Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage (33 page)

‘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 making 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.'

‘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.