Margaret had been living alone for several years in a modest cottage on the edge of a little village in the Cotswolds. Yet whenever someone told her she was on her own, she would grin and reply, What? No, Im not alone at all! Ive got a huge family! The local folk would smile and nod, while behind her they would exchange a knowing look, tapping a finger to their temple as if to say, Shes a bit daftfamily, she says, yet theres no husband, no children, just a menagerie
That menagerie, as Margaret liked to call it, was her idea of family. She didnt care one whit about the villagers opinion that a proper household should have, at most, a cow or a few chickens, a dog for protection and a cat to chase mice.
She owned five cats and four dogs, and, absurdly enough, they all lived inside the house rather than out in the garden, much to the neighbours bewilderment. They whispered among themselves, because arguing with Margaret was pointlessshe would simply laugh and say, Oh, stop whinging, were perfectly happy together in this house.
Five years earlier Margaret had lost her husband and teenage son in a single tragic accident. They were coming back from a fishing trip when a lorry on the motorway swerved into the opposite lane and smashed into theirs.
Staggering back to herself, Margaret realised she could no longer stay in the flat that held too many reminders of the ones she loved, couldnt walk the same streets and shop at the same corner stores without feeling the weight of sympathetic stares. Six months later she sold the flat, packed up her favourite cat, Misty, and moved to a tiny hamlet, buying a cottage on its outskirts. In summer she tended a modest garden; when winter arrived she took a job in the staff kitchen of the local community centre.
One by one she brought her animals home from the station, from the canteen, wherever they had been scrounging for scraps. Thus the solitary womans big family grew, a collection of kindred spirits who had each known loneliness and a fair share of hardship. Margarets generous heart healed their wounds, and they returned the favour with equal warmth. There was always enough love, and, with a bit of ingenuity, enough foodthough it wasnt always easy. She kept reminding herself that she couldnt keep ferrying stray animals forever, promising herself, No more, I swear.
Then March, after a few gentle sunny days, Februarys cold snapped back, laying a crust of biting snow over the fields and howling icy wind through the night. Margaret hurried onto the last evening coach, a sevenhour ride back to her little village. She had a weekend ahead, so after work she stopped in the shops, buying provisions for herself and her furry brood, and even lugged a few leftovers from the community centre. Both of her arms were full of heavy bags.
She tried to keep her promise in mind, not looking around, focusing on the pets waiting at home, letting the thought of them warm her. But, as the old saying goes, the heart has eyes of its own, and it made her pause just ten metres from the coach.
Under a bench lay a dog. Its stare was vacant, almost glassy, the creature clearly having been there for a while, a blanket of snow already settled on its back. Passersby hurried past, wrapped in scarves and hoodies. Isnt anyone seeing this? Margaret thought, her heart tightening. She forgot the coach, the promise, and rushed to the bench, dropping her bags and reaching for the dog. It blinked slowly.
Thank heavens youre alive! she sighed. Come on, dear, get up, follow me. The dog didnt move, but it didnt resist as Margaret lifted it from under the bench. It seemed almost resigned, as if itd barely cared to stay in this harsh world any longer.
Later, Margaret could barely remember how she managed to shuffle the two hefty bags and the trembling dog to the bus station. Inside the waiting room she claimed the farthest corner, gently cradling the shivering pooch, warming its frostbitten paws in her hands.
Come on, love, get yourself together. We still have a way home. Youll be the fifth dog in our pack, just to keep the numbers even, she murmured. She tore a small meatball from her bag and offered it. At first the dog sniffed it away, but after a moment of warming, its nose twitched, the eyes brightened, and it gobbled the bite.
An hour later they were still on the road, the coach long gone. Margaret fashioned a makeshift collar from her belt, though the dognow christened Millywas already trailing right behind her, pressed against her legs. Ten minutes after that, to her astonishment, a car pulled over and the driver opened the door.
Oh, thank you! Dont worry, Ill put the dog on my lap; she wont make a mess, Margaret blurted.
No need, the driver replied. She can sit on the seat, why put her on your lap? Shes not a lapdog.
Milly, still trembling, curled up on Margarets lap anyway, somehow fitting perfectly.
Its just warmer this way, Margaret smiled.
The driver gave a brief nod, glanced at the improvised collar around Millys neck, and turned up the heater a notch. The car rode in a comfortable silence. Margaret held Milly close, watching the snowfilled countryside flash by, illuminated by the headlights. The driver stole occasional glances at Margarets profile, noting the woman whod rescued a stray and was now ferrying it home. He could see the fatigue in her eyes, but also a calm happiness.
He dropped them off at Margarets cottage and helped with the bags. The snowdrift was so deep that he had to push the sagging gate wide open with his shoulder; the rusty hinges gave way, and the gate toppled onto its side.
Never mind, Margaret sighed, its about time we repaired it anyway.
From inside, a chorus of barks and meows erupted. The homeowner hustled to the door, flung it open, and her entire family poured out into the yard.
Well, did you miss me? Ive finally arrived, so dont go running off! she announced, gesturing to the newest addition.
Milly peeked shyly from behind her rescuers legs. Margarets other dogs wagged their tails, nosing at the bags still held by the driver.
Come on in, if youre not scared of our big clan. Fancy a cuppa? the lady called.
The driver set the bags down but shook his head.
Its late, I must be on my way. You look after the family; theyve been waiting for you, he said.
The next afternoon, a faint thump echoed from the yard. Margaret slipped on her coat and stepped outside to find the driver from yesterday, hammering new hinges onto the broken gate, his toolbox strewn about.
Good afternoon! Im Vladimir, the bloke who broke your gate yesterday. Came to fix it, he called, wiping his hands.
Margaret, she replied.
The tailwagging brood circled him, sniffing curiously. He crouched, patting them gently.
Olly, dont be shy, get inside. Ill be done soon, and I could do with a slice of cake and a cuppa, he chuckled, gesturing toward the kitchen where a modest cake sat on the counter, along with a few treats for the large family.
