Lost, Stolen Or Strayed

20

Lost, Stolen Or Strayed

    “Look what I found, Mum!” panted Anne proudly, hauling something into the kitchen.

    Felicity turned from the bench, gasped, and dropped her knife. The black-and-tan something immediately bustled over to it and sniffed it interestedly.

    “Get that animal out of here!” she gasped.

    “No; he’s lost: he followed me. I found him down the creek, he was crying. And then he followed me. So I put my belt on his collar so as he wouldn’t get run over in the traffic.”

    Felicity groaned. Why had she assumed (a) that Anne’s days of going down the creek were over, (b) that Anne’s days of picking up stray animals—no, stray anything, remember that dreadful little Bobby creature she’d brought home when she was about ten, runny nose and all? It had taken them hours to get his surname out of him, little toad—that Anne’s days of picking up strays, then, were over, and (c) that Anne was at last attaining years of discretion?

    “Get him out of my kitchen, Anne, and stop being absurd: how can he be lost, Puriri’s the size of a pocket handkerchief!”

    “He could of jumped out of someone’s car when they were just passing through,” said Anne obstinately. “I told you, he was crying.”

    “By the creek,” agreed Felicity sourly. “Quite possibly his master had just drowned in it, Anne, had that occurred to you?”

    “Yes: I looked,” said Anne simply. “And he hadn’t. We searched all up and down it for miles, eh, Tip, boy?”

    Tip wagged his tail and panted, lolling out his tongue.

    “Tip?” said Felicity faintly.

    “It’s on his collar. Mum, if no-one claims him, could we keep him?”

    “No,” said Felicity tiredly, “we couldn’t. You’re old enough to understand that a big dog like that costs a lot to feed properly.”

    Ann pouted. “He’s not that big.”

    Well, he wasn’t a Saint Bernard, no. On the other hand, he most certainly wasn’t a miniature poodle. He was a good size, but quite a slender dog, actually—quite a young dog, Felicity thought dubiously. He looked at her with his head on one side out of big, plaintive brown eyes—oh, dear.

    “I could pay for his food, I could get an evening job!”

    “Shut up,” said Felicity tiredly. “Come here, boy.” She looked at the tag on his collar. Sure enough, it did say “Tip” on one side. On the other was a number.

    “Can he have some milk, Mum?”

    “No.”

    “Mum!” cried Anne in horror.

    “Anne, big dogs like him don’t drink milk, it’s not good for them. He can have a bowl of water.”

    “There’s no nourishment in water,” objected Anne.

    Sighing, Felicity said: “I’m going to ring the Police Station. And if no-one’s reported him missing yet, he can have—um—well, there’s a bit of luncheon sausage, and he can have that crust in the bread bin with some Vegemite on it. –If Kenny hasn’t eaten it.”

    “That’s not much!”

    “Well, it’s what’s on offer,” said Felicity in a hard voice. She ignored the big brown eyes that were begging for the blade steak that was in the fridge for tonight’s tea, and marched out to the phone.

    “Anne, you’re soaking!” she discovered in horror, coming back to find her daughter’s soaking, upended behind hovering over Tip as he gulped what Felicity sincerely hoped was what she’d told Anne to give him from what she sincerely hoped was not a good dinner plate on the floor.

    “Yeah: I said, we searched the creek,” replied Anne, not looking up. “He was starving, Mum!”

    “I told you to wait until— Oh, well. No-one has reported him, yet. Sergeant Baxter says you can take him down there, he’ll look after him.”

    Sergeant Baxter and Anne were old—well, it wouldn’t have been true to say enemies, fortunately Jim Baxter had a keen sense of humour. But it wouldn’t have been quite true to say friends, either: Anne had made a considerable pest of herself back in the days when she’d fancied herself as a budding lady detective. Felicity watched with a sardonic eye as she straightened quickly and cried: “No! He’ll have him put to sleep, you know what he is!”

    “Not a dog with a collar and a licence. He’ll try to get in touch with the owner.”

    Anne looked sulky. “Couldn’t he stay here until someone claims him?”

    Jim Baxter had made no bones about this being his preferred option. Sighing, Felicity said: “Oh, all right. But you can pay for his food,”

    “Mighty!” cried Anne.

    “Go and get out of those soaking clothes,” said Felicity tiredly.

    “Yeah—righto! Come on, Tip, boy!”

    They rushed out of the kitchen.

    Felicity went slowly to the bench and began to chop carrots in a sort of daze. In fact she was so dazed that it was about ten minutes before she came to, rushed to the door, and shrieked: “ANNE! Don’t you let that creature on your bed, he’s filthy!”

    By which time it was far too late, of course: Anne’s wet clothes were in a heap on her carpet, Anne was in a dry pair of slacks and clean socks, and she and Tip were curled up on the bed, Anne reading How Children Learn and simultaneously listening to her Walkman, and Tip licking from his chops the last remnants of the piece of Mars Bar which very fortunately Anne had remembered was in her top drawer, waiting for a rainy day.

    Kenny’s and Alec’s reactions were entirely predictable: “Hey, a dog! Hey, can we keep him? –Aw-uh, Mu-um!”

    Since Alec was in the Sixth Form, now, and Kenny was fifteen, Felicity was able to point out with considerable acerbity that it cost a lot to keep a big dog like that and in any case he BELONGED TO SOMEONE.

    “Aw-uh! Mu-um! I could help pay for his food with my paper round!” –Kenny.

    “Aw-uh! Mu-um! If you let me work Sundays as well as Saturdays at the garage, I could help pay for his food!” –Alec.

    Felicity forbore to point out that Kenny’s paper round wasn’t even paying for his blasted Dungeons and Dragons rubbish, and that Alec was NOT going to work all weekend at Greg Anderson’s garage, not only because he had to get some swot done this year if he imagined he was ever going to get Bursary next year and go on to do engineering at university as was his declared intention, but because she had a fair idea that Greg only put up with him on the Saturday out of the kindness of his heart. But this forbearance was a great effort and if there’d been any sherry in the house she would have awarded herself one.

    By nine o’clock they were all in the sitting-room watching TV—Kenny having declared he didn’t have any homework and Alec having declared he’d done his at school, why else did Mum think he’d been late home? –Felicity had thought, and still thought, “Detention”, but didn’t enquire: if he’d done his homework in Detention, so much the better. And Anne not having had any swot because—God and Mrs Prior apparently knew why—the Nanny School had a holiday this week. Needless to say a terrific grudge with Kenny and Alec, who had already pointed out ad nauseam that the Varsity had May holidays still, it wasn’t fair-yuh. Needless to say this would not be their theme tune in July when their mid-year holidays rolled round.

    Their numbers had been augmented by Melanie Weintraub, who was once again staying with her sister Pauline for a few days—not to Felicity’s surprize: she was a dear girl but like Anne at an exhausting stage. She had informed Felicity happily that Mum was going through the menopause and Dad reckoned it made her go all soppy; Felicity, though her brain had immediately formed all sorts of interesting conjectures without her being able to stop it, hadn’t asked what her parents were doing tonight, then. An effort which would have rated another sherry, really. If there’d been any.

    After the usual argument over whether they were going to watch the repeat of The A-Team—Melanie and the boys being pro and Anne and Felicity being contra, but Felicity having, if not the casting vote, at least the last word—they were watching a very boring English documentary about Alzheimer’s on the other channel, when the phone rang.

    Anne looked up quickly, her face very white.

    “Don’t panic,” said Felicity with a sigh.

    “I’ll get it,” said Kenny bravely.

    “No,” Felicity said: “I’ll do it, Kenny.”

    The children—Melanie, Anne and Kenny on the rug with Tip, and Alec in the big chair that he’d recently begun to claim as his own, possibly because his legs were the longest but more likely out of some weird belief that he was entitled to it as the man of the house—all turned round and watched her as she went out to the passage.

    “Hi, Felicity, it’s Jim Baxter,” said a cheerful voice.

    “Hello, Jim,” said Felicity glumly.

    “This dog,” he said briskly: “can you describe him a bit more?”

    “Um—well, he’s a black-and-tan, like I said,” said Felicity weakly. “Quite a young dog, Jim. Quite slim. I don’t think I can… Well,” she said weakly: “his ears are very pretty, not like those usual black-and-tan dogs’ ears: they’re more—um—sort of bigger and with long, black wavy hair on the tips... That sounds awfully silly.”

    “No, it doesn’t, it sounds like he’s the one,” he replied cheerily. “You reckon this is the number on his tag, right?” He read it out.

    “I’ll have to check,” she said feebly.

    Back in the sitting-room they all watched her as she inspected Tip’s tag. He panted gently, looking up at her with trusting doggy eyes. Oh, Hell!

    “—Yes,” she reported sadly.

    “Mm. Well, Anne woulda been right about him being lost, all right: he’s from Taranaki,” he said on a dry note.

    “What?” said Felicity faintly.

    “Yeah. Jumped off the back of his master’s ute, silly young beggar. I was sure he was the one, mind you, only I thought I’d better make certain-sure,” he explained in an odd tone.

    “Uh—yes,” agreed Felicity blankly.

    “—Before I send ’is master down there to collect him. He’s Polly Carrano’s cousin,” explained Jim drily.

    Even though she knew the Carranos quite well, really, Felicity gulped.

    “Yeah,” said Jim Baxter in answer to the gulp. “Well, I’ll send ’im round, then. Should be there in about five minutes, he’s been frantic.”

    “All right. Thanks, Jim.” She went sadly back into the sitting-room and reported.

    Melanie was of the opinion that he didn’t deserve Tip, he must be a beastly man, he must be careless and unfeeling to lose his dog like that! Alec supported this opinion vociferously.

    Kenny, to everyone’s surprise, suddenly roared: “He oughta be shot!”—and rushed out of the room. –Tip’s owner, they all presumed, not Tip.

    Anne’s lower lip trembled. She didn’t say anything. Tip, looking anxious, pressed closer to her.

    Felicity sighed heavily, and sat down.

    “Hullo,” said, the tallish, thin, plain and not young man on the doorstep. “I’m Ted Austin. I think you’ve got my dog.” He smiled nervously.

   Felicity looked at the thin, anxious, and quite obviously shy face, the receding brown hair, and the worried grey-green eyes and was suddenly overcome by a feeling that he was like a lost dog himself, that only needed to be take in and given a good home.

    “Um—yes,” she said, and swallowed hard. “We have.”

    There was a little pause. Felicity stood aside and. was about to ask him to come in, when suddenly he gave a piercing whistle—like the farmers in the dog trials on A Dog’s Life, Felicity and Anne both adored that, they always watched it together if she could manage to be home.

    She gasped, and flattened herself against the wall, as Tip shot down the passage like a rocket and hurled himself at his master.

    “Giddown!” he yelled.

    Oh, dear: he must be, well, more or less what Melanie had said, thought Felicity in distress. She didn’t dare look down the passage in case any of the kids, instead of sitting in a sulky huddle like they had been for the last five minutes, had come out of the sitting-room.

    Tip prostrated himself. He panted wildly; his tail wagged like mad. Felicity looked doubtfully from him to his master.

    “Whaddaya mean by it, ya silly young bugger?” the thin man said to him in a rough voice.

    Tip whined a little. His tail continued to wag like mad.

    “Get to heel!” the man growled.

    Tip rose and went behind his legs. He pressed himself against the muddy jeans.—Ooh, help! thought Felicity: had he been looking down the creek? He’d have found him down there ages ago, if Anne hadn’t— The man’s long, thin, knobbly hand came down and fondled his ears and Tip shuddered all over.

    —Ecstasy, not fear, decided Felicity dazedly, looking up at the master.

    He licked his lips nervously. “Uh—thanks,” he said. “Sorry to have—” His voice trembled. Felicity saw with horror that the grey-green eyes were full of tears. “Um, put you tuh-to—”

    “That’s okay,” she said quickly. “Look, come in and have a cup of coffee, the kids’ll want to say good-bye properly to Tip.”

    “Uh—ta,” he said weakly. “HEEL!” he roared.

    He followed Felicity down the passage with the dog pressed tightly to his leg.

    Four pairs of eyes glared up at him accusingly. Oh, dear!

    “This is Tip’s owner: Mr Austin,” Felicity said quickly. “Get up, Alec, and give Mr Austin that chair.”

    “No, it’s all right—” he began, but Alec, not ceasing to glare, had got up.

    “Uh—ta,” he said weakly, and sat down. Tip pressed against his knee. The long, knobbly hand came down and fondled the ears again.

    Felicity said in a weak voice: “The red-heads are mine, Mr Austin: this is Alec, and Kenny, and this is our friend Melanie. And this is Anne, she’s the one that found Tip.”

    “Thanks,” he said, going very red.

    Glaring, Anne replied loudly: “He was crying!”

    “Uh—yeah,” he said awkwardly. “Strange territory, ya see. He’s only a youngster. Knows every inch of the farm, of course.”

    Anne continued to glare.

    “He knew he was lost, ya see,” he said in a limp voice.

    Suddenly Anne scrambled to her feet and shouted: “Of course he knew he was lost, he’s not stupid!”

    “Anne—” her mother began.

    “How could you let him get lost in strange territory?” shouted Anne. “Don’t you even CARE?”

    At this Melanie, almost as red as Anne, also scrambled up and shouted: “Yeah, you’re the sort of person that doesn’t deserve to have a dog!”

    “Girls!” cried Felicity in horror.

    Tip’s owner had got up and—not altogether surprisingly—the dog had cringed against him. “Look, perhaps I’d better—” he began.

    Suddenly, without knowing how or why, Felicity found herself saying, quite quietly but in a steely voice that in spite of her four horrors she’d had to use very few times in her life up till now: “No, sit down, Mr Austin. I think we’d all like to hear how Tip came to be lost.”

    The man sat down. Felicity saw with an unexpected surge of pity that the bony hands were trembling a little. He locked them together tightly in his lap. Tip looked up at him anxiously.

    “It’s all right, boy,” he said. “Sit, Tip.” Licking his lips, he said: “I had him in the back of the ute. I know I shouldn’t have brought him up here, but I didn’t like to leave him with Witi and Sheryl, they always overfeed him and she gives him milk—he chucks it up, don’tcha, boy?” He looked down at him. Tip panted a bit. “Yeah,” he said vaguely, smiling at him.

    Felicity glanced at Anne. Her face was very red, only this time it wasn’t anger, and she’d bitten her lip. With a little sigh, Felicity sat down suddenly. “Go on,” she said softly.

    “Uh… yeah. Well, we came up yesterday—it was meant to be for the weekend, originally, only ya know what relations are!” He laughed awkwardly. Felicity nodded, though they didn’t have that many relations, themselves. “Yeah,” he said, passing a hand across his face. “Where was I? Aw, yeah: well, I dunno if you know my cousin Polly, at all, but they’re pretty fancy and— Well, me and Tip had to get out of it for a breath of air, eh, boy? So I took the ute down to—um, your creek, I don’t know its name.”

    “Puriri Creek,” said Alec hoarsely.

    “Uh—yeah. S’pose it would be, eh? And we mucked around for a bit, you know. Then I loaded him up again and drove off and—and he musta jumped off, the silly young sod: when I got up the top of the hill he wasn’t there.”

    “So you went and looked for him,” said Felicity softly, looking at the mud on his jeans and boots.

    “Yeah, I started at the top of the hill and—and worked my way down.” His lips trembled and he pressed them tightly together.

    “Ooh, thank goodness he jumped off down by the creek! Heck, if he’d of jumped off up the main road, he coulda got run over!” said Melanie in horror.

    “Ye-ah,” breathed Kenny.

    Felicity got up “Yes, well, he didn’t. You girls can come into the kitchen with me, we’ll make a cup of coffee.”

    Anne and Melanie followed her obediently, looking surprized but willing. In the kitchen Melanie repeated her theory.

    “Yes. Shut up, Melanie, we’ve all realized that,” said Felicity tiredly. “The poor man was almost in tears at the mere thought, couldn’t you see?”

    Melanie gulped. “No,” she whispered.

    “Was he, Mum?” squeaked Anne.

    “Yes!” snapped Felicity.

    Anne swallowed. “I didn’t think men— You know.”

    “Well, they do. He’s obviously devoted to that dog, Anne, and if you’d left him down the creek where you found him, the poor man would have found him hours ago!”

    Anne burst into loud sobs and ran out of the kitchen.

    Melanie looked nervously at Felicity.

    “I’m not saying she did wrong, only… Oh, well. Have a look in the blue tin, Melanie, I think there might be some gingersnaps.”

    There weren’t.

    “Blast!” said Felicity, turning red.

    “Um—I could nip up the dairy, Mrs Wiseman: if I ran all the way—”

    “No, it’s all right, dear,” said Felicity, trying not to laugh. “Mr Austin will just have to take us as he finds us. With not a crust in the house. –Not to mention no sherry,” she added on a sour note,

    “Um—no,” said Melanie, looking at her cautiously.

    When they brought the coffee in Alec and Kenny had got the poor man onto the subject of engines. They were interrogating him about the machinery on his farm. He looked a trifle bewildered, and well he might. Especially since Alec had got started on “torque”, Felicity didn’t know what it was and didn’t want to know, but she did know that she was about to scream if she heard the word once more this month!

    “That’ll do, you’re boring Mr Austin solid,” she said.

    He looked up and smiled at her suddenly. “No, that’s okay, I’ve got a couple of boys of my own.”

    Of course he would have! Of course he’d be a married man and—and probably quite prosperous and settled and— Why had she thought he was like a lost dog and all that nonsense, she was the world’s greatest idiot!

    She sat down and said brightly, ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach: “Really? Did you bring them up here with you?”

    “No, they’re at boarding school. Um—I don’t see all that much of them during the year, really. They usually stay with their mother for the school holidays. You know, May and that. Or whenever they’re having them, this year.” He sipped his coffee and said, not looking at anyone: “We’re divorced.”

    “So’s Mum!” contributed Kenny eagerly. “Our Dad deserted us, I wasn’t even born, eh, Mum?”

    “Mm,” she said, essaying a weak smile at the unfortunate Mr Austin and unaccountably feeling much, much better.

    “Our Dad pushed off to Australia,” contributed Alec hoarsely. “I can’t even remember him; and Kenny’s never even seen him, eh?”

    “Nah: he’s a no-hoper,” explained Kenny simply.

    Mr Austin went very red and looked helplessly at Felicity.

    “That puts it rather well,” she said with a wry smile. “I don’t think I’m much good at picking men.”

    “Luck of the draw,” he said hoarsely. “My wife walked out on me and the boys. Well, should never have married her. She couldn’t stand the farm.”

    “Is it very isolated?” she asked.

    He explained in great detail whereabouts in Taranaki it was, and who and where their nearest neighbours were, and elucidated the mystery of the Witi and Sheryl who overfed his dog, and told her all about the farm’s stocking rate, and all sorts of things. It was very interesting, even if she didn’t understand all of it.

    After a while Anne came back in, looking sulky. She sat down cross-legged on the rug, not looking at anyone. Tip went up to her and pushed his nose into her hand. Anne put her arm round him.

    Dratted Kenny, of course, had to interrupt with some footling question about whether they could see the mountain from the farm, and Mr Austin came to with a jolt and said: “Mt Egmont? Well, we can see it on a fine day—yeah. Sorry, I’m talking too much!”

    “No, it was interesting,” Felicity said, smiling at him.

    “Yeah: I wish I lived on a farm,” agreed Melanie glumly. “I know a girl, she lives on a farm, she was telling me about it, it sounds ace.”

    “No discos or anything like that, ya know,” he said, smiling.

    “No, but you can have a house cow, and milk it, and bring up the orphan lambs and grow your own veges and everything!”

    “And have chooks,” agreed Anne, suddenly looking more cheerful. “I bet there aren’t any stupid regulations about chooks where you live!” she added loudly.

    “Uh—no,” he said weakly. “Regulations?”

    “The beastly Council won’t let us have chooks!” cried Anne crossly.

    “That right?” he said. He looked uncertainly at Felicity and added: “I’ve heard of city people not being allowed roosters, but— Well, Polly and Jake have got chocks.”

    “That’s Pohutukawa Bay,” explained Felicity. “It’s a different zone. I don’t know which way you came to get here, but over towards Riverside Drive they’re far too toney to allow chooks. And unfortunately we’re just within the same zone. –And with nearly the same dratted rates!” she added sourly.

    “Cripes. Sounds bad,” he said simply.

    Felicity sighed. “It’s not too bad. Anne exaggerates.”

    “I do not! Old Mrs Tonks only had one little banty, and they made her get rid of it!” she cried.

    “She’d have eaten it anyway,” Alec pointed out.

    “Yeah, but not before its appointed time!” Anne cried angrily.

    Suddenly Mr Austin laughed.

    “It’s the fate of all chooks,” agreed Felicity, twinkling at him.

    “Yeah!” he gasped. “Reminded me of my little sister, Ginny: she had a pet banty once, and—”

    “Oh!” cried Melanie. “You’re Ginny and Vicki’s brother!”

    “Are you?” cried Anne.

    “Uh—yeah. Do ya know ’em?” he said weakly.

    “Of course! Ginny’s the girl I meant!” cried Melanie.

    “Oh,” he said weakly.

    “We should have guessed; Jim Baxter did say you were Polly’s cousin,” admitted Felicity. “I must say I’d forgotten the twins’ surname, though.”

    “Austin,” said Alec hoarsely.

    “Obviously!” Melanie squashed him.

    “So you’re up here—um—to see the twins, then?” Felicity said kindly.

    “More or less, yeah. Well, Mum and Dad are, yeah. You know: the girls’ first time in the Big Smoke. Mum had to see how they were getting on with her own eyes!” He grinned.

    “Well, why are you here, then?” asked Kenny keenly.

    “Kenny!” cried Felicity.

    Making a face, Mr Austin explained: “I think Mum and Polly got together and decided me social horizons needed broadening, or something.”

    “Help,” said Felicity, trying not to laugh.

    “Do they?” asked Anne with great interest.

    Felicity groaned.

    “Probably,” he said simply. “Only not the way they’re going about it: they think they’re dragging me to some poncy restaurant in town on Saturday night. French, or something. Sounds awful.”

    “And aren’t they?” asked Felicity, lips twitching.

    “Nope,” he said definitely. “Frogs’ legs are not me.”

    “Ugh!” cried Anne.

    “Adrian—he’s a cook—he says they’re very delicate. Like chicken, a bit,” said Melanie dubiously.

    “Well, he can keep ’em. Likewise snails.”

    “Ugh!” the kids all cried.

    Laughing a bit, Felicity said: “I had those, once. They were pretty horrible. Rubbery. And very garlicky.”

    “Ugh, Mum!” cried Anne. Melanie and the boys made sick noises.

    Grinning, Ted Austin stood up. “I better go. Thanks for the coffee.”

    “That’s all right.” Felicity got up, suddenly very flushed.

    “Thanks for looking after Tip,” he said to Anne, holding out his hand.

    Anne got up and shook it. “That’s okay. I’m sorry I was rude,” she added hoarsely, turning puce.

    “Aw—that’s all right. Understandable, really.”

    “Yeah,” muttered Anne. Suddenly she bent down. “Bye-bye, Tip,” she said in a muffled voice.

    “He’ll shake hands, if you like,” said Ted with a smile.

    “Did you teach him?” asked Felicity, as the dog, to the command “Shake hands, boy!”—and with a bit of a demonstration from Kenny—sat up and held out a paw.

    “Mm,” he said, with a little smile, watching the kids shake the paw. “In the evenings, mostly.”

    Felicity was swept by that lost-dog feeling again. She swallowed, and was silent.

    He looked round at her and winked suddenly. “No discos down the Taranaki backblocks, ya see!”

    “You’d go, if there were,” she recognized, with a twinkle.

    “Too right, I’d be in there like a shot with me jello-ed hair and me draped jacket.”

    “Not jello-ed!” cried the kids in scorn. “Gelled!”

    Shaking, Felicity said: “Come on, before I have hysterics, or strangle them, or something.”

    They went out into the passage. The kids—whether suddenly overcome by shyness or what, Felicity couldn’t tell—just squashed into the sitting-room doorway and said sadly: “Bye-bye, Tip!”

    “Thanks again,” he said as they stood on the front steps. He held out his hand.

    Felicity put hers in it. “It was Anne, really.”

    “Mm.” He swallowed and said hoarsely: “Look, I know this must sound a bit—” Suddenly he released her hand and pulled at his collar. “Um—well, just say if ya don’t fancy it, only—well, would you fancy dinner on Saturday?”

    Felicity’s heart beat like crazy, but she managed to smile and say: “That’d be nice: but aren’t you supposed to be being dragged to that fancy French restaurant?”

    “I told you,” he said. “I’m not going.”

    Felicity looked into his mild face and his gentle grey-green eyes and realized that he really meant it and that there was considerable strength of character behind the shyness and the lost-dog effect.

    Swallowing hard, she said: “I’d love to. Um, The Blue Heron’s really pleasant, if you were thinking of somewhere up here.”

    “That’d be that Mike joker’s place, would it?”

    “Yes: Mike and Molly Collingwood: do you know them?” replied Felicity weakly.

    “Not really. Met him a few times. He’s a mate of my cousin Bob’s. –Polly’s youngest brother. Comes from round their way.”

    “I see,” said Felicity weakly.

    “Small world, eh?”

    “Yes. Molly’s been very good to Anne, they’ve been friendly for several years, now,” replied Felicity, not really knowing what she was saying.

    “That right? Well, shall we make it there, then?”

    “Yes—that’d be super.”

    He hesitated, and then said: “Look, I’m sorry: what is your name?”

    “Sorry!” she gasped, blushing like an idiot. “Felicity—Felicity Wiseman.”

    “I’m Ted,” he said simply. “I’ll pick you up around seven o’clock: would that be too early?”

    “No—fine.”

    “Good. Well—g’night!”

    “Good-night, Ted,” said Felicity.

    He strode down the path, whistling. Tip leapt along by his side.

    Suddenly Anne was at Felicity’s elbow, breathing heavily. “Mum! Did he ask you for a date?”

    “Ssh!”

    “Well, did he?” she hissed.

    “Yes!” hissed Felicity.

    “Gosh!” breathed Anne.

    “Go inside,” ordered Felicity, trying not to laugh.

    “No, I—” Suddenly Anne ran down the front path, yelling: “Don’t put him in the back of the ute, Mr Austin!”

    Felicity heard Ted say: “I won’t.”

    Finally, with an uninterrupted stream of instruction from Anne, there was the sound of doors slamming and the ute started up.

    “By-ee!” cried Anne.

    He tooted his horn, revved up, and was off.

    Felicity sagged against the door-jamb.

    “Did he really ask you out, Mrs Wiseman?” asked Melanie hoarsely from just behind her.

    “Yes,” she said limply.

    “Heck!” breathed Melanie.

    Anne came rushing up the path. “He put him in the front, he made him sit on the floor, he says he’ll be safe there, it’s not a long trip; and when he goes back home he’s gonna think of a better way to take him!”

    “That’s good. Come inside, girls, it’s a bit chilly.”

    They came inside. Felicity went back to the sitting-room without looking at them.

    In the passage there was an excited confabulation in lowered voices, followed by a burst of giggles. Felicity rolled her eyes. She began to gather up coffee mugs. Alec tried to tell her about Ted’s tractor but she shut him up by turning the TV on again. As it was the Nth re-run of Minder he was instantly glued to it.

    Anne and Melanie came in, very pink.

    “What are you going to wear, Mum?” asked Anne breathlessly.

    “Clothes. –It’s only The Blue Heron Restaurant, Anne, for Heaven’s sake!”

    “Erik says it’s very nice,” reported Melanie.

    “Yes, well, it is,” agreed Felicity limply. “Only it’s not Maxim’s, is it?”

    “What’s that?” asked Melanie uncertainly.

    “It’s in Paris, ya nong!” croaked Alec, not looking up from Minder.

    “Oh. Ooh: Minder!” She went and sat down on the rug.

    Anne sat down beside her, but said: “Wear that green dress, Mum, it’s sexy.”

    “That’ll do,” said Felicity feebly. “Um—talking of Erik, Melanie, did he say when he’d collect you?”

    “Mu-um!” cried Anne reproachfully. “She’s staying the night, you said she could!”

    “Oh—did I? I’m sorry, Melanie: it must have slipped my mind in the—the fuss over Tip, or something.”

    “That’s all right. Can I?” replied Melanie.

    “Yes, of course.”

    She went out with the coffee cups, rather red. As she went down the passage she distinctly heard Anne say: “‘In the fuss over Tip, or something?’”—and Melanie give a loud giggle, which was closely followed by a hoarse guffaw from Alec.

    Not only because she had been under the impression that her elder son never noticed a thing that went on around him and particularly nothing to do with sex, or members of the opposite sex—more particularly his own mother, of course—Felicity sank down onto the kitchen stool and said aloud in a shaky voice: “Oh, dear!”

Next chapter:

https://theamericanrefugeeanovel.blogspot.com/2022/10/certain-conclusions.html