Lost and Found on Foxglove Street (The Foxglove Street #9)

Chapter 32

32

STANLEY

I shouldn’t have run away. I know I shouldn’t have run away. But instinct is a powerful thing.

One minute I was dreaming of chasing rabbits across a pretty meadow, and the next I was yanked awake as that terrible crashing sound filled my ears, and suddenly I was on my feet and running before I even understood what I was doing.

The noise of the tray hitting the floor, the crash of all those plates and glasses breaking around me, the screeching cries of alarm from the customers in the pub who got a fright… all of it just scrambled my brains.

And so I ran. I saw the open door and I ran. All I could think about was getting away from that noise that had frightened me so very badly.

I ran past the tables and chairs outside and headed straight for the trees and woodland beyond, and by the time I got my wits about me again, I was already running amongst the tall trees and had lost all sense of direction.

I was lost.

The panic of realising I was lost was even more terrifying than the awful noise that had woken me up in the pub and sent me fleeing in the first place.

As my brain started to take charge again, I stopped running and looked around. It was all just dense trees and shrubs as far as the eye could see. It was dark, too, because of the thick tree branches overhead blocking out the light on what was already a gloomy day. No matter which direction I looked in, I couldn’t see any sign of the gap that led back to the pub.

But I knew I had to get back there, somehow. That’s where Grace was, and Ryan and Miriam too. They were my people, Grace most of all. I didn’t want to be separated from Grace, not like this, not because of my own stupidity.

Retracing my steps through the woods didn’t help, because I had no real idea which way I’d come from. There had been a lot of zigzagging to avoid fallen branches and dips in the ground and areas where gnarly tree roots thrust up from the earth to trip me.

I stood panting and looking around for any clue that might guide me back to the pub, back to Grace, back to safety. But all I heard were the calls of the birds in the trees and the swish of leaves as they moved in the wind.

As I ran first one way and then another, darted this way and that, the panic that had sent me running from the pub was replaced with a new sort of panic, this one much grimmer and darker and as realised just how bad this might be for me.

I was a dog lost in the woods, alone and frightened.

Perhaps it was that realisation that triggered memories about how I’d come to be lost and alone the first time around, before I met Grace that day on Foxglove Street. Standing in the gloomy woodland, panting and unable to stop myself from whimpering, the details of it all came rushing back…

My owner’s name was Fred. Fred Patterson. We were together for years, ever since he took me on as a pup. A local friend of Fred’s happened to own a dog who had an unexpected litter, and Fred decided to help out and adopt me.

Fred was a special man, an older gent who was kind and generous, proper salt of the earth. He’d lived alone since his wife passed away, and in those early days after I first arrived, he told me often about how much he enjoyed my company because the house was too quiet and lonely now his wife was gone.

For eight years, we were the best of pals. Fred lived in Winchester, and we enjoyed daily strolls around the ancient cathedral and along the river and through the old streets and lanes. In summer, we spent time at Fred’s allotment and in winter, we huddled up at home in front of the cosy fire.

Those were happy times.

But then one day, while Fred was making lunch in the kitchen, he suddenly collapsed to the floor and lay there motionless. I sniffed his face and licked his mouth, but nothing I did made him move or wake up.

That’s the first time in my life I knew true panic. I barked and yelped and didn’t stop until the neighbour through the wall of our terraced house came and peered through the window into our living room and then let herself in with her spare key.

The neighbour phoned the ambulance and they took Fred away—and I never saw him again. He died in hospital following a cardiac arrest. Nothing could be done to save him.

My heart broke in two that day.

Fred had a son, Edward, who lived in Birmingham, and he arrived to sort out the house and, I suppose, to deal with me, too. Fred’s neighbour next door had looked after me for a couple of nights, but that was only temporary. My future was suddenly up in the air.

Edward explained to the neighbour that there was the funeral to arrange and that he’d have to start emptying his father’s house and that there was a long list of things to be done now, and because of all that, he didn’t have time to deal with a dog, too.

Edward wasn’t kind-hearted like his father. Actually, he wasn’t a very nice man at all. Edward rarely visited his father when he was alive, and when he did, it was only for a few short hours at a time. Fred would try to chat with his son and find out what was going on in his life, but Edward only ever had complaints and gripes to share, and never asked what his father had been up to since he’d last visited, or showed any interest in him at all.

As soon as Edward left at the end of each of these short visits, Fred would let out a long sigh and shake his head. He’d mutter about how he loved his son, because fathers had to love their sons, but that he didn’t much care for the man Edward had become, a man who was unkind and unpleasant and completely self-absorbed.

Hearing Edward say he didn’t have time to deal with me came as something of a relief. I didn’t really want to go and live with this man whose company neither Fred nor I ever enjoyed, a man who scarcely acknowledged me on those occasions when he did visit, let alone showed me any sort of affection.

Edward told the neighbour who’d been looking after me that because he was very busy with work back home in Birmingham, he planned to hire a company to clear out his father’s house for him once he’d removed any valuables or important documents. He also told the neighbour that he would send me to an animal rescue centre for rehoming and asked her if she knew where his father had kept any documents about me that they might need in order to accept me.

The neighbour reminded Edward that Fred had taken me on as an unwanted pup, and said she doubted there would be any ownership papers. She told him that as far as she knew, Fred hadn’t even had me microchipped.

This was true. As Fred and I were always together, he never saw the point.

Edward bundled me into his car. I was shaking with nerves, wondering what would become of me at this rescue centre where I was being taken. It was only a couple of days since Fred had died, and I missed him so badly. Everything in my life was in turmoil.

We’d been driving for fifteen minutes when Edward got a call on his mobile phone. When he answered it, he spoke for several minutes with the caller, who seemed to have some urgent work issue Edward needed to deal with. Edward’s mood, which was never good at the best of times, only got darker as the phone call continued. By the time he hung up, it was obvious that the work issue required him to return to Birmingham immediately.

Edward pulled the car to the side of the road, turned around in the driver’s seat and scowled at me. He then tapped at the map on the dashboard screen and sighed, before looking around the area where he’d stopped the car.

Edward didn’t speak to me—he wasn’t the sort of person who had time for chatting with ‘dumb’ animals—but the dark intensity of his thoughts made it impossible for me not to read them.

No time to get to the stupid rescue centre with this stupid dog… Need to get back to work, back to my own life, not waste time faffing around with idiots at a rescue centre who’ll ask a million questions before they let me leave… The stupid mutt isn’t my responsibility… Don’t know why my idiot father had to get a dog anyway, just one more thing for me to deal with now he’s gone… Can’t be doing with all this inconvenience… No choice really, and if there’s no microchip, no one will ever know…

My heart was pounding as Edward steered the car off the road towards a woodland area. The rutted gravel road was rough as we bounced along. At length, Edward stopped the car and performed a three-point turn and then parked along the verge, pointing in the direction we’d come in.

Edward got out of the car and took me with him. There was a small box of toys in the car beside me, balls and squeakies and whatnot, and when Edward grabbed one of the balls, I wondered if I’d misread the man’s thoughts and he just wanted to stop on the journey and make sure I got some exercise.

Edward clipped my lead to my collar and led me into the woodland. After walking for about twenty seconds, we were already deep into the dense trees. He stopped and looked around him. We were all alone.

Edward reached down and unfastened my collar. I blinked in confusion. Fred never removed my collar when we were out and about. Attached to my collar was the little metal disc on which was engraved Fred’s phone number, which he’d always said was in case I ever escaped into a neighbour’s garden and they needed to phone him to come and fetch me.

In the quiet patch of woodland, Edward shoved my collar and lead into his jacket pocket and then looked around him, as if checking the coast was clear. In his other hand, he was holding the ball he’d brought and he tossed it in the air.

“Do you want this, you dumb mutt?” he said.

His tone was laced with malevolence, but the excitement of seeing my favourite ball about to be thrown triggered my instincts, and I planted my bottom on the ground, just like Fred had taught me.

Edward grinned, a nasty grin that I should’ve been alert to, but wasn’t. Maybe I was a dumb mutt after all, just like he said.

He pulled his arm back and lobbed the ball deep into the woodland. I gave chase, hurtling after the ball as it soared through the air between the trees and bounced along the ground before rolling down into a ditch where a small stream ran. The sides of the ditch were steep, and I tumbled off my feet in pursuit, landing in the mucky stream with a splash. The ball was already being carried off with the current of the little stream, and I plunged after it.

By the time I grabbed the ball in my mouth and hauled myself out of the muddy ditch, I was wet all over and very dirty. But that meant nothing in the excitement of having caught my ball.

Triumphant, I ran back to where Edward had been standing when he’d thrown the ball… and realised he wasn’t there.

Baffled, I looked around, wondering if I’d veered off course while running back to the spot where we’d started. That’s when I caught a flicker of movement on the edge of the treeline.

Edward was running out of the woods and back towards where he’d parked the car.

Even more confused now, I let out a woof and chased after him.

When I reached the edge of the woodland a few seconds later, Edward was already in the car and turning on the engine.

And by the time I made it to the car, he was accelerating away, the car bouncing over the rutted gravel road as he sped off.

A tidal wave of alarm and panic crashed through me. Dropping the ball from my mouth, I barked and gave chase.

But my tiny terrier legs were no match for a motor car. It vanished around a bend on the gravel road, and when I finally reached the same spot and peered into the distance, I saw Edward’s car turning back onto the main road beyond.

It disappeared into the traffic and was gone.

I’m not sure how long I stood there, wet and muddy and panicking, before I started running again. Some part of my brain must have known my chase was futile, but what else could I do? Where else could I go?

I raced along the gravel road and out towards the main road… and I just kept running.

All I knew was panic.

Because of that panic, I wasn’t thinking about what I was doing, and I wasn’t making good choices.

There was no pavement alongside the road. When the grassy verge alongside it was too narrow, I found myself slipping onto the carriageway.

The honk of horns alerted me too late to the danger I was in, and I felt a sharp thwack! as something struck me and sent me sprawling off the road and deep into the undergrowth of the verge.

I lay there panting, waiting for the pain to seize me. I ached all over, and my head hurt because of how I’d landed when I fell, but by some miracle I was alive.

Getting to my feet, I realised that the car that had struck me must only have clipped me, possibly thanks to the driver swerving to avoid me. Nothing was broken, I could breathe, and although there were some scrapes on my fur, I didn’t appear to be horribly injured.

No sooner had this thought formed than the pain in my head overcame me. I saw a sharp rock near the spot where I’d landed on the verge and understood that my head must have hit it on impact.

As the pain in my head worsened, the world began to waver in and out of focus. Stumbling away from the road, I collapsed beneath a hedgerow and lay there shaking and whimpering as the roar of the traffic passed by just a few feet away. The cars were so fast and so loud, and I prayed that one of the drivers had seen what had happened and would stop to see if I was okay.

But the traffic just kept going, faster and louder, and no one came to my aid. The pain in my head grew bigger and bigger until it was all I knew.

And that’s when unconsciousness claimed me and I knew no more.

I don’t know how long I lay there beneath the shelter of the hedgerow. It may have been minutes or hours. But when I woke, I had no idea how I’d come to be there.

I couldn’t remember anything at all.

Realising it was dangerous to be so close to that treacherous road, I scuttled off into the undergrowth. My head hurt, I was wet and mucky, and I was very tired…

… but I had no idea why I was there.

And I had no idea who I was , either.

Now, as I stood lost and alone once more in the thick cover of dense woodland, I realised that the terrible events of that day and the knock I took to the head when I hit the ground after being clipped by that passing car had all somehow caused me to lose my memory.

I couldn’t remember anything about who my owner had been before. The shock of Fred’s unexpected death, followed by the trauma of Edward tricking and abandoning me in the woods, were simply shoved out of my head because of the injury I sustained.

Now that I was lost again, those memories were triggered and began returning, and I soon remembered just how much my wonderful Fred meant to me.

After waking beside the road on that terrible day, I’d wandered for a long time on my own, through countryside and woods until I reached the edges of towns or villages where I could scavenge food on the streets or near litter bins. People scared me and I avoided them, some sliver of memory of Edward’s cruel betrayal perhaps sown in my mind and making me cautious.

Quite how long I roamed for before reaching Hamblehurst, I don’t know. All I do know is that when I found myself on Foxglove Street and felt the pull of Grace’s heart and soul, I understood that I had to get to her, that I was supposed to find her, and that we needed to be together.

That day I flung myself at her feet was the start of the next part of my life. I might not have remembered anything about my life before then, but I knew I was on the cusp of a new adventure with someone who possessed a good heart.

Dogs can’t ask for much more in life than that.

And yet, barely a week after finding Grace, I’d lost her again.

Panic and fear had sent me running out of the pub and into the woodland, where dark memories were now swirling. I’d strayed for many days, probably weeks, until fate led me to Grace. I didn’t want to stray again and I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing Grace again.

My heart already ached as I remembered Fred and remembered how I’d lost him. I couldn’t bear to lose Grace, too.

The surrounding woodland was thick and gloomy, but somehow I had to find my way out. Now that the panic triggered by that crashing cacophony in the pub had receded, I gathered my wits and resolve.

Concentrating very hard, I looked around me, searching for the right way back to the pub.

And I listened, too. In the distance, I thought I heard the faint call of voices.

Standing to attention, I cocked my ears.

Stanley! Stanley, where are you?

My heart raced with joy at the sound of Grace’s voice. She was looking for me, somewhere in these woods, not nearby judging by her distant call, but she was here somewhere and that’s what mattered!

I let out a volley of urgent barks and ran in the direction I thought Grace’s voice had come from.

Stanley! she called out, her voice still faint, but with a tone that suggested she’d heard my barking. Stanley! Come here, boy!

I ran faster towards her voice. I knew it was going to be okay! I’d find Grace in these woods, or she’d find me, and everything would be fine.

Just as I picked up speed across the woodland floor, the hulking frame of a man suddenly loomed out in front of me from between a clutch of thick tree trunks. Seeing him appear out of nowhere gave me a fright—yet another one, which shredded my poor nerves even further—and I veered to one side to avoid him.

But he jumped forward and lunged for me. I didn’t recognise the man and didn’t know why he was trying to grab me when all I wanted was to return to my lovely Grace.

I evaded his grasping hands and kept running.

Until I was suddenly yanked off my feet as the man grabbed hold of my trailing lead and caught me.

Panicking, I yelped and scrabbled on the ground for purchase in an attempt to get away. But with the man’s hand firmly holding my lead, my efforts to escape were futile.

The man reached down and grabbed me with both hands, then picked me up and looked straight into my face.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he said.

Home, I tried to tell him. I’m going home to my lovely Grace.

But all he heard were yips and barks, and as he tucked me beneath his arm, I feared what might happen to me next, while wishing over and over again that I’d escaped him when I’d had the chance.

Because now, as the man carried me off into the woodland, I realised it was too late.