Stockings and Cellulite (17 page)

I yawned and stretched. ‘I’m here Morag and you are utterly fab. The man is evidently blind to your considerable charms and therefore not worth bothering about. Did you get any other guys’ numbers?’

‘Several actually,’ I could hear the smugness in her voice. ‘I’m meeting up with a rather nice chap tonight. His name is Ivan. What about you?’

‘W-e-ll, I didn’t do as well as you but I am out tonight with a guy called Matt Harding.’

‘Ooh wonderful Cass. Do you know, I think things are looking up for us both.’

After we’d rung off with promises to have a dating postmortem on Monday, I flopped back on the pillows and let my thoughts stray to Matt.

He wanted me to meet him later at the stables. It was to be a casual sort of date – go and see the horses, have a look around the yard, then out for a bit of lunch. After the monumental effort invested in last night’s debacle, I was determined to do exactly the opposite for tonight.

At around six I had a quick shower and slipped into a pair of faded jeans. As my face was still golden with fake tan, I kept make up minimal with just a slick of lipstick.

Matt was out in the yard when I drew up alongside a battered old horsebox. He was talking to an owner who was expressing concerns about her lame mare. As my shoes crunched over loose gravel he glanced around and his face lit up. The owner thanked him for his advice and Matt turned to welcome me properly.

‘Hey, you look amazing,’ he kissed me lightly on the cheek. ‘Sorry I’m not all set for you and smell a bit ripe, but it’s been one of those days.’

I grinned back. He did whiff mildly of horses but it wasn’t unpleasant. I found myself relaxing.

‘Let me show you around the yard. Afterwards I’ll fix you a big drink and ensconce you in front of the telly while I have a very swift bath.’

There were effectively two yards split between private owners and school hacks. The liveries’ horses were polished and well bred compared to the riding school nags. Noble heads with pricked ears popped over stable doors as we approached. Some of the ponies nudged our hands, looking for sugar lumps or wanting their noses rubbed. Others munched hay, dropping it untidily over their doors while Matt patted necks and tweaked ears.

Yard inspection over, we walked up to the house. It was impressively large and smothered in ivy. Matt showed me into a comfortable but well worn lounge. He splashed a hefty measure of gin and not much tonic into a cut glass tumbler. A pretty girl of about seventeen wandered in.

‘Hi,’ she smiled and lifted a hand in greeting.

‘This is Joanie, one of my daughters,’ Matt said.

‘One of many,’ the girl said wryly. I wondered exactly how many.

Joanie made polite small talk with me while her father disappeared upstairs. I had the impression she’d done this several times before with various female friends of Matt’s.

When Matt returned his hair was curling damply over a clean T-shirt and he was wearing sawn off jeans.

‘Ready?’

I threw the gin down my neck, grabbed my bag and hurried after him.

‘Nice to meet you,’ I called over my shoulder to Joanie.

A little while later we pulled up outside a quaint olde worlde pub near the river.

‘How lovely!’ I exclaimed in delight. ‘All these years of living in this area and I had no idea this place existed.’

‘A well kept secret,’ Matt smiled as he helped me out the car and slung an arm companionably around my shoulder.

We sat in an alcove by a tiny picture window overlooking the river. The rough wooden table boasted a candle centrepiece stuffed into an empty wine bottle, its waxy sides melting in artistic rivers down the glass. Dinner was enjoyable and, by the time we’d reached the coffee and mints stage, I had a potted history of Matt Harding.

Without a doubt I liked him. I could sense the feeling was mutual and that he’d like to see me again. However, Matt made my own emotional baggage look like a mere weekend carry case. Two ex-wives for starters. The third and current Mrs Harding was soon to join her predecessors. In addition to Joanie, there were four more daughters resulting from the second and third marriages plus two step-sons he’d inherited from the third marriage. Clearly, from the way he spoke about the boys, there was a genuine fondness. Matt waved away my one failed marriage and a pair of twins as a mere blip. He freely confessed that the first Mrs Harding had been traded in for the second Mrs Harding who had, in turn, gone on to duly trade Matt in. Undeterred he’d picked himself up, dusted himself off and simply resumed life eventually dating one of the grooms. In time she became the third Mrs Harding.

‘So what on earth went wrong this time around?’ I asked.

Matt sighed. ‘Do you know Cass, it’s difficult to define any one specific thing. Rather it was a combination of many effects. Overall though it amounted to the laxative effect.’

‘Sorry?’

‘We irritated the shit out of each other.’

Back at the stables I clambered out of Matt’s car and walked over towards mine. Matt ambled alongside me. After I’d lowered myself into the driver’s seat, he leant in and kissed me very gently on the mouth.

‘You know Cass,’ he murmured, ‘you don’t have to go.’

The invitation in his voice was unmistakable. I looked at him. There was a warmth between us which was both easy and casual. But that last word neatly summed it all up. Casual. If I followed him back into his home and up to his bed, it would all be so very casual. And casual sex just wasn’t my scene. After the earlier heady madness with Euan that had abruptly ended in such a humiliating shambles, I knew that whilst rebounding from a failed marriage might have fun moments, regularly falling into other men’s beds really wasn’t me.

I touched his cheek.

‘You are one very nice guy Matthew Harding. But I’m going home.’

‘Hey no problem. Can I call you?’

‘Of course.’

And then he kissed me one more time.

I was awoken the following morning by the phone shrilly ringing at half past seven. Anathema on a Sunday. Snarling with badtemper I snatched up the receiver.

‘Morag,’ I barked into the handset. ‘I’m going to bloody kill you.’

‘Sorry Cass, did I wake you up?’ asked Matt. ‘I’m always forgetting normal people don’t rise until after ten on a Sunday morning.’

‘Oh God Matt, I do apologise.’

‘Just because I’ve been up since six feeding horses I automatically presume the rest of the world is as wide awake as me. So how about I let you drift back to your dreams but later on you come over for brunch?’

‘That sounds good,’ I smiled into the handset.

When I resurfaced it was to greet a beautifully warm day. As I drew up outside Matt’s front door I neatly side-stepped bees buzzing fatly around a flowerbed of lavender.

‘Come in, come in!’ Matt threw open the door. He steered me down the hall, through the kitchen and out onto the patio. A little table was laid up complete with a jug of Pimms. Cubes of ice, fresh fruit and mint bobbed about in the ruby liquid.

‘You be Mum and pour the drinks and I’ll be back in two ticks.’

When Matt reappeared he was bearing a tray of granary bread and butter, a plate of Parma ham, mixed cheeses and a dish of pickles and chutney.

‘Mr Harding I’m impressed.’

‘Oh my culinary skills are legendary. Don’t tell everybody,’ Matt glanced about furtively, ‘but I also do a very mean beans on toast.’

‘A man after my own heart!’

It was nice sitting in the warm May sunshine sipping fruity Pimms and getting mildly tight.

‘Do you fancy a walk?’ Matt asked after we’d cleared the table together and loaded the dishwasher. ‘I’d love to show you Poppy and her new foal.’

Poppy was Matt’s thoroughbred mare currently in her own exclusive paddock and quite a trek away. Matt’s land ran into considerable acreage. We strolled along a dirt track that ran parallel to the yard before meandering through various fenced off fields. Matt pointed out cordoned off areas that were being rested. These meadows were thick with lush grass sprinkled with buttercups and daisies. The track rose on an ever inclining gradient. Puffing alongside Matt, I looked back at the stables tucked away at the bottom of the hill looking like a picturesque sight from Toy Land.

We climbed over a five bar gate and dropped down into an emerald meadow. An enormous bay mare with a coat like polished mahogany stood protectively over a gangly filly. The foal gave a tinkling whinny to its mother who softly whickered back. Head up, ears pressed forward, acutely alert she monitored our steady approach. Matt was talking in a low voice, soft, almost hypnotic. Good heavens, I’d heard about people like this performing horse whispering or whatever it was called. All the same, Poppy was a big girl and I didn’t fancy my chances if she suddenly decided to bolt in our direction. I nervously stepped behind Matt and peeked around his shoulder.

‘Darling Pops, good girl,’ he cooed.

Darling Pops broke into a prance, majestic neck tucked in, tail swishing. I shot anxiously behind Matt again and resisted the urge to cling to his broad back. Poppy came to a shuddering standstill in front of Matt, eyes rolling dramatically before snorting a greeting down her equine nose. A fine spray of snot showered Matt’s shirt. He laughed uproariously before patting the mare’s neck.

‘You naughty girl Pops, look what you’ve done to Daddy’s shirt.’

He rubbed behind her ears. The filly was curious but kept her distance, hugging her mother’s rump. Poppy nudged Matt’s pockets and he rewarded her with a carrot. She snatched it up greedily before turning and trotting off, her pretty baby skipping skittishly in her wake.

I exhaled with relief at the mare’s departure and stepped out from behind Matt.

‘Sorry Cass, do horses make you nervous?’

‘A bit I suppose. Silly really, I used to ride all the time when I was a kid. I guess it’s been too long since I handled them.’

‘Poppy wouldn’t hurt a fly otherwise I wouldn’t have brought you up here. Come on, let’s get back to the house and I’ll make us another jug of Pimms.’

I stole a surreptitious glance at my watch. ‘Much as that sounds tempting, I’m going to have to be on my way. Liv and Toby are due home in another hour or so.’

‘What about a very quick coffee instead?’

‘Go on then you smooth talker.’

We cut across the rested meadows which were horse free and, bit by bit, the view of the stables grew larger. There were several riding school hacks in the yard. Children were hopping about on the ground, trying to scramble onto fidgeting ponies. Suddenly something prickly pierced my foot.

‘Ouch!’ I yelped slapping my ankle and hopping about on one leg like one of the kids in the yard.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I must have brushed against a thistle.’

‘Okay now?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

We resumed walking but I’d only taken a few steps when another hot sting needled into my lower leg.

‘Bloody hell!’ I screeched swiping the palm of my hand against my jeans. ‘What the heck was that?’ I cast about wildly scanning the ground for thorny thistles, but the grass was short and tufted. There wasn’t a weed in sight. And then I heard a low humming. The blood drained from my face.

‘Cass?’

‘There’s a wasp up my trousers. Argh!’ I shrieked as a third sting scorched my thigh, this time accompanied by the unmistakable sound of furious buzzing. Worse still, the trapped insect was heading towards my privates. ‘Help!’ I bleated.

‘Get your trousers off,’ Matt ordered.

‘No way, somebody might…ARGH!’ I bellowed as several stings machine-gunned into my thigh. My hands slapped blindly in an effort to kill it before havoc was wreaked in my pants.

‘For heaven’s sake Cass TAKE YOUR BLASTED JEANS OFF,’ roared Matt tugging at my zipper.

‘I can’t! People might see me.’

Of that there was no doubt. Down in the yard all the kiddies had stopped dead in their tracks to gape in our direction. Even the ponies had ceased fidgeting and were staring agog. My brain briefly wrestled with the fight or flight syndrome. After two dithery seconds it plumped for flight – regardless of the fact that the wasp would be travelling with me. Frantically I began running about in circles.

‘COME HERE!’

‘No – ARGH!’ I screamed hysterically as the wasp’s next sting set my groin on fire. Whimpering pathetically I charged blindly towards Matt. He launched himself at me with a spectacular rugby tackle and suddenly I was free falling. Holding me still with one hand, he yanked with the other at my zipper. My legs flailed about wildly – death by wasp sting being more preferable than stripping in front of an entire riding school. But Matt clung on. In a matter of seconds he’d hauled my jeans down to my knees, regrettably taking my pants with them.

‘IT’S OUT!’ he yelled, as a battered looking wasp took off to freedom.

But I was deaf, dumb and blind to the loathsome insect’s departure and remained locked in terror, kicking my legs out, staggering unsteadily to my feet and breaking into a clumsy waddle with my jeans and spotted knickers at half-mast.

A quick glance at the riding school was enough to confirm that everybody was thrilled to bits by the spectacle of a bare bummed female attempting an Olympic sprint with dropped trousers. Still shrieking my head off, I lurched forward in a frenzy of shuffling until a combination of trailing denim and gravity sent me crashing back to the ground.

Winded, I lay face down and had a close encounter with a startled ladybird scurrying up a blade of grass. Matt rushed over and gallantly yanked everything upwards. He then pulled me to my feet where I stood unsteadily, shaking like an aspen.

‘Okay folks, show’s over,’ Matt called to the gawping riding school. Still they stared. ‘CLEAR OFF!’

Wide eyed children slowly clattered off, occasionally sneaking backward glances. Some were openly giggling. Trembling violently I hung my flaming face in mortification.

Matt put a strong arm around my waist and helped me hobble back to the house.

‘You’re not going anywhere Cass until you’ve had a whacking dose of antihistamine and some hot sweet tea.’

‘I hate tea,’ I bleated ungratefully but, once inside Matt’s house, did as I was told. He was all concern and blamed himself. Once again the jeans were tugged down as Matt dabbed a noxious smelling solution over the red welts. I sat on the sofa like an obedient child, stripped to my knickers swallowing antihistamine and syrupy tea. Matt squatted down in front of me, placed his palms lightly on my shoulders.