Asher Bryant lived in a tiny village by the sea, about fifteen miles south of Easterhill. It was called Seahorse Harbour and was a pretty magical place. Molly had often thought it was the perfect place to live. But so did everyone else, it seemed, and property there rarely came on to the market, either for sale or to rent.
Asher and Terry had met two years ago, via their mutual love of running. They’d bumped into one another several times on their respective runs. Both in their mid-thirties at the time, and with many other interests in common, including each having only one sister, they soon struck up an easy friendship.
Not long after they met, Terry even set up a date for Asher and Molly, but although they enjoyed each other’s company, that spark was missing and they’d agreed to be just friends.
Despite the fact that there was at least one vet in Easterhill, Molly had called Asher and driven the extra miles out of her way because she trusted him completely. Both with people and with animals.
Sarah sniffed.
Her allergy was clearly starting already and Miracle was nowhere near her yet. Molly couldn’t ask her to let Miracle stay. Not even for just one night.
‘Well, you can’t spend the night out there,’ Sarah said, half laughing, half sighing. ‘I’ll go and take one of my tablets and we’ll see what happens. But please try and keep him as far away from me as possible.’
‘You’re letting him stay?’
Molly couldn’t quite believe it. Sarah was a lovely person, Molly knew that, but to allow the dog to stay even though it meant she would suffer was really going above and beyond.
‘Yes. But just the dog. You can find somewhere else to stay.’ Sarah laughed at her joke before sneezing loudly and dashing off, no doubt to take her allergy tablet.
Terry frowned at Molly as he let her in.
‘How could you have forgotten? If Sarah’s tablets don’t help, you’re going to have to take the dog elsewhere, you know that don’t you?’
‘Of course. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. But what could I do? I couldn’t leave him by the road, could I? And Asher tried really hard to find a place for him, but everywhere is full to bursting. I’d offered before I even realised what I was doing. And even Asher must’ve forgotten about Sarah’s allergies, so it wasn’t just me.’
Miracle sniffed the Christmas themed doormat, the door, and Terry’s legs before glancing up at Terry as if to say, ‘Hello. Who are you?’
Terry sighed. ‘He’s a bit of a scruffy mutt but he doesn’t seem the worse for his adventure,’ he said, closing the front door and bending down to pet Miracle. ‘He could very well be a stray and not belong to anyone. Look at the expression on his face though. It sort of says, “Whatever”. He doesn’t appear to be at all concerned by any of this.’
Miracle promptly licked Terry’s face before shaking vigorously and sending wet snow everywhere. He flopped onto the floor and scratched behind his ear with his back paw, shook his head again and yawned as if he was bored.
‘Asher said something similar.’
Molly dropped the lead that Asher had given her. He’d also given Miracle a Christmassy collar and the dog hadn’t been at all bothered by that, so although Miracle wasn’t tagged and his details hadn’t linked up with any on the ‘missing animals’ websites, both Asher and Molly felt it might not be the first collar Miracle had ever worn. Either he had belonged to someone at some stage in his young life, or he was so laid back that absolutely nothing fazed him. Asher told Molly he thought the dog was about two.
She shrugged off her coat which Terry took from her, but before she had time to retrieve the lead, Miracle suddenly opened his eyes as wide as saucers, sniffed the air enthusiastically and darted off towards the kitchen.
Molly and Terry shot a look at one another and chased him along the hall. They arrived in the kitchen just a few seconds after him, but they were too late to save the honeyed ham.
Miracle had taken a large chunk out of it and both his cheeks were crammed with meat. He sat, with a saintly expression on his face, as if he hadn’t done anything wrong, despite the fact that the remnants of the ham lay on the floor in front of him between his large paws.
‘Miracle!’ Molly snapped but couldn’t stop herself from laughing as the dog tried to chew on his bounty without making it obvious he was doing so.
‘It’s not funny.’ Terry didn’t sound amused in the least. ‘Sarah’s spent the whole day cooking that, and all for nothing.’
‘Not entirely for nothing. Miracle seems to be enjoying it.’
Terry scowled at her. ‘I hope you’ll still be laughing when you’re eating cheese and biscuits tonight because your dog’s eaten the ham.’
‘I love cheese and biscuits.’ Molly winked at her brother and gave him a playful nudge. ‘I’ll go and buy a ready cooked ham and I’ll apologise to Sarah. It’s not the end of the world, Terry.’
Miracle pushed the ham behind him and turned his back so that they couldn’t see him devour more of it. Now, Terry did laugh.
‘Does he really think we can’t see what he’s doing? He’s not very bright, is he?’
Molly laughed louder. ‘I don’t know about that. He’s the one eating honeyed ham for supper while we’ll be having cheese and biscuits. That’s pretty smart of him.’
Two
Chance Warren gazed at the now pale rose-white, double fronted, thatched-roof cottage, with a sense of achievement. Only a few weeks ago, when he’d become its debatably proud owner, he had seriously wondered if he’d made a mistake. He’d heard of ‘buyer’s remorse’ and it was definitely possible that at that time, it was exactly what he was feeling. The cottage then was a vivid cerise pink, and far more dilapidated than it had looked on the internet.
He’d had a survey, of course. One of his old friends had carried it out. But when he’d collected the keys after completion, he realised that perhaps he should’ve taken more notice when Phil, the surveyor had laughed and asked him if he’d lost his mind.
‘It might be cheaper to knock the place down and build a new one,’ Phil had said.
‘It doesn’t look that bad in the photos,’ Chance had pointed out.
‘Photos can be deceiving, mate. You only have to see some of the girls I’ve dated from those online dating sites to realise that. They’re nothing like their pictures. And Wishing Well Cottage is nothing like the photos on the estate agent’s site. Now I’m not saying they’ve been photoshopped or anything, but they must’ve been taken a long time ago. And through a rose-tinted lens on a bright sunny day.’
‘Is it really that bad?’ Chance had tried to hide his disappointment. ‘Don’t forget I’m a builder. I can turn my hand to most repairs.’
‘There’s damp. Plaster’s fallen off most of the walls in places. The wooden window frames are rotting. The kitchen’s out of the forties and don’t get me started on the bathroom.’
‘But is it structurally sound?’
‘Well, there’s no sign of subsidence and the place has stood for a couple of hundred years and could well be there for a couple of hundred more, but it needs a lot of work. And didn’t you say you want to have the place refurbished by New Year’s Eve? I don’t think there’s much chance of that, mate. Not without a miracle. But it does have a couple of surprisingly ornate fireplaces and some other original features. With time, a lot of effort and a large amount of money, the place could be transformed.’