Page 11 of The Twelve Days of Christian
I still recall those chilling words. An idyllic summer afternoon playing with the neighbours’ kids turned into a nightmare, but it was one I could do something about. Nestled high in a tree hut, I’d overheard the death sentence pronounced and tumbled down in a heap at the man’s feet. I begged for that dog like I’ve never begged for anything before or since.
Then I had to do it over again when I took him home to face my father’s sour summing up of the situation: the dog could stay, but there was no room for freeloaders on our property. Every cent of his food and care had to be paid for by extra work on the farm. It was worth every minute of those hated chores. The farm work took me away from the books and music that were my only love until Jet, but I willingly put more of them aside so he might have what he needed. And everything I gave to him, he gave it back indouble with years of companionship to a lonely boy, the cuckoo in the nest of a traditional farming family.
“Oh my god, that’s terrible.” Her eyes are wide, mouth aghast. Like most kids raised in the city, Haley has no idea of the cold hard facts of rural life.
“Yeah, not an uncommon attitude,” I say. “Can’t save them all, but I saved him.”
I still feel a surge of pride. Even as a scruffy eleven-year-old, I stood up for what was right; and now that sense of justice has got me in deep shit once again.
I sigh internally. Today I’m going to have to face it. No lounging around at Haley’s, pretending it hasn’t happened. Exactly what I’m going to do about it, I have no idea, especially as the one person who could possibly help me, my only ally onWild For The Win, is stuck inside the prison camp up there in Scotland while I’m doing time in solitary down here in London.
Anyway, that will have to wait. It’s time to get these three gorgeous girls home. With Tully installed in the rear seat, Mularkey perched beside her, tongue dangling loose and relaxed, and Haley beaming at the pair of them in the rear-view mirror, I fire up the car.
It’s hard to drive this car conservatively when everything about it taunts me to plant my foot and set free the beast rumbling behind us. Stopped at a red light, I can’t help but give the engine a blip.
“God, I love this car,” I murmur.
“If you love it so much, why don’t you just buy one?” Haley asks. “I mean, I can understand you not wanting the whole house in the country thing, like Ollie. Rural life’s no novelty to you, I suppose. But a car…”
So here it is. My chance to tell her why I’m not rolling in cash. Why I can’t afford to be sued by those pricks at the production company. Why I can’t simply throw a hundred grand of my own at the dog charity and be done with it.
I’m not comfortable casting myself in the role of hero. However, languishing here as a villain in Haley Templeton’s eyes is torture. The temptation is great. I take a deep breath and consider how I can explain this without revealing all the details. To do so might make me come across as a saint, and I’m definitely not that.
“Yeah, well, I do have a place in the country. Overspent on that, so no fancy cars for me.”
“You do? Where? Why didn’t you go there?”
Yeah, Haley might appreciate my help last night, but she’s still keen to get rid of me. Damn it, I’m so fucking stupid to hope otherwise. My brain remains sluggish from lack of sleep and I’m not thinking. Her questions are completely logical, and it looks like there’s no choice but to answer them. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t. So I do.
“I can’t go there. Because it’s actually the family farm. Mum, Dad, my two brothers, their wives and kids—I guess you could say it’s a bit crowded down there in Cheshire. No room for me.”
“You bought your family’s farm?” Her confused frown suggests more questions are on their way, so resisting the urge to drown them out with the roar of the powerful engine, I pull away from the green light driving like a nana, and begin.
“Yeah, it kind of became necessary.”
I hesitate again. Apart from Ollie, who I asked to say nothing, Haley is the first person I’ve told this to. I should resent my father and brothers begrudging gratitude towards me for saving them fromlosing a hundred years of family tradition and their livelihood. I shouldn’t care about exposing their ineptitude, but somehow, I’m reluctant to paint them as the useless bastards they are.
I’m not sure where this loyalty comes from. They haven’t been exactly my biggest supporters over the years, but they did play the game back on that first opportunity, reluctantly but consistently showing up on set atStar Power. So I owe them something.
“Dad made a few bad decisions.” Like twenty years’ worth. “Production was tracking downwards, and he didn’t seem to be able to turn it around.” Because he’s a stubborn old git who buries his head in the sand. “And my brothers tried a few suggestions, but nothing worked out.” Spent thousands on a consultant and then thought they knew better and didn’t take his expensive advice. “So, it was heading for a mortgagee sale. Before the bank could act, I bought it. Well, paid them enough to keep it in the family. And took on the ongoing payments to keep it there.”
She’s so quiet I can almost hear the cogs turning in her head over the purr of the engine idling as we pause at another set of lights. Haley is as smart as she is pretty; a thinker like her brother and I glance across to see ripples of thoughts glide across her face as she’s processing what I’ve told her.
“Wow,” she says. One word; and nothing more, as we weave through the build-up of Sunday afternoon tourist traffic along the last stretch of Bayswater Road.
Chapter 6
Day Two
The moment Haley unlocksthe front door, the smell of the Christmas tree punches me in the nose. The normally pleasant fragrance of the forest is tainted for me now. What happened in those woods in the wilds of Scotland last week is going to haunt me—unless I do something about it.
The dogs bound back into the house, fizzing with joy at being home. They grab a large armchair each, and I flop back into what seems to have already become my seat on the couch with a huff of relief. Two days out of the hellhole and I’ve already broken the rules twice, as far as I know undetected. I hope the bastards haven’t got me under surveillance. I wouldn’t put it past them.
Without asking, Haley has correctly worked out I need coffee and one of those damn hard to resist Christmas mince pies. She returns from the kitchen with both, taking a seat on the couch that emphasises the gaping space between us. Fair enough.
By the hard light of day, with the dog out of danger, Haley is spelling out in no uncertain terms that last night’s closeness was simply her need for comfort at a tough time. Much as I tried my best not to revel in it at the time, I can’t help but be thankful for three hours spent on a hard bench in the clinic and my arse going numb. For a while, the world shifted. With her tucked in under my arm, it seemed a more hopeful place.
And I can still conjure up that moment in the early hours, sitting in this exact spot; the fragrance of exotic flowers lingering on her body, the soft satin sheen of her hair when I dared to brush my lips against it, our eyes meeting with shared intensity, our need to reassure each other that things would be OK.
