Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage (20 page)

As I park in front of the first stable, a pack of seven or eight dogs – Labradors, springer spaniels and maybe some springadors – come flying out of the house. They swirl around the truck. A liver-and-white spaniel jumps up and rests its front paws against the driver's door. I toot the horn and a woman emerges from the house, waving and yelling at the dogs, who turn tail and trot away.

Slightly unnerved, I get out of the truck.

‘Don't worry. They're perfectly harmless.' I'm assuming from Louise's description that the woman is Sophia. She's tall and elegant in breeches, leather boots, a pale blue shirt and tweed waistcoat. Her silver hair is stiff with hairspray and her face lined with fine wrinkles. ‘It's Hero who's lost his shoe. He moves close behind and sometimes treads on a shoe, pulling it
orf
.'

She slips a head-collar on to the horse standing in one of the stables and leads him out.

‘He's a lovely-looking creature,' I say.

‘His conformation leaves a little to be desired.' Sophia ties him up. ‘He has sickle hocks and a jumper's bump, but he's brave and bold, and has a magnificent jump on him. He's by one of the top stallions and out of our own mare.'

I move up and stroke Hero's shoulder. He seems chilled. I pick up his foot, the one without a shoe. He's chipped the toe, but the nails have come out cleanly without causing any real damage. The old shoe is worn and twisted. I grab the anvil and tools from the back of the truck and fit a replacement. Sophia brings tea. It's cold and milky, in a grimy mug with cracks and a horsey motif. I rest it on the shelf beside the forge, amongst the iron filings and general crud.

‘I think it's admirable that you've become a farrier,' Sophia says as I rasp around the hoof, making sure the clenches are smooth. ‘It would be absolutely marvellous if you could come along for a day with the Pony Club to encourage the girls to think about farriery as a profession. So many of them want to be vets. And, while you're here, you can test them for their farriery badges.'

I hesitate, unsure what excuse to make, but it seems that it's too late and Sophia has interpreted my dithering as agreement.

‘Thank you so much. I'm very grateful. You've taken a great weight orf my mind, stepping in for Mel. We're having a half-term rally in the middle of May and the Salterton boys are going to give a trick-riding demonstration.' She smiles ruefully as I'm thinking: It will be okay, because Robbie is going to be there. ‘It makes me slightly nervous, having them galloping around without tack when I'm promoting health and safety around horses. You're welcome to stay for the whole day – we'll keep you fed and watered.' She gives me a date a month away. ‘I'll be in touch nearer the time.' She pays me in cash, and I leave her sweeping the yard, surrounded by dogs.

I wonder what I've let myself in for.

I check the time. It's three thirty, so I have plenty of time to pick up some apples from the greengrocer's in town – for me and Rafa to share – and to drop by at the Saltertons' for four.

When I get there, Robbie, Paddington and Ashley are already in the arena. Maisie is sitting on the fence, perched on the top rail with her legs swinging as Louise stands close by to catch her in case she should fall.

‘Hi, Flick,' Louise says over her shoulder. ‘You made it.'

‘Don't tell Mel. He'll say I'm not working hard enough,' I say, smiling. ‘How's it going?'

‘They've just started.' She nods towards the chestnut pony whose coat gleams in the sunshine.

Ashley, dressed in a riding hat, blue sweatshirt and blue trousers, is brushing Paddington's mane, but my attention is drawn to the object of my affection, who is holding the pony by a rope, stroking his forelock and talking quietly so we can't hear him. He's wearing a black T-shirt, jeans and short brown boots, and the sight of his broad shoulders and muscular chest reminds me of how much I want to curl up in his arms again.

‘Maisie, sit still,' Louise says. ‘We don't want you falling off.'

I rest one foot on the lower railing and lean against the fence to watch while absorbing the warmth of the afternoon.

Ashley hands the brush back to Robbie, who tucks it in his back pocket before asking him a question. Ashley shades his eyes and nods slowly. Robbie leads Paddington to the corner of the arena and stands him beside the mounting block.

‘Oh-mi-God, he's going to get on,' Louise exclaims softly, placing her hand over her mouth.

‘He's going to ride bareback,' Maisie says.

‘I never thought he'd be brave enough to give it a go,' Louise says as her son climbs up the steps and stands on top of the block. ‘I'm too scared to watch.'

‘He'll be all right,' Maisie sings out.

Ashley leans on to Paddington's back and swings his leg over the top. He sits up slowly with his fingers entwined with the pony's mane. Paddington is completely unconcerned when Robbie asks him to move forwards. Ashley frowns. His body stiffens.

‘He wants to get off,' Louise says quickly.

‘No, look,' Maisie says as the pony takes another step, and another, following Robbie around the arena.

Ashley starts to relax, his legs hanging down against the pony's sides. He lets go with his hands and holds them up high in a gesture of triumph and wonder. Robbie lets out the rope so that Ashley is riding a large circle around him. Paddington walks round with his head lowered.

‘I don't believe it,' Louise says.

‘It appears that the other evening at the barbecue was just the beginning,' I say, a lump forming in my throat.

A few circles later, Robbie decides that pony and rider have had enough and leads them back to the gate. Maisie flings herself off the fence. She lands on her knees and bursts into tears, more from the shock than any pain, as it turns out; she's soon up again, bossing Ashley and Paddington around.

‘Stand,' she says to the pony. ‘Now you can get off, Ashley.'

‘Leave this to me,' Robbie says, helping him to dismount and handing him the rope. Maisie opens the gate and Ashley leads the pony out across the yard, with Maisie trotting alongside, telling him how to hold the rope and what to say to Paddington. The pony knows perfectly well where he's going – straight off to his stable where there's a hay-net waiting.

‘He's a natural,' Robbie says. ‘He has perfect balance.'

‘There's no way I'm letting you teach him any tricks just yet, so don't even think about it,' Louise says. ‘I'd better get Ash home so I can cook dinner for the guests. They've ordered fish and chips – home-cooked, of course.'

Ashley is reluctant to leave the pony and give up his hat, but Robbie promises he can come back soon, and he relents and leaves with his mum. Maisie runs across the yard to hold on to the dogs by their collars while Louise drives away, leaving Robbie and me outside Paddington's stable.

‘It doesn't always work out like that,' he says. ‘Ashley's making rapid progress, thanks to our new therapy pony. I reckon he could turn his hoof to almost anything.'

‘I hope you don't mind me dropping by. Louise suggested it.'

‘No, that's fine.' He lowers his gaze slightly, giving himself an air of endearing shyness. ‘Any excuse to see you.'

We stand looking at each other. I can feel the heat spreading across my face as I read the intensity of the desire in his eyes. Suddenly, he shuts it off, just like that.

‘I wish I could spend some time with you this evening, but I have to get on. I'm sorry. Maisie …'

Maisie again, I think, my heart sinking. I wish he was free to drop round for coffee, or to invite me over to Cherry Tree Cottage later, but he doesn't ask and I'm not able to suggest it because I know what his answer will be. He can't leave Maisie home alone, and he isn't prepared for her to stumble across the two of us in a clinch – and why should he have to explain the nature of our relationship to her when we don't even know that ourselves, not yet anyway?

Just as I'm wondering if we'll ever have the opportunity to find out, or if he even wants to, he ducks towards me and kisses me on the cheek.

‘I couldn't resist,' he smiles. ‘I'll see you soon.'

‘You certainly will.' I watch him stride across to Maisie and the dogs before I head back to Wisteria House in the truck, where I find bad news waiting for me in the form of a letter from the bank. It's a reminder that I've reached the overdraft limit, and confirmation that I cannot close the joint account I opened with Ryan until it's paid off in full.

I check my other account online. I don't know why I bother, because I already know that I've hit the limit on that too.

I break out into a cold sweat. I have another three weeks until Mel pays me, Rafa needs his annual jab and a visit from the dentist to check his teeth, and I'm due to transfer the next repayment on the loan that Ryan took out on my behalf when we were together. I go and find Mel and ask him over a beer in the garden if he can let me have some of my wages in advance.

‘I'd like to help you out,' he says, hesitating.

‘That's great, thanks,' I say, jumping in quickly. ‘I really appreciate it.'

‘I think you bamboozled me into that one,' he sighs. ‘What's it for, the horse?'

‘How did you guess?' I say, happy to let him think that.

‘Cheers.' Mel touches his beer bottle against mine with a cool chinking sound. ‘Perhaps you should go back into management – you'd make more money.'

‘I was in sales and marketing, and no, no amount of money would make me go back.'

‘How do you think you're getting on here? Is it working out?'

‘On the whole. It could be better. I mean, there are still some people out there who don't want me shoeing their horses.'

‘You mean people like Gina.'

‘I'm sorry. She was in the pub the other night. Rambo's shoe had come off and she was going to find somebody else to put it back on. I hadn't got round to mentioning it to you.'

‘Don't worry about it. These things happen. I think I've calmed her down.'

‘You've seen her?'

‘She called me. You can't win them all, Flick.' Mel grins. ‘Just mind you don't go nailing yourself to another horse before the weekend. That shoe you left in the forge was almost perfect.'

‘Was it? I thought it was rubbish. It wasn't one of my best efforts.'

‘You know something: when I gave up being a perfectionist, life became a whole lot easier. You should try it.'

In spite of my predicament, I smile to myself at the idea of Mel giving me advice when he hardly knows me. I finish my beer before I take Rafa an apple. He crunches it between his teeth, releasing its fragrance as I call Ryan. My ex's mobile is switched off. I leave a couple of choice voicemail messages, but without any expectation of a response. It isn't fair. I slip my phone back into my pocket. How am I ever going to clear the debt on my own? I wrap my arms around Rafa's neck and bury my face in his mane, my heart breaking at the thought of being forced to sell him to start paying off my debts and cut my outgoings. I couldn't do it. I'd rather die.

It's the morning of my visit to the spring Farm and Country Festival and my heart is on fire, a burning ball of longing in the centre of my chest, at the thought of catching up with Robbie. It's been five long days since I last saw him, fourteen hours since he last texted with the times of the stunt team's performances. I know, I'm sounding pathetic.

I pull myself together as I sit in the truck, which is stuck in the double queue of traffic to get on to the showground, outside the city of Exeter and about twenty miles from Talyton St George. I check my reflection in the wing mirror – I took some time drying my hair, applying foundation, mascara, eyeliner and a semi-matte lipstick, wanting to appear practical but feminine. I settled on an outfit of a low-cut cotton blouse in fuchsia, and my best pair of black jeans, which are straight-cut and high-rise to avoid the risk of builder's bum, an affliction that I've discovered to my cost isn't exclusive to construction workers.

I glance to my left, aware that I'm being watched. An elderly man in a flat cap and brown coat gives me a thumbs-up as he drives slowly past in a muddy Land Rover towing a livestock trailer. I give him a wave. He grins. A cow's nose appears between the slats of the trailer bearing the sign ‘Devon Red Rubies'. I assume it's referring to a breed of cattle I haven't heard of before.

Eventually, I arrive at the showground, and make my way to the exhibitors' car park where I find a spot not far from the Saltertons' horsebox. It is massive, designed with living quarters behind the cab and stalls for twelve horses. It's painted in navy livery, with the Eclipse stunt team logo and a row of galloping horses picked out in silver across the front, rear and sides. There's an awning, too, with a pasting table laden with bottles of water and cool-boxes, and a Range Rover, which I believe is Neil's, parked beside the hedge.

When I get out of the truck, I can hear the distant rhythm of a marching band, the crackly tones of the announcer over the loudspeakers, and the low bellow of a cow or bull. What with the sight of acres of white canvas and the scent of crushed grass and burnt onions, I could almost be ten again and with my parents, my dad throwing the tack on one of the ponies, and mum fussing about the neatness of the knot in my tie.

The sound of Neil's voice brings me back to the present.

‘Hi, Flick. It's good to see you. I can't stop – I'm titivating.'

There are eight horses – four black, two bay and two grey – tied up, four to each side of the lorry, with Nelson closest to the back. Neil is brushing their manes and tails, and painting their hooves with oil. Sally Ann is at the bottom of the ramp at the rear, tearing the plastic straw from a carton of juice. She sticks it through the top and gives it to Maisie.