The Sweetest Thing (42 page)

‘I couldn’t say – I don’t know him all that well.’ I thought I knew him, but I’m not so sure he’s the man I believed he was.

‘He’d be a good catch,’ Maria goes on, and I’m thinking, I’d rather catch flu than be with Guy Barnes at the moment. I don’t think I can ever forgive him.

‘Mummy,’ Sophie says, reminding me of her presence by getting up from her chair and perching herself on my lap, ‘I’m bored.’

‘It won’t be for long,’ I say. ‘It’s an hour’s ride and they must have done half an hour already.’

‘Can I join the Pony Club?’ she asks.

‘I’m not sure there’s any point when you haven’t got a pony.’

‘I’m sure that can be remedied pretty easily,’ says Maria.

‘Oh, no. No more ponies,’ I say. ‘They’re far too much trouble.’

‘But you’ve got plenty of space and it would be good for Bracken to have company,’ Maria says, apparently oblivious to my fierce stare, meaning, Drop it. Change the subject. ‘I’ve got the perfect pony standing out in the field at home. Camilla’s first pony, Teddy.’

‘I can’t afford to buy another pony.’

‘That’s the thing though. You wouldn’t have to buy him. You can have him on loan for Sophie until she grows out of him.’

‘Please, Mummy,’ says Sophie.

‘I don’t think so,’ I say, refusing to weaken.

‘Let’s give your mum some time to get used to the
idea,’ Maria says, flashing Sophie a conspiratorial smile. ‘Look, Georgia’s getting ready to jump,’ she adds, and I realise I haven’t been concentrating because Polly the instructor has set up a jump and poles in the middle of the sand school.

‘That’s enormous.’ I hold my hands over my face and peer out between my gloved fingers.

‘Rubbish – it can’t be more than two feet high,’ says Maria. ‘Mr Bojangles was jumping two foot nine all last summer and he’s smaller than Bracken.’

I watch, my heart in my mouth, as Georgia, sitting up straight and smart, kicks Bracken into a trot, then a canter, and aims her towards the jump, the sight of which transforms the pony from lazy donkey to racehorse. She races the last two strides and takes a flying leap, clearing the jump with several inches to spare, and landing the other side with Georgia hanging on, then sliding back into the saddle.

‘Oh, well done, Georgia. Come back and do it once more,’ Polly yells, and Georgia trots back, grinning all over her face, to have another go, an attempt which is more flowing and elegant.

‘That pony’s got a jump on her,’ one of the other mums says enviously, and suddenly I feel proud to be a horse owner and begin to see what Georgia sees in Bracken. I wipe a hot tear from my eye. The hours spent nursing her back to health, the vet’s fees and coping with her naughty behaviour – it’s all been worth it.

At the end of the rally, Polly chats briefly to me about Georgia and her riding.

‘She’s a talented rider,’ she says. ‘Very natural. I’m looking forward to seeing her progress when she goes on to horses. I imagine you’re already on the
lookout for something bigger with a bit more scope.’

We’ve only just got Bracken, I want to say, but I don’t in case I put my foot in it.

‘It’ll soon be spring – it’s a good time to look for a new pony. If you need any help, call me. I’ve got lots of contacts and can give you some idea of whether or not a prospective mount is suitable.’

‘Um, thank you. I’ll bear it in mind.’ It’s dawning on me that I’m going to have to bake an awful lot of cakes to keep Georgia in horses.

I wish Adam could be happy like her. It’s a pity he can’t find solace in having a horse to look after, I think, although I can’t imagine how I would afford another one. I check my watch. I hope he’s okay. I wonder about phoning or texting him, but when I look at my mobile there’s no signal.

When we get back it’s growing dark although it’s only three o’clock on this winter’s afternoon. There’s a bite to the air that savages exposed skin and chills me to the core. Even my bones feel cold.

‘The sooner we’re inside, the better,’ I say.

‘We have to feed and water Bracken first,’ says Georgia.

‘No way,’ says Sophie, teeth chattering, in spite of her big coat and gloves. ‘I’m going indoors. Bracken’s your pony – you see to her.’

I shouldn’t have dragged her out with us. I should at least have considered leaving her with Adam … or perhaps not in the mood he’s been in recently. I don’t know. Why is parenting so difficult?

‘Georgia, I’ll give you a hand,’ I offer. ‘Come on, Bracken.’

Georgia ties her up outside the stable, takes off her tail bandage and travel boots, and throws on a rug
before leading Bracken in through the door where a clean bed of shavings awaits.

‘What else needs doing?’ I ask.

‘She needs her haynet.’

‘How much hay?’

‘Five pounds.’

‘Why are ponies still in imperial measurements, not metric?’ I say.

Georgia frowns.

‘Oh, never mind.’ I go into the stable next door, grope for the switch and turn on the light. A dim yellow glow washes over the stack of bales. I pull out a flake of hay from the open bale on the floor, squash it into a haynet and weigh it on the luggage scales that Georgia has tied to the rafter above with a piece of orange baling twine. I love the scent of the hay – it reminds me of summer.

I hang up the haynet for Bracken and Georgia fetches her a bucket of pony nuts, and we stand there, side by side, looking over the door while she munches on her food. Georgia slips her arm through mine, and looks up at me.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ she says, smiling. ‘Thanks for arranging for me and Bracken to go to the rally.’ In spite of the cold, my heart melts as she continues, ‘It’s been the best day of my life.’

‘I’m glad,’ I say, swinging her round and giving her a hug.

‘I’m sooooo lucky to have you as my mum.’

‘Oh, I think I’m luckier, having you for a daughter.’ I slip my arm around her shoulders and we walk back across the yard to the house. ‘Georgia, have you heard Lucky?’ I ask, wondering if I’ve missed the dog barking. He always barks when anyone turns up on
the drive outside the house. If he’s out in the garden – although there can’t be many self-respecting canines out and about in this weather – he always comes running to greet us and snuffle about at our feet.

Indoors, Sophie has already raided the larder. She’s sitting at the table, eating chocolate cake. The Aga is throwing out a comforting heat.

‘Adam,’ I call out. ‘Adam?’ I turn to Sophie. ‘Have you seen Adam or Lucky?’ I can feel my forehead tightening into a frown. I assumed that Adam would be at home.

‘No,’ Sophie says with a careless shrug. ‘I can hear the telly though.’

Taking off my coat and scarf, I head through the lobby and the hall into the drawing room. The television is on. Comedy Central. There’s no sign of Adam or the dog. I look around the room.

‘Come on, Adam. A joke’s a joke, but that’s enough …’ Cue canned laughter. I switch the television off. ‘Adam!’

‘He isn’t here, Mum,’ Georgia says. ‘He isn’t in his room.’

‘Where is he then?’

‘He’s probably taken Lucky for a walk.’

‘Of course.’ I try not to worry, a state of mind that I achieve for all of five minutes before ringing his mobile to check up on him. However, his phone is switched off – or, more likely, run out of battery. I check my watch – it’s three-thirty. He’s probably taken Lucky for his evening walk before it gets dark. I’m being silly. Adam’s fourteen. He can look after himself.

I worry for another half an hour, occupying myself with peeling potatoes for tea and feeding the wedding cakes with brandy – there are two of them in
the larder now. I line them up – five tiers altogether unwrap the tops and skewer them a few times before opening the bottle of brandy and pouring the first measure. Now, it strikes me that the brandy looks unusually dark and thick as it creeps glutinously from the bottle to the measure. I run the measure past my nostrils. Instead of the sharp scent of alcohol, I can smell a meaty odour, more like gravy. In fact – I dip my finger into it and taste it – it
is
gravy. Someone, and I’ll bet I know who, has been tampering with my brandy.

My heart thuds, my chest aching with disappointment. He promised me he wouldn’t drink again. I thought he’d learned his lesson. Oh, Adam …

I wonder when he stole the brandy, if it was today or some time ago, then it crosses my mind that he might be outside somewhere in this freezing weather, with or without the dog, and out of his skull.

I abandon the wedding cakes and jog upstairs to Adam’s bedroom, looking for clues, a note perhaps. His room is in a state of chaos, as usual, and although I thought I’d be able to work out from what’s left which clothes and shoes he’s wearing, it’s pretty well impossible because they’re strewn all over the floor. There is no note. I check his desk and shelves for clues. There’s no sign of his wallet, but I do find his phone.

I sit on the edge of his bed. Think, Jennie, think. Adam won’t be helping Guy with the milking. I wish that he was, that he was safe in the parlour with Guy and the cows. Adam might well be walking Lucky, but would he take his wallet? I don’t know. It occurs to me too that he might have taken off to London. I try to suppress the other possibilities which are crowding into my mind: that he’s feeling so bad that he’s gone
down to the river to end it all, that he’s gone out drunk and got himself run over, or …

I get up abruptly and run downstairs.

‘Georgia, Sophie, I need to talk to you.’ The girls gather around the Aga. Both are wide-eyed and anxious when I tell them I’m worried about Adam. They might fight and argue, but they do love their brother, after all. ‘Did he say anything to either of you about what he might do today? Has he mentioned anything about going into Talyton or catching a train to London to see Dad? Or Granny and Granddad? Or Josh? Anything?’

Sophie shakes her head.

‘He often talks about going back to London. He says he hates it here,’ Georgia says. ‘Shall we go and look for him? I can tack Bracken up and ride her down to the river to see if he’s walking Lucky there.’

‘I don’t want the two of you going missing as well.’

‘Is Adam missing then?’ Sophie says, and her lip wobbles and I realise I’ve frightened her.

‘No, I’m sure he’s fine,’ I say. ‘He’s just forgotten to let me know where he is.’ I’m sure he’ll walk in that door with Lucky very soon. Lucky will bound up, wagging his tail, and Adam will smile and say, ‘Hi, Mum, what’s for tea?’ I smile fondly, but inside I’m having panicky sensations like a bird flapping then settling, then fluttering up again in my throat.

‘Mum, shall I call the police?’ Georgia asks, apparently unconvinced.

‘Um, not yet …’ I can’t imagine they’ll take me seriously – I mean, Adam’s fourteen and I have no idea how long ago he left the house. However, I need to talk to someone, someone who can reassure or advise me, and who else can I turn to but the person I think of first,
the one who, in spite of everything, is always uppermost in my mind? Apart from my children, of course. I make up my mind. ‘Let’s go.’ I slip into a coat and wellies and walk up the lane with the girls and a torch.

Within two minutes, we’re in the parlour. I stand on the balcony, holding on to the rail. The strip lights are on, flickering almost imperceptibly but enough to give me a headache, and the lines carrying the milk are pulsating above me. Iyaz is singing on Radio 1 and a cow is bellowing from the yard beyond.

‘Guy,’ I call down to him. ‘Guy!’

He looks up from where he’s removing a cluster from one of the cows, and raises an eyebrow in question. He hangs the cluster on its hook, and walks over to us.

‘Hello, Jennie. Sophie … Georgia.’

‘Guy.’ My voice is breaking. ‘Have you seen Adam?’

‘So this isn’t a social visit? No, I haven’t. I haven’t seen him for a while. I was under the impression you discourage him from coming up here any more,’ he goes on harshly and makes to turn away.

‘Guy, please …’ For a moment, I think he’s going to ignore me, but something, the urgency in my voice perhaps, makes him stop. ‘Adam’s gone missing. He’s taken Lucky and his wallet, but left his phone. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know where he is.’

Guy is up on the balcony beside me.

‘Slow down, Jennie. Start at the beginning.’ He takes my hands in his, very gently. ‘Now, go on.’

‘Sophie and I went to the Pony Club rally with Georgia. I left Adam at home in bed – I shouldn’t have left him. He wasn’t happy.’

‘Shhh,’ Guy says. ‘This isn’t the time for self-recrimination.’

‘When we got back, we put Bracken to bed, then I realised Lucky hadn’t barked, and when we went into the house, he and Adam weren’t there.’ I explain briefly about the brandy. ‘There’s no note, nothing. Guy, I’m at my wits’ end. It’s dark out there now and freezing cold.’

‘Who does he hang out with? Could he be out with friends and have forgotten the time?’

‘He keeps saying he hasn’t got any friends, apart from the dog.’

‘What about Josh? He often talks about him – or used to … Could he have decided to take off for London?’

‘I don’t think he had enough money on him for a ticket. He locked his card at the cashpoint the other day, and he’s waiting for a new PIN. No, he can’t have intended to travel very far – he would have taken his mobile.’ I pause, pulling my hands away and wrapping my arms around me. ‘Guy, what if he’s … What if he’s been drinking and he’s gone out and … hurt himself?’