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Chapter Eleven

Frank

Frank stood in the kitchen, idly clicking the kettle on and off as he wondered what to do.

He had thought about doing what he'd done as a cub with his father; taking a thermos, something to eat as a midnight feast going to a nearby meadow or to the sea to do stargazing through a telescope.

However, the road he lived on had very little light pollution, and despite it being a summer night the stars were all out.

He had found a genuine iron Victorian bench at a second hand market and decided it would make a good addition to the front garden.

Yet, with decorative pieces of garden furniture it often sat unused.

I'll sit at the front of the house and look at the stars there.

_ _ He wagged his tail as he reached for a bag of camomile tea and put it in a cup. Like a lot of his furniture, the cup had come from a thrift store.

The tea brewed on the counter as Frank watched his fish swim in circles. His Alexa was playing a dance playlist he had set up. Eternal Flame by The Bangles started playing.

"Alexa, stop," Frank said abruptly.

It's a little too soon for that track, given the connotations it has.

_ _ The tea was brewed and Frank lifted the bag out. Although it had been a warm day, the sort of day that would make Frank pant owing to his layer of black fur, it suddenly felt surprisingly cool.

The change in temperature made Frank remember he was wearing just a pair of pyjama bottoms. There was a grey hoodie hanging over one of the kitchen chairs. He grabbed it, pulled it over his bare torso and carried his tea to the front door as his tail wagged.

As expected, the road outside was quiet. As it was former land belonging to the Threapleton estate, there were not many other buildings around. The cottage next to Frank's was separated by a hedge. The bigger house on the other side was a local landmark.

It was set back from the road behind a fence and had belonged to a famous poet, Cecil Mansfield, who had lived in it, well not necessarily lived but had it as a kind of writing retreat in the summer.

The house was still owned by some distant relative who was planning to sell it. The village was hoping to buy it and renovate the place in his honour, there was even some talk of handing it over to a trust and turning it into a museum.

The problem was the house, as regal as it looked, was said to be in disrepair.

Frank had sometimes looked at it from afar and thought the simple solution was to put a plaque by the door, renovate the house and sell it - probably so it'll end up as a second home for someone wealthy, but at least it was getting use and maintenance.

He pushed the thought from his mind as he watched the steam rise from his tea cup before glancing up at the night sky.

The stars were clear and he tried to make out of the constellations he could remember as a cub.

Is that the plough, or a kite, or god knows what it is.

_ _ His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of an engine purring nearby. Frank knew from the noise that it belonged to a car that was powerful yet discrete, and he had an inkling of whose car it might be.

Frank got up and walked to the edge of his garden to glance down the road.

As he had predicted, Anthony Higson-Pearidge's Bentley was parked further along the road, almost outside the Cecil Mansfield house.

"Interesting," Frank mused to himself.

He watched and saw the Bentley's door open. The puma climbed out and walked towards the gate of the house.

There was the faint clunk and jangle of a key being inserted into a lock. The gate creaked open and Anthony walked through.

Perhaps he wants to do it up?

_ _ Anthony had singlehandedly paid for the restoration fund to fix the church, and Frank had helped out with some of the work on it.

"Good evening there Frank!"

Frank yelped and almost spilt his tea on the grass. He turned to see Philip standing behind him.

"Oh, hello."

"I didn't mean to startle you, or come across like I was sneaking around outside your house, I didn't realise you lived right here," the Collie chuckled.

"What brings you out this far?"

"Honestly, I got lost, which is a silly thing to do in a small village like this," Philip explained. "I was going to the pub for another ale whilst looking for the Cecil Mansfield house on the way, and blundered down a dark side road."

"You're actually in the right place," Frank replied. "It's the house next door, although there's someone in there at the moment."

"I see, that's a shame. They really ought to commemorate the place."

"Aye, that's what a lot of the locals think," Frank replied as he took a sip of tea.

"Well, I hope I didn't interrupt you," Philip replied.

"Oh, not at all," Frank said, feeling oddly assured he was talking to the professor. "Although don't let me keep you from going to the pub, they'll close soon, but you're welcome to join me up here."

"I'll do the un-British thing and say I suppose I can for a minute," Philip said. "I'm relieved that after wondering darkened country lanes I've finally found someone I recognise."

"You're probably the first person to get lost in Little Hartbrook of all places," Frank laughed. "Not counting the tourists who drive through here trying to find the wildlife park over in Fildown."

He suddenly realised he was wearing his pyjamas in front of the Collie, but Philip didn't seem bothered.

"Gosh, you can see the lights of Mansfield's house from here," Philip said, walking across the lawn. "Sorry, I shouldn't just trample across your garden like this."

"You're on the lawn which needs a mow, so trample all you like," Frank replied as he sat down on the bench. "Around here I'm basically used to neighbours walking straight through the kitchen door to ask if they can borrow some sugar."

"Do forgive my excitement, Mansfield was quite an influence on me when I was at secondary school, which from your perspective would be several hundred years ago," Philip joked.

"Hey, I'm not ageist," Frank said with a wry smile, recalling in his head that one of his rebounds from Marcus had been an older bear PE teacher over in a neighbouring village. He looked hot in his _Prowlr_profile picture, but when Frank had gone over the bear had clearly not known that showering was a concept.

Best not go there.

_ _ "I didn't realise someone was living in the house," Philip continued.

Frank felt intrigued and decided to investigate too. He got up and walked over to where Philip was standing. There were indeed lights on in the house.

"No one lives there, I mean it's owned by one of Mansfield's descendants, but they've never stepped foot in the property since I've lived here," he said. "I know Anthony Higson-Pearidge drove up, that must be him in there."

"Higson-Pearidge, like the cider maker?"

"The very guy," Frank nodded as he returned to sit on the bench. "He's a kind of local celebrity, well that was until you know who decided to return, and got Ralph Rivers to move in with him."

The words had barely left Frank's muzzle when the sound of a powerful engine echoed down the road. Frank looked up to see Ralph's white Lotus glide by. He instinctively raised a paw to wave, as he did with most people he knew who drove down the road, and he could just about see Marcus gazing back at him.

"Speak of the devil," Philip chuckled.

"Mmm, the moment I think about him, he seems to appear as if on cue," Frank sighed. "It's funny, when he moved to America I thought I'd never see him again, now he's back and I'm fixing his parents' old house up."

"A shock to the system I'm guessing," Philip said.

"You can say that again," Frank replied, taking a sip of tea. "Would you like one?" he added, gesturing at the cup.

"Oh, I try to avoid caffeine at night now," Philip replied. "But thank you."

"It's camomile, but suit yourself," Frank grinned.

"When did Marcus first appear in the village?"

"Two or three days ago."

"No, no, I meant to ask, did he grow up here or was he a later fixture?"

"He wasn't born here," Frank explained. "I was, incidentally in the house my mum still lives in. The Lane family, Marcus' that is, moved here when he was ten. Down from London."

"I see."

"Mmmhmm, my best friend used to live in Honeysuckle Lodge, Mike Hannay he was called. The house had been in the Hannay family for several generations. I was pretty annoyed to find out they were moving away, but their father was unemployed, it's an expensive property and they moved away. Marcus Lane and his parents moved in instead."

"And you were disappointed?"

"At first," Frank said with a dry chuckle as his mind was transported back to when he first saw Marcus.

"Argh! I'm never collecting eggs again!"

_ Frank wondered what the noise was as he rode his bicycle past the McTaggart farmhouse._

_ He paused and walked along to a gate where he could see into the yard._

_ "Help!" the voice called again._

_ "Who is there?"_

_ "Who are you?" the voice shot back._

_ "I'm Francis Trelawney!"_

_ "Francis, can you help? My mum sent me to collect eggs, and now I'm going to be killed. Help?"_

_ "Killed?" Frank repeated, leaning his bike against the hedge. "I'm coming to the rescue!"_

_ He vaulted the gate and found himself in the farmyard. The chicken coup was nearby and Frank saw a short fox kit wearing an oversized t-shirt standing in the entrance looking terrified._

_ A turkey was walking around in front of the coup, chirping aggressively and strutting about._

_ Frank watched the scene for a second before he burst out laughing._

_ "That turkey is horrible," he grinned. "You just need to show it whose boss."_

_ Frank picked up a stone and threw it in the direction of the turkey. The bird let out an indignant chirp before strutting off._

_ "Thank you, I thought I'd be trapped in there forever," the kit sighed. "That bird was stupid. When we moved to the countryside I thought it would be all peaceful, but it's full of scary things. Why are you laughing?"_

_ "Scary things?" Frank repeated with a laugh. "It's not scary."_

_ "In London the only turkeys we get are on the table at Christmas," the kit said, putting his paws on his hips and fixing Frank a cheeky smile._

_ "My family have goose or beef on Christmas," Frank shrugged. "Now, you were collecting eggs?"_

_ "Yup, my mum said the farmer would let us have some eggs, but I've never collected them before. We always got them from a shop. She was supposed to get them but she's busy and sent me to do it."_

_ "Oh, it's pretty easy. Here I'll show you. You have to lift up the flaps to see if there's eggs in there."_

_ "Thank you," the kit replied, wagging his tail. "I'm Marcus."_

_ "Pleased to meet you Marcus."_

_ "Um, do you think can we be friends? I don't have any friends here since I moved."_

_ "Of course I can be your friend, and protector from evil turkeys."_

_ Marcus smiled and stretched out a paw for Frank to shake._

_ "Thank you, you seem like a nice wolf."_

_ _ Frank couldn't help but allow a melancholy smile to spread across his muzzle as he gazed at the ground before sipping his tea.

"And then you grew up," Philip said.

"That we did," Frank sighed. "Well I did, I'm not sure Marcus ever grew up, which is ironic as he lives a stylish life abroad and has been a lot more successful than me."

"Sadly it always seems to be the tossers who get far in life," Philip sighed. "Excuse my language."

"I say far worse, don't worry," Frank chuckled. "And yes, not that I think Marcus is a tosser, well not in his good moments anyway, he can be kind when he wants to be. But I'm still here and have never moved, not that I really want to move away, but it's still strange that the fox with no common sense got the fame and fortune."

"Oh, of course, but I remember this chap I knew at college, right old wanker. Horrible to everyone, including the professors. He's now a television historian who travels the world. I travel up and down the UK in overcrowded trains trying to research aristocratic families no one reads about anymore," Philip sighed. "Anyway, on that depressing note I'd best be off. You take care of yourself Frank, and perhaps your moment will come soon."

"I hope so, you take care too Philip, and don't get lost. I can always drive you over to Elizabeth's."

"Oh, I think I'll be fine."

"Okay, well, just follow this road to the right and you'll be back on the main street through the village."

Frank watched as the older Border Collie walked off into the night and hoped he would make it back to the Durrence's. He shook his head and smiled to himself before finishing his tea.

The night air was getting cooler and Frank decided it was time to head indoors. He glanced over at the Mansfield house and noticed the lights were now off.

He then heard the sound of talking and he cocked an ear, hoping to catch what was being said.

"Yes, it's a perfect site. Just need to get the old owner to hurry up with the sale. I'm pretty sure it'll be easy to take down and then the project will be complete. The important thing is we keep this under wraps. I'm sure the locals around here won't be happy, but they'll play ball soon enough."

Frank walked towards the garden and glanced down the road. He could just about make out the sight of Anthony talking on his phone.

"Listen I have to go, my wife is in the car. Bye," Anthony said before hanging up. He then seemed to notice Frank was there. "Evening Francis!" he called.

"Evening," Frank replied. "What brings you out here?"

"Oh, a small project I'm working on. I must be off though, good night," Anthony said as he moved to open the door of his Bentley. "Although expect an email from me in the next two days. I need your paws to work on a project I need doing."

"Okay," Frank said. "I'll keep my eyes open for that."

Anthony responded with a nod as he climbed into his car.

Frank turned and made his way back inside.

The kitchen felt warm and cosy compared to the coolness of the night air, although Frank knew it would be stuffier upstairs.

He was working at installing an air-conditioning unit that wouldn't spoil the historic aesthetic of the cottage, but would keep the house colder in summer.

His bedroom was at the rear of the cottage, overlooking rolling hills. It wasn't the master bedroom, but Frank preferred the view outside.

He flicked the bedroom light on and stripped naked. Like the rest of his home, the bedroom was a mix of modern and traditional.

The ceiling was lined with exposed beams while the walls were a plain white. Frank looked around the bedroom and wondered if it was a little too plain and having someone to share it with would prompt him to decorate it more.

Nah, I'm happy with what I've got.

_ _ But as he sat on the edge of the bed, the thought of Ralph and Marcus snuggling together caused Frank to let out a sigh.

"Yup, it's funny how things work out," he grumbled out loud to himself.