A Leap of Faith by Trisha Ashley

Author:Trisha Ashley
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781473526105
Publisher: Transworld

Chapter 17

Doggone

‘It’s quite a scramble down,’ Gil warned.

‘That’s fine, we were only just saying that we longed for a good scramble, weren’t we, Mu?’

Since she’d already spent an hour or more promenading down a windswept beach, followed by the long, steep climb back up, her agreement was resigned rather than enthusiastic.

Gil was certainly right about the scramble: we were soon following in his wake down a vertiginous sheep track to a lonely cove, on the far side of the headland to the putative jumping-off site.

Gil chatted all the way down, without seeming to need any reply, which was fortunate, since Mu and I were both fully occupied in clinging to the cliff face.

Did I realize, he enquired, that I was named after a famous Greek poetess who died falling off a cliff? I’d better be careful not to follow suit, heh, heh!

Mu and I made eyes-crossed, tongue-out gargoyle faces at each other behind his oblivious back. And he was certainly spry, for he went down there like a mountain goat, confessing sheepishly over his shoulder that he was a twitcher, which I’d previously thought to be some strange religious sect like Holy Rolling, but which turned out only to mean that he spotted rare birds like other men spot trains, and pursued the sightings all over the place.

We arrived somewhat dishevelled and out of breath at the cliff base, glad to feel the sand beneath our feet.

The sun was shining, the sea was going ‘shush! shush!’ and the gulls were kicking up a hell of a racket. Gil was still maundering on.

‘On this very spot last year I saw a very rare visitor indeed. A—’

‘What are those gulls over there making such a racket about?’ Mu broke in without ceremony. ‘By the rocks?’

She began picking her way delicately through the snares of seaweed to where a small humped shape, beset by flying scavengers, was being gently nudged by the sea’s advancing lip.

I followed, despite Gil’s plaintive bleat of, ‘Better let me go first, ladies – it may be something unpleasant!’

Ignoring him, we shooed off the gulls and stared sadly down at what had once been a gross, smelly, beloved old dog; a dog who had never known a moment’s fear in his life – I hoped. I hoped it had been that way right to the end.

‘It’s – oh, it’s only a dog,’ Gil said, sounding relieved, though looking a bit white behind the navy-lark beard. ‘Come away – it’s a bit grisly, but the gulls will clean it up. It’s Nature’s way, you know—’

He broke off and exclaimed with horror, ‘What on earth are you doing?’

With reverent revulsion I was unbuckling the pulpy remains of a gay tartan collar from around the old, sodden throat that would never now whinge for another chocolate biscuit.

‘There’s no way anyone could tell how he died now,’ observed Mu. ‘Something other than the gulls has been at him – there’s not really much left at all. Maybe there are piranhas off the Gower?’

‘I

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