A/N: Wow, thanks for all the reviews:) Here is chapter 2.
lucid.dreams -- Thanks:) Yes, I am, though I don't live there now (I haven't lived there full-time for more than 10 years, actually, so any horrid inaccuracies you spot, please tell me!). I don't know if I can work Edmonton in here, but it would certainly be fun (I've always secretly wanted to write a story in which somebody falls asleep in one Jubilee Auditorium and wakes up in the other one and can't believe the weirdness ...). Any zoo/wildlife-related things they might want to see there? ;)
lyradaemon -- Thanks:) Too bad, but hey, Toronto is nice too. (Too bad about the Oilers...) Anyway, you'll get to go there in this story!
Alanna22039 -- not quite. Opposite problem, actually. But read on. ;)
Daine's daughter -- Glad you liked :). You were supposed to be kind of confused in that chapter, because Numair is, and it's his POV. Hopefully things are clearer now ;).
jessica.schultz -- I responded privately also, but thanks for the review!
Shining Silver Leaf -- Thanks :)
Tawnykit -- happy to see you, too:) Your theory on what will help is exactly the same as Numair's. Let's see how it goes...
Roherwen -- Thanks:) Here's more!
Chapter 2: Edinburgh, late May to end of June
Daine's laptop blipped at her, and a blinking icon in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen told her she had new e-mail. She flipped into Eudora and shook her head, grinning ruefully: there were five new messages, and the three that weren't spam were from Numair. "RE: Hiring camping kit", read the subject line of the first one. "Look at this place!" urged the second, and the third read, "Planes, trains and automobiles – also buses".
Term had ended at the University, and Numair had begun in earnest to plan what looked increasingly like a long and involved holiday in the west of Canada. The University of Calgary had thanked Daine effusively for agreeing to be part of their vet-school curriculum committee and encouraged her, as she was travelling to Canada for the first time, to stay and see the local sights—"the Alberta Advantage," the Dean of the vet school had said. Her supervisor at the Zoo had also urged her to take advantage of the opportunity for an extended break (restraining herself with some difficulty, Daine felt, from actually using the word "workaholic"). And Numair, of course, had brooked no argument. "Right," she had told him at last: "You're the researcher. Go and do some research, then, and work out some sort of itinerary. And no posh hotels, mind."
The moment his last stack of final papers were marked, he had taken the job on with what seemed to her an almost indecent level of enthusiasm.
As Daine watched, a sixth message piled in on top of the others. "Free for lunch?" it inquired.
"That depends," she muttered. "Am I going to get any work done today, or will I spend it all reading your e-mails?"
But she opened that one, and answered it, and she was smiling as she stood and left her office to attend the daily meeting of the Zoo's veterinary staff.
"Look," Numair said happily, turning Daine's laptop around to face her. "Have you ever seen anything so astonishing?"
She looked, preparing to humour him, and nearly choked on her cheese and onion roll. "Is that natural?" she demanded, once she had swallowed. "How can it be that colour?"
They were looking at an aerial photo of a small glacier-fed lake in the Canadian Rockies, a vivid turquoise jewel set in the midst of grey rock and deep-green boreal forest.
"Silt, apparently," said Numair. "I haven't had a chance to do much reading on that subject as yet, but it seems that—"
"You can tell me all about it later," she interrupted. "I've got rounds to do in forty-five minutes, you know."
"Right," he said, not even slightly deflated. "I've downloaded maps of Banff, Jasper, Kootenay, Yoho, and Waterton National Parks, and the University bookshop are ordering me some trail guides. What we want is to camp in the 'back country,' apparently, away from the majority of the walkers—hikers, they call them there. The University there will let us hire tents, sleeping bags, a campstove, and so forth, and the cost seems very reasonable. Though it's difficult to be sure," he added, frowning a little, "as the exchange rate seems to fluctuate by the moment. And we can get to the 'back country' from Calgary by train or by bus or by hiring a car or bicycles, depending on where we want to go."
"You've been a busy lad," Daine commented. "Did I remember to ask you to do the washing-up and mow the lawn and run the hoover while you're about it?"
"Now, what about dinosaur fossils?" Numair continued, undeterred. "It's in the opposite direction to the mountains, but I'm told the palaeontology museum makes a lovely weekend trip …"
On the first Friday in June, Daine's post included a letter from Miri Larse, stuffed with photos of eighteen-month-old Nathan and ending with a sympathetic "Fingers crossed for you, love!"
She had seen Numair flinch reflexively when she picked up the envelope from the coffee table (she knew, though he hadn't told her, that he had been systematically pre-screening all the post since the occasion when an invitation to a colleague's third baby shower had sent her into a two-day crying jag), and while she was reading the letter and examining the rather blurry photos—as a photographer, Miri had always made a good vet—she felt him hovering at the other end of the sofa, pretending to read his own post but glancing up at her so often that he could not possibly really be doing so.
To her astonishment, Miri's letter left her feeling uncomplicatedly happy for her friends. "Look," she said to her husband, holding out a photo that showed Nathan and Evin playing tug-of-war with what looked like a P.E. sock. "Isn't he sweet?"
Numair took the snap from her fingers cautiously, as though it (or she) might burst into flame. She saw him look down at it, grin spontaneously, then carefully compose his face before meeting her eyes again. "Very," he agreed, his voice expressionless.
"It's all right, 'Mair," she told him, and reached out to squeeze his hand. His answering grip was so urgent that she squeaked, and he quickly loosened his hold. "Really, I'm OK."
He was still staring at her as if waiting for the penny to drop. "Leave off," she said, annoyed, and poked him with her foot.
At this, finally, he grinned and held out a hand for the rest of the snaps. "Let's have a look at the little monster, then," he said, and she snuggled against his side as he settled down to look.
"You're looking very chipper," Alanna remarked casually. "I think your Wild West adventure must be doing you good already. When exactly is it that you go?"
They were sitting in the back garden of the Swanston house, sipping lemonade and enjoying a warm, drowsy June afternoon.
"D'you know, I'm not sure?" Daine laughed. "The beginning of next month, I know that much. The first or second. I put Numair in charge of making all the arrangements, and you know how he is once he gets the bit between his teeth … I haven't had time to think about it much, to be honest. I'm that busy at the Zoo these days—some of the others are a bit nervous about doing without me for a whole month. I've heard stories about how the cats behave when I'm gone too long," she added darkly.
"And you're quite sure you want to leave young Aly in full charge of all you possess for five weeks?"
"If there's something else she'd rather be doing—" Daine began. She had worried about this part of the plan from the beginning, concerned that Aly would end up by resenting the responsibility.
"Good Lord, no," said Alanna. "It isn't that—she's thrilled. She's been quite insufferable about it, actually—anyone would think she'd been given command of a cavalry company or some such."
"Oh," said Daine, relieved but also, oddly, a little unnerved: she had, she realized, been half expecting something to go wrong at the last moment, forcing them to cancel their plans, but every day, now, made it more likely that she would really have to go through with the trip. And she was looking forward to it—really, she was—all but the bits that would require travelling across the Atlantic Ocean in an aeroplane. "What is it, then?"
Alanna glanced round as though checking for eavesdroppers. "Aly's not very dependable," she said bluntly. "I worry about what you might find when you get back."
Daine stared at her friend, confused. "Not dependable? Aly?" she repeated. "But when she volunteers at the Zoo, she never misses a week—she's scarcely ever late, even, and if she is she always rings to tell me—and she never complains that the work's too hard. She'll even muck out, though the volunteers aren't meant to have to do that. And she's lovely with the animals. We'd not have asked her otherwise."
"That doesn't sound at all like my daughter." Alanna sighed. "Did you see her hair? But I'll have to take your word for it, I suppose—I know how likely you are to pull your punches."
"I did notice the hair," Daine chuckled. Aly had been to visit her brother Thom at Oxford near the end of term, and had come home with her strawberry-blonde mane dyed bright blue. "She blamed it on one of Thom's friends who's doing chemistry. It seems plausible enough. Really, Alanna, it's only hair—it doesn't make her an irresponsible person."
Another sigh. "Probably she plays up because she's annoyed with me for even suggesting that she consider doing something useful with her life. A good mother would know how to sort her out, I'm sure. I'm at a loss."
Daine was about to protest that of course Alanna was a good mother, but a rush of disconnected memories from conversations with Alan, Thom and—especially—Aly over the past decade stopped her mouth. Much as she loved and admired her friend, she had to admit that, in fact, mothering was not Alanna's forte.
"We all do the best we can," she said instead.
Daine looked around the bedroom and sighed. Had she been asked a week ago, she would have said that this room could not possibly get any more chaotic; now, though, it looked as though a full gale had blown through it.
"I knew I ought to've done the packing myself," she muttered darkly.
"What was that, love?" Numair's flushed face appeared over the side of the bed, one eyebrow raised questioningly.
"Nothing," she said. "Have you actually packed anything yet? Or are you still, how did you put it, 'sorting things out'?" She couldn't understand his sudden incompetence—this wasn't so very different, surely, from packing for a conference or a camping trip, both of which she had seen him do dozens of times without all this … fuss.
Numair had the grace to look a bit sheepish. "I haven't quite decided how much reading material I'll need—"
"They have got a library there, you know," Daine interrupted. "I looked it up—it's got twelve storeys. I'm sure you'll find something to read."
"Right, yes, but there's that article for Wildlife Biology that needs finishing, and the page proofs for my chapter in Lindhall's book—"
"Both of which are on your hard drive. Look," she said kindly, taking pity on him. "Why don't you let me have a go at the packing, and you can, em, you can take Mammoth and Mangle out for a run. I'm sure all three of you'd feel better for some fresh air."
"What are you doing, vetkin? Enjoying the sunset?"
"No—well—nothing really. Checking round the garden to make sure everything's as it should be. I should hate to leave any nasty surprises for Aly."
Numair nodded. Griffin had once brought home a baby rabbit and petite, delicate Cloud, incredibly, a fully-grown magpie—it wouldn't be pleasant for Aly, so tenderhearted where beasts and, especially, birds were concerned, to find such a thing. And you never knew what the several hedgehogs resident at the bottom of the garden might have got up to with the local squirrels, badgers and foxes.
"She can always summon the cavalry, you know, if anything … untoward should happen," he reminded Daine as she roved the perimeter of the back garden. And it's an odds-on bet something will. "George or Alanna or one of the lads could be here in a few minutes."
Daine laughed. "Aly doesn't like to summon the cavalry," she said. "She likes to take care of things on her own. Once at the Zoo, when I—when I wasn't there, young Nigel made a pass, rather an, em, enthusiastic one, and … have I never told you this story?"
He shook his head, retroactively angry.
"Well, the point is, two Thursdays later Nigel had a little trouble."
"What sort of trouble?" Numair inquired.
Daine grinned wolfishly. "All sorts," she said. "But mainly penguins. Someone had somehow filled all his uniform pockets with frozen smelts then left them to thaw, and he emptied them out before putting his uniform on, of course, but he still reeked of raw fish. When the Penguin Parade went by, the little beggars mobbed him, and he had to be rescued." She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Are you sure I haven't told you about this?"
"I'm sure." He was grinning now. "I couldn't possibly forget that. I never did like Nigel, you know. I'm delighted to hear that he got his comeuppance—and from our Aly, too."
"Not that there was ever any proof, mind. But," Daine concluded, "I don't think we need worry that she'll let our beasties bully her. Still, though …"
She continued her prowl around the garden; Numair (realizing now that the inspection was more for her own benefit than for Aly's) dropped into a chair near the back door of the house and sat with his long legs extended, watching her. Though he had known Daine so long and so well that everything about her was familiar, certain things continually amazed him. The prowling was one. It must be just a trick of the light, surely, but in the gathering dusk, in her jeans and dark t-shirt, her curls pulled back into a thick plait, she looked almost more like a big cat—a panther, a leopard—than like a woman. Her bare feet made no sound that he could hear, and the increasing darkness seemed to make no difference to her silent, careful survey of her territory.
My territory. The proprietary instinct that he tried to keep in check flared for a moment—triggered not by the twilit garden but by the bewitchingly wild figure at its edge. The garden … well, he did love the garden, had loved it before he ever met her, but he knew that, were she not there to share it with him, it would be only grass and shrubs and flowers. Our territory.
She dropped to her knees in the shadow of a lilac bush, and he started to his feet instinctively. He was about to laugh at himself for overreacting when, across the stillness of the garden, he heard her cry out—a low, sad sound that sent him racing toward her crouched form.
Twin missiles, one ginger, one black, erupted from the cat-flap and hurtled across the lawn. By the time Numair reached his wife, Cloud and Griffin had twined themselves comfortingly about her, while the third member of the cat triumvirate and two of the resident hedgehogs had emerged from the shrubbery, Spots contributing his loudest, most reassuring purr and the hedgehogs snuffling anxiously around Daine's bare feet. Numair—completely unsurprised by this odd alliance of feline and erinaceid—crouched beside them and put an arm around Daine's shoulders.
"What is it, love?" he asked her gently.
Wordlessly she brought her right hand up to her chest and opened it to show him a small white object. He took it from her and squinted at it.
"A baby's shoe?" he asked. "What was that doing in our back garden?"
Daine didn't answer; he hadn't really expected her to, and of course the tiny shoe might have come there in any number of ways, most of them involving Mammoth or (more likely) Mangle or one of the cats. Its provenance didn't really matter. He stuffed the grubby, pathetic object into the pocket of his trousers.
"Come inside, dear heart," he said. "It's late, and it's dark. You can finish inspecting in the morning."
He helped her to her feet and led her into the house, where he tucked her up on the sofa with Cloud in her lap and Mammoth at her feet and then settled in beside her, drawing her head down onto his chest and holding her close. Her hand found his and gripped it tight.
She had not uttered another sound.
Not now, he prayed silently to whomever, whatever, might be listening. Not this, not now. They were due to leave the next morning—the Coopers were coming to bring Aly and to give the travellers a lift to the airport—and he knew how Daine would hate anyone but him to see her like this.
Her breathing slowed; her grip on his fingers eased. "Daine?" Numair whispered.
She was asleep.
He lifted her in his arms and carried her up to bed; undressed her as best he could without waking her, tucked the duvet round her, perched beside her on the bed, stroking her hair.
He had woken this morning feeling happy and wonderfully alive, eager to begin what he privately called their "transatlantic adventure." Now he felt tired and anxious and old. There was washing-up to be done, and packing to finish, and no doubt all manner of other last-minute things to be seen to, but Numair felt completely unable to tackle any of them.
Sleep would help, he decided, and he undressed swiftly, pulled on the bottom half of the nearest pair of pyjamas, cleaned his teeth with less thoroughness than usual, and slipped into bed beside Daine, curling his body around hers to keep her warm. Her deep, slow breathing reassured him, and within minutes he was asleep.
He half-woke an hour or more later when Daine, her eyes still closed, turned in his embrace, lithe as a cat, and put her arms round his neck, pressing the length of her sleep-warm body against him. Her lips sought his, soft and yielding yet somehow insistent, and he let himself respond.
In the morning he woke wondering whether their languorous, gentle lovemaking had been only a dream.