Ellen Carpenter woke first. She always did on a work day, and almost always on weekends, too. After enough time, some habits just stick with you. The pattern had become a routine - throw on a dressing gown, step into slippers and pad down the stairs to make a pot of tea and some breakfast for both of them, sit quietly listening to complaints about work colleagues she had never met, make a packed lunch and a flask of coffee, then a quick kiss, a “have a nice day”, and she was on her own again.

It had seemed a great idea to move out to the countryside to get a bit of peace and quiet after the hustle of the city, but Ellen had begun to realise that “peace and quiet” was just another way of saying no mobile phone signal and loneliness. She would not let herself get depressed, though. Over the years she had become adept at finding the bright side. The kids had grown up well and left to pursue their own dreams. They had enough money to live on, and Ellen had free days to pursue her writing projects. Any other problems should just be pushed out of mind.

Today the bright side was not hard to find. The spring morning had turned out fresh and clean after a week of clouds and blustery rain. Tentative sunbeams poked in through the windows of their ivy-covered cottage at the edge of the wood. Ellen decided it was time to fetch a summer dress from the back of the closet and make the most of the day.

The bird feeders in the garden needed filling again. The local bluetits and finches seemed so hungry at this time of the year. While she was outside she noticed a clump of daffodils which had been knocked flat by the weather. She couldn’t leave them there to be trampled on. When she got back inside, she found a vase and arranged them on a windowsill where they could sparkle in the sunlight and bring in a hint of spring prettiness.

Ellen was making herself another cup of tea and had begun thinking about the day’s writing goals when she was startled by the sound of the doorbell. The house was remote enough that they didn’t usually get callers or even junk mail, and delivery drivers always had to phone to find out where they were. It took a second or so, but eventually curiosity won over worry, and Ellen answered the door.

On the doorstep stood a girl, no a young woman, probably mid to late twenties. She looked flushed and had obviously been crying. Chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail with a few stragglers stuck to her cheeks, a puffy jacket, jeans, and walking boots. And was that … blood?

Ellen felt her heart pound in her chest.

“What’s the matter?”

The woman took a ragged breath.

“It’s Pepper. That’s my dog. She. I think she ran into the road. I don’t. I can’t. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

There was no way Ellen could leave her like this. Years of heartbroken sobs from her own children washed over her all at once.

“Where is she? Pepper I mean.”

The woman pointed back into the woods.

Ellen looked around. Graham’s Wellington boots stood by the door. Hardly elegant, but they would have to do. She pulled them on and they set out along the track.

“You’ll need to tell me a bit more about what happened. Let’s start with your name.”

“Uh. I’m Chrissie.”

“Hi Chrissie. I’m Ellen.”

It felt strange to be speaking to someone new, or speaking to anyone, really. Ellen felt her voice catching in the emotion of the moment, but she forced herself to appear calm and speak normally, for Chrissie’s sake, as they hurried back to the dog.

Ellen’s heart leapt again when they got there. Curled uncomfortably on a clump of grass was a black labrador. She still had the comically large feet of a puppy and Ellen could see at once that one leg was twisted into an unnatural position. Pepper’s eyes were wide and she was panting in short, shallow breaths. Her lips were pulled back and her nose was spattered with blood and spit. Despite all of this she still lifted her tail for an attempt at a wag when she saw Chrissie approaching.

“I don’t know what to do, Ellen. I live miles away. She can’t walk and I can’t carry her.”

Chrissie was sobbing again, and Ellen could just make out a stream of guilt and self-blame. She reached out to hug the young woman as they crouched next to the injured animal.

“It’s not your fault. We’ll get through this, but we have to get Pepper to a vet. I think I have an idea about how.”

Chrissie nodded and Ellen carried on.

“You stay here with Pepper. Keep her calm. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can”

Ellen ran to the house, with Graham’s big boots chafing against her bare legs all the way, and grabbed the car keys. In the back of the car they kept a rolled-up picnic blanket. “Just in case”. Ellen couldn’t remember the last time they had done anything spontaneous like having a picnic, but it would do for now. She grabbed the blanket and ran back to Chrissie and the dog, leaving the tailgate of the car wide open.

By the time she got there she was panting almost as much as Pepper. This was more exercise than she had had in months. Through hot breaths she explained her plan. They would use the picnic blanket as a kind of stretcher to get Pepper back to Ellen’s car, then drive into town and find a vet.

A dog who doesn’t want to move can be heavier than she looks. It took several minutes to ease Pepper onto the blanket, with both women in tears by the end from the dog’s pitiful cries of pain. It took even longer to carry Pepper back to Ellen’s car, but they managed it and settled the dog and her bloodstained blanket into the back before driving out of the woods and onto the main road.

As soon as Chrissie had a signal she looked up local vets and called until she found one willing to see them immediately. Ellen parked the car by the entrance and they manhandled the dog into the surgery.

After that it was just a matter of waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Chrissie was dazed and exhausted, crashing after the intensity of the morning, so Ellen chatted to distract her. They talked about Pepper, and about the postgraduate course Chrissie was doing at a local university. Ellen talked about her children, and about her writing. They discovered that they shared some favourite books and a guilty passion for cheesy TV detective shows. They were even able to laugh a little over anecdotes about Murder She Wrote and Diagnosis Murder.

Someone came to tell them that Pepper was going to be all right, but that she would need to be kept in overnight for observation. Chrissie cried with relief, and that set Ellen off. They hugged, dried their eyes, and Ellen took Chrissie home, then she drove back to her own quiet house again.

She needed to get home. The dress was probably ruined from the blood, sweat and dirt. She needed to take it off. And the wig, and the underwear and padding, and what remained of her make-up. She needed to get back to pretending to be Graham again, before her wife came home from work.
~~~
Two months later, Ellen and Chrissie were sitting at an outside table in town, sipping cappuccinos in the summer sunshine with Pepper sprawled happily at their feet. Chrissie had finally persuaded Ellen to come shopping so she could pay for a replacement dress. Ellen felt happier than she had ever been.

They say friends help you move, and good friends help you move a body, but the very best friends help you save a life, and do it all with eyes open and no judgement.