He walked through the hallway and into the kitchen and found his mother sitting at the table, her glasses perched on her nose, the newspaper crossword open in front of her.
‘The kettle’s only just boiled if you want tea.’
‘Water will be fine for now, thanks, Mum.’
Ethan filled a glass from the tap and drank it down in one go.
‘Did you enjoy your run?’ she asked.
‘I did. It always helps.’
She nodded. ‘I miss it. The sense of freedom it gives, the way it always focused me on what I was doing so I could let go of all my worries.’
‘Sorry you can’t go anymore.’ Ethan sat opposite his mother.
‘It’s okay, love. I find that yoga is pretty good for taking my mind off things as I have to focus on my breathing. But I did love to run.’
‘I would miss it too.’
‘You should come to yoga with me now you’re home.’
‘What and stretch and bend with a load of women?’
‘Men go too and the teacher is male. And it’s a lot more than stretching and bending.’
He laughed. ‘I know that, Mum, I just think I’d be too self-conscious. I mean… I can run but I’m not that flexible and I’d probably pop a kneecap or something.’
His mother smiled. ‘No you wouldn’t and you’d be surprised how quickly it improves your flexibility. It might also help you to relax. At least consider it.’
‘I will. But only for you.’
‘I’ll hold you to that, Ethan.’
‘I’m going to shower and dress then we can have a chat about plans for the week. What do you think?’
‘I guess we do need to discuss some things now you’re back.’
Ethan nodded. They needed to talk about what exactly was going on with his mother and her health as well as about what Ethan’s role would be now he was home. He wanted to be here for his mother but he didn’t want to get in her way either. He knew she’d hate to feel dependent on him.
‘Before you hop in the shower, do you fancy going to the shop for some eggs? I can make you an omelette then.’
‘One of your omelettes? How can I refuse?’
‘Cheese?’
‘Perfect.’
‘Be quick then!’
Ethan gave a mock salute then went back to the hallway and slid his into his trainers. He was hot and sweaty but he wouldn’t be long and he could shower when he got back. He grabbed his wallet from his jacket and left the house.
‘I’m still not sure about this,’ Lila stood outside the charity shop holding on tight to the black bag that contained her wedding dress. She gazed at the window display of a wooden greyhound sculpture surrounded by spring flowers made of crêpe paper and butterflies and birds made from silk. It was beautiful.
‘It’s time, Lila.’ Roxie broke into her thoughts. ‘You need to let go.’
‘But… I could just put it in the attic, couldn’t I? Out of sight, out of mind.’
Roxie shook her head. ‘That won’t work and you know it as well as I do. You’ll find yourself climbing up there to get something else and before you know it, you’ll be wearing the damned thing again. You have to go cold turkey.’
‘Gah!’ Lila shuddered. ‘I know you’re right. Okay. Let’s go.’
Roxie pushed the door to the shop open then stood aside for Lila to enter. Lila shuffled inside with the bag and looked around. It was a lovely shop with warm and friendly staff, rows of colourful clothes, shoes and bags, shelves of books, games, CDs and DVDs and always had a seasonal window display specially designed to reflect the charity’s good work.
They headed for the counter and waited while the shop assistant, a man with a shaved head and thick dark brows, who she guessed was around thirty, served an elderly lady who was purchasing a crocheted blanket made up of brightly coloured granny squares. When the lady had paid and walked away, Lila faltered. A hand in the small of her back pushed her forwards.
‘Go on, Lila, you can do this,’ Roxie whispered into her ear.
‘What are you? My personal life coach or something?’ Lila muttered, her belly now churning at the thought of what she was about to do.
‘If you like.’ Roxie kissed her cheek.
‘Hello.’ The shop assistant smiled, flashing fixed braces. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes. You can.’ Lila cleared her throat. ‘I have a donation.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ He peered over the counter. ‘What is it? The bag looks full.’
‘It’s my… it’s a… it’s my…’ Lila’s throat closed over and her eyes burned. This was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Wasn’t it? Harder than sitting her driving test three times. Harder than hobbling around on crutches when she was sixteen after she broke her left leg ice skating. Harder than having to admit that Ben wasn’t going to turn up for their wedding…
NO! It wasn’t harder than that at all.
‘I have a wedding dress that I’d like to donate. Along with a veil, shoes and other accessories.’
‘A wedding dress, eh?’ The man’s eyebrows rose. ‘We don’t get many of those.’
‘It hasn’t been worn.’ Lila realised that wasn’t quite true. ‘Well, it has. But not for a wedding. Or not through a wedding, anyway. See… uh…’
The man’s blue eyes were filling with confusion and Lila’s cheeks grew warm. What was she doing? She didn’t need to tell him all this.
‘What she means is that she bought the dress but didn’t need it after all.’ Roxie put an arm around Lila’s shoulders and Lila sagged against her friend.
‘Yes, that’s what I meant.’
‘Okay, well thank you very much. The houndies will be so grateful.’
‘Houndies?’ Lila asked.
‘Greyhounds.’ He smiled again. ‘We call them houndies and I forget that not everyone knows that.’ He pointed at the wall behind the counter where a large pinboard was covered in photos of greyhounds and smiling people. Lila had seen the photos on previous visits to the shop but never had a good look at them. She’d always been rushing around trying to get back for Ben, or to get something done for Ben, or to get something done before Ben got home. How had she lived like that for so long and not realised how much rushing around she did? ‘These are some of our events, like the summer fête and some of the houndies that have been successfully rehomed. Every donation helps these gentle dogs, from rehabilitation after they leave the racetrack, to essential medical care, and to interim housing at the farm where they go before rehoming. Some of them are fostered for a while before meeting their forever families, but some of those end up being failed fosters.’
‘What’s a “failed foster”?’ Roxie asked. ‘It sounds very sad.’
‘Not at all.’ He laughed. ‘I know failed is a deceiving word in this case. Basically, a failed foster is where someone fosters a dog with the intention of giving it up when a suitable forever home is found, but when it comes down to it, they find themselves unable to part with the houndie because they love him or her too much.’