A little resigned, Dai nods along.‘She always did love puppies,’ he muses, and Nash swears that the old man’s eyes mist over.Is he lost in his memories right now, replaying happy moments when they were teenagers and in love, before things got twisted and angry and slightly cryptic?
It’s all decided when Nessa whines again.It’s a plaintive little sound.Dai cradles her head in his hands, softly stroking his thumb over her cheeks.The tip of her tail weakly wags with happiness that he is here with her.
Fucking hell, if he can’t help this dog, something in Nash might actually break.‘Come on, Christopher,’ he says, getting to his feet.
Christopher looks torn.‘Can we get you anything before—’
‘Please go,’ Dai says quietly.‘Please be quick.’
‘We will be back before you know it.’Nash promises this, hoping that it’s true.They sprint back to the van, and this time Nash opens the gate without a complaint.
In hopeful, worried silence, they drive through the snow to Thelma’s farm.
Chapter Twenty
Christopher
Even though Thelma’s farm is pretty close as the crow flies, the drive takes them up and down the mountainsides, skirting the edges of the valley in a big loop.Snow continues to fall, but thankfully less forcefully, so Christopher can mostly see where he’s going.It’s as if the skies heard there was a pregnant dog in trouble and gave everyone a temporary reprieve.
Still, the flakes are so thick and huge they look like falling dollops of ice cream.
Beside him, Nash grips the map so tightly that the paper warps.With his finger, he traces the route there and back, over and over, as though hoping to shorten it.They’re both worried about Nessa, but it’s weirding Christopher out that Nash is so quiet.Not a single joke, or snip.It’s more unnerving than the general atmosphere of mild peril.
‘Nearly there,’ Christopher says, to reassure them both.
‘I hope she can help,’ Nash murmurs.‘I hope shewantsto help.’
‘I think the email was enough of a sign of that, but ...yeah.’
Sending an anonymous tip that someone needed help was a very different prospect to sitting in that tiny little shed helping your mortal enemy’s pregnant dog.
Thanks to the soft orange glow of the lights, Thelma’s farm is visible from quite a way away.It’s still only mid-morning so it’s not dark but there’s a strange, murky quality to theweak light that struggles to get through all the snowfall.It’s as though the sun decided it might have a long lie-in, as it’s Christmas Eve.Every now and then there’s a gust of snow that rolls over them like a bank of fog.
The drive feels like an eternity.Thelma’s farm is apparently called Bryn-Heulog – a name that neither of them are sure they pronounce right – but Christopher cannot contain the glee when he spots a sign for it up ahead.When they turn off the main road, the gate is thankfully already propped open as though she was expecting guests.Christopher drives straight down the long drive, past barns of sheep and cows that call after them like drunken patrons at a bar.
They park up right outside her farmhouse, and just as they turn off the engine, the front door flings open.
Standing in the glow from inside is, presumably, Thelma.Her hands-on-hips stance is deeply no-nonsense.Short curly hair springs out from underneath a knitted hat, and she somehow looks formidable in an apron and bright red wellies.She is also possibly the shortest woman Christopher has ever met, but her whole somewhat menacing vibe is enough to make him want to stay in the safety of his vehicle.
‘Hello!’calls Christopher cheerily, clambering out of the van.‘Are you Ms Thelma ...?’He racks his brain for her surname, trying not to say Agogo.
‘Powell, I’ll have you know.’
‘Yes, Ms Powell.’Christopher has no idea if this is even right, and Thelma offers him nothing else.‘We’re from the community response team from Pen-y-Môr, for the snow.’
He has no idea if they actually have an official name, but Thelma seems like a woman whowantsan official name.She waits silently for more, one eyebrow raised.
‘Tamara Yang sent us to do some check-ins on the farmers as we heard that a few people were out of power.We’ve just come from Pentre Farm.’
She nods, taking this in.‘You didn’t bring him here, did you?’She peers into the dark of the van.
‘No, Dai—’
‘Don’t speak that man’s name here,’ she snaps, and Christopher is fairly sure she spits onto the ground as if to cleanse the name from the air.How did two people who were once in love get like this?Were their feelings warped over time?Or were they always like this?What makes playful barbs become thorns?
They might be truly the strangest pair of people he has ever met.
‘No ma’am, he wouldn’t leave the farm, but we’ve come to you because we need your help.I’m Nash Nadeau,’ Nash says, turning on his full actor charm, dazzling smile.‘And this is Christopher Calloway.Could we take a few moments of your time?’
