘Ooh, is that fresh tea?’

‘I hear George Fenwick popped over?’ Freda persisted with her casual expression.

‘Mm. He did. Chester wasn’t too well. How is he this morning, Megan?’

‘Oh, much better, actually! He was—’

‘I hear that’s not the only one George was looking after last night,’ Freda burst out, unable to resist any longer. ‘Good for you, love!’

‘I didn’t tell her,’ protested Megan as Rachel squawked. ‘She guessed. From the pans. She didn’t think you’d use that many to heat a Pot Noodle, no offence.’

‘So?’ Freda raised her plucked eyebrows.

Rachel lifted her mug to her lips and had to smile at the expectant faces: Freda, Megan, Chester, and now Gem. ‘So, nothing. George cooked me dinner and stayed over because it was late.’

Freda clapped her hands together. ‘Lovely! Oh, you deserve a decent man, love, if you don’t mind me saying, after what you’ve been through!’

Rachel started to demur that Dot’s death really wasn’t that much of an ordeal, but saw Megan try to shush Freda and knew she’d confided in her about her ‘abusive’ relationship. Her heart, which had lifted at the friendly delight they’d taken in her night in, sank. So much for her fresh start.

‘Don’t be cross with Megan for letting on, you’re among friends here, Rachel. Good for you for leaving,’ Freda went on, to both Rachel and Megan’s chagrin. ‘You can’t find Mr Right while you’re with Mr Wrong, as I said to our Lynne. In the days when I still saw her to advise, that is.’

Rachel looked at Freda’s homely lined face, brimming with sympathy, and felt shabby. From now on, she told herself with determination, it’s honesty all the way. Apart from this.

‘We had a nice evening and I enjoyed getting to know him,’ she confessed, ‘but I don’t think George and I are at that stage yet. We just had dinner, that’s all.’

‘Well, I think you’re a good match, you two,’ said Freda. ‘You’re the first one I’ve met will be able to give him what for. The only one he’ll let, too.’ She winked. ‘You might have to tell us the details, love, because we’re not going to get any out of George.’

Megan suppressed a gurgle of horror, and Rachel aimed a friendly ‘tsk’ in her direction, surprised at how nice it was to be able to talk about her evening, instead of pretending it never happened, as she’d always had to in the past.

It wasn’t her kitchen, not really, but she was starting to feel strangely at home.

Throughout the morning, fragments of the previous evening floated back as Rachel’s thick head wore off, making her stop mid-kennel check, or mid-phone call, with a bittersweet tingle of pleasure mixed with mortification. It made her feel like a teenager, but even so she kept checking her mobile to see if he’d rung.

He didn’t. He was, she told herself, running a busy veterinary surgery. And even if he wasn’t busy, George didn’t seem the type to follow up dinner with a bunch of flowers. Although, she argued, he didn’t seem the type for a one-night stand either – she didn’t know him well, but she felt quite sure of that much.

In her new spirit of honesty, Rachel decided the best course of action was to take the bull by the horns herself and sort out where they stood. She didn’t want to go from gazing up in awe at his broad naked shoulders to discussing some puking spaniel over the kennel table. Her skin was already crawling at how embarrassing that would be, especially with the obligatory audience of Megan and at least two dogs.

So just after lunch, Rachel pulled into the surgery car park only to see George’s muddy Land Rover swing in at top speed on the opposite side.

She took a deep breath, pinned a smile on her face and jumped out.

‘Hello!’ she said. ‘Have you got two minutes?’

George’s face was friendly, but guarded.

‘I have, yes. Good timing,’ he said, a little stiffly. ‘I’m only popping back to get supplies – full day today. Lots of lambing dramas.’

They scrunched up the gravel to the surgery and he held the door open for her to go in. It was a modern reception room, decorated with lots of flea control posters, and, Rachel was pleased to see, a whole notice board of rescue pleas, which Megan must have photocopied for him.

A couple of clients were waiting with carrying baskets and cardboard boxes, and they smiled as George walked past. He ushered her rather formally into his office, where he opened a filing cabinet and carried on checking through some files.

‘Do you mind if I carry on?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got to be out again in ten minutes.’

‘Not at all.’ Rachel suddenly realised she didn’t quite know what to say. It was like seeing the first boy she’d snogged at a school disco in class the following morning.

George turned round, and she saw that he was as awkward as she was.

‘So, what have you come to talk to me about? Or are you worried I’ve upped my call-out rate?’ His voice was light, but he wasn’t as easy as normal.

‘Listen, I wanted to come and see you, because . . .’ Rachel was turning red, despite her best efforts to behave like a mature woman. ‘Because these things never go well when you try to do it over the phone.’

George raised an eyebrow and Rachel’s insides fluttered.

She put her hands on the back of the chair. ‘I came up to say thank you for cooking me supper last night. I had a really lovely evening, but I got a bit drunk, as you probably noticed, and, um, I just wanted to say that I don’t normally . . .’

How to say she didn’t sleep with men on the first date, without sounding like a prude? She was nearly forty years old. But for some reason, his opinion mattered to her. Whether they started a relationship or whether it stayed as a friendship, Rachel wanted things to be right this time.

George took pity on her blushes and rolled his eyes, looking more like the George she remembered from the previous night.

‘No need to explain,’ he said. ‘I don’t generally, either.’

‘Oh, right. Good!’

‘Good!’ George looked at her and the tension between them crackled again. ‘Right answer?’

‘Yes. Absolutely. ’ Rachel steeled herself for the next question. ‘We
did
. . .’

‘We did.’ George nodded. ‘Maybe you’ve blotted it out, but you nearly fell off the bed, searching about in your overnight bag, and tried to make me use a handiwipe from a sushi restaurant as a contraceptive.’

Rachel froze, then spluttered. It wasn’t funny, but there was something about the solemn way he said it, and his straight face. ‘Did I?’

‘You did.’ He sighed. ‘Obviously we both need to go back to school on that front, because it wasn’t the most textbook demonstration. That’s what happens when enthusiasm gets in the way of experience.’

‘Well, it definitely was enthusiastic.’ It was quite endearing, really, she thought – the two of them, at their age, agonising over this like a pair of horny, drunk teenagers.

They looked at each other for a moment, and Rachel wondered where she was supposed to steer this conversation next. For a rural vet with apparently little female service history, George seemed to be doing a much better job of handling this than she was.

‘But now we’ve got that out of the way,’ he went on, ‘would you like to go back about ten paces, and have dinner with me some time this weekend? I’m old-fashioned, you see. I think if we go forward any more steps I’d have to propose.’

Rachel realised that she hadn’t been expecting this reaction: the simple, we’ve-started-something calm. No subterfuge, no need to think up reasons not to do it. It felt like putting one foot on an icy lake and finding it solid enough to skate on.

‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Yes, that would be great. Shouldn’t I cook you dinner, though?’

‘No, thanks,’ said George, ‘in the kindest possible way. I think we know each other well enough already to know that’s not a great idea. How about this Saturday? Got any plans?’ He paused. ‘Or is the whole point of being ageing singletons in the middle of nowhere that we don’t have to pretend about stuff like that?’

‘Quite,’ said Rachel. ‘My diary is empty. I am desperate. I’ll come over for dinner.’ She smiled because she could see how much, despite their words, they were both rather looking forward to the prospect of another evening’s talking.