by Niamh Greene
‘Maggie, thank you so much for staying in Rose Cottage until I get back,’ she gushes now. ‘I’m really grateful. I know you had some reservations about it – you’re such a good friend.’
‘Yes … About that, Claire.’ I clear my throat. This is it – my chance to back out of the agreement.
‘What is it? Is something wrong?’ Claire is instantly anxious.
‘No, there’s nothing wrong as such. It’s just that life at Rose Cottage isn’t exactly how I thought it would be …’ I try to pick my words carefully. It’s vital not to spring the news on Claire all in one go. After all, she’s thousands of miles away – I don’t want to upset her.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it’s quite a lot of work,’ I answer. That’ll do for starters – I’ll build up to the bit about everyone hating me.
‘Physical work, do you mean?’ Claire asks. ‘I can’t wait for that! After years of sitting at my PC, working up a proper sweat will be fantastic! Are the horses just amazing?’
‘Um, they’re certainly interesting,’ I reply. ‘But the thing is, Claire, I’m not sure it’s for me.’
‘All under-eight riders to the arena in the next five minutes, please!’ the speakers blare.
‘Where are you, Maggie?’ Claire asks. ‘What’s that noise?’
‘I’m at a gymkhana!’ I shout, the noise of another announcement on the intercom almost deafening me.
‘A what?’ Claire bellows.
‘A gymkhana!’ I yell.
‘Wow! Talk about getting into the spirit of things!’ Claire shouts back. ‘I’m so proud of you, Maggie. Thank you so much for doing this for me – you’re the best friend ever. Now I’ve got to go – the fruit platter’s here. If I don’t get to it first I’ll be stuck with all the bloody bananas again.’
There’s a loud click in my ear. Claire’s gone and I haven’t managed to tell her how I really feel. I shove the phone back into my pocket and try to decide what to do next. I need a coffee, and fast, to help me focus. Luckily, there are lots of refreshment tents dotted round the field – hopefully they do a decent brew, not the instant stuff I’ve been forced to drink in the cottage.
Picking the small, shabby tent closest to me, I pull the flap aside and duck into the gloomy interior. As my eyes adjust to the blackness, I realize I’ve made a mistake. This isn’t a coffee tent, it’s some sort of storage facility. Just my bloody luck – I can’t even get a coffee properly. Can this day get any worse?
As I fumble for the flap to make my way back out again, I hear the unmistakable sound of muffled crying. Straining my eyes, I can just about make out the shape of a girl huddled in a corner, her knees pulled close to her chest and her face buried in her hands. ‘Hey, are you OK?’ I call.
The girl is sobbing really hard – it sounds like she’s inconsolable. ‘I’m fine,’ she croaks hoarsely. ‘Just leave me alone.’
‘You don’t sound fine,’ I say softly. The poor girl’s heartbroken.
‘Well, I am, so just leave me alone!’
With that, she jumps up and shoves her way past me. As she does, I catch sight of her mascara-streaked face in the darkness and I gasp. This is no stranger – it’s Matilda.
Rule Fourteen: Keep cool under fire
‘If we get stuck will we have to sleep in the Land Rover, Dad?’ Polly asks.
‘It won’t come to that, Polly.’ Edward’s face is grim. ‘We’ll find a petrol station soon.’
‘Yes, but if we do get stuck, will we sleep in our seats or the horsebox?’
I swallow nervously. Neither option sounds very appealing.
‘I can’t believe I forgot to fill up with diesel before we set off this morning,’ Edward mutters. ‘That was so stupid of me – I’m really sorry about this, Maggie.’
‘That’s OK,’ I say, feeling sick but trying not to let it show.
If I have to sleep in this Land Rover I’ll have hysterics but I don’t want to say that out loud because it might frighten Polly.
‘There’s bound to be a petrol station round the next bend,’ I say instead, with little conviction, as the red warning light flashes angrily on the dashboard. It’s been doing that for the last forty minutes at least – which means this vehicle is now being powered by thin air as far as I can see. If we were on the motorway we’d be fine – there’d be service stations every few miles – but this is a country road. God only knows where the next garage might be.
‘I can’t believe I won first prize, can you, Maggie?’ Polly chirps from the back, forgetting about the diesel drama. ‘I knew crossing my fingers for luck would work!’
‘It’s fantastic, Polly,’ I tell her. ‘You did really well.’
‘Thanks! Wasn’t Saffy brilliant, Dad? This is the best day of my life ever!’
‘Yes, she was,’ Edward grins, ‘and you were too. Well done, darling.’
I see Polly beaming at her father in the rear-view mirror and my heart warms – it’s clear she idolizes him and laps up his praise.
‘You did really well too, Matilda,’ Edward says warmly, to his elder daughter. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Third place is hardly doing well.’ Matilda stares out of the window, her expression unreadable.
‘Third place is excellent – there was some very stiff competition,’ Edward cajoles.
‘Or maybe I was just crap.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Edward is suddenly wary. ‘You did brilliantly – why can’t you just believe me when I tell you?’
‘I dunno, Dad,’ she replies, her voice edgy now. ‘Maybe it’s because you don’t always tell me the truth.’
‘What does that mean?’ Edward asks.
‘I thought you were great, Matilda,’ I offer, in an effort to break the tension. The last thing we need is another argument – especially if we’re going to be stuck on the side of the road for the night. Besides, I’ve been feeling awful since I caught Matilda crying her eyes out. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’ve decided to make an extra effort with her for the rest of my stay here – however long that is. Even if she acts far older, she’s only a child, and from the look on her tear-stained face when she dashed from that tent, something seriously upset her today.
‘Thanks, that means so much,’ she sneers sarcastically. ‘Especially because you’re such an expert.’
‘Matilda!’ Edward gasps. ‘That’s uncalled for – why are you being so rude?’
‘It’s OK,’ I say quietly. ‘She’s right. I know nothing about horses.’
‘Well, Saffy likes you!’ Polly sticks up for me. ‘She told me!’
‘How can a pony tell you something like that, you twit?’ Matilda snorts. ‘What are you – telepathic?’
‘What’s “tel-er-patethic”, Daddy?’ Polly’s little face is creased with anxiety. ‘Will I die from it?’
‘No, honey, of course you won’t. Matilda, why can’t you be nicer to your little sister?’ Edward sounds weary. ‘Can’t you try to get on – just for the trip home?’
If we ever make it home, I think. We’re already running on empty. Who knows when this thing will give up the ghost and simply grind to a halt? ‘I like Saffy too, Polly,’ I say to reassure her. ‘And you do a great job with her.’ It’s true – I do like Saffy. I suddenly remember confiding drunkenly to Edward that I’d come to love all the ponies, even though I’d been so nervous to begin with. Did I tell him I was sure they could talk to me in their own way? Oh, God. I did. I told him that Saffy smiled at me the other day and that Pedlar frowned to remind me to lock the stable door properly. He must think I’m a complete mentaller.
Polly beams at me, content, completely oblivious that I’m cringing inside at my drunken stupidity. ‘I’m going to be a vet when I grow up,’ she says.
‘That’ll be handy.’ Edward grins. ‘Odette’s fees cripple me – I hope you’ll give me a discount.’
‘I don’t like Odette,’ Polly announces. ‘She’s mean.’
‘Polly …�
�� Edward’s voice is warning.
‘It’s true!’ Polly protests. ‘She pretends to be nice when you’re around, but she’s a big faker. Just like Mary Devlin.’
‘Who’s Mary Devlin?’ I ask.
‘Polly’s friend in school,’ Edward replies.
‘She’s not my friend!’ Polly protests.
‘Isn’t she?’ Edward asks, glancing at Polly in the rear-view mirror.
‘No way!’ Polly yells. ‘She always pretends to be nice just before lunch, in case anyone has any sweets in their lunchbox, but she’s mean the rest of the time. That’s just like Odette, Maggie – she’s nice when Daddy’s there, but she’s mean when he’s not. And Saffy doesn’t like her either. Not like you, Maggie – Saffy loves you!’
I can’t help but giggle – when Polly doesn’t like someone or something she isn’t shy about expressing it. I quickly turn the giggle into a cough – after all, Edward and Odette are going out: I don’t want to diss his girlfriend, even if she is a cashmere-wearing battleaxe. Obviously, Polly and Matilda know nothing of their relationship – and it’s clear Edward isn’t about to declare his intentions.
‘What do you want to be when you grow up, Maggie?’ Polly says now, turning her attention fully to me.
I laugh – that’s a very good question. If only I knew the answer.
‘Maggie is an artist, Polly,’ Edward says, and I shift uncomfortably.
Everyone has latched on to the ridiculous idea that I’m some sort of world-renowned artist. Maybe because, in fairness, I haven’t exactly set the record straight about my so-called career.
‘You mean like a painter?’ Polly asks.
‘Yes – isn’t that exciting?’ Edward replies.
‘I love painting!’ Polly wriggles excitedly in her seat.
‘I’m so happy for you.’ Matilda rolls her eyes.
‘What do you like about it, Polly?’ I ask her, trying to ignore the dislike in Matilda’s voice. It’s impossible to develop any sort of rapport with the girl, no matter how hard I try. Obviously something’s bothering her, but does she have to be so abrasive? So dismissive? Was I like that as a teenager? So angry with everyone?
‘Everything! And guess what? I got my face painted once – like a fairy. Will you do that for me?’
‘Sure I will.’ I smile at her. I’ve never painted anyone’s face before – but it can’t be that difficult, right?
‘Brilliant! Did you hear that, Matilda? Maggie’s going to paint my face for me!’
‘Whoop-de-doo.’ Matilda sighs. ‘Let’s throw a party.’
‘Well, I think it’s brilliant!’ Polly punches the air. ‘Saffy will love it.’
‘Saffy is a pony, Polly,’ Matilda says. ‘She won’t know if you have your face painted or not.’
‘Yes, she will,’ Polly insists. ‘She’s very smart. She’ll know.’
‘Whatever.’ Matilda rolls her eyes again, then catches mine in the rear-view mirror. Her expression is defiant, as if she’s deciding whether she’ll talk to me or not. ‘So, Maggie,’ she says, her voice hard to read, ‘do you like Rose Cottage?’
I’m so taken aback that she’s actually speaking directly to me that I swallow before I answer. Edward flinches in the driving seat. He doesn’t know where this is headed either. ‘Yes, I do,’ I answer truthfully. The cottage is lovely – it’s just my life that’s screwed up.
‘What do you like about it most?’ Polly joins in, hoping for a game.
‘Um, let me think … The roses round the door are really pretty,’ I say finally.
‘My mother planted them,’ Matilda says, her voice icy. ‘Didn’t she, Dad?’
‘Yes,’ Edward says, hesitating for a beat, ‘she did.’
‘In fact, my mother did most of the work on the cottage garden, wouldn’t you say?’
‘That’s true,’ he says. ‘She loved gardening.’
Matilda narrows her eyes at me in the mirror.
‘It’s beautifully done,’ I say, trying to ignore the fact that she’s looking at me with such accusation and loathing.
‘So, Maggie,’ Matilda’s eyes burn into my forehead, ‘you have a boyfriend, do you?’
‘Matilda! That’s none of our business!’ Edward’s voice is stern.
‘Sorry, I was only asking.’ I see her smirk.
‘Do you, Maggie – have a boyfriend?’ Polly says.
‘Um, sort of,’ I reply, feeling my cheeks redden again.
A flat no is the correct answer to that question. After all, Robert and I are ancient history, but I’ve already told Odette that I’m in a relationship, so I don’t want to contradict myself now. God, this is getting complicated.
‘What does that mean?’ Polly asks, her little face creasing.
‘It means that you don’t get to ask Maggie anything else, madam,’ Edward interjects. ‘What must she think of us, prying into her affairs like this? I’m sorry, Maggie.’ He turns his head a fraction and flicks his eyes away from the road for a second to smile at me.
‘That’s OK,’ I murmur.
Trust Matilda to press that particular button – as if she knew it was my weak spot. If she ever finds out about my fake art career, she’ll have a field day, I know that for sure.
‘I’m never going to have a boyfriend,’ Polly announces with determination. ‘Boys are gross!’
‘You won’t think that in a few years.’ Edward laughs and I join in, relieved that the heat of the conversation is off me at least.
‘I will! They’re yuk!’ Polly exclaims, wrinkling her nose. ‘Do you want to know what Freddy Doyle did the other day?’
‘Freddy Doyle is Polly’s favourite boy in school,’ Edward explains to me, out of the corner of his mouth.
‘He is not!’ Polly yells passionately. ‘I hate him!’
‘There’s a fine line between love and hate, Polly.’ Edward’s eyes twinkle. ‘Tell us what he did.’
‘He picked his nose and rubbed the snot into his jumper!’
‘That’s disgusting!’ Matilda curls her lip.
‘I know,’ Polly says, agreeing with her older sister for once, ‘and another day he picked his nose and ate it! With his mouth!’
‘As opposed to his ear?’ Edward laughs.
‘That’s vile!’ Matilda says.
‘Boys get a bit nicer when they grow up, Polly,’ I tell her. ‘Trust me.’
‘Well, I’m still never going to have a boyfriend.’ She shakes her head at the very idea. ‘Not like Matilda.’
‘Shut up, you little weed!’ Matilda snarls. ‘I do not have a boyfriend!’
‘Yes, you do! Matilda and Daniel sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,’ Polly sings, then sticks out her tongue and makes puking gestures. ‘Yuk!’
Daniel – that’s the name of the spotty adolescent I met on the first day at Rose Cottage.
‘Shut up, Polly. I’m warning you.’ Matilda sounds menacing.
I glance at Edward, who seems oblivious to this part of the conversation. His eyes are darting anxiously between the diesel gauge and the road. I know from his expression that if we don’t find a petrol station soon we’re scuppered.
‘There it is – at last!’ he exclaims.
I see lights ahead and I exhale. The idea of being stuck in this vehicle with Edward and his two daughters overnight isn’t appealing – especially because World War Three is just about to break out in the back seat.
‘That’s a relief – I was getting a little worried there,’ Edward admits, pulling off the road and manoeuvring up to the diesel pump. ‘I’ll only be a few minutes.’
‘It can’t have been easy coming here on your own,’ Matilda says innocently, as soon as her father climbs out.
‘It’s been OK.’
I look out of the window and will Edward to hurry. I get a horrible feeling that there’s more to Matilda’s comment than meets the eye – I’m at her mercy now he isn’t here.
‘You must miss the city, though – all those fantastic shops …�
��
‘There are some great shops,’ I admit, a fierce longing hitting me to see the shoe department of Brown Thomas. It used to be one of my favourite pastimes, just wandering about in there, fondling Louboutins and dreaming. Most of my decent shoes are crammed into suitcases at the moment – I’m officially living in my stinky trainers, which are caked with all sorts.
‘And then there’s your friends … or your boyfriend … or whoever …’
I suddenly wonder if Robert is dating. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility that he is – after all, it’s been months since we split up. It would be good if he found someone else to share his life with – he is a nice guy, after all. Just not the guy for me.
‘I mean, when you’re so used to city life, being all alone in that cottage must be lonely.’ Matilda’s voice interrupts my thoughts again.
‘It’s not so bad,’ I say, watching as Edward struggles with the pump. It looks as if it’s jammed. I pray for it to loosen before Matilda can ask any more of her searching questions.
‘Really? Aren’t you spooked, though?’ she goes on.
‘Spooked? Why would I be spooked?’
Edward finally wrestles the pump free and starts to fill the tank – thank God for that.
‘Well, you’re all alone in that cottage at night in the dark. Doesn’t it … freak you out?’
I hear Polly snore softly – she’s fallen asleep. That’s probably a good thing. ‘Not really,’ I reply. I hadn’t actually thought about that – but I am all alone in the cottage at night. What if something happened? What would I do? It’s not like I have neighbours downstairs to keep an ear out for me, like I had in the city. Even if I barely knew their names, they would have helped in an emergency. Wouldn’t they?
‘Wow – you’re brave. I don’t think I could bear being on my own in there.’ She shudders. ‘Especially, you know, after last year.’
‘Last year? What happened last year?’
‘Oh.’ She looks surprised. ‘Didn’t Dad tell you? There were loads of burglaries in Glacken.’
‘No, he didn’t mention it.’ I try to keep my voice calm, as if I’m not screaming inside, which of course I am. Burglaries? Oh, God, I’d die if I was ever broken into. Why didn’t Edward tell me about that? He wasn’t obliged to, of course, but still, he might have let me know – I’m probably the ideal target for gangsters. Single woman, living all alone, no vicious dog on site and no previous experience of any sort of self-defence. I must fit the victim profile perfectly.
