Wellies and Westies

Harper

An imprint of HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd

The News Building

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins
Publishers
2015

Copyright © HarperColl‌insPublishers 2015

Cover layout design © HarperCollin
Publishers
Ltd 2015

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cressida McLaughlin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © April 2015 ISBN: 9780008135201

Version: 2015-08-07

To my family: Mum, Dad, Lucy and David

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Acknowledgements

Sunshine and Spaniels Extract

Keep Reading_ Primrose Terrace

About the Author

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

‘Now, just stay in the bag until I say so, OK? This could go one of two ways.’ Cat pushed the furry head back into her cavernous turquoise handbag and hoisted it up on her shoulder, pushing a strand of her pixie-cut chestnut hair out of her eyes. The sun was hesitant, the early March day too cold to be called balmy, but it was trying hard, and the thought that they were at last leaving winter behind gave Cat a spring in her step. She approached the main doors of Fairview Nursery, nodding and smiling at the clutches of parents, some with older children on their way to primary school, most with pushchairs, hoping that none of them would notice her bag’s unusual bulge.

Alison was already in the office, printing off the day’s register and listening intently to messages on the answerphone; parents calling to say their child was ill and would be absent from nursery, someone wondering about the Easter opening hours.

Cat lifted her bag off her shoulder and placed it carefully on the chair next to the coat hooks. It wriggled, her keys jingling alarmingly, and Alison flashed her a questioning look, her neat, dark brows knitting together below her glossy fringe. Cat shrugged off her coat and scarf, hung them up and filled the kettle.

‘Good morning,’ Alison said, when the messages had finished. ‘Did you have a nice weekend?’

‘Yes, thanks. A couple of nice long walks, a lie-in, a meal out with my friend.’

‘Polly?’

‘That’s right.’

‘The one you’re living with?’

‘Yes, and her brother.’ Cat stirred milk into her tea, and put a single sugar in Alison’s coffee. ‘I’ve known her for years, and when this job came up, they…’ she stuttered, ‘they had space so…’ Her words trailed away, and she wondered how her boss, a few years older than her and about three inches shorter, could make her feel as if she was always on trial for something. Or maybe it was just today, because looking at Alison, and listening to the muffled sounds coming from her handbag, Cat knew that she had made the worst decision since her move to Fairview.

She blew on her tea, attempting nonchalance. ‘How was your weekend?’

‘Good.’ Alison nodded once. ‘Can you come and help me get the children’s coats off? I’ll be letting them in shortly.’

Cat rolled her eyes. As ever, she was denied a glimpse into her boss’s personal life, any titbit of information that might help Cat understand why a woman in her early thirties could be completely devoid of warmth, and be in charge of a nursery. Cat prided herself on her ability to get to know people but Alison was an impossible case. She followed her into the classroom. Miniature chairs and tables were set out in front of a whiteboard, and there was a soft red carpet with scattered beanbags for story time. The craft area, with a sink, bottles of squeezy paints and a jumble of brightly coloured aprons, was in the far corner.

‘We’ll take the register on the carpet, then move into the first activity, exploring different sounds.’

‘Sure.’ Cat knew all this. Alison planned out her lessons in minute detail, and gave Cat a briefing every Friday afternoon on the following week’s plans, ensuring there was no room for error or spontaneity. Cat longed to say something, but as the assistant, and only two months into the job, she had tried to stay in line. Until today, anyway.

In the playground a couple of children, Peter and Tom, were pressing their noses up against the glass. Cat waved, and they waved back, their hands fingerless in woolly mittens. Behind them, Emma, four years old and one of the most mature children, waited patiently, her long hair in plaits while her mother pushed her baby brother’s pram backwards and forwards. Emma was holding onto Olaf’s lead, the cocker spaniel puppy smelling the shoes of everyone around him, his tail wagging constantly.

Cat’s wave froze in mid-air and her stomach lurched.

The small dog brought her thoughts back to her bag, and what was inside.

‘I’m letting them in now,’ Alison said.

‘Won’t be a sec,’ Cat called as she hurried out of the room. Alison sighed loudly and flung open the double doors.

Cat’s handbag was on the floor, halfway across the office, and making progress towards the door.

What if Alison had seen it first? Would she have called the police? Thrown it outside? Cat knew then that her plan hadn’t just been stupid, it had been mind-numbingly ridiculous. She scooped the bag up, undid the zip further, and a black button nose snuffled to the opening, followed by a fluff of grey fur and then two dark eyes, looking up at her. Her heart stopped pounding and started to melt, as it always did when she saw Disco, her neighbour Elsie’s miniature schnauzer puppy.

‘Shhhh, Disco,’ she whispered. ‘We’re going in the other room now, so you’re going to have to be
really
still and
really
quiet.’ Cat followed her instructions with a treat from her pocket, knowing how futile they were. You didn’t have to be a dog expert to know that being still and quiet were two things that did not come naturally to a puppy. She put her handbag over her shoulder and, as casually as she could, went back into the classroom.

Alison was removing coats and hats, assisted by parents who were reluctant to let their young children go, even for a few hours, and she gave Cat a meaningful backward glance. Cat placed her handbag at the back of the craft area, as far away from the carpet as possible. The bag emitted a tiny yelp, and Cat stuck her hand in, ruffled Disco’s thick, warm fur and zipped it half-closed.

‘Cat?’ Alison called, her voice high and tight. ‘Any chance of some help?’

Cat hurried to the door and welcomed the children in, taking their outer layers off and helping them to hang them on the multicoloured coat hooks. Emma bent down to say goodbye to Olaf, and Alison appeared next to her, her short frame still imposing for a four-year old.

‘Come on, Emma,’ she said, ‘leave the dog now. Time to go inside.’

Emma’s mother put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘He’s called Olaf.’

‘Right,’ Alison said. ‘Well, we can’t have dogs inside – some of the children are allergic.’

‘You mean
you’re
allergic to fun,’ Cat muttered under her breath. Behind her Peter, three years old, let out a bubble of laughter, his blue eyes bright with mischief.

‘Shhh,’ she said, ‘don’t tell on me.’ She gave Peter a grin and sent him off to the carpet. Emma took off her coat and Cat could see she was blinking furiously, trying to force the tears back to where they’d come from. Cat resisted the urge to give her a hug – she knew Emma wouldn’t want that – and a stronger urge to let Disco out, delighting all the children and sending Alison into meltdown. She watched as the nursery owner let the last of her charges in, closed the door and ran slender hands over her hair and skirt, before turning to face the children and clapping her hands.

They assembled on the carpet, Alison at the front on one of the beanbags, Cat cross-legged in the middle with children clustered around her. She was wearing a red and white flower-print dress over leggings and boots, and had painted her nails the colours of Smarties, knowing that the children would love them. Sure enough they were soon pulling her hands towards them, running their fingers over the smooth, bright surfaces.

Alison took the register and explained that their activity was called ‘What’s that Sound?’
She started shaking a pair of pink plastic maracas. The children squealed and giggled, and reached out towards the box of instruments.

‘No, children,’ Alison said, holding up a finger, ‘I’m going to give you a musical instrument each, but you have to help me say what sound it’s making first. Right.’ She shook the maraca again. ‘What’s this?’

‘Snakes!’ Andrew shouted.

‘It sounds a bit like a snake’s rattle, doesn’t it? Excellent.’

A few of the children mimicked the noise. ‘Wwwhhsssssshhhhh.’

‘Good.’ She handed out maracas to some of the children.

‘It sounds like sand,’ Emma said.

‘That’s excellent, Emma,’ Alison said. ‘Can you think what might be a bit bigger than sand?’

Emma thought for a moment. ‘Stones?’

Alison nodded. ‘Small stones or seeds.’ She handed Emma a maraca. ‘Well done. The maracas are filled with seeds, or sometimes tiny stones, so that when you shake them they make a rattling noise. Now, everyone, what’s this?’

There was a chorus of ‘Drum!’ as Alison took out a tiny bongo drum and started tapping it. ‘And what do you do to a drum?’

‘Bang it! Hit it!’

Cat thought she heard a small yelp from the other end of the room, but a quick glance told her that her handbag hadn’t wandered. She began to relax, joining in with the drumming and handing out instruments.

Alison pulled the next item out of her box, and Cat froze.

‘Does anyone know what this is?’ Alison asked. She held the small metal item out in front of her.

The children looked perplexed, then Emma let out a gasp, her hand shooting up, fingers trying to touch the ceiling.