schedule to lull her to sleep. She was just dropping off when a noise exploded into the bedroom. Her eyes flew open.
The bedroom fell silent again.
She waited.
What was that – the boiler?
Nothing happened.
She exhaled. It must have been a dream.
Uneasy, Hannah shut her eyes.
The noise burst into the room again, forcing her upright.
It was horrible. An agonized honking.
Then she knew.
An animal.
It was the braying she’d heard when they arrived on Saturday, but much – much – louder.
Hannah wrapped the duvet around her and shuffled to the window. The noise came from the field to the left, behind the garage. She traced her finger down the condensation, swaying as her eyes closed again.
Maybe it would stop in a minute.
The insistent roar blasted into the room again. Then again. Every minute or so.
No one could sleep with that. She remembered a story Ian told them at Nan Riley’s funeral about weekending Londoners asking Suffolk locals to stop their cockerels crowing at dawn. She’d laughed at the time, but this wasn’t funny. This was the middle of the night. Cursing, she padded downstairs, turning on lights, and pulled on a coat, gloves and Will’s wet frog wellies. She took a torch from the toolbox, placed the door on the latch and stepped outside into the freezing night.
Screwing up her eyes against the snow, she followed the bellowing towards the garage, her lips and fingers turning numb. Spitting snowflakes from her mouth, she shone the torch on the fence behind the garage and saw a space, just a few feet wide.
She sighed. This was ridiculous.
With no choice, she squeezed into the gap and sidled along the farmer’s fence. Weeds brushed against her clothes, soaking her further. There was another deafening bray, much louder now. A second later her beam caught the end of a long nose lifting up through the snow on the other side. There was a trembling of nostrils and then another honk.
A
donkey
?
Hannah approached carefully, trying not to frighten it.
‘Hello,’ she called softly. The donkey looked young. It was small – its back as high as her chest – and was wearing a thin waterproof jacket inside a makeshift wooden shelter. The shelter was hardly bigger than its body, and left its hindquarters and nose exposed.
This was appalling. The animal was clearly distressed.
The donkey brayed again, showing teeth. Hannah sheltered her eyes from the snow, and tried to see where the donkey had come from. Two dim lights shone through the flurry across the field. Both could belong to farms, but it would be impossible to know which one owned the donkey.
It brayed again, so loudly that she put her hands over her ears.
Snow drifted into gaps in her clothes and she felt her body temperature falling. Both farms must be a ten-minute walk across the exposed field. It wasn’t safe to set off in this weather. Nobody even knew she was out here.
Hannah shone her torch on a gate further down the field and headed for it. ‘OK, boy. Hang on.’
Balancing on a bumpy crop track, she slipped and stumbled her way up to the donkey and, with the torch in her mouth, fumbled to unknot the rope.
‘Come on, boy,’ she said, desperate to get back inside.
She tugged and, to her relief, the donkey came meekly through the gate to the garage. Opening the doors and switching on the bare bulb, Hannah saw the animal was pale grey and skinny, with sweet, sorry-looking eyes.
‘Who did this to you, hmm?’ she asked, rubbing its nose. Its fur was tufty, like Will’s hair when he got fed up with it and sheared it short. Some patches were bare.
Hannah looked around. The garage was a mess. It looked as if the house-clearance people hadn’t touched it. There were oil patches and dried mud on the floor and old smears of paint, and that same strong smell of petrol or diesel. The removal men had piled up their gardening tools and bikes in the corner.
Hannah tied the donkey to a wall-hook and removed the soaking blanket,
The bedroom fell silent again.
She waited.
What was that – the boiler?
Nothing happened.
She exhaled. It must have been a dream.
Uneasy, Hannah shut her eyes.
The noise burst into the room again, forcing her upright.
It was horrible. An agonized honking.
Then she knew.
An animal.
It was the braying she’d heard when they arrived on Saturday, but much – much – louder.
Hannah wrapped the duvet around her and shuffled to the window. The noise came from the field to the left, behind the garage. She traced her finger down the condensation, swaying as her eyes closed again.
Maybe it would stop in a minute.
The insistent roar blasted into the room again. Then again. Every minute or so.
No one could sleep with that. She remembered a story Ian told them at Nan Riley’s funeral about weekending Londoners asking Suffolk locals to stop their cockerels crowing at dawn. She’d laughed at the time, but this wasn’t funny. This was the middle of the night. Cursing, she padded downstairs, turning on lights, and pulled on a coat, gloves and Will’s wet frog wellies. She took a torch from the toolbox, placed the door on the latch and stepped outside into the freezing night.
Screwing up her eyes against the snow, she followed the bellowing towards the garage, her lips and fingers turning numb. Spitting snowflakes from her mouth, she shone the torch on the fence behind the garage and saw a space, just a few feet wide.
She sighed. This was ridiculous.
With no choice, she squeezed into the gap and sidled along the farmer’s fence. Weeds brushed against her clothes, soaking her further. There was another deafening bray, much louder now. A second later her beam caught the end of a long nose lifting up through the snow on the other side. There was a trembling of nostrils and then another honk.
A
donkey
?
Hannah approached carefully, trying not to frighten it.
‘Hello,’ she called softly. The donkey looked young. It was small – its back as high as her chest – and was wearing a thin waterproof jacket inside a makeshift wooden shelter. The shelter was hardly bigger than its body, and left its hindquarters and nose exposed.
This was appalling. The animal was clearly distressed.
The donkey brayed again, showing teeth. Hannah sheltered her eyes from the snow, and tried to see where the donkey had come from. Two dim lights shone through the flurry across the field. Both could belong to farms, but it would be impossible to know which one owned the donkey.
It brayed again, so loudly that she put her hands over her ears.
Snow drifted into gaps in her clothes and she felt her body temperature falling. Both farms must be a ten-minute walk across the exposed field. It wasn’t safe to set off in this weather. Nobody even knew she was out here.
Hannah shone her torch on a gate further down the field and headed for it. ‘OK, boy. Hang on.’
Balancing on a bumpy crop track, she slipped and stumbled her way up to the donkey and, with the torch in her mouth, fumbled to unknot the rope.
‘Come on, boy,’ she said, desperate to get back inside.
She tugged and, to her relief, the donkey came meekly through the gate to the garage. Opening the doors and switching on the bare bulb, Hannah saw the animal was pale grey and skinny, with sweet, sorry-looking eyes.
‘Who did this to you, hmm?’ she asked, rubbing its nose. Its fur was tufty, like Will’s hair when he got fed up with it and sheared it short. Some patches were bare.
Hannah looked around. The garage was a mess. It looked as if the house-clearance people hadn’t touched it. There were oil patches and dried mud on the floor and old smears of paint, and that same strong smell of petrol or diesel. The removal men had piled up their gardening tools and bikes in the corner.
Hannah tied the donkey to a wall-hook and removed the soaking blanket,
Similar Books
