‘A man far more eloquent than I am wrote a few special words about his dog. Maybe now would be a good time to hear them?’
Marla nodded at him with gratitude, her shoulders ramrod straight with tension. She couldn’t find the words to express how losing Bluey so cruelly had shattered her heart. He’d been such a huge physical presence in any room, utterly unwieldy and impractical in her small cottage with his gangly legs and huge head. He’d been forever knocking things over with his eagerly wagging tail, but if it had come down to a straight choice between moving house or losing Bluey, she’d have called the estate agents without a moment’s hesitation. And now he’d gone, and Marla had never felt so alone in her life.
Gabe couldn’t bear the look of desolation on Marla’s face. He moved to stand at her other side and folded her smaller, cool hand into his, rubbing his thumb over the taut, paper fine skin of her knuckles. He waited in silence as the nearby church bell rang out six solemn times, then cleared his throat.
Near this Spot are deposited the
Remains of one who possessed beauty without vanity,
Strength without insolence,
Courage without ferocity,
And all the virtues of Man without his Vices.
Fresh tears ran down Marla’s cheeks. In a million years, she couldn’t have found more appropriate words. She leaned her head against his shoulder, an instinctive search for comfort.
‘Thank you, Gabe,’ she murmured. ‘That was perfect.’
Gabe nodded and lowered his lips against her hair and breathed her in deep, his eyes closed. ‘Byron was obviously a dog lover.’ He squeezed her fingers and then gently let her go as he opened his eyes and reached for the spade that rested against a nearby tree trunk. ‘Go inside with Emily, Marla. You don’t need to see this.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘Marla, honey?’
Marla’s heart plummeted at the sound of the familiar nasal twang. Why, oh why had she answered the phone? Mondays were her Sundays. They were the only day of the week that could be relied upon to be wedding-free and calm, the only day that she ever took off for herself.
She plopped down into her armchair and resigned herself to a good hour of listening to her mother’s latest forays with men and mayhem Stateside. Much as she loved her mother, hearing about her exploits as a sex therapist ageing disgracefully in Florida always gave Marla the makings of a headache. At least it wasn’t hard work. Her mother never gave her a chance to get a word in edgeways. She reached for her coffee mug and curled her feet up underneath her bum, glad to be on the opposite side of the pond to her mother for the majority of the time. She cursed silently as she wriggled and slopped coffee on her knee, before tuning back in to try to make sense of the tail end of her mother’s monologue.
‘It’ll only be a flying visit for Brynn though, hon, he has to give a speech at a taxidermy conference. He’s flying out again after the weekend, but I thought I’d stay on and spend some time with my little girl. Whaddya reckon?’
Marla’s mind played hectic catch-up. Brynn?Who the hell was Brynn?And ataxidermyconference? Jeez, her mother had been with some odd men in her time but this one ranked up there alongside Herman the snake-wrangler.
She was so thrown by Brynn’s profession that it took her a couple of seconds to compute the fact that her mother had mentioned a visit.
Her mother’s uncharacteristic silence lengthened, and Marla cast around for a response that wouldn’t convey her horror.
‘When would this be, again?’ she squeaked.
Please don’t say tomorrow or something ridiculous, Mom, or I may well lie down on the floor and die right now.
She heard her mother’s dramatic sigh on the other end of the line.
‘Marla, are you even listening to me? End of the month. Clear your diary. We can hit Harrods.’
‘Mom, you know I’m miles from London.’
‘Yadda yadda yadda. You can’t be far from anywhere on that tiny godforsaken island. I lived there so I know, remember?’
Marla was glad her mother wasn’t in the room to catch the way her eyes flicked up to the heavens. At least it was a few weeks away. Given her mother’s track record, there was every possibility that Brynn the taxidermist would have exited the scene well before then with an otter under his arm, or whatever the hell he happened to be stuffing at the time.
‘You know what you need, my friend?’
Gabe watched Dan over the rim of his pint glass as he waited for the pearl of wisdom. It was his third beer, and it had him well on the way to being more relaxed than he’d felt in weeks.
‘What’s that then?’
‘To lighten up. You’ve had that same long face on for weeks now.’