Rescue Me

by Cathy Bramley

Genres: Family Life; Short Stories; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Curl up with Sunday Times bestseller Cathy Bramley and this joyful free short story about friendship, love and hope! Fearne Lovage is living a neat and tidy life. Sure, the inner circle of people she opens up to is small - but it's perfectly formed of people she loves. And when your heart is broken, feeling safe means everything. It's not a time for risks. But life has a surprise in store for Fearne - a hairy, scruffy, messy one. Soon Fearne finds herself saving the day, and getting rescued right back... You'll also meet the characters of Cathy's upcoming new four-part ebook serial, MY KIND OF HAPPY - which follows Fearne on her search for true happiness. All parts are available to pre-order now. Cathy Bramley is also the bestselling author of A Patchwork Family, A Match Made in Devon and The Lemon Tree Cafe. --------------------- Praise for Cathy Bramley from some of your other favourite authors: 'Delightful!' Katie Fforde 'A page-turner of a story' Milly Johnson 'A book full of warmth and kindness. I loved it' Sarah Morgan 'Delightfully warm with plenty of twists and turns' Trisha Ashley 'The perfect romantic tale, to warm your heart and make you smile' Ali McNamara

Release date: June 16, 2020

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 40

Sample

Ethel was woken by the gentle thump of the dog’s tail against her thigh. She blinked sleep from her eyes until her vision cleared, and patted Scamp’s wiry fur. The TV was on in the background, sound down low, but she knew straight away what was on. She tutted at herself for missing the beginning of the programme. She’d sat down about an hour ago, after doing her chores, to wait for her favourite quiz show to start, but the combination of the warmth of the gas fire and the comfort of the sofa must have sent her off to sleep. Now she’d have to watch it on ‘catch it later’ or whatever it was called … If she could work out the buttons on the remote.

She had read that the way to ward off dementia was to keep learning, keep testing yourself, stay curious. So she followed all the quizzes religiously. Losing her marbles was her biggest fear. It was hard enough fighting to stay in her own home as it was; the minute she went doolally the game would be up. She’d be packed off to a care home and parked in an armchair, eating soup and wearing a do-up-at-the back nightie faster than you could say Alzheimer’s.

No, Ethel’s muscles might be fading but she kept her brain in tip-top condition, thank you very much.

Scamp clambered down from the sofa and stretched before climbing onto the armchair in the bay window, his favourite lookout spot. His front paws, one white, one black, rested on the yellowed lace antimacassar, a long-ago purchase from a market in Morocco. I bet you can’t even buy antimacassars now, Ethel mused. That one must have been at least sixty years old, from a time when men wore hair oil and women tried to protect their precious furniture from it. George had always had a good head of hair, as black and shiny as a jackdaw in his youth. She’d teased him about his first white ones, saying he was turning into a magpie. By the time he died he’d been as white as a snowy owl. She smiled fondly: happy memories.

Scamp let out a delighted bark and broke into her thoughts.

‘What is it, Scamp? Who’ve you’ve seen? Is Fearne home?’

His tail was going like the clappers and he was whimpering softly. Part Jack Russell, part Border Collie, there was a time when it was impossible to wear him out. Scamp didn’t rush around these days; he was a sedate old codger with arthritic hips and a penchant for naps.

You and me both, Ethel thought, moving the rug aside from her knees and easing herself to the edge of the sofa cushion. She grasped the handles of her walking frame and pulled upwards, knees creaking painfully as she stood.

‘Did you hear that?’ she said with a chuckle, pushing the frame towards the dog. ‘I need oiling.’

The January sky through her open curtains had darkened while she’d been dozing and the room was gloomy. Luckily Scamp was always by her side and his furry body kept her warm; while the automatic timer which her great-grandson had sorted out for her last time he visited – November, it must have been – had turned the lamp on for her, so at least she wasn’t sitting in complete darkness.

Outside, parked in front of her own house, was her next-door neighbour Fearne. She was sitting motionless in. . .