up that steep old hill to the house.
The moonlight and the solitude are soothing. Tess thinks how you don't get this quality of darkness in the city. The woods to her left appear to have a depth ten times that in daylight. They are eerie, not malevolent, but she feels tiny and cold. No traffic. No people. She can hear the sea and it sounds brutish – as if it is on best behaviour during the day. The chill air sobers her up and she finds her pace increasing when the house comes into sight. One of the things she has grown to love more than anything is the opening of the gate and then the closing of the gate. Home and safe.
Lisa arrives in the hallway just as soon as Tess is inside and has shut the door.
‘How was it?’
Tess's new friend in Tess's cruddy old trackie bottoms. Lisa is all expectant and she's grinning away.
‘Fun,’ says Tess, with a nod and a smile. ‘I had fun.’
‘Fun and?’ Lisa is digging with a wink. ‘Any – shenanigans?’
‘Well,’ Tess pauses. This reminds her of a long time ago, sharing juicy details with Tamsin, the look on a friend's face of excitement and anticipation – and praise. ‘We did go back to his for a glass of wine.’
‘A glass of wine and?’
‘And – a bit of a fumble.’
‘A fumble!’ Lisa all but cheers. ‘A fumble she calls it!’ She pauses. ‘Did you?’
‘On a first date?’
‘Not sure I'd have your self-restraint, pet. But good on you. Will you see him again? I'll gladly babysit. You just let me know.’
Tess nods. ‘Thanks so much, by the way.’
‘As I said, any time,’ Lisa says, gathering her stuff, and she gives Tess a little hug because she's really glad this lovely girl was paid some attention tonight. She deserves it, thinks Lisa, good for her.
‘Thanks again.’
‘Happy to help.’
‘See you at playgroup next week?’
‘Perhaps before. How about tomorrow morning? Pop over to mine for a cuppa?’
Lisa has gone. Em has been checked on. Tess is sitting at the base of the stairs hugging Wolf who is at her side. She glances left. The answering machine still says zero. Something inside sinks a little.
Joe didn't hear his phone the first time. He was on site, with trucks coming in convoys and an irate foreman jabbering at him fifty to the dozen. Joe's French was quite good as long as he was given time to translate what was said and formulate the appropriate reply. It didn't help that the man was from the Ivory Coast and his accent was different, more twangy, yelling and gesticulating at breakneck speed. Joe beckoned him into the site office, offered him a seat and tea. He took off his hard hat and motioned for the man to do the same. Being bareheaded and sharing a cup of tea, albeit in a prefab office but with the door closed, created a more genial atmosphere between them and when the latter took off his helmet, he let go of his aggression too; allowed himself a sigh and a stretch and a moment or two just to hold the mug and blow meditatively. Joe noticed how he held it genteelly, as if it was bone china. The ritual of taking tea provided both men with respite from their dispute, until their mugs were empty at least. He offered the man another cup, which was gratefully accepted. Joe found him pleasant to trade details with and they bantered amicably about their home countries and the French until an insistent buzzing in Joe's pocket interrupted them. He took out his phone and glanced at it. A voicemail. Six missed calls. Joe assumed half would be from the UK office, one was probably Nathalie confirming their dinner arrangement, another could well be from Belgium – he'd sent a message saying he'd be a day or so late. He scrolled to the missed numbers only to find all six were from the house, from home.
Filling the kettle, Joe tucked the phone under his chin and dialled his voicemail. What could be so important it warranted six calls successively from Tess? Had she found a new job already? Suddenly he found himself hoping not. He couldn't deny the tiny knot of tension hitting him between the shoulder blades as connection to his message service was made. He glanced at his watch. Nearly lunch-time here. An hour earlier in Saltburn. And suddenly Tess's voice in a tone he'd not yet heard. Not the temper in which she'd seethed at him. Not the shy voice of when she hovered outside the study, or the soft sing-song tones reserved for Em. There was none of the chattiness he'd been able to elicit after a glass of wine, or the playful indignation she employed to respond to his teasing. And it wasn't the comedy voice with which she communicated with his dog. She sounded panicked, half sobbing, and all she said was, Joe, please call me, as soon as you can.
‘There is a problem – in the UK – at my home. Do you mind?’ Joe replenished the man's tea who gave him a sympathetic look, pressing his own phone to his chest in support before leaving. Joe dialled Saltburn. If Tess didn't answer in her daftly formal trademark way, he'd know that something was seriously amiss.
It was ringing.
There was a clatter.
‘Joe?’
‘Yes – it's me. I'm sorry – I've only just picked up your message. Is everything OK?’
There was silence.
‘Tess?’
‘Joe.’
‘Yes, Tess. What's up?’ He had no idea how to decipher the pause that followed. Usually, he never noticed if he was in one country calling another. But the distance today was palpable. ‘Are you crying? Tess?’
‘It's Wolf.’
Joe went stone cold. Not Wolf. Let the house be on fucking fire – anything – but not Wolf. He was going to have to ask – God, he feared it but he had to – and quickly. ‘Is he dead?’
Tess was clearing her nose, it sounded like static on the line. ‘No. But he might not pull through. He was hit.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘At the vet's. He's having an operation – they're going to try.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don't know. I found him – at the side of the road.’
She was sobbing and her unabashed emotion both touched and frustrated him because he really needed details, facts, however hard. He needed them so he could feel some control and to judge how to react. It was as if his emotional capacity was pressed up against a dam of emergency common sense. He assessed he was in a different country on a Saturday lunch-time. There was nothing he could do this minute, this afternoon and probably not for the next few days either.
‘OK,’ he said.
Tess didn't sound OK at all.
‘Are you OK, Tess?’
She sounded distraught. ‘You should have seen him,
