Heart-shaped Smudge

‘Filthy,’ muttered a voice, within a wisp of Elvira’s hearing. Bristling on the inside Elvira stood a little taller, preparing to do battle. Turning sharply on her heel before she lost her nerve, she looked the man straight in the eyes. 

So many people who came to Windy Ridge didn’t like it. Despite the name giving away its nature they complained about the cold, muttered what a desolate place it was, wondering why they’d visited. Elvira wondered the same. Why come to this place she loved and find fault with it. Mundane city types arrived and shrugged, as if they’d wasted their time. It was on the tip of Elvira’s tongue to tell them off, but she normally daren’t say a word. She sat on her bench, or walked the rim of the ridgeway, hearing their complaints and sighing silently. Elvira didn’t speak to the visitors, and they didn’t speak to her as she drifted along the ridge, interacting with the wind, enjoying its embrace and the rush of feeling alive.

So when a disparaging voice cut into her thoughts that day, with a sharp, accusatory tone, it was out of character for her to contemplate a confrontation, let alone actively turn and lean into one. Whirling, Elvira faced the cold, grey gaze of a middle aged man, narrowed to look at her coolly. 

‘Can I help you?’ she asked. What exactly did he think was filthy? 

‘Deaf old coot,’ he muttered, loud enough for her to hear. ‘This is a place of natural beauty.’

‘Yes it is,’ she said. What a strange conversation. Why was he angry about something they agreed on?

‘So can you kindly clear up after your mutt,’ he snapped. 

Elvira looked puzzled. He looked pointedly down at a steaming pile of dog mess near the bench foot.

‘But I don’t own a dog,’ she said. Apparently, this didn’t matter.

‘Well I don’t own the damn thing and we’re the only two up here,’ he said. In his logic that made him right and her wrong. As someone not used to talking, let alone arguing, with another human being, she let him think what he needed.

‘Ok,’ Elvira said, noncommittally, scanning to find the offending perpetrator, and meeting the chocolate brown eyes of a scruffy mongrel with matted fur.

‘Great, thanks,’ the man said, insincerely. ‘Can you at least try to be a friend of nature,’ he spat out, turning on his heel, stomping towards his car, starting it up in a sputter of fumes and careening from the spot where she stood.

Elvira smiled. Let him go. Let his toxicity go. She’d learned holding onto things wasn’t worth it. Live and let live was her motto. Latching on only led to hurt.

A cheeky bark drew her from her reverie.

‘And who do you belong to?’ she questioned the dog. Holding out her hand to let it sniff her, she gained enough trust for a lick and then moved fingers to its neck to feel for a collar. There was none. 

‘I guess for the time being you’d better come and stay with me,’ she suggested, and started along the ridge towards her little crooked cottage just beyond a thicket of trees.

-

Within two months, Mudge, as she’d named him, a him, she found out, was part of her world. Accompanying her daily walks along the ridge, curling up with her on the sofa at night to listen to old records, sleeping soundly at the foot of her bed. For the first time in a long time, Elvira shared her space with another soul. Her contentment dared to peak higher, reaching towards the realms of joy. 

Short-lived joy, as it turned out. Their Monday walk - always a quiet one, with the weekend’s tourists back to their busy working lives - took them past a series of posters on lampposts, with the unmistakable mugshot of Mudge peering out.

‘Well, they certainly took their time caring, didn’t they,’ Elvira muttered to Mudge, who gruffly barked in what she assumed was agreement. 

Back in her kitchen, nursing a cup of chamomile tea, with Mudge sitting on the chair next to her, his head perched on the table for ear rubs, Elvira talked through her thought process with him. She knew he understood.

‘The right thing to do is call them. Obviously. Whoever this Mrs Smith is, she sees you as part of her family. Yes?’ Her quick glance towards him elicited no response.

‘On the other hand… You found me. They lost you. And took ten weeks to notice. You came to me in such a state and now you’re happy. Well fed, well loved. I’d hate for you to go back to being an extra piece of furniture.’ She stared into his deep chocolate eyes. And sighed. Her parents had brought her up to do the right thing. Always. They were decades gone. Their values were from an age that no longer existed. Yet they lived on in Elvira. Her heart heavy, and with tears in her eyes, she wandered to the faded turquoise phone hanging on the wall and picked it up, dialling the number on the torn poster she’d brought home with her. 

-

Mrs Smith appeared to be a lady always in a hurry. Her tyres screeched as she drew up outside Elvira’s cottage and she tried two or three times to walk briskly from the car towards the gate, each time being drawn back by some ruckus Elvira couldn’t see, to lean into a window of the car and talk to someone therewithin. 

This suited Elvira. She didn’t want Mrs Smith coming into Mudge’s home and comparing it with the one she’d be taking him back to. Whether it was an unfavourable comparison or otherwise, Elvira wanted to avoid it. Walking Mudge out to greet them, with his new, smart red harness and retractable lead, he trotted with his little head held high, bravely meeting his fate. Mrs Smith looked relieved and harassed in the same moment and kept up the appearance of well bred manners whilst clearly having her attention torn into the car.

‘Thank you Vera, you’re a lifesaver,’ she said, in a high pitched voice that seemed squeezed from her throat. She was clearly having a bad day. Or maybe they were all bad. It wasn’t for Elvira to know or to judge, and she didn’t bother correcting her name to someone who would be gone in five minutes, wrenching a piece of Elvira’s heart out as she left.

‘Nicholas you need to take Boris in the back with you,’ Mrs Smith instructed into the rear window of her car. Elvira winced. Boris, really? She detested dogs with human names. Poor Mudge, what a reckoning. No more steak dinners, long walks on the ridge and weekly grooming. Elvira envisaged a life of cheap tinned food, a quick run around the garden and fur re-matting and growing grubby. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp exchange between Mrs Smith and the child sitting beyond the rear window. Elvira caught snippets but tried not to listen, not wanting to invade the family’s privacy.

‘Well swap with your sister if you won’t have the dog in the back with you… yes I guessed that was your plan all along. Well, Eleanor, take a bag if you think you’ll be sick… no he can’t sit in the front, he’d be a hazard...’

Eventually a stroppy teenager emerged from the back of the car and threw open the passenger door, hustling a small girl from the front seat, who slipped quietly into the back and affectionately wrapped her arms around Mudge. Finally, thought Elvira, someone who actually loves him. She’d hated hearing Mudge referred to as ‘the dog’. Elvira smiled at the girl, and was rewarded with a beautiful, dimpled grin back. 

Mrs Smith had already slid into the driving seat, an air of stress simmering around her. Elvira stood meekly at her gate and, uncustomarily, made herself heard.

‘Um,’ she said, affronted at her own boldness. Had she really said such a thing out loud?

‘Yes,’ Mrs Smith said, whipping around to face Elvira, clearly sensitive to all sounds, ready to attend to all queries and complaints. Elvira suddenly felt silly. How could she possibly say she was always here if they needed a break from caring for their family pet. Or changed their mind about wanting him. He was going home. She shook her head to indicate it was nothing.

‘Oh, of course,’ Mrs Smith said. And Elvira stood a little taller. Had she understood, read what Elvira had been thinking? Mrs Smith rummaged in her handbag. For a pen to take Elvira’s number perhaps. Or no, silly, everyone had those mobile phone contraptions these days. She would have captured it when Elvira first called. Mrs Smith turned back, a crisp twenty note in hand. Elvira’s brows flew together, confused.

‘The reward,’ Mrs Smith said, brightly. ‘For returning our boy to us.’

Shaking her head, sad at the finality of the goodbye, at the transactional nature of Mudge’s presence in this family, Elvira choked out some words, embarrassed by how much emotion they conveyed, how much sorrow they betrayed.

‘Keep it, please. Use it to buy Mu- uh, I mean, Boris, a toy. To welcome him. Home.’

‘If the old lady doesn't want it, can I have it for pocket money,’ came the gruff voice of the teenage boy. 

Mrs Smith exhaled, too exhausted to argue. ‘Sure,’ she said, dejectedly, handing him the reward. To Elvira she turned, ‘thank you, again,’ she said. Then she was off. 

-

Windy Ridge tore through the seasons, delivering a cold, cruel, and howling autumn. To Elvira, alone again, it was just noise. Little roused her. Until the shrill ringing of the phone, something she couldn’t ignore, interrupted her one October morning.

‘Vera, hi, it’s Barbara. Smith. Boris’s owner.’

Elvira felt a glimmer of light in the gloom. The call she’d dared to dream of.

‘Yes, hello, lovely to hear from you,’ she said, eagerly.

‘I’m sorry to say it’s not good news. Boris was killed yesterday. Hit by a car. He got out of the gate… Somehow… I’m not sure how. Unfortunately he was in so much pain from his injuries we had to put him down.’

The joy dropped out of Elvira. He was gone. It was over. She hadn’t felt this lonely since her dear old Daddy died.

‘Oh.’ Was all she managed. She wanted to scream ‘what a careless end. One that could have been avoided had he stayed’… but it was no use thinking about what ifs. Mudge was gone. Forever. 

‘I wanted to let you know, as you looked after him for those months and Eleanor thought you might want to come… It’s silly really, but she’s holding a small funeral for Boris this weekend and asked me to invite you.’

‘Oh,’ was all Elvira could manage, again. Tears streamed down her face. She knew if she said anything more, all Mrs Smith would hear down the phone was wracking sobs. There was a pause in their conversation, filled with a small snuffling sound, which Elvira realised with horror was her.

‘Well, I did warn Eleanor you’re a grown up and probably wouldn’t want to come, but thought it was worth asking and, also, letting you know the sad news.’

‘Mm hm,’ Elvira said, pressing her lips together to stop the emotion bursting out.

‘Well, um, thanks. And bye.’ A click let her know Mrs Smith had hung up, that it was safe to let out all her sadness, all her pain.

-

The only person who’d knocked on Elvira’s door in the past five years was the postman Ron, and that had been six months earlier, when Mudge’s bed was delivered. Surprised to hear the sound again, Elvira left the chain across the door, opened it a cautious crack, calling out, ‘is that you, Ron?’

‘Hi Vera, it’s Barbara. Smith. And Eleanor. We wondered if we could come in?’

No, she said in her head, but it would be too rude to say it aloud. She hadn’t received visitors - human ones, at least - for a decade. Pushing the door to unlatch it from the chain, Elvira opened it, the merest chink, putting her head in the gap.

‘I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Smith, but the place is an absolute state. I’d be aghast at anyone seeing it like this,’ she explained.

Mrs Smith stood, holding something bulky in her arms. Beside her was the little girl, Elvira remembered her name was Eleanor. Eleanor smiled at her, and Elvira’s heart melted a little.

‘Vera,’ Mrs Smith began in a no-nonsense tone, ‘I have three teenage sons who don’t know the meaning of the word tidy, a husband who thinks emptying the dishwasher once a week is an adequate share of the housework and a dog who enjoys eating my cushions for sport. I can promise you, I’ve seen worse.’ Elvira’s ears pricked up at the word dog. So they’d replaced Mudge. She relented to Mrs Smith's insistence at coming in; to refuse her now would be unthinkably rude.

‘Of course, please be my guest,’ she said, stepping aside, motioning for them to cross the threshold. 

‘And please, call me Barbara,’ Mrs Smith said as she passed into the sparse living room. Elvira motioned for them to sit.

‘Ok, if you wouldn’t mind calling me Elvira.’

‘Is that short for Vera?’ asked Eleanor.

‘Darling, it’s a longer name, so it’s the other way around,’ her mother informed her, keeping her face serious, not mocking the child for her mistake.

‘It’s a pretty name,’ Eleanor said. ‘I’m named after my grandmother. Are you named after yours?’

‘No, I’m just me.’

‘Lucky you, my grandmother was a witch.’

Elvira heard a laugh tinkle in the room, and realised it was hers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. Immediately she felt lighter, and at the same time fuller, fulfilled.

‘And Boris was named after Daddy’s grandfather,’ Eleanor informed her. ‘But you wouldn’t have known that. What did you call him when he lived with you?’

The child was young and innocent enough not to consider how her questions might hurt, might cut. The result was they didn’t. For the first time in months Elvira could think of Mudge without pain. She hadn’t been able to share with anyone how she’d felt. Now she could talk about him freely.

‘I called him Mudge,’ she answered, with a smile.

‘Why didn’t you come to his funeral? I know you were sad.’

‘Eleanor,’ her mother said, in a warning tone, but Elvira smiled to let her know it was ok. She took a seat, opposite Eleanor and told the truth. Her truth.

‘I was sad. Too sad. Too scared to come and face that emotion. It hurt too much. And I didn’t want to come to a family funeral, where he’d been in your lives for so long, meant so much to you all, and be crying the hardest from just a few months of knowing him.’ She looked at Barbara and shrugged. ‘I was embarrassed.’

A little bark broke the moment. Elvira was glad of it. 

‘And who do you have in here? Who is this little munchkin named after?’ She asked, hoping privately it was a better name than Boris.

‘That’s up to you, actually,’ Barbara said. She glanced at Eleanor, then opened the carrier at her feet, letting a little piebald head pop out.

‘We named his brother Colin. He’s a rescue dog. Boris was too,’ Barbara explained. ‘Colin was in a cage with his brother and we couldn’t house them both but couldn’t bear to leave him. It was Eleanor’s idea to bring him here. She saw you the day we left with Boris and sensed you and he had a connection. We couldn’t get over the feeling we’d broken both your hearts when we took him back. This is our way of making amends.’

Elvira couldn’t hide her look of surprise.

‘He’s… for me?’ Warm joy spread through her. Through tear laced eyes she looked at Eleanor. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Maybe you could call him Mudge, like Boris,’ her childhood logic suggested.

‘He’s a new dog, sweetheart,’ her mum gently reminded her. ‘He deserves a new name, like Colin.’

‘We think him and Colin are twins,’ Eleanor said confidentially to Elvira, to whom she’d taken a shine. ‘They both have a mark on their nose. Like a heart. Colin’s is upside down and this puppy’s heart is smudged. Look.’ Eleanor pointed it out. The dog playfully licked her finger, causing a peal of giggles.

‘Then I’ll call him Smudge. It honours Mudge but gives this puppy his own identity - what do you think?’ 

‘It’s perfect,’ Eleanor agreed.

Elvira felt possibilities opening before her. Those months of joy she’d experienced when Mudge was in her life were within her grasp again. Her own little family. Something she hadn’t craved when she didn’t know what it was, but desperately missed when it was torn away.

‘We’d better be going,’ Barbara said, gathering her handbag, starting to rise from the sofa.

‘Your carrier -’ Elvira began to say.

‘It’s yours. Well, it’s Smudge’s,’ the other woman informed her. ‘And we popped your harness and lead in there.’

‘Thank you,’ Elvira grasped her hand. How wrong she’d been about this woman. How wrong she’d been about everything.

A tug at her skirt drew her attention down to Eleanor. Eleanor, who had seen her. Understood her, her capacity for love. 

‘Is it ok if Colin comes to play with Smudge, every now and again? I don’t want them to get lonely and miss each other.’

Elvira smiled and didn’t even try to stop the tears from flowing over. Tears of joy held no shame.

‘I would love that,’ she said, squeezing the hand that had found its way into hers. Knowing her life was now marked by a heart-shaped smudge.