Olivia had lived alone for years in a modest cottage on the fringe of a little hamlet in the Cotswolds. Yet whenever someone hinted at her solitude, she would laugh and snap, Alone? Nonsense, Ive got a huge family! The neighbours, smiling and nodding, would exchange a glance behind her back, twirling a finger at their temples as if to say, Shes a bit daftno husband, no children, just a bunch of animals That bunch of animals was, to Olivia, her entire clan.
She paid no mind to the villagers murmurs that a proper household should only keep a cow or a few chickens, maybe a single dog for guard and a cat for mice. Olivia owned five cats and four dogs, and, absurd as it seemed to the locals, they all lived inside the cottage rather than in the yard where they belonged. The neighbours muttered amongst themselves, knowing it was futile to argue with her; she would simply grin and say, Come off it, were fine all together under one roof.
Five years earlier, tragedy had struck. Mark and their son Tom were killed in a single instant on the motorway when a lorry swerved into oncoming traffic as they were returning from a day of fishing. Shaken to her core, Olivia realised she could no longer stay in the flat that echoed with their memories, nor walk the same streets and shop in the same stores. The sympathetic glances of the flatmates only tightened the knot in her chest.
Half a year later she sold the flat and, with her cat Dusty in tow, moved to the quiet village, buying the little cottage on the edge of the lane. Summer found her tending a vegetable patch; when winter settled in, she took a job in the community centres canteen. One by one, her animals trickled insome begging at the station, others drifting in looking for scraps. Thus a sprawling family of kindred souls, each once solitary and scarred, gathered around Olivias generous heart, healing each others wounds with love and warmth. Food was never abundant, but it was enough. She kept reminding herself she could not keep rescuing forever, vowing, No more.
In March, after a spell of bright sunny days, Februarys harsh cold returned, blanketing the lanes with biting snow and hurling icy gusts through the night. Olivia hurried for the last evening bus, a sevenhour ride to her village. With two days of the weekend ahead, she stopped in the shops, loading bags with provisions for herself and her furry brood, the canteen leftovers adding extra weight to her arms.
She tried to ignore the promise she had made to herself, focusing on the animals waiting at home. Yet, as the old saying goes, the heart sees what the eyes miss. Just ten metres from the bus stop she froze. A dog lay beneath a bench, its eyes vacant, almost glassy, its body halfburied in snow. Passersby rushed past, scarves and hoods pulled tight, oblivious.
Olivias chest tightened; the bus and her vows slipped from her mind. She dropped her bags, rushed to the bench and reached out. The dog blinked slowly.
Thank God youre alive! she breathed. Come on, sweetheart, get up, follow me.
The animal barely moved, yet did not resist as she lifted it from the bench. It seemed resigned, as if ready to surrender to the cruel world.
She could not recall how she dragged herself back to the bus station, two heavy bags in each hand and the dog cradled close to her chest. Inside the waiting hall, she perched in the furthest corner, rubbing the shivering, gaunt creatures frostbitten paws.
Come on, love, pull through. We still have a way home. Youll be the fifth dog in our pack, just to keep the count even, she murmured.
From her bag she produced a small meat patty and offered it. At first the dog turned away, but after a moment of warming, its nose twitched, the eyes brightened, and it took the food.
An hour later the bus had long gone. Olivia fashioned a makeshift collar from her belt, though the dognow named Milliestuck close to her feet as if already bound. Ten minutes later, luck seemed to turn; a stranded minibus halted nearby.
Thank you so much! Ill seat the dog on my lap; she wont make a mess, Olivia stammered.
No problem, the driver replied, let her sit on the seat, shes not that small.
Millie curled against Olivia, trembling, yet somehow fit on her lap.
Its warmer this way, Olivia smiled.
The driver gave a short nod, glanced at the crude collar around Millies neck, and cranked the heater a notch higher. The vehicle moved in a companionable silence, Olivia holding the stillshivering dog, eyes fixed on the snowdriven world flashing past the windows.
The driver stole glances at Olivias profile, the way she cradled the rescued animal. He guessed shed found the dog on the roadside and was now taking her home. She looked tired but peaceful, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
He dropped them off at her cottage, helped haul the bags. The snowdrift was so deep the old wooden gate had warped; its rusty hinges gave way, and the gate fell to one side.
Never mind it, Olivia sighed, its about time I repaired it.
From inside came a chorus of barks and meows. Olivia rushed to the door, flung it open, and her whole family poured into the yard.
Well, look who finally showed up! Im here, Im not going anywhere. Meet the newest member she announced, gesturing to Millie, who peeked shyly from behind her legs. The other dogs wagged their tails, noses nosing the bags the driver still held.
Come in, if youre not scared of a big, noisy family. Tea, perhaps? she offered.
The driver set the bags down but lingered at the threshold.
Its getting late, Im off. Youd better feed them; theyve been waiting for you, he said, and left.
The next afternoon, a dull thud echoed from the yard. Olivia shrugged on her jacket and stepped out to find the driver from the previous day, hammering new hinges onto the gate, his toolbox spread around him.
Good afternoon, he called, I broke the gate yesterday, came to fix it. Names Victor, and you are?
Olivia, she replied.
The tailwagging clan sniffed him curiously as he knelt to pet them.
Olivia, dont freeze out there, come inside. Ill be done soon, and I wont turn down a cuppa. Theres even a slice of cake in the car for you and a few treats for the lot, he said, flashing a grin.
