‘It’s fine. They are completely separate. There’s no evidence of bats in the main section of the building, only in one section of the loft area.’
‘What? I just leave them and carry on?’ Daisy was suspicious.
‘Yes,’ said the ecologist and Tabitha together.
‘Brilliant. Thank you,’ said Daisy, struggling to believe this could work but she was willing to give it a go. After all, this man was the expert not her. She waved him off as Tabitha recounted all she knew about the greater horseshoe bat.
‘Thanks for coming,’ said Daisy, trying to stop Tabitha without appearing too rude.
‘It was my absolute pleasure. Please call me as soon as you see the bats return,’ said Tabitha.
‘Of course.’
‘Now I’m off to catch sight of some beaver,’ said Tabitha with a nod. Daisy’s face froze. ‘They’re thriving in the River Otter, you know,’ she added, pulling her hand from her coat pocket. Daisy hoped she didn’t have another dead bat in there. Tabitha handed her another leaflet. ‘Good luck with the bar, you can rely on my support and I’m also a member of the OBOS,’ she said, tapping the leaflet. ‘Goodbye,’ she called heartily. Daisy read the leaflet – ‘Ottercombe Bay Operatic Society presents their rendition of Pinocchio’. She checked Tabitha was out of earshot before she let the laughter escape.
A few phone calls had the workmen all lined up again but they had lost three weeks and the builder wasn’t keen to commit to a finish date. With little else she could do she headed off to a local distillery to increase her gin knowledge.
Aunt Coral’s little car was weighed down with gin on the way home whilst Daisy was buoyed by her experience. She not only understood the fermentation and distilling process in great detail, she also knew exactly what she was looking for in a quality gin.
Daisy had been able to tour the small establishment, which was located in spare farm buildings on the Somerset border, proving you didn’t need a huge factory to set up a craft gin distillery. She was buzzing with all she’d learned, including the origins and history of gin as well as the nitty gritty of understanding subtle differences made by botanicals added during the distilling process and how to describe them to customers. Her big revelation of the day was the discovery that gin was basically juniper-flavoured vodka.
The next day Daisy was in a good mood: the day at the distillery had fired up her enthusiasm and buoyed with new knowledge she was more confident about everything. Her good mood motivated her to take Bug for a walk. She liked the sense of freedom, the smell of the salt air – it calmed her somehow and made thinking easier and clearer. Walking was fast becoming a regular thing. The fact she had Bug with her was a slight downside, but she couldn’t stay mad at him forever.
She was smiling as she strode down to the beach enjoying the bright November day and she was sure she could sense Bug’s excitement radiating up the lead at the prospect of a run on the sand. Daisy couldn’t help replaying the fateful day she’d had to be rescued, thanks to Bug, but when she reached the promenade she could see the tide was in enough to have blocked off access to the rocks and cave. If she let him off he would be confined to the single stretch of beach. They reached the sand and Bug started dancing around her like a lunatic and she knew she’d have to let him off the lead. To bring him here and not let him run around was tantamount to torture and despite Bug’s best efforts to bump her off she wasn’t the vengeful sort. She untangled her legs from the lead now wrapped around them both several times.
She crouched down. ‘Now listen. This is your last chance,’ she told him with a wag of her finger, which he strained hard to lick. ‘If you run off, I swear, I will not bring you again. Got it?’ Bug was snuffling around her feet and let out a giant sneeze as sand got stuck up his nose. ‘I’ll take that as a firm and binding yes.’ She unclipped his lead and he sped off as if his tail was on fire. She chuckled at the sight and realised she was actually becoming quite attached to the small four-legged monster. He charged up and down the beach, darting in random directions whilst Daisy wandered down to the shoreline.
She watched the seagulls; some swooped above her but most of them bobbed up and down on the surface of the water as the waves slowly rolled in. There were definitely fewer gulls this time of year. Daisy wasn’t sure where they went or why a few of them stayed. Perhaps, just like humans, some of them preferred to stay by the sea despite the change in weather.
This time she kept a closer eye on where Bug was, listening out for him running past. After a while she was aware she couldn’t hear the sound of his paws tearing up the sand. She traced the myriad tracks across the beach, scanning for him but there was no sign and a now familiar feeling crept over her. ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo,’ she said into the wind.
Daisy strode up the beach. ‘Bug!’ she called, looking about her for a clue to his whereabouts. There were only the fishing boats, unless he’d already made a bolt for home. She marched over to the nearest row of fishing craft cursing the fact she had thought to trust the manipulative mutt yet again. She rounded the first large fishing boat, her eyes searching for any trace of the dog. Then she heard it, a low growl was coming from up ahead. ‘Bug.’ Daisy rushed on to the next boat and almost flung herself round its stern to see Bug tugging for all he was worth on a tangled mass of something she couldn’t quite identify although the smell made her retch as she stepped closer.
‘Drop it, Bug,’ she instructed just at the moment Bug pulled with all his might and the boat trapping his prize finally let go. Bug got a better hold on it and began dragging it towards Daisy. She could now see it was a large rotting fish with most of its flesh missing but with the addition of plenty of seaweed. Daisy began reversing away. ‘Bug,’ she warned. ‘Don’t you dare.’ But Bug was already proudly heaving it in her direction. She stepped backwards and was soon jogging back across the beach with Bug and the rotting fish in hot pursuit.
If she had been watching from a safe distance she probably would have laughed but with Bug, the evil genius, closing in on her with his new favourite thing in the world she was not seeing a funny side. She turned to see Bug on her heels and she could have sworn he was grinning. She was momentarily distracted by the billowing seaweed- wrapped skeleton, which was to be her downfall; her foot caught on a piece of driftwood and in slow motion she tumbled backwards landing with an uncomfortable thud as Bug took a leap with the rotting fish corpse flying behind him like something from a cheap zombie movie. Daisy let out a yelp as Bug plonked the fish remains onto her chest and sat down on her stomach looking almost obedient. The smell was overpowering.
‘If you are expecting praise you can think again,’ she said, clipping on his lead and scrambling to her feet. She brushed off the fish carcass and seaweed tangle. ‘Eurgh. Disgusting.’ Bug made a lunge to grab back his prize but Daisy was quicker and she pulled him away brushing at her coat to check there were no remnants although the smell had already clung effectively to her. Bug trotted along beside her looking mightily pleased with himself and she hid a small smile, he was a little sod but despite everything he was growing on her.
Almost as if he sensed her warming to him he decided to squat down and do a steaming poo that, considering the size of the dog it had come out of, defied the laws of physics. But Daisy was somehow still in a good mood and she triumphantly waved a poo bag at him while he haughtily kicked up the grass around his deposit. Daisy steeled herself, put her hand inside the poo bag and swiftly scooped up the excrement. She had taught herself to be prepared for the smell by taking a deep breath beforehand and holding it until the poo was safely bagged, but she was never prepared for the warmth now heating up her fingers through the thin plastic bag. She retched as she tried to tie the knot whilst still not breathing in.
