Big Cats and Kitten Heels

by Claire Peate

  Horses terrified me. They were so big. They could wee for Britain. Their muscles showed through their skin. They could kill me with a light flick of a hoof. Or I could fall off it and be killed, or trampled underfoot and killed, thrown from it, bitten by it, crushed by it. There were, now I came to think about it as I sat and chewed my toast, whole ranges of diverse and remarkable ways my life could be ended when I came in contact with a horse. That meant that they were, therefore, more of a threat to my personal safety than the big cat and even more of a threat than Laura.

  Still, I didn’t say anything to the others because:

  a) Laura had resumed her seat opposite me and was very close to the bread knife. There was no doubt in my mind that she would kill me for jeopardising her plans if I tried to get out of riding.

  b) I would look like a complete loser in front of everyone. All the others had ridden before and were talking horse-talk now around the table.

  c) I might well surprise myself and actually be very good. I mean, I had ridden a donkey once on a beach in Wales. Apparently it was a long ride and I had been right at home on the back of the animal, although I was five and my mother had held my hand pretty much constantly. Still – I might be a natural.

  d) It wasn’t as if we were going show jumping over white fences and prancing sideways around arenas. We were going trekking in the countryside. That implied slowness and safety. It would be fine. …

  e) I would be able to look Marcia in the eye and say, for once, YES! Yes Marcia! I, Rachel Young, have ridden a horse. I have done that life-threatening activity. Yes, I have been at one with nature, or whatever bollocks she was spouting about horse riding. I would be able to tick one experience off my list. Providing I still had full use of my hands, that is…

  We got to the stables and I don’t think I remember ever having sweated so much in my very precious and soon-to-be-ended life. I could feel the sweat running down my back, down my chest, down my stomach and even behind my knees. How could a person sweat so much? Was it dangerous?

  We headed for the stable buildings and when I peered inside my heart actually stopped beating.

  The horses were huge!

  Was this right? Had they bred freak giant-horses for the Welsh hills? Five big hot whinnying beasts were thumping their hooves on the ground and snorting. The other three seemed oblivious to the peril they were in and milled around the front end of the animals, patting noses and stroking necks while I stood back, into a lump of horse shit. Laura was in her element, examining all the horses and clambering up on them almost straight away, patting and stroking them.

  Within a very, very short space of time the girls had begun to choose their horses and mount them, while I remained where I was standing, watching in horror. And horse shit. I desperately tried to look on the bright side. It didn’t look too hard. You just fling a leg over and pull the reigns a bit. Easy.

  They trotted off getting used to the steering and there was just me left. Me and an enormous brown animal called Beelzebub or something. I didn’t quite catch the name as the sweat had pooled in my ears and made me temporarily deaf.

  “I can’t ride,” I squeaked in a very tiny voice to the owner of the stables who was so horsey she looked and smelt like one. Even her frizzy hair resembled a mane.

  “Pardon?” she bellowed at me. She was waiting for me to climb on board but now looked at me like I was mad.

  “I can’t ride.”

  She stared at me with the same expression of surprise that she would have shown if I was a parsnip that had just started a song and dance routine on her kitchen table.

  “Have you ever ridden before?”

  “Well, no.” More sweating. I would slip off a horse if this carried on.

  “Come on Rach,” Laura shouted from outside, perched on some gigantic white snorty thing that she’d just taken round the yard, “we should have started five minutes ago!” More watch-tapping. If there was one thing I would remember about this weekend it was the sight of Laura tapping her watch at me, hurrying me up. Well, that and Gwyn. Gwyn…

  I snapped back to the present. What should I do?

  Stop sweating would be a really good start.

  I shot Laura a nervous smile and looked imploringly at the horsey-woman. ‘Please have mercy on me,’ I projected at her. ‘Please spare me the shame of being so scared.’

  Beelzebub snorted and pawed the ground, no doubt calling for its demonic master below.

  “You could have Old Ned I suppose,” horsey-woman said finally, patting Beelzebub like he was a kitten.

  Old? That sounded good. “Is he a horse?” I asked, dry-mouthed. Maybe he was just a large dog that I could ride.

  “Yes of course he’s a horse,” she barked, “but he’s a Shire horse breed. Slow as you like.”

  “Oh that sounds good,” I gushed.

  “How tall are you?”

  “Five eleven.”

  “Well, you’re tall enough. Syllabub here would have been a better fit for you but he’d be no good if you can’t ride”.

  Syllabub! Now that wasn’t quite so bad. He didn’t seem so demonic now, but still – he looked like a flighty sort of beast, Syllabub or not.

  “What’s up Rach?” Louisa had steered her horse over to where we were talking. Once again I mentally implored the horsey-woman to spare my shame and she must have caught the vibes I was shooting in her direction and felt pity on me.

  “She’s too tall for this horse. I’ll have to bring another one out. Won’t be a minute.”

  She headed off, but not before she shot me a look that said “you’d better tip me well, young lady” and I was already mentally rifling through the notes in my wallet preparing to gladly hand over every precious one of them to her.

  Louisa went to join the others and explain what was happening and I, buoyed up with my lucky break, looked over at them and gave an exaggerated shrug as much to say “Honestly, I wish we could just get on the road and go.”

  Within a couple of minutes horsey-woman had returned with Old Ned. He certainly looked like a quieter and slower animal than Syllabub, but oh my goodness me he was a whole lot larger.

  “He’s bigger!” I yelped but horsey-woman clearly wasn’t having any more of me and grabbing my arm in a pincer-like grip, she frogmarched me over to steps along a wall to mount the beast.

  “He’s a bigger breed, but he’s slow and steady. You’re perfectly safe on him. Now get on!”

  Biting my tongue so I couldn’t argue that he might be slower but there was now much further to fall, I trembled my way up the steps to prepare to mount him.

  I kicked him several times getting on and he didn’t flinch, bless him. He just stood there staring into space. He certainly didn’t look fast or flighty.

  Once I was safely on with my feet in the metal hoop things, horsey-woman patted Old Ned’s bottom and he headed out into the bright sunshine, following the others who were starting to make their way out of the stable yard. We were on our way!

  After about ten minutes of reign-gripping, teeth-clenching sweating, I began to relax a bit. I loosened my grip on the reigns and gradually the blood came back to my hands. I dropped my tense shoulders and relaxed my jaw, sitting back a little in the saddle now I was more confident that I’d actually stay on the animal and not slide off when he cornered. I took a deep breath. Then another. I could do this. I could enjoy it, savour it. Horse riding was fun, it was freedom, it was all about being totally at one with nature. Isn’t that what Marcia had gone on about? Here I was, me and nature, as close as bosom pals, on top of Old Ned who plodded steadily along the muddy bridle path ascending the valley and up into the beautiful August sunshine. I could get used to this, I reflected, ducking too late and suffering a low hanging branch slap me across the face. I sat upright again and fixed a smile on my face. I would enjoy horse riding. Even if it was retrospectively, some years from now and from the comfort of a deep armchair. It was possible. Although how the bloody hell Angela and Marcia could ma
ke a week long holiday of it I don’t know. Didn’t they get bored? My heart sank a little as I thought of my friend holidaying with Marcia. Was all lost? Would I ever have the courage to face Marcia again and put her in her rightful place? Could I possibly out-manicure her with these nails?

  Old Ned seemed a very nice sort of horse and was quite content to follow the others without any involvement on my part, although he couldn’t keep up and we soon lagged behind. It wasn’t too much of a problem, however, because Henna’s horse, who I was following, kept crapping every few steps and I didn’t want to get too close a view of its rear end in action. Nevertheless, I did start to get a bit concerned that it would just be me and Old Ned lost in the wilderness, as the others were now getting really quite far ahead. But Old Ned seemed to know where he was going, and it wasn’t like there was much choice of direction – the path was bordered on both sides by thick hedge. Anyway, it was nice to have a bit of space away from the others and I even became bold enough to tentatively stroke Old Ned’s neck and whisper nice things to him about carrots and grass.

  We climbed up and up onto the heather-covered hills, leaving the woodland behind us in the valley floor. Big brown birds were circling above and every so often a rabbit would scurry into the undergrowth. I was at one with nature! We’d just passed a stream and Old Ned had paused for a drink when I heard a loud bang come from down in the valley. The birds swooped and vanished into the distance, but fortunately Old Ned carried on, plodding ever onwards, unflinchingly. What was it? Did farmers carry guns these days? Were there poachers about? Whatever it was it was miles away; the noise had been a tiny pop really. Maybe it was a kid with an air rifle shooting cans off a log or something wholesome like that.

  Half an hour after we started I was completely on my own but almost happily so, pottering along and thinking about Gwyn and his Welsh loveliness. I heard a thundering noise and looking up saw horsey-woman pelting back to where Old Ned and I were moseying along, admiring the view. She deftly pulled up and turned the horse, all in one smooth action. “The others are champing at the bit. They want to pick up the pace. Ned’s not up to it so if you don’t mind we’ll take off and you can catch us up at the lunch stop.” She then pointed out the route, explained that Old Ned would follow it anyway as he had been doing for nearly two decades, and gave me some tips on steering. If either of us got into trouble, “Which Will Not Happen,” she said sternly, catching me looking terrified, I should stay by the horse and she’d come back for me.

  And then she was gone. I tried to relax again and really embrace the experience, but I couldn’t say that it came at all easy to me. The whole horse riding thing seemed completely forced and unnatural. After all, Old Ned would much rather be eating grass in a field somewhere, and I would much rather be walking on my own and the others would much rather I wasn’t there. Really, no one was happy. My plan to disguise my horse-riding-less past had somewhat fallen flat, but at least they could go at their own pace now without going slow for me.

  Old Ned and I had reached the head of the valley now and as horsey-woman had predicted Old Ned was on auto-pilot, taking the broad track that descended into the woodland. I looked back at the valley and all of a sudden I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was over by the edge of the wood. I pulled the reigns and said, “Whooah,” like I’d seen Laura do to her horse earlier but Old Ned carried on regardless. “Whoaah there.” Still nothing. “WOAH UP A BIT NED!” I yelled and tugged hard at the reigns. He walked on. We passed a dense group of trees that blocked my view of the edge of the wood. “NED WILL YOU FUCKING STOP FUCKING WALKING FOR ONE GODDAMN MINUTE?”

  Picking up his pace for the first time, Old Ned trotted on and the edge of the wood came back into view. I gripped his neck in a bid to stay on him now that he was bouncing so much. I had a chance to see the valley again. Holding his mane, I craned my neck to see something moving over in the near distance. It was the old farmer, Tomos, who I’d seen in the pub the night before. The man with the suspiciously wounded hand and arm. From this far away and bouncing violently up and down, it was hard to see him clearly, but it looked like he had a large bag slung across his chest. A large bag with bright red blood across it and across the front of his coat.

  Thankfully he hadn’t seen us as Ned and I had been pretty much camouflaged in the sparse woodland. Why was the old farmer sneaking around the valley covered in blood? Was it connected to the sound like a gunshot I’d heard?

  “Hello there!”

  HOLY FUCK.

  I leaped off my seat and almost fell off Old Ned, who carried plodding on anyway. I looked down. It was Gwyn, standing on the path beside me, grinning.

  “Hi,” I managed, heart pounding from the shock and then pounding doubly for seeing the dishy farmer resplendent in faded old blue t-shirt and very short shorts. Those legs!

  Now the pressure was really on to look like an accomplished horse-woman. I surreptitiously loosened my grip on Old Ned’s neck and picked up the reigns again. He’d slowed right down again to a plod so I could at least try to get some of my composure back. I certainly think I looked the part, although as Gwyn was standing still and Old Ned was still walking on, I had to crane my neck further and further just to keep Gwyn in sight. I could hear his muffled laugh. “I’m sorry Gwyn, I just can’t stop the thing,” I yelled as Old Ned turned a corner into a dense bit of woodland and I was completely out of sight of Gwyn.

  The farmer casually strolled over to us and laid a hand on Old Ned’s neck. He stopped. Was that all it took?

  “Out riding on your own?” he asked, smiling cheekily at me. Knowing full well that a pack of girls had just adeptly thundered through the valley before me.

  “Well, I’ve never done it before,” I said, giving him the honest answer and hoping for the sympathy vote.

  “Really? You surprise me.”

  “Oh ha ha. Anyway, forget that – have you seen Tomos down at the edge of the wood?”

  “Tomos? What, this wood?”

  “Yes. He’s just come out of it near the river. He had blood all over his coat and a big bloodied bag slung over his shoulder.”

  “Get down.” He stretched his arms up to me and lifted me off the horse. For one wonderful moment I was in his big muscly arms and everything else dissolved into nothing. He put me down in front of him and we both looked at each other. I thought I saw in his face a look that mirrored how I felt, but it was quickly gone and taking the reigns he tethered Old Ned to a tree by some nice grass, which he dutifully began to eat.

  “Where did you see Tomos, then?” Gwyn came back over to me.

  I led him through the woodland to the edge, back the way I’d come. And sure enough, there was Tomos, much further away from us now, making his way along a thin track on the valley floor back in the direction of the village.

  “Where do you think he’s been?” I whispered as we crouched, wonderfully close to one another, watching the old farmer retreat. I glanced down at Gwyn’s legs. They were tanned and solid-looking. So close…

  “Goodness only knows,” Gwyn interrupted me, his lovely lilting accent bringing me back to the present, “but there’s only Elijah’s farm nearby and Tomos wouldn’t be paying a visit to his place, that’s for sure.”

  “Elijah is the bloke who stole his fiancé Angharad all those years ago?”

  “That’s the one. So you were listening last night, then?”

  “Of course! Why would Tomos be out here? Does he own land round here?”

  “Just a strip or two. He owns the woodland here and up the valley. But nothing that should give him any reason to be around these parts.”

  “I wonder why he’s covered in blood?”

  “It’s trouble all right.” Gwyn sank back on his heels and contemplated me for a moment. I felt myself blush. The temptation to lean across and kiss him was almost too much. Honestly – I was more brazen than Louisa.

  “I want to see where Tomos has been,” he mused, oblivious, thank God, to my staring lustil
y at him, “but there’s no way of knowing. And even if we try to follow him along the open valley floor, which is nigh on impossible as it’s so exposed, he’ll probably just be returning home now.”

  “Maybe you should follow him another day,” I said, feeling rather sad all of a sudden that I wouldn’t be here “another day.” I would be leaving tomorrow. The weekend had shot by so quickly and even if I was scared to bits I still wanted to know if there really were any big cats out there. And why the old farmer had a freshly scarred hand last night and was covered in blood this morning.

  Christ, what was the time? I checked my watch. It was almost midday! I should be at the lunch stop by now. Laura would kill me.

  “I’d better get going,” I said, standing up reluctantly from my crouching position blissfully close to him. “The others will be expecting me and I’ll just piss them off more if I hold them up any longer.”

  “Where are you meeting them?”

  “Near the river. They’re having a picnic at a place called Peddler’s Well? Something like that.”

  “I know the spot. Shall I walk with you?”

  “If you can keep up,” I laughed, and he helped me up onto Old Ned. I desperately tried to be as light and agile as I could, and not push my arse in his face, but it was all pretty clumsy and awkward. I wished I’d written to Jim’ll Fix It all those years ago and asked for horse riding lessons.

  Taking the reigns in one hand he walked beside me through the woodland, talking about big cats and farms and pubs. Every so often I’d sneak a glance at him and once or twice I caught him doing the same to me. I’d forgotten how it felt to be head over heels about someone, which was a shame because it felt so very good.

  19

  The expressions on the girls’ faces were absolutely priceless. When Old Ned and I emerged from the woodland with Gwyn at the reigns I wished I’d got my camera with me to capture the looks. I felt like a queen with her entourage – the only thing missing was the trumpet fanfare.