Page 43 of All Wrapped Up
Thankfully, my concern that Pixie hadn’t been happy homealone turned out to be entirely unfounded. She was ecstatic to see us but didn’t appear fazed about having been left.
‘If anything,’ said Ash, as he gave her a huge fuss, ‘it’s given her time to mooch about and get her tactic for making it up to your bedroom tonight settled in her mind.’
‘Oh, she doesn’t need a tactic,’ I told him as I set down the paperwork I’d accrued throughout the evening. ‘There was never any question that I’d make her sleep down here.’
Ash rolled his eyes at that. ‘You’re every bit as bad as I was,’ he laughed.
‘Well,’ I said, looking at Pixie’s perfect little face, ‘she needs nurturing.’
‘Don’t we all.’
‘Yes,’ I said soberly. ‘A little love goes a long way.’
Talk of love felt like risky territory to try and traverse after such a monumental evening, so I was happy when Ash didn’t pursue the topic.
‘I’m working tomorrow,’ he told me, ‘but if you need a hand on Friday and Saturday, just holler.’
‘Won’t you be driving back up to Bakewell again?’
‘I wanted to, but Mum has insisted I don’t need to. Nan has told her that she’d rather I visited when she’s moved into the annexe, because she’s still in hospital at the moment and visiting there is no fun.’
‘In that case,’ I said, ‘if I do need you, I certainly will holler.’
‘You can rest assured,’ he said with a smile, ‘I’ll be listening out.’
I made the mistake that night of not leaving it long enough after the meeting before I went to bed. Consequently, I lay awake for ages with my recent dramatic life changes, festivalideas and thoughts of new friends circling interminably around in my head. It was all exciting, of course, but a lot to get my head around, too.
Pixie had no such qualms keeping her awake and softly snored away with barely a twitch which was a blessing and a relief. I eventually drifted off, but my few hours didn’t feel anywhere near as restorative as they had been the first night she’d been my bedfellow.
‘I have news,’ I announced when Dad answered my WhatsApp call early the next morning.
‘News that couldn’t wait until a civil hour?’ He yawned. ‘Your mum’s still in bed.’
‘This is a civil hour,’ I tutted, as I opened the back door to let Pixie back in and it was wrenched out of my hand and then banged shut.
It was a properly blustery day and I hoped the washing wasn’t going to get blown off the line. With nothing blocking its path, the wind cut straight over the Fenland fields and across the garden, but its uninterrupted path did make for wonderfully fresh smelling laundry.
‘You’ve got the windy weather then,’ commented Dad, having heard the door.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And it’s chilly, too. I might be tempted to light the log burner later.’
‘In September,’ he said, sounding horrified. ‘Whatever next.’
‘It’s cold,’ I said, defensively, then smiled remembering the never-ending battle between him and Mum that occurred every winter over the heating thermostat. ‘Go and wake Mum up, will you?’
‘I am awake,’ came her voice. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Clemmie has news,’ said Dad, propping the phone on the kitchen table so they could both sit and see it.
‘Is everything all right?’ Mum frowned.
‘Everything is wonderful,’ I said, bending to pick Pixie up.
After her trip to the garden, her paws felt cold through the thin cotton of my dressing gown and I thought I’d switch a few things about in my wardrobe and drawers when I could find two seconds together. Not that I minded not currently having two seconds together because the prospect of the festival was a more pleasant one than a winter spent alone.
‘You’ve got Pixie again.’ Mum smiled, as Pixie sniffed the screen and her damp nose left a mark.
‘I’ve got Pixie for good,’ I grinned, looking around her.
