Page 24 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“Well Bernard, it seems some people just aren’t cut out for this show,” Lisa Mayberry croons with a rueful smile and a toss of her blonde mane. Bitch. She’s only sickly sweet when the cameras are rolling.
Back in the studio, Bernard tuts and shakes his head, before stepping into the audience and asking for comments. They aren’t complimentary, but at least I take some consolation when most people express disappointment. Many admit, up until that point, they really liked me; they wanted me to win.
They still would, if only they knew what triggered this whole thing. They’d realise it wasn’t just some aggressive male provoked into finally revealing his true colours by a simple request. They’d know those bastards asked me, and everyone else there, to do something horrific. And Loreena and I were the ones who stood alone against it.
I snatch at the remote, stabbing my finger on the button. I don’t need to see any more of this crap.
“What happened, Christian?”
Haley’s voice is gentle, her brows narrowed in a concerned frown as she angles her body towards me. She’s not stupid, and now she knows me better, she can see there’s more to this.
“Tell me what happened. Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell. Even under oath.” Her mouth tugs up at one corner, and I’m flooded with tenderness for this sweet girl.
She doesn’t need to offer me a guarantee. She’s trusted me with her most precious possessions, her dogs, and I can trust her with the truth. I drag in a breath and begin.
“So, you saw them announce the challenge? The ‘hunter gatherer’?”
“Yeah, so you were meant to find your food—catch fish or something? Find some edible plants?”
“That’s right. They provide fishing rods, even some bait. And a book on plants—which ones will kill you, those which will give you a guts ache, and those that are safe. But there was something else in that kit you didn’t see. I know they have footage showing it. The cameras were rolling all the time, but they’ve cut it. At least my tantrum might have had some effect.”
The amount they edited out was huge, including every glimpse of the item that sent me over the edge.
“What?” She inclines her head, a deepening frown. Maybe she expects it’s a hunting bow; perhaps a gun. Both kill swiftly. Either would have been preferable to the cruel invention lurking in that box. I tell her.
“A snare. A loop of wire. When an animal steps into it, the wire closes around it. Traps it there. Until someone turns up to finish it off by whatever method they choose.”
“Ugh,” she shudders, her nose crinkling, making her faint freckles dance. “That’s awful. I know I shouldn’t be so squeamish about the thought of killing animals for food, not when I enjoy a good steak, but I can’t imagine having to do it myself. A bit hypocritical, really.”
“No,” I reassure. “You’re no different from most people who grow up in the city. When you’re from a farm, you’re closer to the reality of how meat gets from the field to the table. So I can live with the killing, as long as it’s done humanely. But there’s no such thing as a humane snare.”
“Are they even legal, then?” she asks. “Shouldn’t they ban them?”
“They are banned in some places, or at least strictly regulated. Not in Scotland. The rules there are more lenient than anywhere else. For now, anyway.” I’ve never felt the need to be a crusader, however, this time, it’s personal. “But I intend to do something about that.”
“So that’s what got you kicked out?”
“Yep. When I found it, I just saw red. Especially when I heard some of the other teams actually planning to try it out. If they could imagine the terror an animal must feel caught like that. If they could see the damage it can do…”
My voice cracks. It was years ago, but still a tidal wave of emotions rises up, crushing me with memories as vivid as if they were yesterday.
“And you have.” She’s looking at me with those big green eyes, mossy and soft with empathy.
“Yeah, my dog. Jet. He went missing one day. Dad kept saying not to worry, dogs roam, he’d come back. But he didn’t. After three days, I went out searching for him. Found him miles away, in the forest bordering the farm. And when I found him…”
“That’s how he lost his leg.”
With a bob of my head, I confirm it. Although, I don’t recall telling Haley that Jet only had three legs, but I must have. I sure enjoyed talking about him with her the other day. It’s something we share; this deep love of dogs that’s impossible to explain to someone who doesn’t have it.
“He’d tried to get out. Mangled his leg beyond saving. He was dehydrated. Hungry. And the look in his eyes, like he’d given up, lost all hope. It took a while for him to even register it was me and I could help him.”
My eyes well up, and I blink furiously. Haley’s small hand reaches up to cup my cheek. Delicate fingers smooth away the tear that has spilled over. Slender arms lace behind my neck and she nuzzles into my shoulder. It’s still sore from the attack of the ninja nurse, but I don’t flinch. One hand smooths my hair, offering soothing strokes.
She raises her head from my shoulder, leaning in to press her forehead against mine. I breathe in the smell of her, like cinnamon and honey. With eyes closed, I’m revelling in her nearness. If I wanted to kiss her now—and it takes every ounce of self-control not to—it would be so easy. But I dare not.
“You did. You saved him,” she whispers.
“Yeah, me and a local vet who refused to put him down.”
