Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘You could have told me. If Maisie hadn’t blurted it out with the tiara, I’d never have known.’

  ‘I didn’t realise she had such a thing for weddings and finding her dad a wife.’ Robbie pulls into the yard and reaches one hand across to touch my thigh. I push him away. ‘I thought we were friends, more than friends. I’ve apologised and explained my position. Why don’t you believe me?’

  ‘Because you’ve admitted that you were deliberately hiding something from me. It’s dishonest. I know it shouldn’t matter to me that you are going to a wedding with Kerry, because we agreed we weren’t committed to each other as such, but it’s … oh, I don’t know.’ My voice tremors when I go on, ‘It’s made me feel bad, when I want to be happy.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Robbie asks slowly. His expression is dark, with I’m not sure what – anger, pain, irritation – but I don’t care. I thought he was different. ‘I take it that tomorrow’s cancelled.’

  I swallow back a sob of disappointment.

  ‘I’ll carry on shoeing your horses, but I don’t want to see you again.’

  He bites his lip. ‘Okay, it’s your decision. It’s a shame. We could still hack out together.’

  ‘No, Robbie,’ I say firmly. ‘Whatever it was, it’s over. It’s better that way.’

  I return to Wisteria House without staying to help turn Paddington out, and I spend some time with Rafa for some equine therapy with a sensitive and emotional creature, not a man. It’s for the best. I can focus on the future without distractions, and I’m a temporary fixture here anyway. I was a fool to think that a casual fling would work for me. I touch my chest. I’ve had a lucky escape. My heart isn’t broken, just bruised.

  Chapter Twelve

  No Foot, No Horse

  I’m grooming Rafa outside his stable on the Sunday morning after the fete when Robbie rides up and looks over the grey stone wall outside Wisteria House.

  ‘Hi,’ he calls from Diva’s back. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’ I pause from scrubbing at the mud on my horse’s shoulder with his rubber currycomb. I tap it against the stable, knocking out a cloud of dust. ‘And you?’

  ‘I’ve been better.’

  ‘How is Nelson?’

  ‘Matt’s coming out to see him again in the week.’

  I don’t probe any further. Obviously, he’s showing no sign of improvement.

  Someone shrieks, ‘Look at me!’

  It’s Maisie, but I can’t see her at first. A white face with pricked ears appears through the honeysuckle and brambles that clamber across the top of the wall, followed by Maisie’s hat and eyes as she stands in her stirrups, balancing precariously.

  ‘You’re off the lead rein,’ I say, avoiding Robbie’s gaze.

  ‘Yay!’ She punches the air. ‘We’re going down to the river. Do you want to come?’

  ‘I won’t, thank you.’

  ‘I’d really appreciate it if we could arrange to talk sometime,’ Robbie says. ‘Would you be able to come over for coffee or tea later this afternoon? Maisie’s going to play with a friend.’

  ‘I wanna stay and see Flick.’

  ‘You’ve agreed to go to Chloe’s. Please, Flick.’

  ‘No, I’m all right. Another time.’

  ‘Oh, go on,’ Robbie joins in. ‘I was hoping that you might have forgiven me.’

  ‘I don’t want to discuss it,’ I say, swapping the currycomb for the body brush. I’m happy with my horse. I don’t want to revisit the day before. What’s done is done.

  ‘What are you and Flick talking about?’ Maisie frowns and hauls on Paddington’s reins as he takes a mouthful of leaves from the tree that overhangs the wall.

  ‘Nothing,’ Robbie says. ‘That’s a fib. It must be something.’

  ‘It was inconsequential chat.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Never mind. We’re talking about the price of fish,’ he says.

  ‘Oh?’ Paddington turns his bottom towards Diva, making the mare flatten her ears.

  ‘No kicking.’ Robbie pushes her away.

  ‘What sort of fish?’ Maisie asks.

  ‘Salmon, mackerel … all kinds.’ He flashes me a brief smile. ‘Are you sure we can’t persuade you to come with us?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ I say. ‘Good luck with the vet, by the way.’

  Robbie thanks me for my concern and the two of them ride away along the lane. Rafa fidgets, wanting to go with them, and I feel a little mean for spoiling his fun. He would have enjoyed the company of the other horses.

  As the sound of two sets of hooves fade into the distance and one of Louise’s chickens clucks to announce that she’s laying an egg, I wonder why Maisie’s revelation about Kerry and the wedding bothers me so much. We weren’t a couple. We were two mates having a good time, that’s all, and today Robbie looks far from the romantic hero, with his tired eyes and tatty old sweat top. I’m trying to make him appear less attractive, but he’s still as gorgeous when he looks slightly wrecked … no, more than ever.

  I tack up and take Rafa for a ride, walking him past the pigs and down to the river where I find two sets of hoofprints, one large and one small, where Robbie and Maisie have paddled their mounts around in the shallows. I canter over a couple of logs on the bank before heading away to the long hill for a good gallop. It clears my head, and on the way home I make a mental to-do list for the week. I have plenty of work with a couple of new clients on top of the regulars. I haven’t heard anything from Gina about Rambo, so I’m assuming she must have found someone else, another local farrier, to put his shoe back on. I need to speak to Louise to see if she’s happy to look after my horse next weekend when I’m at Sarah’s for the housewarming. I can leave him out in the field so she doesn’t have too much to do.

  On my return to Wisteria House, I turn him out with his fly-mask on before tidying up. I’m cleaning his tack when Louise appears with Ashley.

  ‘Coffee,’ she says, handing me a mug.

  I take it, wondering what I’ve done to deserve waitress service.

  ‘I made it,’ Ashley mumbles.

  ‘Oh, well done.’ I taste it. ‘It’s perfect.’ I look up. He looks away, his cheeks flushed. ‘I was wondering, if it’s okay with your mum, if you could help her look after Rafa for me next weekend.’ I glance at her, hoping I haven’t overstepped the mark.

  ‘Is this for the party at your friend’s?’ Louise says.

  I nod. ‘If it’s a problem, please say so. I can make alternative arrangements for him.’ I’m not sure what, but I’ll find a way.

  ‘No, it’s okay. We haven’t got anything planned. What do you think, Ash?’

  He looks up at his mum, his face lighting up.

  ‘How is Paddington?’ I ask.

  ‘He …’ He hesitates. ‘… We did trotting with Robbie.’

  ‘Wow, that’s brilliant.’

  ‘He’s doing remarkably well,’ Louise says. ‘Now we’d better leave you to it. I have beds to make and rooms to clean.’

  ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

  I finish off and put the tack away, placing the saddle on the stand with the numnah and girth on top, and reassembling the bridle and hanging it up. I have a shower and get myself some lunch. Mel appears in the kitchen to make a hot drink.

  ‘How are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘Not bad since I’ve found out that I’m not needed at the next Pony Club rally,’ he says. ‘I hear on the grapevine that you’re doling out the badges.’

  ‘Yes, I thought I was doing a talk.’

  ‘All you have to do is entertain them for an hour or so. Get them identifying the tools and saying what you use each one for. Don’t let them handle them. One of them dropped a hammer a couple of years ago and broke their toe. One of the mums took them to hospital for an X-ray and a splint, and they were back in the saddle the next day.’

  ‘I hope they behave themselves.’

  ‘Sophia keeps them under control. If you run ou
t of things to do, tell them the story of the Devil and the blacksmith, and why it’s okay for farriers to hang horseshoes upside down. They love it.’

  ‘Thanks for the tip. Um, do you know what happened with Rambo? I’ve been meaning to ask.’ I haven’t really, but it seems like a good time.

  ‘I did it. I put the shoe back on.’

  ‘What about your back?’

  ‘It didn’t take long. I have to start somewhere.’

  ‘Perhaps not quite so soon, though.’

  Mel sighs. ‘You women are all the same. You sound just like Lou, telling me what I can and can’t do.’

  ‘It won’t be long before you don’t need me any more. Should I start looking for another job?’

  ‘No, no. I couldn’t do a full set, not yet.’

  That’s a relief then, I muse as he sugars his tea.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ he goes on, leaving the kitchen. I’m still not sure what to make of him.

  I drive to the garden centre on Stoney Lane, on the edge of Talyton St George. I could do with some retail therapy, but maybe not this kind, I think as I walk – between rows of ornaments, garden furniture and pet memorials – to the entrance, where the automatic door slides open into a humid world of fragrant and colourful plants, mingling with the scent of roast dinners and coffee.

  What do you buy for a housewarming present? I survey the range of options, from beaten copper-effect cut-out wall decorations in the form of swirly trees and strange creatures (either hares with short ears or deer with long ones), to mirrors with ornate bejewelled borders. I examine the lamps with their patterned shades and ceramic bases, and wonder if Sarah would like one. She’d find it funny, but it goes against the grain, wasting money on something she’ll car-boot or throw in the bin, when I’m of limited means.

  I wonder about making a plant-holder from horseshoes, but decide that might look a bit cheap so, in the end, I choose a plant, an olive tree in an earthenware pot for the patio. I pay for it on my credit card and leave it outside Rafa’s stable for the following weekend.

  Later, when I’m watching TV in the snug, I check my mobile to find a text from Robbie.

  Hope you had a good day. You’re welcome to drop by any time. Don’t be a stranger xx

  I text back, wishing him goodnight, and then I hear nothing more from him until the Wednesday, when I receive a phone call while I’m driving between Uphill House and Nettlebed Farm. I answer on the hands-free.

  ‘Hello, Robbie, how are you?’

  ‘Oh, bearing up,’ he says. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I wondered if I could ask you a favour.’

  ‘You can ask …’

  ‘It’s about Nelson. Matt’s been over this morning. He’s gone back to the hospital to collect the X-ray equipment for this afternoon. It’s rather short notice, but I was wondering if you could be here. Seeing as it’s foot-related,’ he adds quickly.

  ‘What time?’

  ‘About three thirty.’

  ‘I can do that.’ I make a quick calculation and decide that I can postpone one of my visits by an hour or so. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to have a chat with Mel? He has more experience of corrective shoeing than I do.’

  ‘No, no. It isn’t just about the shoes. I’d like … I need someone who understands how I feel about Nelson to be here.’ His voice trembles and breaks. ‘I’m terrified that it’s going to be bad news, the worst.’

  ‘Oh, Robbie, I’m sorry.’ A lump forms in my throat as I imagine the dreaded conversation with the vet, the one I imagine having every time Rafa has a runny nose or mark on his skin. ‘Of course I’ll be there. I’m on my way to do a couple of trims, then I’ll come to you.’

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’ Promising to see him soon, I drive on to Nettlebed Farm, past the ticket booth and into the petting farm. I park outside the visitors’ centre and go inside to find Stevie, the owner and manager, a tall, well-built woman in her early thirties, with brunette hair and brown eyes. She’s wearing make-up, royal blue overalls and navy wellington boots decorated with red and white dogs. She greets me, offering me a brew and cake from the tearoom.

  ‘Normally I’d love some, but I’m in a bit of a hurry today.’

  ‘Never mind. Next time, if you’re willing to have a repeat battle with our donkeys.’

  ‘They can’t be that bad,’ I say, smiling.

  ‘Oh, you’ll see. I’ve brought them in in advance – they hate being caught and they’re quite handy with their teeth and back legs, so be careful.’ We walk across the drive from the visitors’ centre, which bears a sign reading ‘The Shed’, to a farmyard with cob-and-thatch outbuildings, including a couple of stables. Stevie shows me to the furthest one.

  ‘They’re tiny,’ I say, looking over the door to find two miniature geldings, one a grey dun with sorrel highlights and one black.

  ‘They have more than enough attitude to make up for their small stature,’ she says wryly. ‘I acquired them from Delphi Letherington. Do you know her?’

  ‘I shoe her horses.’

  ‘I won’t say too much then. Suffice to mention that these two – Sneezy and Grumpy – were supposed to be fantastic with children, but it turns out that they prefer to eat them. I can’t use them for petting. They’re purely decorative. I should have sent them back, but when it came to it I couldn’t bring myself to. They have a lovely life here – I envy them.’

  ‘I see.’ They stand less than a metre tall at the withers, so they don’t appear to be particularly challenging adversaries, but when Stevie enters the stable to grab the grey dun by the rope she’s left attached to the head-collar, he swings his rump towards her and kicks out. She’s ready for him, taking advantage of the element of surprise by grabbing the unsuspecting black one instead and leading him outside for me to make a start.

  He’s so low to the ground that I feel as if my back will break as I bend down and grapple with his feet. He stamps, kicks, nips and tries to run away. There isn’t a moment when he isn’t making some attempt to thwart me, and the second donkey is just as bad. It takes me an hour and a half to get their feet done. They might be stubborn, but I’m more determined than they are.

  ‘My husband Leo is one of the Talyton Manor vets. He keeps an eye on them, but hasn’t the patience to deal with them when they play up. I’m sorry they took so long, but you’re better with them than Mel,’ Stevie says, as I rub the knots out of my back and collect up my tools. She pays me in cash and I carry on to Furzeworthy, where the sight of Cherry Tree Cottage reminds me of Robbie; as if I need a reminder, because he is never far from my thoughts.

  Having parked on the yard and greeted the wolfhounds, I say hello to Dillon, who is leading one of the team’s horses across to the wash-down area. Kerry is unloading bags of feed from the Land Rover.

  ‘Robbie’s with Nelson,’ Dillon says, nodding towards the stable, where Matt’s four-by-four is parked outside. ‘Have you two had a falling-out?’

  ‘Not really. We’ve decided to stay friends, nothing more.’

  ‘I thought you’d got a bit of a thing going at the barbecue.’

  ‘It wasn’t serious, just a springtime fling.’ I glance towards Kerry, who’s paused to answer her mobile. I don’t think she can hear us.

  ‘Okay, I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you.’

  ‘It’s fine. You haven’t.’

  ‘Um, we could go out sometime if you fancy it,’ he says, giving me a long hard look. ‘I wish you didn’t look so shocked. Now that Robbie’s out of the picture …’

  ‘No, Dillon.’ I’m not sure how I feel. Surprised? Flattered? ‘Thanks for asking, but you aren’t my type. Do you usually go about asking your brother’s cast-offs on dates with you?’

  He grins. ‘Occasionally. It’s always worth an ask. It’s all right. I’m not offended.’

  Blushing, I walk across the yard to Nelson’s stable, where Robbie is leaning against the door. He turns at the sound
of my footsteps. His shirt has come unbuttoned, revealing a hint of the six-pack beneath. The familiar rush of attraction takes over, my skin tingling as I recall the touch of his mouth.

  ‘How is it going?’ I ask as Matt emerges from the dark interior of the building with his X-ray machine.

  ‘I’m not sure, and there’s part of me that doesn’t want to know,’ Robbie says. ‘I’d really rather not be here at all.’

  ‘I know.’ I reach out my hand, but he turns away to help Matt, taking a plug from the electrical socket outside the stable, so he can put the equipment back in his vehicle.

  ‘We’ll have a look at the pictures while Nelson snoozes. He’s had quite a lot of sedation.’ Matt sets up his laptop and examines the radiographs before talking us through them.

  ‘Is it bad news?’ The muscle in Robbie’s cheek tightens.

  ‘It isn’t the best, but there are things we can do. It’s navicular syndrome. Both of Nelson’s front feet are affected. It’s basically pain that’s caused by changes in the bones, tendons and ligaments in the back of the heel.’

  ‘I was afraid it was something like that,’ Robbie says, his hands in his pockets as we gaze at the screen.

  ‘It would explain why he was fidgety to shoe,’ I observe.

  ‘What can we do? I need him sound. He’s my lead horse.’

  ‘I know,’ Matt says quietly. ‘If you’d said to me that this was a recent thing, and you wanted to use him as a quiet hack, I’d say great, he’ll do okay for a while. However, he’s in full work, he’s already moving short-strided, and this is a progressive condition. I’m being straight with you. The prognosis for a return to the team is guarded.’

  ‘That’s pretty much the worst news …’ Robbie’s voice fades as what the vet is saying sinks in.

  ‘We can investigate further with an MRI which, in my opinion, will confirm what we can see on the X-rays. We can try a shot of a bone-remodelling drug – he’d need to be in the hospital for twenty-four hours for that. We can change how he’s shod to make sure the bones are lined up properly, taking some of the pressure off the heels. We can go for a surgical option, but there are no guarantees for a return to full athletic function.’