‘It isn’t an easy option – it’s hard graft.’
She nods. ‘How do I sign up?’
‘How old are you?’
‘Fifteen.’
‘My advice would be to get your GCSEs and find some work experience. If you still like the idea, you can apply for an apprenticeship. Does that answer your question?’
‘Yeah, thanks. Can I help you put your tools away?’
‘It’s kind of you to offer, but I’m waiting for Robbie to turn up with the lorry.’
‘Robbie Salterton?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you shoe his horses?’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘It must be amazing to work with the stunt team.’
‘It is. I get to shoe all kinds of horses. It’s never boring.’ I recall that I don’t currently have the means to do any shoeing at all, and I’m gutted that it’s going to be some time before I’ve sorted out some way of starting again, but I put my angst aside because, for once, I’m very aware that there’s more to life than career—
‘I said, Robbie and his brother are here.’ Olivia’s voice brings me back to earth. ‘I’ll go and see if I can help them.’
I glance towards the drive where the lorry is pulling in. Robbie is at the wheel. Dillon gives me a wave. They stop by to pick up my tools and the anvil before parking on the field. I help them unload the horses and wait for them to get ready.
‘What the …?’ I say when Dillon appears, dressed in a long blonde wig, false eyelashes, lipstick, and a flowing gown with balloons tucked in the top.
‘I’m Princess Leia. What do you think of my heaving bosom?’ Laughing, he hitches the balloons up to create a colourful cleavage.
‘It’s … I’m speechless.’
‘We tossed a coin for it and guess who won, the lucky sod.’ He glances towards his brother who’s looking splendid in his flowing shirt, breeches and long boots. ‘Never mind – he looks more like a girl than I do.’
I bite my tongue. I don’t think so. I glance towards Olivia who is here, holding on to Scout. From her expression, I don’t believe that she thinks so either.
‘Thanks, little bro,’ Robbie says.
‘It’s Leia, if you don’t mind.’ Dillon curtseys. ‘Please sir, would you be so kind as to help me on to my horse,’ he goes on in a falsetto voice.
‘Now you’re taking this too far.’ Robbie smiles and Dillon vaults on to Scout’s back. He gathers up the reins – the horses are wearing bridles and trick saddles today.
‘What are we waiting for?’
‘Sophia, I think,’ Robbie says, mounting Diva, who’s rolling her eyes at Scout in a threatening manner. ‘She wants us down at the pond at two o’clock sharp.’
‘It’s ten past,’ Olivia says, checking her watch.
‘Let’s go then.’ Robbie squeezes his calves against Diva’s sides and moves off. Dillon and Scout follow, trotting along the drive to the open space where a cedar tree stands, its boughs creating dark shadows, beneath which Sophia has lined up the Pony Clubbers to keep them safe from the sun. She greets the brothers and announces the demo before reminding everyone that they should always wear hats when riding, and that it’s only highly trained stunt riders who are allowed to break the rule. I sit down alongside the children to watch the performance: the story of a beautiful maiden being rescued by the handsome prince.
The brothers walk and trot past each other, making their horses dance like the Lipizzaner stallions from the Spanish Riding School that my parents once took me to see as a birthday treat.
Robbie pulls Diva to a halt beside the pond. Dillon rides to the opposite side of the water, where he asks Scout to rear. He makes a play of clinging to his horse with his arms around his neck, almost falling out of the saddle and clambering back on. He slides to one side, ending up with his head beneath his ankles and his dress ballooning down over his chest, revealing a voluminous pair of white bloomers.
The children are laughing and Sophia is clapping and saying how marvellous it is, when he finally slips right off the horse backwards, landing behind his tail. He pats Scout on the rump. The horse canters away. Dillon pulls up his skirts and runs after him, tripping through the tufts of rough grass and falling flat on his face. Scout stops some way away where he turns and stands waiting.
Robbie gallops to Dillon’s side. I can’t keep my eyes off him as he rides Diva through the pond, sending up rainbow splashes from the surface.
‘Fair maiden, I see you are crying. Pray tell me what’s wrong?’
‘My horse hates me.’ Dillon rubs his eyes. ‘He’s run away, never to return.’
‘What did you do to him? Did you say a rude word?’
‘Oh no, handsome prince. I don’t know any of those …’ Dillon winks at the audience. ‘I’m an innocent fair maiden. I don’t know any words like, like … bottom.’
‘Maybe you are not as fair as you make out,’ Robbie says.
‘I ate too many cakes at Pony Club.’ Dillon’s falsetto voice grows shaky as he bites back a guffaw of laughter. ‘He says I’m too heavy to ride him. It makes his fetlocks ache. And now I am stranded in this desolate place with no way of returning home.’
‘Let me help you get him back. Give me your arm.’
Dillon offers his leg. Robbie leans right down and makes a show of trying to pick him up. At the third attempt, Dillon ends up hanging upside down from Diva’s back. Robbie drops him so he lands on the ground on his hands, turns head over heels and lands in the crab position.
‘I said, “Give me your arm!”’ Robbie repeats, as Dillon struggles up, then quickly vaults on behind Robbie. Diva tenses, arching her back as if she’s going to buck, but before she can do anything, Robbie pushes her into canter. He sends her all the way around the pond and back through it to pick up Scout, who canters along beside her, bringing the demo to an end to cheers and applause.
‘Well done, and thank you to the Salterton brothers,’ Sophia yells. ‘Now run along and get your ponies.’
‘Can we have a go now?’ somebody asks.
‘No, not today, not any other day,’ Sophia says. ‘I don’t want to spend the night at A&E.’
The Pony Clubbers disperse, heading back to tack up their mounts for their next lesson while Robbie and Dillon return to the lorry.
‘What did you think?’ Robbie asks me when we are in the cab with the horses loaded, waiting for Dillon who’s talking to Sophia outside.
‘It was very funny and completely unexpected.’
‘I thought you were going to tell me off for not writing it so that the princess rescued the prince. We tried it the other way round at home, but it just didn’t work.’
‘No, it was amazing and Diva was great.’ I note the cut of Robbie’s features and the shadow of stubble that adorns his cheeks. ‘Perhaps she will be ready for the Country Show after all.’
‘We’ll see. She performed far better than I thought she would,’ he says, his face flushed. ‘Even Dillon behaved himself.’ He lowers his voice. ‘I’m not sure I can behave though, not with you around.’
‘Just wait till tonight,’ I whisper hoarsely.
‘I’ve said goodbye to Maisie. I don’t think we should waste time hanging around here any longer. As soon as Dillon’s stopped talking, we’ll go. He’s going to come and collect Paddington later.’
Back at the yard, we throw ourselves into doing the horses, which involves giving them their afternoon feeds, mucking out the stables and turning them out for the night. The dogs ‘help’, walking up and down to the fields with us, and sometime later Sally Ann calls us in for dinner.
I look at Robbie.
‘Do we have to?’ I mouth.
‘Mum, I’m cooking for Flick tonight. I told you.’
Sally Ann gazes at him. Her mouth curves into a smile. ‘Your face. It’s all right, you told me this morning.’ She turns to me. ‘Have a lovely evening, you two. I hope you survive the night – as far as I’m aware, Robbie’s cooking hasn’t
advanced much beyond fish fingers and waffles.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ he cuts in cheerfully.
He cooks spaghetti marinara with green salad and garlic bread, served with bottled beer.
‘What do you think?’ he asks as we sit eating at the kitchen table with a lighted candle between us.
‘It’s delicious. You could be a chef.’
‘I’d hate it. I couldn’t do anything but work with horses.’ He changes the subject. ‘What do you think of my attempt at romance?’
‘The meal?’
‘The candle.’
‘It’s lovely.’
‘I’m not sure I know what romance is.’ He smiles. ‘Dad says it’s about hearts and flowers, while Mum tells me that it’s the everyday, ordinary gestures that count.’
‘I think it’s about feeling appreciated and loved.’
‘I feel loved when I’m with you,’ he says quietly. He reaches out and covers my hand with his and suddenly I’m no longer hungry. He gazes into my eyes and clears his throat. ‘Shall we go upstairs?’
I lean across and blow out the candle while the flames of lust ignite inside me.
On the way to the bedroom, we kiss and strip off each other’s clothes, casting them aside until we’re naked on his bed, but as we head for the heights of passion and surrender, Robbie’s mobile rings.
‘I’d better get this,’ he says, fumbling for his phone.
‘Oh, do you have to?’ I sigh, but he’s talking.
‘Hi. What’s up?’
Apart from the obvious, I think as I gaze at him, hungry for his body, which is gleaming in the moonlight that streams in between the curtains. I get the gist of the conversation: the sleepover is in jeopardy.
‘Yes, of course I’ll come and get her straight away.’ Robbie gives me a look as he cuts the call. ‘Maisie thinks she can see a man in a black cloak lurking behind the bed. You told them the story of the blacksmith and the Devil.’
‘Young kids like being frightened. I used to.’
‘Not when they’re eight and staying away from home.’
‘Mel suggested it.’
‘He was winding you up. I’ll be having words with him.’
‘I don’t believe it. It’s just a story. Look at how brave Maisie is cantering about on Paddington and catching spiders the size of her hand. Who would have thought she’d be scared of a piece of fiction?’
Robbie rolls away from me and slides out of bed.
‘Are you coming?’
‘Not now,’ I say ruefully.
‘Ha ha. Very funny,’ he says.
‘I’ll stay. I have an early start in the morning.’
He leans across and kisses me tenderly.
‘Another time,’ he says, and I watch him slip back into his clothes and go, my heart heavy with regret, my stomach churning with unrequited lust. Our night of passion has been brought to a premature end. Just one night, I think, rolling on to my back. Is it too much to hope for?
I stare at the ceiling, at the dark oak beams with their roughened edges and wormholes. I shouldn’t be this upset. This is supposed to be a casual summer fling, a bit of fun, and it shouldn’t matter that we can’t share a bed tonight – but it does.
I return to my room, but I can’t sleep. I count horses, grey ones and black ones, jumping one by one over a five-bar gate.
I’m still regretting telling the tale of St Dunstan and the Devil a few days later, because Maisie continues to maintain that she isn’t ready to face a night alone. She sleeps in Robbie’s bed while he has a mattress on the floor, which serves me right for not thinking firstly that Mel might be leading me on, and secondly that the story was inappropriate for seven- and eight-year-olds of a nervous disposition.
Chapter Seventeen
Nelson’s Last Stand
On a wet Saturday afternoon a week later, Robbie has taken Maisie for a walk with the dogs in the rain, so I have peace and quiet for a while. I clean the kitchen – my contribution to tidying the house. I put the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, clean the spiders’ webs and dead flies from the windowsill, and arrange some flowers that I cut from the garden in a vase that I find in the cupboard. I mop the floor and make tea and toast before sitting down at the table with the radio on low.
The cottage is like a living thing – the fabric of the building feels warm or cool to the touch, depending on the weather. I can hear the occasional creak of her bones as the timbers warp and bend, while I force myself to look through the paperwork that I’ve been saving for a rainy day. There’s an invoice from Westleigh Equine for Rafa’s annual check-up, dental treatment and vaccination, along with a bill from Overdown Farmers for a couple of bags of feed, and confirmation of renewal of his annual insurance for veterinary bills.
‘What are you doing?’ Maisie walks in with Badger and Tatt, one on each side.
‘I have to pay the bills.’
The dogs stop and shake themselves, showering us with dirty water.
‘Ugh!’ Maisie shrieks and grabs a tea towel to wipe her face.
‘That’s disgusting,’ I say, getting up to send the dogs outside. ‘What are you doing, apart from traipsing mud all over the floor that I have just cleaned?’
‘Oops.’ She looks down, holding up her dress. ‘I’ve forgotten to take off my wellies.’
‘What will Daddy say?’
‘He won’t mind. Sometimes he forgets to take his boots off too.’
I shut the door, but it slowly swings back open and the dogs wander back inside and pad around, leaving muddy paw-marks. Devon mud versus clean cottage. It’s a losing battle, I think, amused. The mud is winning. We need the rain, though. The first three weeks of May have been warm and dry; the fields are turning yellow, and much of the grass has been nibbled down to its roots.
‘Where are you going?’ I ask as Maisie kicks off her wellies and leaves them where they fall.
‘I’m going to watch a DVD. Daddy says I can’t ride Paddington now because he’s got too much to do.’
‘Paddington has?’ I say, straight-faced. ‘No, Daddy!’
‘Okay. Well, I could come and help you with Paddington later.’ Her eyes light up. ‘Give me an hour or so, and I’ll be with you.’
She skips away to the living room, leaving me to shuffle correspondence for a little while longer. I’ve had minimal income – the equivalent of Kerry’s wage minus mine and Rafa’s keep. Mel has paid me, and it’s too late to ask for my job back even if I wanted to; Robbie says that one of the other local farriers is looking after Mel’s clients until he makes a full-time return.
Where does that leave me, I wonder?
I can’t stay here for ever. Eventually, the Saltertons will employ a permanent groom, which will mean I’ll have to move on. That will mean getting into more debt to buy a van and find somewhere for Rafa and me to live.
I tot up some figures: the loan to buy and fit out the mobile forge; my monthly debt repayments; Rafa’s keep (I can minimise it by doing everything myself, but I’ll still have to rent a field and stable, because he hates living out in the winter); a deposit on a flat or rooms for myself; advertising. The list goes on.
I make a spreadsheet on my iPad and create a budget. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. What am I going to do? The answer is staring me in the face. I blank the screen quickly. I can’t even contemplate it. I’d rather starve.
‘Hi, Flick.’ I look up to find Robbie at the back door, dressed in a green waxed jacket, jeans and navy wellington boots. ‘Did Maisie and the dogs come this way?’
I point towards the floor.
‘I see.’ He makes to walk inside.
‘Hold it right there,’ I say, smiling. ‘Boots off first.’
‘I see that the house elf’s been.’ He leaves his boots on the step outside and walks into the kitchen. He glances around the room and leans down to kiss my cheek. ‘Thanks. I’ve been meaning to tidy up for a while. Are you all right? You look upset.’
‘I’ve b
een going through my paperwork, that’s all.’
‘Bills?’
‘The usual.’ I pick up the sheaf of papers and slide them into a folder.
‘There’s an auction in a couple of weeks’ time – Dad’s always on the lookout for bargain furniture for the holiday lets. He showed me the catalogue online – there are a couple of vans coming up, bailiff repossessions, so they have to be sold. I thought we should go and have a look.’
‘I wouldn’t mind looking, but I doubt I’ll be in a position to bid.’
‘I could lend you the money.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but no, I won’t accept any loans. I’m in enough trouble as it is.’
He stands behind me with his hands on my shoulders, massaging the tension from my muscles.
‘The problem is that you’re trapped in a vicious circle. You can’t work without a mobile forge, and you can’t afford to buy one without working.’
I reach up and touch his hand. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘I like the way you’re so proud and independent. I’ve always been determined to stand on my own two feet, but I’ve learned that it’s fine to accept help when it’s offered. It doesn’t make you any less of a person.’ I notice the humour bubbling up in his voice. ‘Besides, I have a vested interest: the sooner you’re set up, the sooner you can go back to being my farrier.’
‘I know, but it’s my mess and I need to sort it out,’ I say stubbornly.
He leans down and plants a kiss on the side of my neck.
‘The offer’s open if you should change your mind.’
I thank him, but I have no intention of taking him up on it now or in the future. Robbie’s going to need his money to buy another horse – or horses – for the team, if Nelson fails to come sound.
‘The rain’s clearing,’ he observes. ‘I have loads to do, but I wonder if you’d like to come out for a hack with me and Maisie. I want to take Nelson on the short route, so it’ll only be about half an hour.’
‘Are you sure? He hasn’t had much time to break his new shoes in. It’s like swapping from flats to heels.’
‘I can’t say I know anything about that,’ Robbie says, smiling ruefully. ‘It’s all right. We’ll only walk. I won’t push him. I’m planning to take him to the beach next week to work him on the sand. Do you want to come? I’ll take the lorry so you can bring Rafa along.’
Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage Page 26
