Big Cats and Kitten Heels

by Claire Peate

  We descended from the woods and wound our way downwards towards the field where the girls had already set up picnic blankets and were tucking in to the food. I almost lost my cool and shouted out, “Look what I found in the woods!” but didn’t – principally for fear of falling off Old Ned rather than not wanting to gloat that I’d

  picked up Gwyn. In the hare and the tortoise race, it certainly was the tortoise who won in the end.

  We pulled up where the other horses were tethered and Gwyn chivalrously helped me down once more, and again there was a spark of something as my body slid against his. I smiled bashfully and he did the same, busying himself with tying Old Ned up to a post. I bounded over to the picnickers, beaming.

  Louisa, Henna and Laura were delighted to see Gwyn. The minute he came over to join us Louisa fussed around him, making sure he sat down to join in the picnic. Would he like a blini? Would he like some hummus? She managed to be all smiles and laughter to Gwyn, but shot me a dark look that said, “Back off – he’s mine this weekend,” which I chose to ignore by examining which sandwich I would start off with. Salmon, probably. There was no way I was going to stand my ground with Louisa over something that, sadly, I didn’t think was going to happen to either of us. I could dream though, which is what I did during most of the picnic, glancing over at Gwyn from time to time as he lay on his side and accepted whatever delicate morsel Louisa offered him. At one point she turned her back to get the lemonade and he looked over at me, shot me a cheeky wink and then went back to “mmm-ing” and “ahh-ing” in agreement at her account of how difficult life was for a London estate agent operating at the high end of the market.

  After that I couldn’t stop grinning and once again my appetite completely failed me. At this rate I’d reach my ideal weight with no problem whatsoever. I’d lust my way to skinniness.

  So avoiding the sandwiches and salads I lay back, propped on my elbows and gazed over at the fields to where a rather loud river rippled and splashed its way along the valley floor. We had been so lucky with the weather. It was wonderfully hot, with a fine heat haze rippling the grass ahead of us. Last night’s gales had blown themselves out and a peaceful summer’s day had been left in its wake. The sound of droning insects buzzing around us made me think of my childhood – the odd day spent on a visit to the countryside with my parents, eating sticky ice creams and playing football. Was it really that long ago since I properly spent some time outside a city? Why hadn’t I done this sooner? It was wonderful. I lay back on the soft grass and closed my eyes, content to sunbathe and listen in to the conversations that were going on around me. As much as I wanted to talk to Gwyn, there was no point even trying to distract his attention from Louisa. It would be suicide and besides, what I really wanted to talk to him about – Tomos and the bloodied bag – was between Gwyn and me and I didn’t want to share it with the others. It was our secret.

  A phone started ringing, cutting in to the steady drone of our picnic. It wouldn’t be Cathy’s this time.

  “Those bloody things should be turned off!” barked the horsey-woman, who had been flicking through a newspaper, sitting on the edge of our group and minding her own business up to that point.

  “It’s James.” Louisa hit call accept. “James! Well?” She walked away towards the river and out of earshot. The three of us girls watched her intently while Gwyn nonchalantly helped himself to a handful of sandwiches.

  “First time she’s spoken to him since last night?” he asked. I propped myself up on my elbows again to join in the conversation.

  “Yup.” Laura looked on as Louisa, arms now waving wildly in the air, shouted what was in all likelihood a stream of abuse down the phone.

  “What do you think she’s saying?” Henna squinted in concentration, trying to make out what Louisa was yelling.

  “Well, I definitely heard the word ‘arsehole’ just now,” I said, taking the last fondant fancy before Gwyn could have it. He frowned and went for the last cherry bakewell.

  “Yeah. I heard that.” Henna was still watching our friend. “And something about loose stags?”

  “It was slags, loose slags.”

  “Oh yeah, right. That would make sense…”

  “Shhh!” Laura put a finger to her lips. “She’s coming back.”

  Sure enough Louisa, red faced and wild-haired, was walking over to us, mobile phone held in a white-knuckled grip at her side.

  “Well?” Laura prompted when Louisa huffed down on the picnic rug.

  “Well, he’s lying.” She lay down on the picnic rug and closed her eyes.

  “Come on then.” Henna was bobbing up and down. “What happened? Spill the beans.”

  Louisa sighed. “He says that they did go out last night, that they went to a local pub, the name of which he can’t remember…”

  “Oooh, suspicious!” Henna burst in.

  “And he says there were women there but they didn’t have anything to do with them.” She opened her eyes and propping herself up looked over at us. “And that’s it.”

  “And you don’t believe him?” Gwyn asked.

  “No. No I bloody don’t.” She sank back on the picnic rug and closed her eyes. “I know that he will have been egged on by all his stupid mates to do something that he wouldn’t usually do. I know James, obviously I do, and he would never be unfaithful to me. But some of his mates are real arseholes and I bet they were egging him on, and they’d be drinking and…”

  She looked close to tears now and I shuffled over and threw an arm around her and gave her a hug. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing will have happened, you’ll see. Anyway, what are they up to today?”

  “Hiking,” she said, still miserable. “And I hope they bloody hike into a sodding ravine or get clawed to death by a pack of leopards or pumas or lions or whatever is supposed to be out there.”

  “Out here,” I added, suddenly remembering.

  “Or set upon by mad old farmers,” joined in Gwyn with the briefest of glances at me.

  “Or fall into a disused mine shaft,” Laura offered.

  “Or shot by anti-English farmers.”

  “Or stampeded by cows…” And so it went on, and the more horrific the hiking disaster the more Louisa perked up, convinced that there would be some sort of karma-like event looming for her fiancé. If he had got up to anything unsavoury last night, then some balancing peril was sure to befall him today.

  Gwyn had tied some grasses together in the shape of a star and presented them to Louisa, which soon brought back the smiles, and before long she was back to her old self, talking to Gwyn and every so often touching his knee and giggling.

  It was after nearly an hour of eating, drinking and sunbathing that horsey-woman folded up her paper and announced that we needed to head back on the last leg of our journey. I half expected Laura to whip out a pocket-sized gong and start hammering away to signal the start of the next phase of our schedule. I was already getting conditioned by her this weekend like Pavlov’s Dogs, but instead of salivating I jumped to attention at the sound of a gong.

  Louisa pleaded with Gwyn to join the group but he chivalrously declined – he had business up at the top of the valley so had to make a move. Before he left he came over to me and helped me fold the picnic blanket up, which was causing me enormous problems.

  “You grab this corner and I’ll take that,” he directed, smiling as he effortlessly sorted it out for me. “How on earth do you cope on your own?”

  “I don’t,” I admitted, my head suddenly filled with a montage of images of me stumbling round the bedroom inside a duvet cover, tangled up in sheets, tripping on pillow cases like a comedy ghost in a pantomime.

  “What’s up with your friend?” he said in a quiet voice as the others milled around nearby.

  “Which one?” I asked. They all had their issues.

  “The one with the blotchy face.”

  “Oh, Henna! It’s her toxins. Apparently they’re coming out.”

  “Oh, OK.” He
grimaced and went back to folding the rug while I marvelled at the muscles in his arms.

  “So,” I pulled myself together again, “what are you going to do about Tomos then? Have you reached a final decision?”

  “Yep. I’ve decided that I am going to have to follow him. There’s nothing for it. I want to know what the blood is all about.”

  “Goddamn it! I wish I was staying longer,” I sighed. “I’d much rather be out here stalking the neighbours than going back to my sensible old office job. This is much more exciting.”

  “Need a bit of excitement, do you?” he said in his lovely lilting accent, laughing as he fitted the blanket into a pack that Henna’s horse was carrying.

  “Something like that. Life’s a bit, well, pedestrian I suppose.”

  “In what way?” He turned to look at me and I momentarily forgot what I was talking about, staring at his dark eyes under those thick brows…

  “In what way?” he repeated.

  “Oh. Well, you know, go to work and write some reports, come home and microwave a meal, go to the bar, go to the supermarket, hire out a film…”

  “No boyfriend?”

  “No boyfriend.”

  “That’s a shame,” he said, smiling again. I couldn’t help but smile back and was about to attempt to say something witty when Laura sauntered over with the white snorty horse and told me to “saddle up” because we’d all be riding together over the rest of the path back to the stables. Laura tapped her watch and raised her eyebrows at me and it took all the self-restraint I could muster not to leap up and grab the watch off her wrist and throw it into the river.

  “See you around then,” I said to Gwyn as I inexpertly clambered up onto Old Ned again.

  “I guess so,” he said.

  I fought the urge to grab him by his T-shirt and blurt out, “But when will I see you again? Are you going to the pub tonight? What are you doing tomorrow? You’re so lovely!”

  The ride back was nowhere near as peaceful and, well, enjoyable, as I realised my solitary ride there had been. This was due entirely to the fact that Laura, schedule timings at the forefront of her military mind, had taken it upon herself to ride behind me in the hope that by yelling out instructions every five minutes she could teach me to ride Old Ned like he was some steroid-crazed young racehorse.

  “Kick his sides! Like this! Look!” She barked at me and demonstrated on her horse which lurched forward and was stopped only by Old Ned’s enormous horsey arse blocking the path. I had a go at copying her but only managed a sort of body-wiggle that had no effect whatsoever on Old Ned and nearly unseated me.

  “Look, Laura, I don’t think my horse is programmed to do anything else except what he’s doing.” I craned my head back to look at her.

  “Well, do this then.” She did something with the reins and again her horse advanced. I tried on Old Ned and still no effect. On he plodded.

  And then it happened.

  Up ahead Louisa was leading the group.

  She screamed.

  It was a warbling, animal-like scream and everyone stopped – a few of the horses clearly startled. Old Ned, however, plodded on regardless and horsey-woman stuck out her hand to check his progress.

  A man burst out from the heather to the right of us. He was dressed in camouflage gear and had a large matt-black gun held out in front of him. I felt my hands turn clammy, grasping the reigns tightly. Had we ridden so far we had reached the Middle East?

  “It’s OK.” He dropped his weapon when he saw our startled faces. “PC Daniel Robinson, Rhondda Cynon Taff police. I’m a marksman.” He came over to where we had stopped.

  We stared at him dumbfounded. Laura looked impressed.

  What was a police marksman doing in the undergrowth? There was a second of silence before Henna’s journalistic instinct started working and made the connection.

  “Is it about the sightings of the big cat?” she piped up.

  PC Daniel Robinson, marksman with Rhondda Cynon Taff police, nodded smartly. “Yes, miss. We’re following up reported sightings,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Actually there are a few of us marksmen in the valley today, but I doubt whether you’ll come across any of my colleagues, they’re further down the valley floor.”

  “That’s a pity,” purred Louisa, smouldering on her horse and treating the policeman to a thousand-watt smile.

  “Who’s in charge here?” he asked, after being momentarily beguiled by my friend’s flirting.

  “I am,” horsey-woman dextrously weaved her animal through the girls to the front.

  “Well, I would get back to base and stay there. We’ve had further reports of sheep attacked by an animal and a horse was set upon earlier today,” the policeman said.

  Oh my God. The net was closing fast. I could feel the pant of the big cat behind me. Its eyes watching me from its lair in the undergrowth…

  And then I remembered. The old farmer. The blood!

  “Er, where was the horse attacked?” I called from the back.

  “Over at the head of the valley.” The policeman pointed in the direction of where Tomos had come from. “But you don’t have to be unduly concerned. There’s safety in numbers and you’re not far from the village here.” He paused for effect. “However, I would advise you to stay to main roads for the next few days and take extra precautions.”

  I wondered, should I mention the old farmer? After all, it was looking pretty damning that he was covered in blood and seen to be walking away from the scene of the crime at around the right time. But then, considering the build and age of the farmer, would he have the strength to attack a horse? And why? Why on earth would some doddery old farmer do such a thing? He wasn’t mad. You couldn’t be mad and run a farm. Could you? Maybe you could.

  But then who was I to go blackening someone’s character? I knew nothing. I’d only seen something I thought was a bit fishy, and besides, Gwyn was going to be following it up. Quite literally. For all I knew there was a perfectly reasonable explanation behind the old farmer’s cuts on his arm and the fresh blood on his clothing this morning, and if there wasn’t, well then Gwyn would get to the bottom of it. I’d drop in to his farm when I left tomorrow and let him know what the marksman had told us. Maybe I could leave him my number, purely so he could give me a call and tell me what he found out when he trailed Tomos on one of his outings.

  Tomorrow. I was going home tomorrow.

  Again there was that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. My one truly exciting weekend was coming to an end. And still there had been no sighting of the big cat. Never mind, sighting or no sighting, my weekend would beat hands-down whatever Marvellous Marcia would be doing with herself. She could be skydiving naked from a burning plane while juggling snakes and I’d still have had the most interesting weekend. But urgh, the prospect of plodding back in to work on Tuesday and normality closing in around me just like before filled me with a kind of cold horror.

  Death by boredom.

  “I’ll accompany you back to the stables,” the marksman was saying to the group when I emerged from my black thoughts, “if you don’t mind. Better to be safe than sorry.”

  “It’s OK.” Louisa shot me a look. “We were only making slow progress anyway, so I doubt whether you walking with us is going to slow us down any more”.

  What was it with her? Did she still hold a grudge because I’d bumped into Gwyn in the woods? I shrugged it off – it was probably more to do with the fact that her fiancé might have been having it away with a rough valleys girl and she was just in a snappy mood. I hoped so anyway. I didn’t fancy the prospect of losing another friend like I might be with Angela. Perhaps I ought to forget Gwyn altogether. Not even talk to him if we saw him again. Let Louisa work her charm on him…

  We plodded on the same as before, with the policeman ahead of us and Louisa walking her horse alongside him whenever the path allowed it. The rest of us trailed behind slowly, Old Ned plodding along as fast as a snail on caffeine. />
  I kept shooting nervous looks into the undergrowth, convinced I’d see a big cat ready to lunge at me. The other girls must have had much the same thoughts as I had because when I looked at them I could see them looking around with renewed vigour. Were we really in that much danger?

  By the time we’d arrived back at the stables it was early evening and we were all tired. Heads were hung low, shoulders were hunched and every so often one of us would let out a yawn that would set the rest of us off. The last hour had really dragged with everyone, myself included, wanting to go faster to get back to the Hen House and crash. There was nothing much to see on this side of the valley and most of it was in the shadow of the western hills so it was much cooler, especially as the afternoon gave way to early evening.

  Louisa jumped off her horse, helped down by the police marksman who waved as he walked off back to the valley, his gun now raised ahead of him and ready for action. God forbid that any small domestic cat should shoot out in front of him now.

  “Well,” Louisa said, ruffling her hair after taking her helmet off, “we’ve got ourselves a party tonight!”

  “What?” Laura looked momentarily horrified. Edition five of the rota clearly showed tonight was the Formal Dinner prepared by Henna and Laura, followed by the Women’s Evening Hen Extravaganza, for which we’d all had to bring something. I’d done pass the parcel with an enormous vibrator-shaped chocolate wrapped up in layers of Vogue magazine. Both classy and tacky – the perfect hen night game.

  “I was talking to Dan and he comes off work in a couple of hours. He was saying that the valley is full of single young policemen like him. They’re coming round at eight. Woo-hoo!” She danced round her horse in delight. “Party, party, party!”

  20

  “It’s fine Laura,” Henna said, studying edition six of the Schedule & Rota, now barely more than a graffitied scrap of paper showing “PARTY!” as the activity for this evening.

  We all stood round, drinking our vast goblets of wine.

  “Maybe it is just a bit messy,” I conceded.