Vets in Love

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘I don’t know.’ I shrug. ‘He’s a patient – and my vet.’ Having seen him working at Delphi’s yard, I realise I don’t want anyone else looking after Willow from now on.

  ‘You kept that one quiet.’

  ‘Any interest I have in him is purely professional.’ I look down and fiddle with the buckle on the reins.

  ‘I don’t think he sees it that way. Come on, Nicci. I’m not blind. He came across especially to talk to you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.’

  ‘Delphi says he has a girlfriend.’ I’m flattered by the attention, but nothing can come of it if he’s attached. ‘Mum, please don’t distract me. I’ve got to get Willow’s bandages on and get changed.’ I dismount and take the reins over Willow’s head to lead her back to the lorry. Henry is already in his red and black cross-country colours. He frowns and jams his skullcap on his head when he sees me, then bends down and picks up his crop, slapping it against his boot.

  ‘You reckon that old nag’s going to get round the course clear today?’

  ‘It’s her favourite phase,’ I say. ‘She’ll fly it.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Henry whistles between his teeth and a girl of about eighteen emerges from the side door of his lorry with a can of cola in one hand and an apple in the other. She sticks the apple between her teeth and hangs onto Henry’s horse while he vaults into the saddle.

  ‘All the best,’ I say generously, in spite of his criticism of Willow.

  Henry gives his mount an unnecessary slap on the flank and the horse breaks into canter with a buck that almost unseats him.

  ‘Serves you right,’ the girl mutters, before turning away and disappearing into the lorry.

  It isn’t long before I’m back in the saddle, wearing my pale blue and purple silk over my skullcap, and an air vest for protection. Willow knows what’s coming next and she’s on her toes, shying at everything on the way to the warm-up area at the start of the course.

  We pop over the log a couple of times between the red and white flags, listening to my competitors’ progress via the loudspeaker announcements. Henry has gone clear within the time, so I know we have no room for error as I run through the course in my head, visualising the approach to every obstacle, as planned with Shane when we walked the course.

  The starter calls me into the box. Willow prances about on the spot, jerking her head forwards in a vain attempt to snatch the reins from my hands, but I know her too well.

  ‘No way,’ I tell her, chuckling in spite of my nerves at the thought of jumping a course that’s at the top end of Willow’s limits and mine. ‘That little trick doesn’t work any more. Remember?’

  The starter calls the countdown. ‘Three, two, one.’

  And we’re off, straight into a fast canter down the gentle slope to a rustic fence filled in with straw bales which Willow jumps fluidly before we gallop across the grass for the next, an enormous log followed by a skinny fence, which catches some horses out. Not Willow though. She has no intention of doing anything but jumping them. It takes all my strength to pull her back under control when we jump off the bank, heading down to the tiger trap and beyond to the water, which is a straightforward trot in and jump out, followed by a pair of gates. It’s fast, fun and exhilarating, and I’m not worried about the time because Willow is going for it, her long strides eating up the ground.

  The next is a ditch with a steep drop on the other side. I give Willow a kick and a ‘Click, click’ as she takes an extra stride into it.

  ‘Trust me,’ I tell her and she responds, throwing herself over the top. I sit back, letting the reins slip through my fingers and we land safely on the other side. The rest is a formality, a long steady gallop over the remaining fences to the finish. I let Willow slow to a canter then a trot, and finally we walk to the cheers of the crowd waiting at the end of the course.

  Mum can’t speak and nor can I. She grabs Willow’s reins while I dismount and through a blur of tears relieve my wonderful horse of the weight of the saddle. I can feel Mum’s arms around me and hear her barely audible whisper of congratulation as she gives me a warm hug. I can’t believe it. It’s going to take a while to sink in. With this win, my dream of competing at Badminton among the elite has moved that much closer. I watch Willow stand as Mum throws her cooler over her back. She’s blowing, her nostrils flared and red inside, and her chest is heaving. She’s put her heart and soul into this, and even though I’m breathless and too hot to think straight, my chest tightens – I’m so proud of her. I step close and hug her neck, inhaling the scent of steaming horse and sweaty leather. Noticing one of her plaits has come undone, I remove the plaiting band caught in the tiny curls of her mane and run my fingers through to straighten them out.

  Back at the lorry, Mum washes Willow down with cool water and a sponge while I scrape the excess moisture from her coat with a sweat scraper, and throw on a clean rug before I walk her around to let her dry off. When she’s stopped sweating, I let her pick at some grass while I brush her and tack her up for the presentation.

  She swishes her tail when I put the saddle back on and gives me a look as if to say, ‘Not again’.

  ‘Humour me,’ I tell her. ‘You can have a day off tomorrow.’

  ‘Your jacket,’ Mum says, handing it over. ‘You can’t go in for the presentation looking as if you’ve been through a hedge backwards.’ She brushes me down as if I’m about five and going to school in uniform for the first time. ‘I’m going to find myself a good place to watch.’

  Henry moves up beside me and we ride down to the main arena, almost knee to knee, our stirrups clashing. The arena has been cleared, the jumps stacked neatly onto a tractor and trailer, and the other prize-winners are waiting for us to take the lead and enter first. Willow is excited, jogging along to the presentation area in front of the small grandstand, but she seems a touch sore and I wonder if she’s bruised her foot.

  We stand at the head of the line with Henry beside us, his horse champing at the bit and flicking foam from his mouth.

  ‘Congrats,’ Henry says, his grim expression relaxing into a smile. ‘Well ridden, Nicci.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, realising what an effort that must have taken him. ‘I like your horse. He looks like he’s got a great future.’

  ‘Even though I can’t believe he was beaten by a donkey.’ Henry’s eyes crease into a grin. We’ve come to a truce, I think, although I’ll never forgive him for cheating on me. ‘I had a chat with Matt about you and him.’

  ‘Oh?’ I say as nonchalantly as I can as a tsunami of blood rushes to the roots of my hair and the tips of my ears.

  ‘It’s all right. I can keep my trap shut.’

  I cringe. What must Matt think? How will I ever face him again? I glance at the crowd of spectators gathered to watch the presentation, and there he is. I look away quickly, but it’s too late, I’ve caught his eye. He smiles and waves. I nod back. Perhaps it isn’t so bad. I can only hope that Matt assumes Henry has got the wrong end of the stick.

  When I said Matt was my boyfriend I didn’t think about the consequences. I should have guessed that Matt was Henry’s vet – I knew Henry was one of Westleigh Equine’s clients. I should also have had more than an inkling that Henry would pursue my statement because he likes to gossip. He’d relish being the first to spread the news among the horsey set.

  I’m presented with a red rosette the colour of my face, a silver plate and a small cash prize, but these are mere tokens compared to how I feel. Winning is reward enough and I’m euphoric as I canter my beautiful horse around the arena for the lap of honour.

  ‘The winner, Nicci Chieveley and Willow … Second …’

  The sound of hooves and the wind in my ears blots out all other noise and it’s just me and the horse and the scarlet ribbons on the rosette flying back behind her ear. I stand in the stirrups and let Willow slow to a trot as we leave the arena, looking for my mother to share what is turning out to be one of the best days of my life.

&nb
sp; A pulse beats in the back of my throat and the butterflies are back when I notice Matt walking purposefully towards me. He raises his hand.

  ‘Hi, girlfriend,’ he says with a wicked twinkle in his eye. ‘Henry thinks we’re an item. How about that?’

  ‘How about that?’ I echo. I’m mortified. How could I have been so stupid? Matt must think I’m deranged, and although there’s no particular reason why his opinion should matter, I realise how much I wanted him to think well of me.

  ‘I wonder who on earth could have given him that impression?’

  ‘I wonder,’ I say inanely. Matt is teasing me, calling my bluff.

  He moves up close and pats Willow’s neck. ‘What are you up to now?’

  ‘I’m heading back to the lorry, then the yard.’

  ‘l’ll come with you as far as the lorry.’ As we cross the grass, I’m aware of Henry watching us and Matt walking alongside me, one hand still on Willow’s neck in a gesture of possession.

  ‘How’s the shoulder?’ I ask quietly.

  ‘You can take a look, if you like.’

  ‘I’m being serious,’ I say, challenging his cheeky attitude.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I wonder if you could have a quick look at Willow if you’re not in a terrible hurry to get away somewhere to meet someone, or something.’ I rush on making a real mess of what should be a simple request. ‘She’s pulled up a touch unlevel, and I thought if I trotted her up you could check I’m not imagining it. It’s probably nothing, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.’ I dismount and remove the saddle, resting it on the ramp of the lorry.

  I’m tempted to take my hat off, but I would rather faint with heatstroke than reveal my hat-hair in front of Matt. I know it will be flat and damp and that the hairnet will have left a furrow across my forehead.

  ‘Walk her up and back.’ Matt points towards the aisle between the rows of horseboxes. I walk Willow away from him, turn her and walk her back. ‘Now trot her up.’

  I try to keep up with her as I let her have her head.

  ‘It isn’t the horse. It’s you. You’re one of those neurotic horsey owners.’ Matt moves to join me when I bring Willow to a halt. ‘She looks perfectly sound to me.’

  ‘She might be sound, but she still looks like a bloody donkey.’ Henry’s voice interrupts us.

  ‘I think she runs up pretty well,’ Matt says, turning to Henry. ‘She’s supple and moves with a good rhythm.’

  ‘Are you talking about the horse, or the girlfriend?’ Henry says, his hands on his hips and his feet apart.

  ‘My girlfriend, of course,’ Matt responds, and I almost leap out of my skin when he pinches my bottom. I’m shocked and pleased, though I shouldn’t be, but I’m particularly delighted at the expression of what could be a touch of envy and regret on Henry’s face. ‘We should be getting on,’ Matt continues. ‘I’m taking Nicci out for a drink tonight.’

  This is news to me but I play along, until Henry disappears into his lorry to harangue his stroppy groom for leaving the water tap on and draining the tank.

  ‘I know Henry – he’s a bit of a prat.’ Matt is grinning. ‘It’s all right. He’s well aware of what I think of him.’

  ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about it.’

  ‘You know, you didn’t have to go that far.’

  ‘As far as what? You mean, pinching your bottom? Well, I couldn’t resist.’ His chuckle turns to an exclamation of regret. ‘Nicci, I haven’t offended you, have I?’

  ‘No, no.’ I can hardly accuse him of overstepping the mark when it was me who started the boyfriend/girlfriend thing.

  ‘I don’t know why you said it, but I’m more than happy you’ve decided to be my girlfriend, because it saves me having that awkward conversation where I ask you out.’

  I stare at him, confused. His gaze is steady and his pupils are dilated, set in irises stacked with shades of brown, hazelnut and gold. His cheekbones are high and his complexion infused with warmth. His hair, although cropped short, is tousled in all directions.

  ‘You are joking?’ I say.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Don’t panic – you look like the proverbial hare caught in the headlamps. I’m more than happy to play along, especially when you’re trying to make your ex-boyfriend jealous. Henry told me. He said you were a bit of a spoilsport.’

  ‘He would say that, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘It’s all right. I know there are always two sides to every story.’

  ‘I can’t apologise enough for saying what I did,’ I repeat, but Matt cuts me off.

  ‘You aren’t dumping me already? We haven’t been on a date yet.’

  ‘We can’t date,’ I point out quickly, and I’m about to give him a very good reason.

  ‘You’re right. We’ve moved way beyond the casual dating stuff. Should I ask you to marry me?’

  ‘Oh, Matt!’ I start to giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation. ‘Stop it.’

  ‘You have a lovely smile,’ he says. ‘I didn’t see much evidence of it when you were being Nicci the doctor. I thought you were a bit … well, scary at first.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘There’s no reason to thank me. Let’s go out for a drink tonight and we can discuss our living arrangements. Are you a live-out or live-in girlfriend?’

  ‘I need to get Willow home,’ I say, turning away and leading her back to the lorry where I tie her up and put on her boots and tail guard for the journey. Matt leans against the side of the ramp, watching.

  ‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’ He pauses. ‘I’m being serious now. I’d like to take you out to celebrate your win.’

  ‘This isn’t a date?’ I blurt out.

  ‘It can be whatever you want it to be.’

  ‘What about Mel?’ Matt frowns as I go on. ‘What will she think about it?’

  ‘It’s none of her business.’ His expression relaxes. ‘I’m not involved with Mel, not now. I’ll explain later.’

  ‘Okay.’ His reply seems genuine enough. I make my mind up. ‘I’d like to meet up.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  Mindful of what I’ve been preaching to my mum, I suggest we meet at the Talymill Inn.

  ‘That’s a great idea. We can sit outside.’ He smiles that slow, heart-lurching smile of his and adds, ‘See you later, girlfriend,’ before walking away without giving me time to argue over the status of our relationship. I suspect he’s never going to let me live this down.

  Chapter Five

  A Horse of a Different Colour

  WHEN I’M DEBATING whether to walk or drive to the pub, my mother texts me to say she’s going out. I’d forgotten in the excitement of the day. ‘Keep in txt,’ I text back. I don’t mention that I’m going out too, because I don’t want to spoil her date.

  I eat eggs on toast, then shower, throw on cropped denims and a top, and keep everything simple with mascara and lip gloss. I check my look in the mirror – not bad for someone who was up at five. I grab my bag and drive to the Talymill Inn.

  It’s already eight-thirty, and I can see it’s busy because it’s a Saturday night and peak summer holiday season when everyone flocks to sunny Devon for the beaches and moors, the cream teas and cider. By now, every static caravan at Talysands and every pitch in the surrounding campsites will be taken. As I turn into the car park, there are several children and their parents on the verge outside, feeding a small fat pony with feathery feet, and I think OMG, I know who that pony belongs to, which can only mean my mother is here on her second date with her latest ‘just a friend’, the Roger Moore lookalike.

  I suppose I should have known better because there can’t be many pubs where you can park your pony and trap outside while you pop in for a drink.

  I park the car alongside Matt’s four-by-four and head inside the pub, an old mill that has been restored to its former glory by the previous owners, a couple from London, wh
o sold it on to Tony and Max, a couple of young entrepreneurs who made their money buying and selling hotels along the south coast.

  Matt is waiting for me, watching the door from the bar.

  ‘Nicci,’ he calls.

  ‘Nicci!’ My mum doesn’t so much call my name as yelp it, such is her surprise. She touches her throat. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Acknowledging Matt, I walk towards the bar via the table where Mum’s sitting with the man I assume is Robert. She’s glammed up in a sundress and pale yellow shrug, and sitting beside – well, I say beside, but she’s practically on his lap – an old man who was probably quite handsome in his youth. His hair is thick and salt and pepper grey, and he has magnificent bushy sideburns, lively blue eyes and a ruddy, outdoor complexion. He wears an old denim shirt, black trousers and shiny shoes.

  ‘I’m meeting Matt,’ I say sheepishly.

  ‘Why didn’t you think to mention it to me?’

  ‘He isn’t a stranger. Everyone knows Matt.’

  ‘Harold Shipman was a doctor, and he turned out to be a serial killer.’

  ‘Mum, you’re overreacting.’

  ‘Which is what you did when I said I was meeting Robert.’

  ‘Okay, I’m sorry. I should have mentioned it, but Mum, it isn’t a date. We’re two acquaintances having a drink.’ I lean closer and add in a hoarse whisper. ‘So please don’t go buying your hat just yet.’

  ‘I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t,’ she says glibly. ‘Why don’t I treat us all to the next round? You and Matt must come and sit with us. There’s plenty of room around the table.’

  ‘I’ll get them,’ says Robert.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I say. ‘Thank you, but Matt’s at the bar. We’re going outside. It’s a lovely evening.’ To be honest, it’s chilly and overcast, but there’s no way I’m going to be seen ‘double-dating’ with my mother.

  ‘Let me introduce you to Robert before you disappear,’ Mum says. ‘Nicci, this is Robert. Robert, this is my daughter, Nicci.’

  The lonely farmer nods at me and smiles. ‘I’ve heard all about you.’

  I can feel myself blushing. How could this have happened?