Chapter Text
“…and one morning in May, five little dachshunds were born…” Audrey let the last sentence of the story trail off, and glanced at the toddler in the bed. “Not that you are awake to attend,” she added, observing the tightly shut eyes and the plump little cheeks flushed with sleep. “Well, good night, Rosie,” she said softly as she closed the book and stood up. She checked that the blanket was firmly tucked in on all sides – it was – then turned off the small lamp. There was enough light coming from downstairs through the open door for her to be able to navigate.
Quietly she descended the stairs. At the bottom she stopped for a second and thought about any tasks she might have forgotten. But no, all were done, even her most hated one, ironing, which she finished that morning. She had to completely rearrange her usual household schedule, but it was worth it: now she could enjoy the last day of the year and New Year’s Day in peace. The entire evening was hers to spend in blessed quiet. She did not even have to cook dinner: every member of the household had other plans.
Tristan was invited to the Beauvoir’s end of the year bash, and had sailed away two hours ago resplendent in a brand-new tux, a surprisingly serene smile on his face and, if you asked Audrey, an excessive amount of pomade in his hair.
The Herriots left for an evening of dazzle, dancing and culinary delights to the Reniston in Brawton – an idea sparked by one of Mr. Farnon’s trademark outbursts and fed arduously by Audrey herself, who thought what with work, the farm and the children, James and Helen were starting to look a bit worn around the edges. She offered to babysit Rosie, and Jimmy was thrilled to spend the night at Grandpa Richard’s, helping with the evening chores around the animals and eating far too many biscuits.
And lastly, at half past six, Mr. Farnon had disappeared through the door with Dorothy, who had come over for tea with Audrey earlier. She was to leave the next day for Scarborough.
It was nice spending time with Dorothy again, Audrey thought while she made her way to the living room, absently righting and tidying away various odds and ends on her way: the hallway door to the office, accidentally left open; a thankfully empty sample jar left on the dining room table, a tie carelessly thrown over the back of the sofa. Dorothy really was her oldest friend, and the prospect of her moving back to only a couple of hour’s distance was gratifying.
Her knitting was already waiting for her in one of the armchairs, the book she started yesterday on the side table, and she had already set up the gramophone. All she had to do was to put the needle on, and she’d be all set for a cozy evening. The fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace, the dogs were snoring softly in their baskets, and from the office she could hear the familiar sounds of Gerald and his friends rummaging around, no doubt carrying out important rat business.
Yes, everything was just as it was supposed to be, and yet, as soon as she settled down into the armchair, she found that she could not relax. There was something about one of her previous thoughts that was nagging at her mind: a vague sense of unease, like a splint in the smooth surface of a table when one runs one’s hand over it. Was it about the ironing? Did she forget some chores after all? Or was it something someone mentioned to her earlier and Audrey let it pass without really hearing it?
Well, if it was important, she would eventually remember. No use worrying about it. For now, there was Berlioz to listen to, the new cardigan she was knitting from the softest blue yarn – this time for herself, no less – and later, maybe, a cup of tea with some brandy. It was New Year’s Eve, and finally, all was well in her world.
***
Audrey woke with a start and for a fraction of a second was entirely unsure about where or when she was. But then the familiar shapes and sounds of the living room rushed back to her. She must have nodded off sitting up. Her book was in her lap, a finger still marking the last page she’d been reading. At her elbow, her teacup stood empty. The record must have run out, for she could not hear music, and while Jess was still slumbering peacefully on the rug in front of the fireplace, Dash was awake and alert in his basket, his clever brown eyes staring right at Audrey. She looked at the clock: it was about an hour till midnight.
“Better get up and move around a bit, if we want to greet the new year while still awake,“ she told the dog. Her voice was scratchy and her head was being pulled down by the vertigo caused by a nap neither long nor short enough. She forced her eyes wide open, and slowly clambered up from the armchair. One of her legs and the arm her weight had rested on during sleep were asleep, and she gritted her teeth against the painful, buzzing sensation of the blood rushing back in. Picking up the empty cup and saucer, she started for the kitchen. Dash scrambled up to follow, his claws rapping softly on the red and black tiles of the hallway.
In the kitchen she set down the dirty dishes on the table, put on the kettle then let out the dog through the back door and stepped out after him. It was bitingly cold out there, and she had only a thin sweater for protection against it, but the wind woke her up in an instant. The sky was clear, and if one did not mind risking pneumonia for it, the stars made a pretty sight. Audrey crossed her arms tightly in front of her, and shuffled her feet while waiting for the busily sniffing Dash to decide which spot to water.
How odd that there is still no snow on the ground, and it is the end of December, she thought. Not that she missed the incessant grumbling about the bloody snow at the bloody passes and the bloody farms lying just beyond the aforementioned bloody passes – it was amazing how much loss the classically educated Mr. Farnon’s vocabulary suffered during moments of weather-related dissatisfaction. The boys were less inclined to such fits of temper but had a habit of merrily leaving their wet clothes draped over whatever piece of furniture was closest, until the entire house smelled of wet wool and eau d’écurie. James had improved a lot since his marriage – or maybe Helen was picking up after him – but Tristan was a lost cause. Anyway, the last dry winter such as this she remembered…
Dash finally concluded his business and jogged back to her. But instead of pawing at the door, as it was his habit when he wanted to be let in from the cold, he sat down in front of Audrey and looked up at her.
“What is it, Dash?” she asked, not that she expected an answer.
And that is precisely when the dog started talking.
***
“It was this one, right?” Dash asked, and Audrey froze. All she was capable of doing was staring at the dog with eyes that were roughly the size of saucers.
“How the heck are you talking?” she hissed. “And why am I talking to a dog?” she added, and for a moment she felt very small and very confused. Was she dreaming? She always had disturbingly vivid dreams – did she dream waking up and coming out to the back garden?
“Let’s not get into that,” Dash said evasively. “It was this winter, right? The last dry winter you remember?”
“What?”
“This,” the dog insisted. “Just look around, will you?”
And Audrey looked, and she wished she hadn’t.
There was still a starry night sky above her and the unmistakable shapes of a small village slumbering under the oppressive dark of winter around her, but this was not Darrowby and the door behind her was not the back door of Skeldale. She was standing in front of the village hall of the town she had grown up in. From behind the door at her back, she could hear a fiddle playing a cheerful tune, muted laughter and the thudding of many pairs of feet. A dance, she thought. A New Year’s Eve dance, and I’m…
She looked down at herself. She was wearing a coat, the one her mother had made her when she was 17, pinching every penny until she could afford enough material to be able to add a couple of fashionable little trims to what was supposed to be a sensible winter number of navy wool. She still remembered how it felt when she first put it on: like she was suddenly more than just plain little Audrey Wight, a farmer’s daughter, but someone else, who belonged to the whole wide world, with a future of an untold amount of possibilities. She lifted her hands, and saw the smooth skin and slender fingers of a younger woman. They already had the callouses earned by hard work around the farm, but her right palm was missing the scar she got when she sliced it open on a piece of machinery during her Wrens training.
Any minute now, she thought. I will wake up any minute now.
“Listen,” she heard Dash say, his tail steadily thumping the ground at her feet. “Are you going to faint? Because that would make this a bit difficult.”
“Make what a bit difficult?” she forced herself to say. “What the bloody heck is happening here?”
“There’s no time to explain.” The dog tilted his head to the side, his ears cocked towards the door. “He’s coming. Just go with it!”
“Go with wh–?” she started asking, but as the door opened behind her, all the pieces suddenly came together to reveal the picture.
“I thought I might find you here,” a cheerful voice announced, then a hand touched her shoulder and Audrey felt herself being turned and pulled closer to a warm chest, and when she lifted her eyes, she was looking into the smiling face and twinkling eyes of one Robert Hall of half a lifetime ago.
“Hullo, Rob,” she said. It seemed that her brain, quite without asking how she felt about it, decided to work with what was in front of her, never mind that it was an impossibility. “Tired of dancing already?”
Incredible how calm someone's voice can be while the earth is churning beneath her feet.
“Tired of dancing with anyone who is not you,”’ came the reply. How very young Robert looked! She had almost forgotten the way his lips curled up at the left corner whenever he smiled, and that one lock of hair that always fell forward to his forehead, no matter how many times he slicked it back. It was the easiest thing to smile back at him and lean into the embrace he offered.
“What are you suggesting then?” she heard herself ask, just like she had at that long ago New Year’s Eve when Robert found her after she had escaped the dance floor, because she’d heard Molly Jackson say… heard her say to her partner that… oh, yes: “That Audrey Wight, when dancing, has the grace God might have given to a pissed spider.” Wasn’t it sweet to be young?
“You have to dance with me, obviously. Right here,” said Robert cheekily, then without waiting for an answer, swept her into his arms and started swaying them to the rhythm of the music clearly audible from inside.
Audrey could not help it: she laughed and let herself be drawn in. From the corner of her eye she saw Dash slink into the shadow of the building where he sat and watched them with a wide doggy grin.
“This is nice,” she said after a minute, glancing up. Robert grinned down at her.
“Just imagine, when we are married, we are going to be dancing like this every evening,” he joked.
“Oh aye, Rob Hall? It’ll happen the cows will just take care of themselves then, while you and I are faffing about?”
“Fair. Then we’ll just have to restrict ourselves to the occasional turn before the gramophone.”
“Oh, a gramophone, right. The most necessary equipment at a dairy farm.”
“Right next to the pitchfork,” nodded Robert, mock-seriously. Then his face turned solemn for real. “No, really, Aud. I don’t want our life to be the same as our parents’. Yes, farming is hard work, and being a farmer’s wife is far from easy… But I want us to have our moments.”
“What kind of moments?” asked Audrey softly. It was not easy, reliving this discussion when she knew the kind of life they ended up having instead.
“Just sitting quietly next to each other after a hard day, listening to the radio. Christmas dinners with our family. Easter masses. Board games on Sunday afternoons.”
“Calvings at two o’clock in the morning. Having to be up at half past five to not miss the milk truck. Haymaking season,” – snickered Audrey, who knew that to be something Rob hated in particular, because hay dust made his skin break out in hives.
Robert groaned. “Don’t remind me.” He sighed. “You know what I mean, right? Upholding each other when it’s hard. Sharing joy when we can.”
“I do,” replied Audrey, and tried very hard to stop her chin from quivering. Oh, Robert.
“Are you cold, Aud? Let’s go back in.”
“I don’t want to,” said she, and closed her eyes. But Robert was already letting go. There was no arguing with him when he thought he was right.
“Come on, Spider,” he said, so of course, Audrey had to stomp on his feet, hard. “Ow, ow, I’m taking it back! Come on. Let’s dump a glass of punch on Molly Jackson’s dress.”
Audrey saw Dash spring up suddenly, and the next moment she was hit by such a wave of vertigo that she stumbled. Her sight went dark around the edges. He heard Robert call her name worriedly, but it was as if he was calling from a great distance. She felt a warm weight next to her leg, and when her sight cleared, she was again standing in the back garden of Skeldale House, sans coat, with no one but Dash at her side. She grasped for the door handle, and dog and woman crashed into the kitchen almost as one.
***
A bit later, when Audrey felt that her legs were definitely going to hold her up, and after she fixed herself a cup of tea and drank it almost without waiting for it to cool down, she looked at the dog and asked:
“Was that real?”
Dash looked back at her, then busied himself with scratching one of his ears, as if saying, well, what do you even call real?
Audrey did the next logical thing, and pinched herself. Hard.
Nothing happened. She was still standing next to the sink, staring at Dash, and having two sets of memories of the same event thirty years past, one with the addition of bitter old guilt and a talking dog.
“Right.” She breathed deeply, then went and crouched next to the dog and rubbed his velvety ears. “Whatever it was, it is over. Unless there is something else you want to say.”
Dash pushed his head up into the caress and remained silent. Audrey stood up with a relieved sigh.
In the end, she could not help Robert fight his demons, but she had tried her best not to let hers destroy whatever snatches of light still managed to creep into their lives. One of those was their son, and for him Audrey was able to stand more than just the death of the dreams they once had. But Robert could not, and there was nothing to do about it. There was a time she hated him for that. By now, she had learned to feel sorry for him; the gentle, laughing boy who danced with her under the stars.
“Come on, boy,” she beckoned the dog. “Let’s get back to the living room. It’s warmer there and I’m still cold to the bone.”
How ironic, she thought as she followed Dash through the corridor, that in time I found everything Robert wanted for us in this house, with these people.
“What a ridiculous creature you are, Audrey Hall,” she told herself out loud as she turned right and entered the dining room.
“Hilda really couldn’t agree more,”’ said the goat that was standing on top of the dining room table, idly chewing something that peeked out of her mouth a bit.