Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Where’s your brother?’ I ask as Dillon stops to let me lead Paddington and T-rex past him.

  ‘He’s on daddy duty.’ He grins. ‘He can’t find Maisie’s hairnet, and Sophia won’t let anyone with long hair ride without one.’

  ‘I hope she doesn’t expect you to wear one while you’re doing the demo.’

  He laughs as I walk on past him. Paddington makes a dive for the grass alongside the path, pulling up a mouthful of daisies and red clover. I keep him on a tight rope the rest of the way to his stable.

  Having given feeds to the horses that need them, I head inside the big house to find Robbie in the kitchen, plaiting Maisie’s hair. She’s holding a compact vanity mirror at arm’s length, tipping her head from side to side and sticking her tongue out at her reflection.

  ‘Please keep still,’ Robbie groans, as first one and then another hairband snaps. ‘Mum, have you got another one?’

  ‘In the pot on the windowsill.’

  ‘You’re hurting me,’ Maisie says. ‘And that one’s the wrong colour,’ she goes on when Sally Ann passes him a replacement.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re worrying about it,’ Sally Ann says. ‘It’s the same colour as Paddington’s lead rope. Help yourself to breakfast, Flick. There’s coffee in the pot.’

  I take two slices of toast, mushrooms, eggs and baked beans. I think it’s going to be a long day.

  ‘How’s my favourite niece?’ Dillon comes in from outside, wiping his boots on the mat on the way in. He ruffles Maisie’s fringe as he moves past her.

  ‘Hey, don’t do that. It’s taken me half an hour to get it right.’ Robbie picks up the hairbrush from the table. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It isn’t as good as when Louise does it, but you’re getting better, Daddy. You’ll get there in the end.’

  ‘Well, thank you for the vote of confidence,’ he says in a lightly sarcastic tone.

  ‘Thank you for my doing my hair.’ She grabs the end of her plait and twirls it in a circle like a propeller.

  ‘Don’t do that. I don’t want to have to start all over again. Now, Flick’s going to help you give Paddington a bath while I hitch up the trailer and load all your kit, barring the hairnet that I still can’t find. What have you done with it?’

  ‘Paddington ate it,’ she says with a cheeky grin.

  ‘When?’ Robbie exclaims.

  ‘He didn’t!’ says Sally Ann.

  ‘I showed it to him one day, and it went in his mouth and never came out.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Dillon says gruffly.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Robbie runs his hands through his own hair.

  ‘You carry on,’ Sally Ann says. ‘I’ll pop down to the chemist in Talyton when it opens at nine and buy a new one, and spares. I can drop over to the manor with them on my way home.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. You’ve saved my life.’ Robbie moves around the table to give her a hug. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ she smiles gently, and a lump forms in my throat as I try to recall when I last felt that close to my mother. It’s been a long time.

  I finish my breakfast and put the plate and cutlery in the dishwasher before going outside with Maisie in tow. As we approach Paddington’s stable, she skips on past me, opens the door and clips the rope to his head-collar before leading him out and tying him up. She turns on the outside tap and unwinds the hose.

  I pick the shampoo and a sponge from the bucket of lotions and pampering potions. I open the lid and take a breath of the fresh scent of strawberries and cream. Maisie aims the end of the hose towards Paddington. The water loops over the top of his back and hits me straight in the chest.

  ‘Ugh, turn it off,’ I shriek, but she continues to spray me. I move around the pony and grapple with her for the end of the hose. ‘I’ll hold on to this while you rub the shampoo into Paddington’s coat.’

  ‘What’s going on? I heard you shouting.’ Robbie’s eyes settle on my T-shirt, which clings to my chest. ‘Would you like me to take over?’

  ‘It’s all right. I might as well finish the job now.’

  ‘I accidentally on purpose sprayed Flick with water,’ Maisie giggles.

  ‘So I see. I think you should say sorry to her.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She opens the shampoo bottle, tipping it so it drips on to the ground, making bubbles in the puddles.

  ‘You’re spilling it. You’d better hurry up. Sophia will give you a black mark if you’re late.’ Robbie gives me a furtive smile. I reckon we work well together, with me in the role of good cop and him as bad cop. I find myself wanting to substitute the word ‘cop’ with ‘parent’, which feels odd when Robbie is Maisie’s dad, and I’m merely helping out.

  The hose chases the dirty suds out of Paddington’s coat and down the drain.

  I find myself wondering what sort of mother I’d make, if I ever had children. A strange sensation grips my chest, a pang of longing as I watch Maisie’s small hands scrubbing the pony’s shoulder with shampoo because she can’t reach his withers. I didn’t think I wanted one before, but I would like a baby. One day …

  ‘Have you shampooed Paddington’s tail yet?’ I ask, having discovered previously that asking usually has a better outcome than telling Maisie to do something. She turns her attention to his tail. I look across the yard. Robbie is loading my tools into the trailer. My heart melts because it’s the little things he does that show me how he cares about me. I watch him walk back from the barn, carrying the anvil. How will I even begin to tear myself away from my temporary lover and his funny and loving little girl?

  Robbie drives the Land Rover and trailer to Talyton Manor. Outside the house, there are croquet hoops set out on the lawn. In the paddocks beyond, there are a couple of courses of show-jumps, and rows of horseboxes with a marquee.

  ‘It looks as if you’ll be doing some jumping, Maisie,’ I say.

  ‘Yay,’ she says from the seat behind mine. ‘Paddington loves jumping.’

  ‘I think we’re all going to have a lot of fun today.’ Robbie reaches out and gives my thigh a sneaky squeeze.

  I glance across. He catches my eye and winks. He isn’t talking about Pony Club.

  He chooses a spot to park on the field, making a third line behind the earlier arrivals. I jump out and open the door for Maisie, who lands on the grass with a big smile on her face. There are children of all ages, parents and ponies everywhere, and Sophia is in the thick of it, dressed in a hacking jacket and breeches, and yelling instructions.

  She walks across to us to give us a programme for the day.

  ‘Welcome to the fray. If you aren’t sure about where you’re supposed to be, just ask.’ She looks past me. ‘Ah, Robbie, I’m so glad you and Dillon agreed to take part.’

  He greets her, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

  ‘Maisie’s in the yellow ride with Niamh, Chloe and Harriet.’ Sophia checks her list. ‘There’s tea, squash and other refreshments available all day from the marquee, where Jennie’s in charge of the catering. All rides must be lined up on the field by the pond at ten o’clock sharp.’

  ‘We’d better get a move on then,’ Robbie says as she walks away. ‘Sophia can be ferocious, but her bark is worse than her bite. I’ve always looked up to her. I was captain of the mounted games team for several years, and she was one of the few who didn’t tell me not to go into stunt riding because it was too dangerous,’ he adds. ‘She still rides, but only out hacking with her grandkids. I don’t know what would happen to the Talyton St George branch of the Pony Club if she should ever hang up her boots.’

  I unload Paddington from the trailer while Robbie helps Maisie into her body protector and jacket, and Sally Ann drops by briefly with the hairnets. I tack the pony up, fastening up the throatlatch on his bridle and tightening the girth on the saddle. By ten o’clock, there are four rides of children and ponies immaculately turned out and standing in a row in front of the pond for Sophia’s inspecti
on and an introduction to their instructors. Robbie and I stand watching until they’re sent off for their morning activities.

  ‘Paddington is looking amazing,’ I say.

  ‘It’s hard to believe we got him for nothing. He isn’t exactly showy, but he’s more than a match for the other ponies.’

  ‘I hope he behaves himself.’

  ‘He’ll be too knackered to do anything naughty. Haven’t you read Sophia’s schedule? The ponies have four hours of being ridden, although they do get a rest while the kids learn about stable management, tack cleaning and farriery, and watch the stunt-riding demo.’

  ‘Which horses are you bringing?’

  ‘I’m going to have to work with Diva while Dillon works with Scout. It’ll be more low-key than usual – I’m a little stuck without Nelson. As you know, I’ve had Diva in training and she’s doing okay. I’m planning to use her as our lead horse for now, mainly because I can’t rely on her to stick with the team – she has too much of a mind of her own. We’ve had a couple of hairy moments, but nothing I can’t handle.’

  ‘Do you think she’s ready, though? I don’t like the idea of you getting hurt.’

  ‘I didn’t think you cared,’ he smiles.

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘I think we should leave them to it and go and eat cake. I’m starving.’ On the way to the marquee, Robbie asks me when I’m doing my talk.

  ‘Immediately after lunch.’

  ‘Would you like some immoral support?’

  ‘Don’t you mean moral?’

  He chuckles, but I don’t laugh with him. Much as I love holding hands, kissing and making love with him out of range of Maisie’s radar, as if we are doing something immoral, I’d like to think more seriously about ‘us’. I’m finding it increasingly difficult to keep it casual. It’s all very well keeping reminding myself that there’s nothing in it, no future, but my emotions keep welling up inside me, like water bubbling from an endless spring. Robbie is perfect. He adores his daughter and his horses. He’s kind, funny, generous, and – best of all – he gets me. I’m falling in love with him.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asks softly.

  ‘Nothing.’ This isn’t the time. ‘I’d better get my tools out of the trailer.’

  ‘I’ll carry the anvil,’ he offers.

  ‘I can manage.’

  He grins. ‘I know. You’re so bloody independent.’

  ‘I’m not. At the moment, I’m dependent on you and your family.’

  ‘That isn’t true. We couldn’t run the yard without you.’

  ‘So you’re no closer to finding a replacement then?’

  He shakes his head. ‘We’ve had some enquiries but, to be honest, I’m in no hurry.’ He stands beside me, his fingers curling around mine as he lowers his voice to a husky whisper. ‘It’s selfish, but I like having you around.’

  ‘The feeling’s mutual,’ I murmur.

  He releases my hand, and we walk inside the marquee, where several women are organising the catering for the week. Jennie, who made the cake for Sally Ann and Neil’s anniversary, looks up from where she’s making sandwiches. She wipes her hands on her apron and nods towards the end of the table.

  ‘There’s tea in the urn and cider cake in a tin under the table. Grab a mug and plate, and help yourselves.’

  ‘You see, it isn’t such a bad day out,’ Robbie says when we’re sitting outside on the lawn with refreshments. ‘Try some of this.’ He cuts off a small piece of cider cake and offers it to me. As the sweet flavour of spiced apples floods my mouth, I give him a chunk of lemon drizzle cake in return.

  ‘I’m going to check out the Victoria sponge next,’ he says, jumping up. ‘Can I get you something else? Or do you want the same again?’

  ‘You choose.’ I hand him the plate. ‘I fancy something with chocolate this time?’

  ‘I fancy you,’ he grins.

  He returns with a triple chocolate muffin, sits down and breaks it up. He slips a piece into my mouth. The chips are soft and semi-liquid in the heat. One sticks to my lip. Robbie smears it with his fingertip. Holding his gaze, I lick it off. His pupils flare and darken with lust and I wish we were alone.

  ‘I can’t wait until tonight,’ I whisper.

  ‘Me neither. Maisie will be tucked up at Chloe’s house and we’ll have the cottage to ourselves at last.’ He reaches out and strokes my arm, sending shivers down my spine. Something vibrates in his pocket. He checks his mobile. ‘I’m going to have to love you and leave you. Dillon needs me back at the ranch. Our groom is slacking.’

  ‘What did I forget to do?’ I say, wondering what I’ve forgotten. I thought I’d left everything ready – travel boots, hay-nets and water.

  ‘I’m teasing. You’re doing a great job. Dad and Sally Ann have had to go out to some meeting so he needs a hand loading. I’ll catch you later.’

  ‘You bet,’ I say.

  ‘Good luck with the talk. You might need it.’

  ‘It won’t be that bad, will it? You’re making me nervous.’

  Alone with thirty Pony Clubbers, I feel that I have reason to be apprehensive. I have my tools and the Saltertons’ anvil between me and two rows of young people, Maisie and her friends in the front, and some world-weary teenage girls at the back. I hold up the items one by one and go through what they’re called and what I use them for, before dividing the audience into groups and getting them to identify everything, making sure I have someone who looks vaguely responsible to take charge of the knives, pincers and hammers.

  After they’ve done that, I run through a day in the life of a farrier. They ask me if I have a horse and I tell them about Rafa, or rather Maisie takes over in a proprietorial way, as if he is her horse, not mine.

  ‘He’s grey,’ I say.

  ‘With dapples,’ she adds.

  ‘He loves hacking and dressage.’

  ‘My daddy says he’d love to do tricks with him.’

  ‘Unfortunately he can’t, because he’s my horse,’ I point out. ‘Moving on, what shall we do next?’ My session is supposed to be an hour long and it’s already feeling like the longest hour of my life.

  ‘Tell us a story about blacksmiths,’ Maisie pipes up.

  I try to think of a suitable subject, but some of the stories are unrepeatable to an audience of a sensitive disposition, and I don’t want to ruin my image as cool female farrier by telling them about the occasions when I’ve run nails into various parts of my body, or been booted into the shavings by a grumpy horse. I recall Mel’s comment about the story of the blacksmith and the Devil.

  ‘Okay, I’ve got one. Gather round.’ I wave my arm, and the riders move in closer.

  ‘What’s it called?’ Maisie asks.

  ‘It’s called St Dunstan and the Devil …’

  One of the teenagers groans.

  ‘Boring,’ says another. ‘We’re too old for stories.’

  ‘Is it funny?’ Maisie asks.

  ‘No, it’s dead scary,’ I say. ‘Does anyone knows who St Dunstan is?’ No one does. ‘He’s the patron saint of blacksmiths. He worked at his forge, shoeing horses in the daytime, and playing on his harp in the evening. One evening, he was playing his instrument, when a man dressed in a long dark cloak turned up at the forge and started to make fun of the music. He howled like—’

  ‘Like this?’ One of the teenagers breaks into a high-pitched howl, at which the others join in.

  ‘Just like that. Spookily,’ I say when the cacophony has faded. ‘The blacksmith noticed that the man had cloven hooves under his cloak and that he had a limp.’

  ‘Didn’t he have horns on his head?’

  ‘Dunstan must have been pretty dim if he didn’t notice.’

  ‘Maybe it was dark,’ laughs yet another. ‘Was it dark?’

  I feel like they’re ganging up on me. I couldn’t be a teacher.

  ‘It was the hooves that gave the Devil away,’ I say firmly. ‘Dunstan offered to solve his sore foot by maki
ng him a shoe. The Devil agreed, thinking he was going to have a soft silk slipper, but the blacksmith nailed a hot shoe to his foot.’

  ‘Ouch,’ says one.

  Maisie and her small friends sit wide-eyed, cross-legged as if they’re at school.

  ‘The Devil was in agony, and begged St Dunstan to take the shoe off. Dunstan said he wouldn’t unless he promised he’d never enter a place with a horseshoe above the door. He was in so much pain that he agreed. Dunstan pulled the shoe off and the Devil hopped away, and was never seen again.’ I rack my brain to think of something to fill the ensuing silence. ‘Blacksmiths are the only people who are allowed to hang a horseshoe up with the heels pointing downwards.’

  ‘My mum says that the luck runs out unless you hang them the other way up,’ says the cocky teenager.

  ‘Ah.’ I can’t help feeling smug at being able to have the last word. ‘There’s no danger of that because it’s the blacksmith who gives the shoe its luck.’

  ‘What a load of old bo—’

  ‘Sh, it’s the CEO.’

  Someone giggles and Sophia appears.

  ‘I don’t expect to hear bad language at the Pony Club,’ she scolds. ‘Now that Flick has scared the young ones half to death, it’s time to find out how much you remember and who will be awarded their badges.’

  She explains that I should ask the children some questions to check their knowledge and understanding of the topic of shoeing horses. She provides me with certificates and badges and leaves me to it. Everyone passes – even a couple of the teenagers who inform me afterwards that they’ve already got their Farriery badge, having received it from Mel the year before.

  When I’ve finished, I have to wait for Robbie to turn up with Dillon and the lorry to put my tools away. One of the teenagers – the difficult one, Olivia, with the make-up and her shirt hanging out – insists on waiting around while the others go to check on their ponies.

  ‘I’d like to know how you get to be a farrier,’ she begins. ‘I want to work with horses, but I don’t want to do the exams to become a vet or a physio.’