Chapter 1
Caitlin
“Ho ho ho!” roared the very jolly Santa on the children’s ward.
The shouts of surprised delight from the children would have softened the
hardest of hearts, and I was no exception as I watched the enchanting scene unfold
before me. The children’s ward was brightly coloured to try to pretend it wasn’t a
sterile environment, but at the end of the day it was a hospital ward, and especially in
the run-up to Christmas it was tough on the kids. Nothing could alter the fact that
they wouldn’t be at home to enjoy the build-up of excitement; some wouldn’t even be
home on Christmas Day. The appearance of Santa in the week before Christmas
was one of the many ways the hospital tried to lighten the mood and make the
children feel that they weren’t forgotten.
It had been a rough set of shifts, but I was glad that I’d called in at this
particular time to check on one of my patients. Technically, once they had left
accident and emergency they were no longer my responsibility, but I very often
checked on people who had passed through my department. I should use my dinner
breaks to sit down for half an hour, but somehow I needed the peace of mind of
seeing my patients doing well. It helped to maintain the level of work which was
required of me in leading the large, overworked team who always performed no
matter how exhausted, stressed or drained we were.
I didn’t normally tend to children, but everywhere had been so busy that today
I’d dealt with a few cases. It was even more important for me to see them settled and
as happy as they could be in the circumstances, although children were usually far
more accepting of their situation than some of the adults who passed through our
doors.
When I’d left the children’s ward to return to A&E for my last few hours on
shift, I couldn’t help laughing when I saw Santa giving his last few presents to the
younger patients who had been brought in during the day and were still being treated
in our department.
“Have you got an endless supply of presents?” I asked.
“Of course, the elves have been busy all year.” He winked at me. “I hope you
have lots of gifts under the tree on Christmas morning.”
“Me? You’ll be missing me out this year, Santa. There won’t be a single one
there this or any other Christmas,” I responded lightly.
“You work very hard, so you must be on my good list.”
“It appears not.”
“Then I apologise and promise I will make it up to you this year in other ways.”
“If you could send me something that delivers a constant supply of tea, that
would be heavenly. I finish tonight and intend to curl up in front of the television with
a box of chocolates and lots of tea and not come out of the house until New Year’s
Eve for my next shift.” I couldn’t wait for a few days to just close the door and relax.
Winter was always a difficult time in the hospital, but this year had been a nightmare
which had never let up. I was actually amazed that I had so many days off together,
but I think that management were beginning to realise that if they didn’t let staff have
a bit of respite, we would all burn out, and that didn’t bear thinking about.
“You should be out with family or friends, enjoying yourself,” Santa interrupted
my thoughts.
“Friends are working, and there is no family. Why are you quizzing me when
you should be putting your own feet up? You need to prepare for your busiest night
of the year, and you will be far busier than we are. You supply the world; we just look
after the town,” I said, keeping in the spirit of our conversation.
“There’s always a few things to do first. One or two who need a little extra
Christmas magic. It was nice to meet you, Nurse Walters. I won’t forget what I’ve
learned tonight.”
Frowning at his retreating form, I wondered how he knew my name. My badge
said Caitlin; there was no hint as to what my surname was.
My attention didn’t dwell too long on the strange conversation, as I was called
to assist on a new case. Life in accident and emergency didn’t allow you to do much
more than go from patient to patient, trying to do your best in an overstretched,
understaffed department.
I walked out of the hospital five long hours later, coffee in hand. Working three
hours beyond my twelve-hour shift had left me utterly exhausted. I just kept
dreaming of my ten days off, but the thought of driving the twenty miles to home,
most of which was down country roads, was not appealing at this point of the night –
hence the caffeine hit when a soothing hot chocolate would have been far
preferable.
It’s your own fault for wanting to live as far from work as you could, I muttered
to myself as I shivered in the cold car, waiting for the windows to defrost.
A tap on the window had me reluctantly letting the cold night air in as I wound
it down.
“What are you still doing here?” Lindsay asked. She was a long-standing
colleague, probably the one I knew best, but we didn’t work in the same department.
It looked like she’d come outside on a break for a cigarette.
“Don’t worry, I’m keen to be off when this blasted ice defrosts. Oh, to be on a
warm beach at this time of year,” I huffed.
“Ha! You’d be bored within five minutes.” Lindsay smiled. “And what would
you do without all this Christmas cheer around you?”
“Bah, humbug!” I tried to smile, but it probably came out no more than a
grimace.
“Tell me again why you have worked far longer than your shift when you
haven’t had any time off for twenty-one days? Especially as you weren’t even
supposed to be working today.”
“Tara wanted to be at home with the kids. You know she only has them every
other weekend, and it would have been too cruel if she’d been forced to work,” I said
of one of our colleagues who had suffered an acrimonious divorce.
“Aww, see, you have found your Christmas spirit,” Lindsay teased.
“It’s just another day to me, as you well know,” I responded, eyebrows raised
at her. “That isn’t to say I begrudge anyone else who enjoys it, especially those with
kids.”
Lindsay shot me a sympathetic look. She knew full well why I hated the festive
season, one of the few people who did.
“Don’t do that,” I warned.
“What?”
“Give me that look. I am fine; it means nothing to me. I would work it, but
management don’t seem to want me near patients when they need jollity and fun, no
idea why.”
“I worry about you,” Lindsay said.
“I really appreciate that you do, but I’m going home and locking the door, so
no coming around for the next ten days. I intend to catch up with the sleep I’ve
missed over these last three weeks.” I might have come across as being ungrateful
for her friendship and selfish, but only someone in a similar job could understand the
sheer bone-weary exhaustion a set of hard shifts could bring. Add that to three
weeks’ worth of them, and I felt as if I was on my knees.
“Please try and spend some time enjoying yourself,” Lindsay pleaded.
“I can think of nothing I will enjoy more than lots of sleep and even more
chocolate,” I said.
“That does sound appealing.”
“You need to look after yourself too; try not to overdo it. I know you love
having everyone round on Christmas Day.”
“I’ll be fine, promise. Right, I had better return to the breach,” Lindsay mock
groaned.
“Good luck,” I said as she walked away. Funny how you could build a
friendship from five-minute conversations here and there, but we had over the years
of our service. She was one of the few people I trusted implicitly and had been a rock
when I needed her the most. I would always be grateful to her and knew that year-
round I was as good a friend as she was to me, but these last couple of years, I had
hated the run-up to Christmas, and though she worried, she understood and let me
work through it in the way I needed to.
Ten minutes later, I was on the road, thankful that most people were tucked up
in bed, so at least there would be very little traffic to cause further delays. It was one
of the few advantages of working shifts: no rush hour to contend with.
I didn’t envy Lindsay the weekend night shift; the whole hospital always got
busier as the day went on. This time of year, alcohol played an increasing role in
admittances, people having accidents from the effects of alcohol and family
arguments.
Smiling, I pictured Lindsay’s face if she came around to my house. It was
everything an English country cottage should be, set on its own, away from
everything and everyone, just how I liked it. It looked idyllic dressed in Christmas
decorations, but since that night two years ago, there wasn’t a single piece of holly or
string of lights anywhere.
I hadn’t always been this way, but after what happened, well, I could never
again join in without reminders of that night coming to the fore and making me feel
sick to the stomach. Life had been hellish since then for all sorts of reasons, and I
just did not have the energy to push the bad memories to one side so that I could
take part in anything festive.
I wouldn’t say hiding from the world made me happy – we all need social
contact – but I needed to interact on my terms for now at least. Thankfully, the few
friends I had understood and respected that.
It wasn’t as if I would be uncomfortable for the next week. I’d fully stocked up
on Christmas food and drink like the next person. Was that hypocritical? I had no
idea, and as supermarkets stocked their nicest products before Christmas, I wasn’t
about to deprive myself. A few heavy shifts in the new year would ensure that any
pounds I put on during my time off would soon be lost. I once wore a pedometer to
work, but when I reached twenty thousand steps in one day, I decided I didn’t want to
know how many I did. Sometimes it was better to remain in blissful ignorance.
The radio blasted out as I drove, anything to help stave off the tiredness which
constantly battled to overwhelm me. It was a fight I was used to, but it felt particularly
hard tonight. Hopefully, caffeine and music mixed would keep me going because I
really wanted to get to my bed as soon as I could.
A couple of miles from home, I was starting to relax a little, the call of a hot
shower and a thick duvet getting stronger as each mile passed, and then my phone
rang. I had guessed who it was before glancing down at the dashboard. Only one
person would consider it normal to ring in the middle of the night.
“Hello, Sally.” I didn’t try to hide the sound of resignation in my voice.
“Have you read the letter from our solicitor?” There were never any
pleasantries with her, just brusqueness bordering on being rude.
“I have been working non-stop. I haven’t had the chance.”
“It would only take you ten minutes to read it and respond. I don’t know why
you’re being so difficult.”
“Sally, what would be the point? I know roughly what it says, and my answer
is still the same. No.” I heard the hiss through the phone and braced myself.
“It is not your house! You have no right to it!”
“Sally, I bought that house fair and square and lived there with my husband.
Even if I hadn’t bought it, Steve had a will and left all his estate to me, which is a
perfectly normal thing for him to do.” I was trying to sound patient, but wasn’t sure if I
was coming across well. “There is nothing you can do about it. I love that house; it
has been my sanctuary since the accident, and if you think I can just hand it over to
the family because Steve has gone, then you don’t know me at all.”
“That cottage has been in our family for generations. It was part of the bigger
estate and is the only thing we have left of our heritage.”
“Then I suggest you dig up your ancestors and take the matter up with them
for squandering your inheritance. I paid the family estate for it fair and square; you
got the market value for it.”
“He got it for a knock-down price on the understanding that it would be
returned to the family if anything happened to him.”
“That is a lie. Please don’t treat me as if I am stupid. I saw the valuations, I
went through the paperwork for the purchase just as Steve did, and it was all done
correctly. You have had the money, and you are not getting my house.”
“Why are you being so unreasonable?”
“I think you need to look at your own actions before commenting on mine. I
should have been in bed a few hours ago, and you would have woken me just to
harass me over something which doesn’t belong to any of you. Just go ahead and
take me to court and watch as you are laughed at when I show my own
documentation, which would be enough to stand alone, but is also supported by the
will.”
“My solicitor says we have a good chance of getting the will overturned
because of how things stood with you and Steve. This is your last chance, Caitlin. I
was giving you yet another opportunity to do the right thing, but I can see that you
have no conscience in keeping something which is not yours.”
“You know nothing about how things stood between me and Steve.”
“We knew enough, and the accident just highlighted to everyone else what
was wrong.”
“On that note, I will see you in court.” I pressed the end button and gritted my
teeth. I had loved Steve, but sometimes I wished I’d never met him. It was bad
enough finding out the details about his accident, but having his family on the phone
every week for the last two years was nothing short of harassment. Now it seemed I
had the added humiliation of them knowing what had been going on before I did. I
had been an utter fool.
It was probably a combination of tiredness and distraction with the phone call
or knowing that I was nearly home, but one moment I was driving along, trying to
take steadying breaths, and the next thing, a huge black dog had dashed in front of
the car.
Chapter 2
Caitlin
Our eyes met in a shocked moment, and I felt something shoot into the centre of my
body. Was it dread at what was going to happen? It didn’t feel like that; it was a
sensation I had never experienced before, but there was no time to process it. As we
looked at each other for that split second, something passed between us.
I don’t know whether I winced because of the brakes screeching as I slammed
my foot down hard and yanked the steering wheel to the side or because I knew I
was going to hit a helpless animal. Afterwards, I would wonder why I hadn’t flipped
the car with the force of my reaction, but it was to no avail. The thud when the car
came into contact with the poor creature was a sound I would never forget.
Scrambling out of the car, I ran to where the animal had collapsed on the
ground. I faltered for a moment at the sight of it; I had never seen a dog so huge in
my life. As I tried to assess what to do, my brain was screaming wolf at me, but I
ignored it. I lived in the middle of the English countryside, for goodness sake; of
course there weren’t wolves around.
As I slowly approached, my heart sank when it was clear the animal was
unconscious or worse. Pushing aside my not unreasonable fear about being
attacked by an injured dog, I crouched beside it and tried to feel for a pulse.
It was such a relief when I detected a weak but steady heartbeat. Running my
hands across the thick, dark fur, I tried to assess for injuries, not really knowing what
I was doing but hoping my nurse training would be able to pick up something.
“It will be OK. I’m here to help. I wish I’d been able to avoid you, you poor
thing.” I spoke softly, hoping that if it came around, it wouldn’t react badly if I
sounded calm. I could only hope that it couldn’t detect my heart rate, which was
going a hundred miles an hour, or certainly felt like it was.
As I let my hands slowly travel over its body, I felt the stickiness of fresh blood
when I reached its shoulder. Pulling away quickly, I got up and ran to the passenger
door of the car, retrieving a first aid kit from the glove box.
Standing, I paused before returning to the animal and looked into the trees
which bordered the road. I had the sudden unnerving feeling that I was being
watched. There were no other cars about; this road wasn’t busy at normal times of
the day, so it was deathly quiet now, but the sensation of prickling running over my
skin had me looking around warily. I could hear no sounds in the trees or see
anything to support my feelings.
Eventually dismissing the suspicion as arising from nothing more than being
on a dark, lonely road late at night, I returned to what I was doing. Probably watched
too many horror films when I was younger, I cursed silently.
As I crouched down on the road, my medical head took over, and I got to work
stemming the bleeding and patching up as best I could, but I couldn’t shave the fur
away to get clear access to the wound. A shoulder wound could be tricky once the
animal regained consciousness, and it might need stitches, but there was little I
could do about that at the roadside.
“This will help stem the bleeding,” I spoke as I worked. “But you will need
some professional help whether you have a home or are a wild thing. I hope you
have a loving home; you seem well cared for.” Cleaning my hands with a wipe and
sitting back on my haunches, I googled the nearest on-call vet. “Let’s try and get
someone over here who actually knows what they’re doing,” I said, scrolling through
the list of vets near me. There weren’t many to choose from, the closest being more
than a twenty-minute drive away. “I hope they’re good with giant dogs,” I muttered,
pressing the call button.
It seemed to take an age before the vet answered. I quickly explained who I
was, what had happened, and how I’d bandaged the wound. “It has stemmed the
bleeding,” I said, peeping underneath the binding I’d created. “But I don’t know if
there are any other injuries. It hasn’t woken up yet, so there might be a head injury I
can’t detect.”
“I’m currently dealing with a pregnant horse who’s having a difficult birth,” the
vet said. “I won’t be back at the practice for some time. Could you get the dog in the
car? There’s a kennel in the yard at the back of my premises, so you could leave it
there, and I will treat it on my return. If it’s a wild dog, it will be used to being outside.”
I took a breath. I had to ask the question. “This sounds really stupid, but have
there been any reports of wolves in the area?”
“There are urban myths, but I’ve never seen any evidence of any,” the vet
said, a smile in his voice. “Is it a big dog?”
“Yes, huge but furry too, so not a Great Dane,” I said.
“With all this mixed breeding that’s fashionable now, it could be a mix of
anything. Leave it in the kennel, and I will try and get back as soon as I can. There
should be a blanket inside you could use. I’m sure it will be fine.”
“OK, thanks,” I said as we ended the call.
I stood, hands on hips. I was no weakling; moving patients daily built up the
muscles, but this was going to be difficult. Bending down, I apologised to the still
unconscious animal and half-lifted, half-dragged it to the car.
Huffing and puffing by the time I reached the rear passenger door, I struggled
to lift it inside, needing to crawl into the seat and pull with all my might. The fact that
the poor creature was roughed up even further by my handling didn’t sit well with me,
but there was nothing I could do about it at this stage. Part of me was relieved that it
didn’t wake up, even though the nurse in me worried that there was no sign of
consciousness yet. I didn’t think I would ever stop feeling guilty over hitting it.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, I cranked the heater up. The poor thing was
probably freezing by now, even though moving it had brought me out in a sweat. I
tapped the vet’s address into the sat nav and set off. After a couple of minutes, I
pulled over to the side of the road. It had started to snow, a sleety, rainy slush, and I
couldn’t in all conscience leave a defenceless animal in a cold kennel in this weather,
my worry reinforced by the fact that I had warning lights on my dashboard about the
outside temperature dropping.
“Have I completely lost my mind?” I asked the dog, twisting around in my seat
to look at it. It filled the back seat, thick dark hair covering it, looking magnificent in a
wolfish kind of way.
Unsurprisingly, there was no reply from the poor creature.
“I wonder who you belong to if you aren’t running wild.” It would be very
unusual that the dog didn’t belong to anyone; it more than likely came from one of
the farms. “Whoever owns you must be out of their minds with worry on a night like
this,” I said. “I know you have a thick fur coat, but I can’t risk you freezing to death
before the vet gets to you. I hope I don’t live to regret this, but you are coming home
with me for tonight.”
Not examining the wisdom of my decision, I continued heading home. I would
keep the animal overnight and take it to the vet first thing in the morning. That I
would have to take an unknown animal into my home wasn’t something I was doing
lightly, but I couldn’t think of any other option. I couldn’t allow it to die of hyperthermia
after it had survived my hitting it.
Arriving home, I lit the fire in the lounge and half-dragged, half-carried the dog
from the car into the house. Placing it on the rug in front of the fire, I checked its
heart rate, which was steadier than it had been, a miracle after the handling it had
gone through to get here.
Grabbing a throw off my sofa, I covered it as best I could, then set up a bowl
of water and, taking a look around, I checked that there was nothing it could injure
itself on if it woke. I just had to hope that it didn’t chew my sofa before it was time to
leave. I opened the door to the kitchen and then the rear door to the cottage. I hoped
every creature from the surrounding fields didn’t think that the warmth radiating from
my house was an open invitation to come in, but I felt better that the dog had an
escape route if it woke before morning. That went against my needing to take it to
the vet, but if the dog was wild, I didn’t want to confine it in the house. The last thing I
needed was an angry, injured dog trapped in a relatively small cottage.
I might be wasting loads of money overnight by leaving the fire on, but I was
satisfied that the fire gave off enough heat that the open door two rooms away
wouldn’t really affect the dog. I wasn’t afraid for my own safety in leaving the door
open all night. One look at the dog would deter anyone foolish enough to venture
inside, even if it was injured, and the reality was that I didn’t have much to steal.
There were a lot of other places closer to civilisation with more gadgets than I
owned.
There was nothing else I could do apart from checking its heart rate and
binding one last time. Although I was not relishing the thought of getting it back into
the car in the morning to take it to the vet, it was still the right decision to bring it
home. That wouldn’t change unless I was confronted by a ferocious beast, and I
would face that problem if it happened.
Finally thinking I had done what I could, I went and took a long overdue
shower. Wrapping my hair in a towel and sitting down in front of my dressing table, I
groaned at the dark circles under my eyes. These long shifts were doing my ageing
process no good whatsoever. I might be thirty-five, but I looked like a worn-out
version of myself. Where had my spark gone? I knew I recreated it at work; I wore an
upbeat, happy, capable persona like a shield, but at home, looking into the mirror? I
couldn’t hide the haunted expression, the look of never being good enough, of being
betrayed and abandoned.
Without any enthusiasm, I applied some cream, combed through my hair and
quickly blow-dried it. The advantage of having shoulder-length hair was that it was
easy to deal with, one of the necessities of the job. At least when it was washed, the
chestnut shone under the light, so if nothing else, I had nice hair.
Snuggling under the duvet, I dismissed the need to go and check on the dog. I
hadn’t heard anything from downstairs, so although I had closed and locked my
bedroom door, I didn’t think there was anything else I could do until morning.
I needn’t have worried about being kept awake. As soon as my head hit the
pillow, I fell into a deep but dream-filled sleep. ...
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