Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage (12 page)

‘I am fitting Mel's shoes,' I point out firmly. ‘I know what I'm doing. There's no trying about it.'

His eyes grow soft with regret and a little hurt, perhaps at being misunderstood.

‘I'm sorry. It's all been rather stressful. The reversing warning on the back of Mel's truck has broken – I drove it into a fence this morning.'

‘I know someone who can have a look at it for you.'

‘Thanks, but I'll get it into the garage when I have five minutes.'

‘Here we are.' He lets me jump out to open the gate at the entrance to the rescue centre. We meet Tessa outside the bungalow, without the baby this time.

‘I'm so glad you've agreed to take Paddington,' she says.

‘Take him?' I turn to Robbie as we stroll towards the paddock, where the chestnut pony is waiting at the gate. ‘You mean you're going to give him a home?'

‘I'm a sucker for a sob story,' he says wryly. ‘Jack confirmed everything you said.'

‘The wound on his face is healing well,' Tessa joins in. ‘He just needs a good diet and some TLC.'

‘We have plenty of grass at home; probably too much for a pony like him.' Robbie lets Paddington nuzzle the side of his neck. ‘He seems very chilled.'

‘He's been as good as gold,' Tessa says. ‘Jack said you were looking for a therapy pony – he'll be perfect.'

‘I'll try him under saddle too. He might turn out to be suitable as a riding pony as well. Maisie will adore him, whatever. She'll be able to groom him and lead him about in a way she can't with T-rex. Have you got the paperwork?'

‘It's all ready for you to sign. Do you want to load him first then drop into reception?'

‘Yes, let's do that. I'll fetch a head-collar. I've got one in the trailer.'

Paddington ambles straight in, ready for the trip to his new home, and Robbie signs the papers. When we arrive back at the yard, I lead Paddington out of the trailer and Robbie opens the door to the empty stable beside T-rex, who whinnies and kicks at the partition between the two boxes. Paddington whickers back.

We watch them looking at each other over their stable doors.

‘Thanks for the tip-off. Now I have an extra mouth to feed.' His arm slides around my back, his hand resting on the curve of my waist as he pulls me towards him, giving me a brief squeeze.

My heart beats faster at being appreciated in a way that I haven't felt for a long time. I'm pleased for the pony too. I only hope he turns out to be what Robbie is looking for. As I glance up at the outline of his face, the wayward locks of hair that fall across the broad forehead, the straight nose and the strong jaw, I wonder if he could also be looking for someone like me if I should convince myself that I'm ready to move on. It's a long shot, though. I don't know that much about him, in the scheme of things.

He relinquishes contact and steps up to feed T-rex a couple of mints from his pocket.

‘I shouldn't really. It makes him nippy.'

I smile when I notice him do the same with Paddington, who puts his head in the air and curls his upper lip, revealing his teeth as if he's never been fed treats before.

‘Maisie will spoil him. I can't wait to see her face when she gets back from school.' He changes the subject. ‘I'll put our lunch order in, then we can make a start on Diva. What would you like? A baguette with ham and pickle, cheese and tomato, chicken and salad, or any other combination thereof? Water, Diet Coke or orange squash?'

‘Are you sure? I have food with me.'

‘Have something fresh, for goodness' sake,' he insists.

Thanking him, I give him my choice and he disappears off to the house, while I slip my leather chaps over the top of my jeans, put my baseball-style cap on and apply sunblock to my arms. I keep a bottle in my survival kit with my shades, water and cold coffee to drink, insect repellent, a packet of digestive biscuits and some fruit, along with lip-gloss and antiseptic hand cleanser.

I lift the anvil and tools out of the truck, by which time Robbie is back with a tray of food and drink. The woman I recognise as Maisie's grandmother accompanies him. She's about fifty, with straight, shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair, and wearing a maxi-dress in blues and greens. Up close, I'm surprised to find that she's less than five feet tall.

‘Flick, this is Sally Ann, my mum. Mum, this is Flick,' he says, introducing us.

‘It's lovely to meet you,' she says. ‘Robbie's told me a lot about you.'

I notice how he blushes under the tan.

‘So where's the new pony then?' she goes on, as Paddington's head appears back over the stable door. ‘Oh, he's a funny-looking one with all that white on his face.' She moves closer to him. ‘How could anyone bring themselves to hurt him? He's very cute –' she turns to me – ‘unlike the mare. Good luck with her.'

Robbie leads Diva out of her stable and ties her to the ring outside.

‘You have remembered that you're picking Maisie and Ashley up from school this afternoon?' Sally Ann says.

‘It's okay. I won't forget.' He smiles. ‘Not this time, anyway. I told you I was the world's worst dad …'

The big bay mare starts pawing the ground. Robbie touches her shoulder and she stops.

‘I'll leave you to it. I have a load of admin to do indoors. It's a shame – it's such a lovely day.' Sally Ann returns to the house.

‘Help yourself,' Robbie offers, and I take a swig from one of the bottles of Diet Coke. I have a couple of bites of a chicken-and-salad baguette before making a start.

Now that the mare is here in front of me, the nerves have returned. I take a deep breath. As well as teaching me how to shoe a horse, Tony also taught me never to show your fear. I make friends with her, giving her time to see that I'm not a threat, before I move to her shoulder and run my hand down the back of her leg. As I reach her fetlock, she lifts her foot. So far, so good. I catch her foot between my legs, take my hoof nippers from the trolley and start to clip away the excess horn. The wolfhounds grab the pieces and trot away with them, and I begin to relax. I repeat the exercise with the other feet, rasp the hooves smooth and measure her up for a set of shoes.

I glance at Robbie who remains close by, skipping out the stables to keep them clean during the day, and punching some extra holes in a pair of stirrup leathers.

‘These are too long for Maisie as they are,' he says in explanation. ‘As for Diva, I'm not saying a word. I don't want to jinx it.'

‘Hot or cold?' I ask him.

He tips his head to one side, considering. ‘She's been shod before, according to her previous owner. Hot's better, isn't it?'

‘It makes for a better fit.'

Robbie fetches a bucket of water while I heat the shoes in the furnace. I start with the near or left fore, picking up Diva's foot with one hand and holding a shoe with the pritchel in the other. I apply the shoe to the foot, briefly at first to get her used to the smoke and the smell. She shifts her weight slightly on to mine. I touch the shoe to the foot for a second time so it will leave a mark on the hoof to show me where to rasp away any unevenness.

As the smoke crackles and swirls, the mare pulls back and drops herself almost on to her knees. I can't hold her. She staggers up. The shoe and pritchel go flying, as does the trolley of tools, as I jump back to get out of her way.

‘Are you okay?' Robbie makes his way to the mare's head; he grabs her by the head-collar and leads her a step forwards to reduce the tension on the rope.

‘I'm fine.' I collect up the tools, the pritchel and shoe. I drop the shoe into the bucket of water. ‘Let's try cold.'

‘I'll stay with her.'

With bated breath, I try again, checking the cooled shoe against Diva's foot, while Robbie whispers sweet nothings into her ear. Whatever he's saying, it works, because she lets me nail the shoe on once I've flattened the toe slightly with the hammer to match the shape of her foot. I repeat with both of her hind feet, and move on to the last one, the off or right fore.

The shoe is the perfect fit. Holding the nails in my mouth, I lean into Diva's flank with the fetlock flexed and her hoof caught between my knees. I apply the shoe and tap in the first nail, using light taps to start it off and harder blows to drive it through the hoof, listening for the sound that tells me I've seated the nail in the right place.

The nails are shaped so they bend outwards and emerge on the sides of the hoof as they are hammered in, preventing them hitting the sensitive inner part of the foot. The first goes in fine, and the second. When I knock in the third one, Diva tries to pull her foot away. I hold on, take a breath and go for the fourth. As I'm about to make the first tap with the hammer, she leaps skywards and back down again. I've still got her. I drive the nail through and out the other side of the hoof and through the flesh at the base of my left thumb. My first thought isn't the pain. It's that I've just nailed my hand to the hoof of one of the most unpredictable horses I've ever met, and I've got to detach it somehow without upsetting her.

I take a breath as the pain takes over, searing up my arm and bringing tears to my eyes. I breathe out and focus on slowly disconnecting my hand from the nail, feeling it ripping slowly through my flesh. Robbie remains silent, keeping Diva calm.

‘Done it,' I gasp as quietly as I can. I move away and examine the wound.

‘Did you prick her or something?' Robbie asks.

‘No, I pricked myself.' I look at the hoof to check there's no bleeding that would indicate I'd driven the nail into the sensitive part of the foot by accident. ‘I'll replace that nail to make sure. I don't want her going lame.' I reach for the tools and pull it out before finishing the job.

The mare fidgets the whole time I'm cutting off the sharp points and clenching the nails. She shifts her weight on to me – it's killing my back – and she pulls back abruptly at least three times, twisting my spine in the process.

‘Hey,' I scold, as perspiration drips from the tip of my nose. I'm losing it. I really am.

‘Stand up,' Robbie says gently to Diva. ‘This won't take much longer.'

The more I hurry, the more difficult and diva-esque the mare becomes. When I go to pick up a foot, she resists. When I insist, squeezing the back of her leg, she snatches it up and slams it back down.

‘I'm done,' I say eventually. My joints ache, my back hurts, my hand is throbbing, my head is swimming and my knees are weak. ‘Will you trot her up, just to make sure I haven't done any damage?' Aware that Robbie is gazing at my injured hand, I hide it behind my back, just as I did to hide my plaster from Gina when I went to shoe Rambo. It's ridiculous, but I'm burning with embarrassment. Why does everything conspire to make me look incompetent when I'm trying to prove myself?

‘It wouldn't be your fault if you had. Diva moved at the wrong moment.' He unties her and leads her away to trot her along the concrete and back.

‘She looks fine, but if she goes lame in the next day or two, we'll know why,' I say as he leads her back into the stable and closes the door behind her.

‘Are you sure you're okay?' He moves up close to me. ‘You're looking very hot.'

‘There, and I thought you'd never notice,' I say lightly as I sway against the trolley.

‘Ha ha,' he says dryly. ‘No, really, you look kind of clammy, as if you're going to …' I feel his arms around my back as he catches me. ‘… Faint.' He sits me down on a nearby bale of shavings.

‘I'm all right,' I say, when he's squatting down beside me, holding my hand and turning it over to examine the puncture wound at the base of my thumb. My heart flutters fast and furiously, like a giant butterfly trapped in my chest.

‘You need to get that looked at,' he says sternly. ‘It'll be full of bugs.'

I try to get up.

‘What are you doing?' His eyes are filled with concern.

‘Packing up …'

‘Oh no, not yet. You stay there while I get you a glass of water, then I'm going to take you down to the surgery to have that checked. You won't be able to shoe any more horses if you lose your thumb.'

‘You're overreacting,' I protest. I don't want to sit waiting to see a doctor, but when I read the concern in his expression, I realise that it's me who's being silly. The wound is oozing and the surrounding skin turning red. ‘All right, but I don't want to put you to any trouble. I can get to the surgery myself.'

‘I'm going that way anyway. I have to pick Maisie and Ashley up from school.' He checks his watch. ‘I can drop you off, fetch them, and come back to pick you up when you're done.'

‘Don't I need an appointment?'

‘They're pretty good. One of the doctors, or the nurse, is usually on site. Someone will see you.'

‘That sounds like the voice of experience.'

‘I'm often down there with Maisie. She's going through the medical dictionary from A to Z. We're up to J. The last time was I for infected toenail.'

I stand up slowly. Robbie takes my arm.

‘I'll help you to the Land Rover.'

‘What about—'

‘Your tools? They can wait. Come on,' he adds in a tone that brooks no argument. He opens the door and helps me into the passenger seat, where I wait for him to unhitch the trailer and fetch me a glass of water before we leave.

He drops me off outside the surgery in Talyton St George, where the receptionist registers me as a temporary resident, and ushers me in to see Dr Nicci in her consulting room.

Dr Nicci is in her thirties, blonde and blue-eyed. She's wearing make-up, a vibrant turquoise shift dress and heels. She looks up from where she's sitting at her desk with a sign reading ‘I am at the stables' beside her computer. There is a gallery of photos on the wall, many of them with horses as their subjects, including one of her riding a big brown horse over a rustic fence on a cross-country course.