Lucy Read online

  LUCY

  By

  CHRIS COPPEL

  Pumpkin Pie Publishing

  105 Old Bath Road

  Charvil

  RG10 9QN

  UK

  Lucy

  Copyright © 2021 by Chris Coppel

  The characters and events, other that historical ones, to be found in these pages are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Many, although not all, of the locations mentioned in this novel may be found in London, England.

  ISBN:

  Paperback: 978-1-80227-017-4

  eBook: 978-1-80227-018-1

  Coppel, Chris

  Lucy

  This is a modernised and re-edited version of the novel Far From Burden Dell by Chris Coppel (ISBN: 0-974648167)

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without permission from the Publisher except for the purposes of reviewing, promoting or recommending. For permission, please contact the publisher at [email protected].

  I’ve seen the look in a dogs’ eyes, a quickly vanishing look of amazed contempt, and I am convinced that basically dogs think humans are nuts.

  —John Steinbeck

  Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the centre of their universe, we are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without doubt the best deal man has ever made.

  —Roger Caras

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  EPILOGUE

  Author’s Note

  Author’s Bio

  CHAPTER 1

  Lucy couldn’t have been happier.

  She opened her eyes from her early afternoon nap and blinked at the brightness of the spring sun. As she looked about herself, she felt her chest swell with the sheer pleasure and contentment of life.

  She watched as a mallard led her four young ducklings to the circular pond at the end of the garden. Lucy smiled as she observed the mindful mother duck watch as each duckling garnered sufficient courage to jump into the still waters. Once in, they immediately regrouped into a single line and moved off with a great sense of purpose and direction.

  Lucy couldn’t help recalling her own youth and the strict disciplines her mother had imposed on any such trips into the wilds.

  Beyond the pond, Lucy could see the fields of the Granger’s farm. Two large chestnut mares were peacefully strolling up a gentle grassy slope. Their heads were close together as they walked, probably discussing their strategies for their next horse show. Their strides were fluid and supremely confident as can only come from decades of impeccable breeding. Lucy had no doubt that one, if not both, of Granger’s fine horses would return with a trophy. She could almost hear the buzz that was sure to come as the entire village relived every second of every event - from the easiest two-foot cross pole to the fearsome and impossible heights of the wall.

  Lucy rolled over and stretched, sending a warm rush through her muscles and limbs. She then stood and looked down in fascination as the lush lawn slowly gave up her body’s imprint and blade by blade straightened, returning to its previous uniform plane. Lucy slowly wandered to the top of her hill and looked out over the sprawling vistas of the West Sussex Downs. She could see hill upon hill, undulating endlessly to . . . she really wasn’t certain where they stretched to, but that didn’t matter. She wondered how some of her friends who remained permanently in the city could cope with their limited and artificial view of the world. And the smells! In the city, Lucy could distinguish little over the constant reek of burning vapours coming from the thousands of manmade travelling machines. Here however, Lucy could, on a winter’s breeze, detect the succulent waft of a particular thistle that she knew to dwell some three fields away.

  She turned and looked at her home. It was incredibly old, even Lucy knew that. She had heard the term Elizabethan used, and though not understanding its meaning fully, she knew that it meant, well . . . .old. The whiteness of the heavy walls was almost dazzling to her eyes as the sun reflected back at her. The heavy thatch of the roofing was so perfectly set and cropped that it was hard to imagine it as being made up of little more than the hay on which she’d spent many an afternoon napping contentedly.

  Lucy walked out of the sun’s warmth and into the cool interior of the cottage. She never ceased to marvel at the smell of her home. The mixture of old stone, polished woods, exquisite kitchen odours, and her favourite, the tangy scent of the half-burned logs in the hearth that somehow permeated everything. She could feel the timeless cold that rose from the worn smooth stone beneath her feet. Then as she stepped onto the heavy rug, she would sigh at the difference in feel. It wasn’t that she minded the cold sensation, after all, walking the grounds during a January freeze was one of her great pleasures, but still, the warmth offered by a really fine rug was almost indescribable.

  Lucy made her way into the kitchen to see what Cook was up to. She realised it was too soon after lunch for her to begin the extensive toiling that preceded each meal in the cottage. She wasn’t surprised to find the room empty.

  She wandered casually over to her indoor bowl and checked just in case one of those unexpected, yet always appreciated, titbits had materialised. None had. She checked to see that no morsel had been left in any of the accessible reaches, also without success. She wasn’t hungry; in fact, she often wondered what it was that compelled her to look for food even on occasions when she wasn’t the least bit peckish. After checking a few more potential food spots, she forgot what she was even searching for.

  No matter.

  Her sensitive ears suddenly picked up the gentle sounds of Cook humming somewhere in the distance. Lucy moved to the bay window of the breakfast nook, and placing her front paws on the sill, lifted herself in order to look out the window. This was not her favourite viewing window as the glass was set in tiny triangular sections with lead frames. Each piece of glass was uneven and gave the world a distorted almost watery look. On a sunny day, each pane was able to catch and refract light into a burst of multi-coloured specks which would dance and dart about the kitchen walls. Lucy vaguely remembered a time when she used to try and catch the luminous droplets with a frustrating lack of success. Now of course, she knew better. But she would; after all, she was almost three!

  She squinted through the glass and could make out Cook’s matronly form as she knelt at her small but cherished herb and vegetable garden. Oh, the vegetable garden! Now that was a lesson well learnt! Lucy could almost feel the surprising pain that had been dealt out that fateful day by Cook. Lucy didn’t hold a grudge, in fact, Cook had quite understandably used the ‘bad voice’ quite a few times in warning before having to
resort to causing the hurt to Lucy’s nose. Despite her limited ability to accurately recall many events in her life, that day was still vividly memorable.

  Lucy had been only eight months old and was in the garden having a well-deserved post lunch nap. During such naps, she would occasionally open one eye and watch as the clouds formed and re-formed high above her. She would imagine seeing a face then almost immediately it would change to some other shape. One second a rabbit, next a huge oak tree.

  Lucy had been watching Cook for weeks as she dug up the smooth green blanket of lawn. As if that hadn’t been odd enough, Cook then proceeded to remove a large quantity of soil, only to replace it with completely different soil a few days later. The new soil had a musty, earthy scent that you could almost taste on your tongue. Lucy had tried to join Cook in the soil-filled square to offer support or even help, but Cook had turned her away and pushed her off the plot on each occasion. Lucy had been surprised as she had seen nothing of any great interest in Cook’s little project, but she had accepted her banishment with calm indifference.

  But the day of the hurt was quite different.

  Lucy was awakened from her nap by the sound of Cook tapping little lengths of wood into the soil, along the perimeter of the earthy patch. As Lucy looked on, Cook finished with the tapping then proceeded to string heavy twine between the wood posts. Lucy found this very perplexing. She moved closer and tried to step over the twine, but immediately heard Cook using the unmistakable ‘bad voice’. She stepped back and looked on as Cook began burying things in the earth. Different things. Some from thin little envelopes, others from paper bags. It was simply too unusual and tickled every curiosity nerve in Lucy’s being.

  She had to find out what was going on. She knew why she buried items, but couldn’t remember ever having seen a human doing the same. She attempted to cross the barrier again, but once more was barraged with the ‘bad voice’ from Cook. Well, that was too much for her. Lucy walked away and eased herself down onto the green lawn and pretended to doze, all the while keeping her eyes on Cook and the mystery plot of land.

  Cook eventually finished what she was doing, then stepped over her string perimeter and headed back to the house. She hesitated then approached Lucy. She wagged a finger at her then pointed to the plot. Her voice didn’t contain the ‘bad’ edge, but it was firm and definitely not the ‘good’ voice that always preceded a hug or a tasty tidbit.

  Lucy understood the message very clearly, and for a few seconds decided to abide by its meaning. But there was a far stronger force at work inside her. No sooner had she set her mind on giving Cook’s land a wide berth, when she found herself on her feet, slowly approaching that very same piece of land. She knew that she should stop but somehow just couldn’t. She had to know what was buried in there. She just had to.

  Lucy tried to make her approach seem casual, and only occasionally glanced fleetingly back at the cottage. Suddenly she had arrived. She was at the perimeter. She cautiously stepped over the barricade and felt the moist warmth of the turned soil as it spread between her paw pads. She sniffed at the earth to try and get a clue as to the nature of the buried treasure beneath but picked up nothing except the twang of the rich earth itself. There was nothing else for it. She began to dig. It was surprisingly easy to part the soil. It piled up rapidly behind her as she used all her strength in the effort. Suddenly, her nose picked up a new scent. She was close. She was going to solve the mystery. Her entire body was electric with excitement.

  That’s when she heard Cook.

  She’d never imagined that Cook could sound like that. Her voice was so loud, and so shrill it almost hurt her ears.

  Lucy turned and spotted the waddling form as Cook stormed towards her. She had one of the funny bundles of paper that her Man liked to sit and stare at every morning.

  They were strange things. Each day a young human on two wheels would throw a new bundle at the house before her Man, or even Cook were awake. Whatever they were, they must have been important. Her Man would grab the bundle the moment it arrived, then sit staring at different parts of it for ages. What was truly odd, was that no matter how much attention these bundles were given each day, her Man usually ended up setting fire to them inside the place where the logs were burned.

  Humans can be very strange!

  Lucy could not imagine what Cook planned to do with the bundle. As Lucy watched, Cook rolled it into a tight tube as she neared the plot of land. Lucy cocked her head to make sure that Cook understood her curiosity. Lucy offered Cook a smile, but to her amazement, and then horror, saw Cook bring the paper tube down onto her nose; extremely hard.

  Oh, the pain!

  It was as if for a moment, her body became pain itself. For a fraction of a second Lucy’s world exploded in bright light. She shook her head to clear her vision and immediately saw that Cook was about to repeat the procedure. Lucy responded by pure instinct and ran. She didn’t even know that she was running until she hit the twine fence. She didn’t have time to think about jumping, she just went right through it—well, almost through it. Somehow the string got tangled up in her legs, and before she knew it, she was halfway across the garden towing the entire length of Cook’s perimeter fence, posts and all. She could clearly hear Cook calling after her in a voice such as she had never heard emitted from a human before. She remembered hiding under the stairs for what felt like an eternity until her Man had, after exhaustive attempts, coaxed her out of her hiding place and back into the kitchen. He had attempted to arrange a reconciliation between her and Cook, but Lucy could sense Cook’s hostility, not only for that night but for weeks hence. There were no pats, no titbits, no sweet talk, nothing. The little plot of land was barricaded again, strenuously guarded, and before long produced an array of vegetable foods that Lucy was certain she remembered having seen be produced from shopping bags before all the fuss had begun. Eventually Cook had forgiven her, and things had returned to normal but the memory of the pain!

  Lucy stretched herself to her full length, sauntered out of the kitchen, then moved down the narrow hall to her Man’s day room. As usual, the heavy door was shut as he worked away inside. She tried pushing it open with her nose, but it was well and truly shut. She considered a good bark to let him know that she was ready for a walk, should he be interested, but decided instead to wait. The rug in front of his door was one of Lucy’s favourites, so she settled herself down for a brief nap. She tried to remember a thought she’d had only moments earlier then fell asleep.

  Almost immediately, she started to dream.

  She was chasing a rabbit through impossibly high grass under a summer’s sky. She was only just managing to keep its fluffy tail in view when suddenly, the grass and the rabbit just vanished. Lucy had the most unusual sensation of feeling extremely uncomfortable. She didn’t know where she was, only that the sky had turned slate grey and she felt frightened and alone. She was on a narrow path leading down a steep and rocky mountainside. She was limping and saw that her normally golden coat was matted with mud and . . . Lucy shuddered as she realised it was blood. Her blood. The stony trail under her feet was dark and slippery. She felt that something was approaching, something bad. She began to run even though it hurt her leg. She rounded a corner and saw that the path ended abruptly. It simply stopped, leaving a terrifying drop into a seemingly bottomless void. Lucy could see that the path resumed some twenty or so paws across the abyss. She circled where she stood, trying to decide what to do, then felt the nearness of whatever was approaching. A watery chill ran the length of her spine, and she knew she had no choice. She stepped back as far as she thought safe, then ran towards the gap. She reached the end of the path, then with a mighty surge of strength, launched herself to the other side. She knew she was going to make it and could see the other path as she neared it, but suddenly it wasn’t as close. As she flew towards other side, it appeared to move farther away. She realised that she was not going make it a
fter all. Lucy felt herself falling. Down she fell into a swirling, dark mist. She just kept on falling, then felt something on her coat. Something was working its way along her stomach. She heard laughter, then felt something else against her head.

  She opened her eyes, and saw her Man kneeling next to her. He was stroking her between the ears and speaking gently to her. She could hear her Man’s words very clearly; she just couldn’t fully understand them.

  “Come on girl, it’s all right,” her Man gently mouthed. “What a dream you were having.”

  He patted her golden coat affectionately and eased himself to his feet.

  “How about a walk?”

  If there was one word that Lucy always recognised, it was that one. Walk! That magical word that always preceded special times alone with her Man. She untangled her legs and jumped to her feet giving him two eager barks. Two barks was the exact and appropriate response needed to convey total interest without any appearance of desperation. Lucy’s mother had been extremely strict and specific when teaching the subtleties of bark usage when interacting with bipeds.

  One bark was just to let people know that you were around. Two was . . . well, we covered two. Three was the first stage of a more serious need or concern. The quantity of barks was then to progress in direct proportion to the given urgency of the situation. Her mother had been specific that the bark was never to be abused, as was so often the case with some of the smaller breeds. For some reason, maybe it was a size thing, but smaller dogs didn’t appear capable of any self-control when it came to barking.

  Her Man opened the front door for her and waited as she politely passed out into the late afternoon sun. What a gentleman he was. Lucy, knowing the routine well, stopped and eased herself onto her haunches. Her Man slipped a leather ring over her head, then turned it so that its shiny metal disk was under her chin. Lucy had no idea what this little ritual achieved, but it was religiously carried out before each walk. When her Man had first started making her wear a . . . what was their word . . . ah yes, collar, she’d tried everything imaginable to get it off her. She’d rolled on it. She once got her paw under it, and after some strenuous contortions, managed to get it stuck in her mouth and couldn’t free it. Eventually however, she realised that it didn’t bother her all that much, and with it being very important to her Man, she decided to allow it to stay in place.