Well Groomed

by Fiona Walker

  ‘Pressy for Mashy!’ she announced happily, her face covered with coloured stripes like an African bride. ‘Make Mashy happy again!’

  Mashy was far from happy. He was going demented. The house was a tip, washing-up crowded every surface of the kitchen and the dirty laundry pile was now so high it doubled as a bouncy castle for the kids. They had been eating microwave food out of the freezer for weeks because no one had done a supermarket shop and, most distressingly, Tor’s beloved guinea pig had died two days ago because, Matty suspected, no one had remembered to feed it. He had buried the little body in the weed-choked garden which no one had mown that year. The image of the neglected little animal starving to death tortured him.

  Tor’s decorative attempts to please him had wiped the letter he’d been writing to a Channel 4 producer, following up a possible commission which had been discussed before Christmas and then left unchased. He knew that he was not working as hard as he should to get a new project off the ground, but looking after the children exhausted him, and he missed having Sally around during the day to pop her head past the door and ask him how it was going, or bring him cups of tea and let him bounce ideas off her. She stabilised him and, although he was loth to admit it, she did a lot more donkey work than he had ever given her credit for. Without her the post was neglected until after lunch, bills turned red before they were paid, the phone went unanswered and his filing system went to pot.

  ‘I can’t cope with the kids and work at the same time,’ he told her that night.

  ‘You were the one who’s always said you wouldn’t condone a stranger looking after our children,’ she reminded him as she searched through the diminished contents of the freezer for something to defrost.

  ‘Their mother’s becoming a stranger to them these days,’ he snarled.

  Sally let this pass, not wanting a blazing row. She was too tired to face one tonight, too satisfied with her day’s work to taint it by scrapping.

  ‘We can’t afford a nanny,’ she reminded him gently. ‘Lisette isn’t paying me enough to cover one yet, and you haven’t earned anything decent for months. We’re currently living off an overdraft again, as you well know.’

  ‘How can I work on anything when it’s a full-time job looking after the kids?’

  Leaning away from the freezer, Sally looked at him for a long time, letting him realise the implications of what he had just said. She was looking pale and uptight, but there was no denying she had really pulled herself together lately. Trips to Lisette’s apartment block gym had started to tone her body, firming the softness where motherhood had fleshed her out. Her hair, with its new feathery cut, framed her made-up face nowadays rather than blinkering it, and her slick little power suits gave her an authority and glamour that unsettled Matty. He found it both unexpectedly attractive and unnervingly emasculating.

  ‘I’m doing this for me, Matty,’ she said gently. ‘It’s only until summer. I have to get out and do something for myself for once.’

  ‘Like shopping. You must have forked out a bit on clothes lately,’ he pointed out peevishly.

  Sally let out an exasperated breath and turned away to switch on the oven, not bothering to descend to his level of snide remarks.

  ‘So how was your day at the office?’ he asked with blistering sarcasm. ‘Or did you go to another shoe shop today?’

  Sally ignored him.

  ‘Lisette’s only using you,’ he ploughed on, desperate for a reaction. ‘To get closer to Niall.’

  ‘Hardly!’ Sally laughed sarcastically, banging the oven door shut. ‘She’s hired him for her latest film. You can’t get much closer than that. They’ll be working together soon. I had nothing to do with him accepting the role.’

  ‘I can’t imagine she was too happy to hear he’s marrying Tash,’ Matty sniped.

  ‘You couldn’t be more wrong,’ Sally sighed, starting to wash up two plates. ‘Lisette’s even giving them the wedding photographs of a lifetime – a seven-page spread in Cheers! magazine. It’s great publicity for the film.’

  ‘The photo tabloid for the culturally illiterate,’ Matty scoffed. ‘I can’t imagine anything more ghastly, although I suppose it’s about Lisette’s level; she’s always been so brazenly commercial that one keeps expecting her conversations to end in a pack shot. I’m amazed Niall agreed to it.’

  ‘He needs the money.’ Sally shrugged.

  ‘Because Lisette herself takes practically every penny he earns!’ Matty laughed bitterly. ‘Her fat cat Los Angeles lawyers saw to that.’

  ‘Well, now she’s in a position to repay him, she’s doing all she can.’ Sally squeezed Fairy Liquid straight on to the plate, knowing that Matty would disapprove of such wasteful abuse of detergents. ‘And she is happy that he’s marrying again, whatever you say. She thinks Tash is perfect for him. She’s even juggled the shooting schedule to give him a fortnight off for the honeymoon.’

  ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t organised a fly-on-the-wall documentary team to follow them on that as yet more publicity,’ he sneered. ‘In fact, she should have asked me – I could use the work.’

  ‘She probably doesn’t realise you’re still making documentaries.’ Sally rinsed the plate under the cold tap. ‘It’s been so long since your last one.’

  ‘My wife’s taking a sabbatical from her children,’ he muttered. ‘I’m too busy wiping baby food, crayon and Squirrel stickers from the wall to be a fly on it.’

  ‘Makes a change from banging your head against it, I suppose,’ she muttered through tight lips, turning the taps on harder. ‘At least Lisette takes my ideas seriously, which is more than you’ve ever done.’

  Matty watched her dabbing water splashes from her chic suit. ‘Don’t tell me you suggested a different restaurant for lunch today? Or did you change her mind about the purchase of some new designer outfit?’

  ‘I came up with a publicity proposal, if you must know,’ Sally said through gritted teeth. ‘And she’s letting me run with it.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ He looked unflatteringly pompous. He still wouldn’t believe that she was doing anything more on the film than making coffee.

  ‘Yes.’ She refused to let him belittle her. ‘I suggested that the film company should buy an event horse as a wedding present.’

  ‘You did what!’ Matty howled with laughter.

  ‘You heard me,’ she hissed. ‘It could be renamed Four Poster Bed. Tash would compete on it at Badminton this year – that’s just a week before they get married and bang in the middle of the film’s first location shoot. All the press will catch on to the idea, Niall O’Shaughnessy’s bride riding her wedding present, which is named after his latest film. Then, if we’re lucky, it could go on to compete at Burghley – that’s the other big televised three-day-event, I gather – in September when the film’s released.’ She pulled off her rubber gloves and turned towards him, face triumphant.

  Matty was still laughing disbelievingly. ‘And where do you find this wonder horse? They take a hell of a long time to train if Tash is to be believed. And they cost millions. You can’t just buy a ready-made one on the cheap and start at the top.’

  ‘Oh, but you can.’ Sally looked rather pleased with herself. ‘We’ve been working on that all this week – Lisette has been grilling Hugo and apparently the answer’s on the Lime Tree Farm doorstep. Lisette already owns a half-share in an event horse. She almost died when she found out.’

  ‘She what?’ Matty looked astonished.

  ‘She half owns Tash’s top horse – Snob is it called? Apparently Niall bought him from Tash just a month before Lisette and he divorced – something to do with importing him to this country. The horse was even listed among his assets in court, but Lisette has never cared that she was entitled to fifty percent – she simply wasn’t interested. And you know how little Niall had to do with the settlement – he just let her take what she wanted for the sake of an easy life. He probably didn’t even notice the horse was part of it. She had a meeting with
her solicitor today to see where she stands. All she has to do is lease the other half-share on the film company’s behalf and they’re away. She says she’ll buy me a magnum of champagne if the deal comes off.’

  ‘Oh, c’mon, Sally.’ Matty shook his head. ‘She’s humouring you. You don’t think she’ll really invest money in the idea? The fiscal effect of sports sponsorship is notoriously difficult to assess, even on huge international football matches watched by millions. And eventing is a minority sport for thick aristos and horse-mad teenage girls. There’s no publicity mileage in it at all.’

  ‘Well, Lisette doesn’t agree,’ Sally said hotly. ‘She thinks the film company will benefit from the investment.’

  ‘Oh, it’ll benefit all right,’ he sighed. ‘But not in the way you think. Lisette’s absolutely brilliant at marketing films on a shoe-string – it’s her trademark. That’s why she wouldn’t touch your idea – it has no spin. She knows that the way to make a mediocre low-budget comedy into a surprise box-office hit is to involve the press every step of the way. This Cheers! tie-in is typical of her, and it’ll almost certainly help her first feature film to turn over a fat enough profit to guarantee her a future in the industry. And she’s desperate for that. But making films eats money, like Tash’s valuable event horse eats hay. She’s shoe-stringing you along, Sally.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What’s she going to do after the film’s out?’ Matty pointed out nastily. ‘She’ll sell her share to the highest bidder and Tash will lose her horse. Great idea, Sals.’

  ‘Rubbish! She’ll sign her share over to Tash for free as soon as the lease runs its course.’ Sally lifted her chin angrily. ‘Like I say – it’s a wedding present.’

  Matty started to laugh. ‘You don’t really believe that?’

  She nodded. ‘And the idea has got spin, Matty. It’s wonderful merchandising – what better Four Poster Bed asset than a four-legged animal?’

  ‘The only thing with four legs that Lisette has time for is two men,’ Matty hissed. ‘And one of them’s Niall. I’m just wondering who the other one is . . .’

  When thick, amiable Richie finally flew back to Australia, Kirsty – who had hardly been seen for a fortnight – raced up to Haydown at the earliest opportunity, only to arrive back twenty minutes later and slam her way to her room in tears. The next day, she set off to Scotland for an unannounced visit to her parents, who were rather surprised as they had only seen her three days earlier with her fiancé.

  ‘Hugo told her to Fuck Oz,’ Stefan told Tash afterwards. ‘He seems to have gone right off her, poor cow. She ripped up all his pictures of Surfer before she left, which was a bit bloody bitchy, but she was really upset. She even offered to dump Richie for him and he laughed in her face.’

  Tash winced, easily picturing Hugo’s reaction. His blistering rejection would have come as news to Kirsty who, despite behaving with galling lack of tact by parading her big, thick lover around in the past week, had clearly assumed that their relationship would take off again the moment he left.

  ‘I reckon she only allowed Richie to come over here to make Hugo jealous,’ Stefan told her the next day when he drove down to help her with Hunk’s rather lacklustre dressage. ‘Apparently that relationship is far from healthy and Richie is getting cold feet. He flew over here to issue ultimatums, but she kept that quiet to wind Hugo up.’

  ‘Richie has cold feet?’ Tash was surprised. ‘Not Kirsty?’

  ‘She wants to get married and have babies,’ Stefan reminded her, admiring her bottom as she leaned down to tuck in a stirrup leather. ‘But Richie is no longer so keen, particularly as she wants him to move over here after they’re married. Hugo says she bosses him round like a kid.’

  ‘Do you think Hunk over-bends?’ Tash set Hunk off into his rather lumbering trot.

  ‘No – he looks great.’ Stefan was still staring at her bottom. ‘The ironic thing is,’ he started shouting out the gossip to her as she rode around the menage, ‘that while Kirsty was hawking poor Richie around in the hope that it might push Hugo into some sort of proposal himself, Hugo was over the moon to have an excuse to dump her – he’s been trying to get around to it for months. Told me last night.’

  ‘Why didn’t he? He’s not the type to spare anyone’s feelings.’ Tash rode past at a walk, trying to encourage Stefan to talk a bit more quietly.

  ‘He says she’s amazing in bed.’ He winked slyly as she drew level. ‘His relationships are frighteningly shallow – not like you and Niall. I think he envies you.’

  Riding away, Tash laughed at this, but Stefan kept going, again talking so loudly that Franny, Ted and Gus, who were all out in the yard, were bound to hear every word.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of Hugo’s flippant façade, my dear.’ He lolled against the rails. ‘That man is going for the full hearts and flowers deal, believe me. He’s looking for true love. He’s always so sarcastic about you and Niall that he can only be wildly envious of what you two have together.’

  ‘Or just bloody perceptive,’ Tash muttered under her breath, urging Hunk into a trot again.

  ‘I wonder just how amazing in bed Kirsty is?’ Stefan sighed thoughtfully, not hearing her.

  Even though she was wrapped up in work, Tash couldn’t fail to notice that Niall had only rung once from Yorkshire, just to tell her he’d arrived safely. Since then it had been the same story as ever – she’d left endless messages at his hotel reception, with assistant directors, on his mobile answering service. But the pattern had changed slightly – this time the return messages and faxes from him were not in evidence.

  ‘He’s probably frantically busy,’ Zoe reassured her.

  Tash tried desperately hard to believe it.

  On the weekend after Lowerton she travelled to Dorset with Gus and Penny to compete at some novice trials which included an open competition, thus allowing Hunk his first outing of the year. Revelling in the soft turf and low fences, he pounded around clear and was only beaten by a young lawyer called Roger Monk, whose brown mare had been walking away with all the smaller competitions that year.

  ‘See you at Badminton!’ he called after Tash as they pounded out of the ring after the prize-giving.

  ‘What did he mean?’ she asked Penny when they were back at the box. ‘Surely that mare of his isn’t experienced enough?’

  Penny shrugged awkwardly, her berry eyes dull. ‘Gus has sold him Sex Symbol.’

  ‘No!’ Tash wailed. ‘But he won you your gold medal.’

  ‘Gold medals don’t buy hard feed, Tash.’

  ‘Gus has had him for ten years. He’s fifteen. You can’t sell him now.’

  ‘Roger paid through the nose,’ she explained sadly. ‘He’s dying for a crack at Badminton, and he himself is qualified and entered – but his senior horse went lame. He knows Symby is on his last furlong. Says he’ll give him a good retirement, which we can barely afford. His parents have a huge farm in Suffolk, so Symby will have a great old age.’

  Tash travelled back to the farm in sombre mood. She wanted to commiserate with Gus who had now lost his ride at the event he had always coveted, on a horse who was amongst the favourites to win. But he seemed chipper and chatty, hiding his disappointment with pleasure at the money he had gained through the sale, money that would help them limp along for a few more months.

  ‘I’ve still got Fashion Victim to take there,’ he consoled himself. ‘Although I suspect the lazy devil’s odds would be longer than his teeth. And I’m talking to some more potential sponsors this week – one looks promising. They want to ride me off against Brian Sedgewick to see who gets the deal.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit mercenary?’ asked Tash.

  ‘It’s business, darling.’ He gave a withering look. ‘We’re all mercenary. Why do you think I took you on in the first place?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She was baffled.

  ‘Shut up, Gus,’ Penny hissed from behind the wheel where she was trying to get past a
clutch of spring cyclists out on a wobbly jolly.

  Tash was gazing at Gus enquiringly, desperate to know what he meant, but he raised a sardonic blond eyebrow and said no more. Later, she asked him where this ‘ride off’ for the sponsorship deal would take place if it went ahead.

  ‘Ah, you’ll like this bit,’ Gus laughed dryly. ‘Badminton. Ironic, huh?’

  He’d just sold the one horse he possessed that stood any chance of winning. However much she wanted to rant and rage on his behalf, Tash knew that he’d had no choice. The farm’s scarlet bank balance couldn’t hold out for three more months to keep Sex Symbol in the yard until June. By then the debts would have become so crippling that they’d be spending Badminton weekend in the bankruptcy courts.

  Twenty-Two

  * * *

  IN LATE APRIL, NIALL came back from Yorkshire and stayed at the forge while he commuted to London for studio work on Wildfell Hall. This involved hellishly early starts but, as Tash herself was unwillingly up at the crack of dawn each day, she felt this was one of the few things they had in common.

  As usual when engrossed in a part, he took a lot of adjusting to. At first Tash was wary and more than a little frosty, brooding on his recent neglect. But he was too excitable and attentive to sulk at for long. Spending almost twenty-four hours a day in character, he was a lovable bounder. This struck Tash as odd since the character that he was playing, Arthur Huntingdon, was a singularly unpleasant individual – a hell-raising, Byronic rake who treated his wife appallingly. He’d been spoilt rotten throughout his life, but deprived of emotional support to such a degree that he had matured without humanity. His world was peopled by free-loading lechers, card sharks and other hell-raisers who indulged him in his insatiable lifestyle. Despite being graced with tremendous charm, wit and good looks, his immoral greed for kicks prevented him from denying himself a single indulgence.

  Reading the novel in the lorry as the Lime Tree contingent drove to events, Tash was appalled by the character’s nastiness, and even more alarmed when Niall announced that he had based the character almost entirely on Hugo.