Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage (41 page)

The last horse to load is Diva. Dillon fetches her from her stable. She prances about as he leads her to the ramp, where she stops, plants all four feet and refuses to move.

I scratch my head, wondering how best to approach the problem. There are seven horses on the lorry. Diva is the eighth member of the equine team that Robbie and Dillon are using today to entertain and enthral the audience, and impress the TV producer who is making a special journey at Robbie's invitation. He's done so much work, devoted so many hours to making the display perfect, that Diva must go in. The show has to go on.

Dillon turns Diva away, chivvies her and makes to run up the ramp. She trots alongside him. She stops at the bottom, but Dillon doesn't. The rope tightens under her nose with a jolt. She tosses her head, breaking the clip attaching the rope to the head-collar.

Robbie fetches a knotted halter that applies pressure to various points on the mare's head, to encourage her to move up the ramp, but she hates the sensation and rears almost upright.

‘Take that thing off,' Robbie says. ‘I don't want her going over backwards.'

‘She has to get used to it,' Dillon argues. ‘You can't let her win.'

‘It isn't about winning. You can negotiate with a stallion and tell a gelding, but you have to ask a mare,' Robbie says. ‘Take the halter off. And the boots. She doesn't like the travel boots.'

‘For goodness sake,' Dillon snaps. ‘You're always pandering to them. Who do you think you are? Monty bloody Roberts?' he says, naming a famous horse whisperer.

‘I'd rather whisper at her than shout,' Robbie says.

‘Walk on, you silly mare,' Dillon yells. Diva rolls her eyes and paws the ramp in a threatening manner.

‘Let me have her.' Robbie snatches the lead rope from his brother. ‘You're too bloody impatient. You're winding her up.'

‘Hey, that isn't fair. She has to learn to fit in. We can't have this palaver every time we load the horses.'

It doesn't help that neither of the brothers is cool and calm. Everyone is on edge this morning. Diva's putting on a performance of entirely the wrong kind.

Robbie changes the halter for Diva's usual head-collar before walking her away to the hedge on the drive to let her pull a few mouthfuls of herbs. I fetch a bucket of feed and two lunge-lines. Robbie holds the bucket in front of her nose while Dillon and I tighten the ropes around her bottom, pulling her into the lorry. As Dillon and I look across at each other, wearing triumphant smiles, she shoots backwards. (Who says horses don't have a sense of humour?)

‘What the …?' Robbie exclaims as he half trips, half runs back down the ramp with her. ‘What do you think you're doing, Dillon? Why did you have to go and have a hangover today of all days?'

‘I didn't plan it.'

‘You never do. That's your trouble – you don't take life seriously. If this goes on, I'm going to look for a replacement.'

‘You'll never find another brother like me.'

‘I mean a new team member.'

‘You can't do that.' It dawns on Dillon that Robbie means it. ‘We've always worked together. We built the team up from scratch. We choreographed the stunts. You can't go and replace me.'

‘Oh, I can and I will. I've had enough.'

‘Okay, I'll go then.' Dillon drops the end of the lunge line.

‘No way. Not today.'

‘Why not? You've just told me I'm no good.' Dillon turns away.

‘Where are you going?' I can hear the panic in Robbie's voice as Dillon responds, ‘Back to bed.'

Robbie swears. I feel sorry for him, but not as sorry as I could be, because he's not handling the situation with any tact. This isn't the time.

‘Come on, guys, let's try again,' I say, intervening. ‘You should be on the road by now.'

Dillon walks off across the yard, with Robbie staring after him, open-mouthed.

‘What the hell's he doing?'

‘What did you expect?' I say. I can't imagine the new groom will be impressed with her employers when she turns up on Monday.

Robbie leads Diva up the ramp. She goes straight in, perhaps overwhelmed by the change in mood. I shove the gates closed and fasten the bolts, without giving her the option of reversing out again, then step away to help him close the ramp.

‘Well, she's in, but we might as well start unloading,' he says. ‘I can't do much without Dillon. I don't know what's got into him.'

I'm afraid that I do know what's got into Robbie – it's my fault that he's like this. I should have done things differently.

‘Let me go and speak to him,' I say, annoyed that Dillon is showing no consideration, when he knows what Robbie's going through.

‘I don't think that'll do any good.'

‘I'm going to try. Give me five minutes.' I run to the cider house, the converted barn in which Dillon lives, and bang on the door. ‘Open up!'

‘What do you want?' he says gruffly, pushing it open. He has a glass in his hand and is still wearing his boots. ‘Did
he
send you?'

‘I came of my own accord. Listen to me. Don't blame Robbie. He's upset and it's all my fault. You need to get yourself back to that lorry and go, or you'll miss your slot, the Eclipse team will never ride again, and you'll lose any chance of that contract.'

‘I don't give a—'

‘You don't now, but you will tomorrow,' I interrupt. ‘You and Robbie have everything to gain. You're a great team, the best. It would be completely devastating to throw it all away in a fit of temper.'

‘It isn't me.'

‘It's both of you.'

‘Well, I'm not doing it.' He crosses his arms and scowls. I don't know what it is – the pout, or the way he's looking through his unkempt hair – but he reminds me of a little kid.

‘Okay, you can be as stubborn as you like. It's your choice. Just remember that you're not only wrecking your life, but you're ruining Robbie's and Maisie's. How will her dad support her? How will you feel, knowing that your brother won't be able to provide for your niece? Some uncle you are.' I turn to walk away.

‘Flick. Wait.'

I look over my shoulder. ‘What?'

‘I'll do it. I won't apologise, but I'll do the show.'

‘I should think so too.'

‘Thank you,' Robbie says quietly when Dillon climbs into the passenger side of the cab, ready to leave.

‘No problem. I'll see you later,' I say, the words catching in my throat.

‘It won't be until eight or nine o'clock.'

‘That's okay. I'll be here. We'll talk.'

Robbie drives while Neil, Sally Ann and Maisie travel in the car. I watch them go and the yard falls silent, apart from the swallows chattering in their nests in the stables, and the distant sound of church bells. Someone is getting married, I think, and the aching sense of emptiness intensifies.

I fetch the quad bike and muck trailer and drive it up to the fields, whizzing along with the wind in my hair. I have plenty to do to keep me occupied, but my mind and heart are overflowing with thoughts of Robbie. I continue to clear all the fields and scrub every trough and bucket until my muscles hurt. On my way back to the yard, I have a chat with Paddington, who stands with his head growing heavy in my arms. What am I doing? Don't I want to stay here with my lover more than anything?

Paddington utters a sigh of contentment as I rub his face. The wound on his nose has healed completely and his coat is sleek and shiny.

‘I'm sorry, I'm going to have to disturb you. You'll have to hold your own head up. I've got lots more to do.' Sally Ann's left instructions for the dinner tonight, and there's plenty of tack cleaning to get on with. ‘Onwards and upwards,' I say bravely, but as I return the quad bike to the barn, there's a call from Robbie.

‘Is everything okay?' I panic, wondering what I've forgotten to pack.

‘Diva's pulled a shoe on the lorry. I've tried to take it off, but there are a couple of nails that won't come out and she's a bit sore. I'd ask another of the farriers who's on site, but you know what she's like. The other option is to leave her on the lorry and work with seven, but it won't look so good. Or you could drop everything and drive here in your fancy van and save the day.' From his tone, I'm not sure if he's being sarcastic or defensive.

‘How long did it take you to get there?'

‘An hour, with the queue to get on to the showground. You could be here by twelve. We're on at one. It's cutting it fine, but I can't see any other way.'

‘Give me the address for the satnav. I haven't got time to get lost.'

‘Thanks. You wouldn't believe the stress,' he sighs. ‘This has to go well today, but everything seems to be conspiring against us. Badger's been sick on Dillon's cloak and we've run out of mascara.'

‘I'm on my way.' I lock up the feed and tack rooms as we are speaking. ‘Is there anything else you want me to bring?'

‘A bottle of vodka for me and a couple of tubes of sedative for Diva. Only joking. I'll see you soon.'

‘I'll be as quick as I can.' I cut the call, and run across to the cottage to collect my keys and wash my hands and face. I head for my shiny new dark blue van and drive to the showground, following an ice-cream van. Eventually, I reach the entrance, where an elderly man in a fluorescent jacket tied around the middle with baler twine directs me towards the public parking.

‘I need to be in the lorry park.'

‘Have you got a pass, my lover?'

‘No.'

‘In that case, you need to go that-away. I can't let people park willy-nilly and all over the place. It's more than my life's worth. The organiser of this show is like a ruddy Rottweiler.'

‘I'm the stunt team's official farrier.' Okay, I've promoted myself. It's becoming a habit. ‘One of the horses has pulled a shoe. You must know the saying: No foot, no horse.'

‘Indeed I do.' He rubs his chin, which is covered with silver stubble, as he ponders the options.

‘Oi, hurry up, we're going to miss our class,' someone yells from the horsebox behind me. Someone else sounds an air-horn, but nothing will hurry the man at the gate.

‘Patience is a virtue,' he says. ‘More haste, less speed.'

‘We're holding up the traffic,' I point out.

‘Where are you from, maid? You aren't from round here.'

‘I'm from Hampshire.' I start to worry about fixing Diva's shoe in time. ‘Can I go now?'

‘I suppose so. I can't understand why everyone's so impatient nowadays. Slowly but surely, that's my motto.'

One of many, I think, amused as I drive on. I park beside the Saltertons' lorry, where Robbie is already made up and dressed in a black vest, leggings and boots. Maisie is with him, wearing a blue sundress, hat and sandals, accessorised with smears of strawberry ice cream. She greets me, and one of the dogs who's lying in the shade of the lorry barks in welcome.

‘Maisie, go and sit on the ramp, please,' Robbie says. ‘I don't want you to come to any harm.'

‘But Daddy, I wanna watch Flick shoe Diva.'

‘You can watch from the ramp. Don't move … or else.'

‘Or else what?'

‘I don't know. I can't think of anything at the moment. Please, just for once do as you are told and without arguing.'

‘Daddy's in a bad mood,' she explains as she skips up the ramp and perches on an upturned bucket at the top.

‘I'm not,' he says quickly.

‘Oh yes you are.'

‘Oh no I'm not.' He smiles suddenly. ‘This isn't a pantomime – I haven't got time for this right now.' He turns to me. ‘Do you think there's time for this?'

‘It depends on what mood she's in.' I take out the anvil and trolley from the back of the van, along with a shoe in Diva's size. Robbie unties her from the lorry and leads her towards the trolley. She snorts and gives me a look that means, ‘Don't you dare touch me.'

‘This isn't going to be easy.' Her coat is dark with sweat and I can see that she's pulled one of her front shoes – the nails are still embedded in the hoof, a potential danger to her and the other horses.

‘Let's try. If it doesn't work, we'll go for plan B.'

He means the seven horses.

I approach Diva and let her sniff my hand. I stroke her neck and shoulder and bend down to pick up her foot. She strikes out, but I'm prepared, staying well to one side. Robbie shakes the rope and whispers something in her ear. When he gives me the nod, I have a second go when she lets me go as far as pulling out the remaining nails before she decides she's had enough.

‘Do you want another shoe on?' I ask.

‘It's tempting to leave it, but she's slightly footsore. I don't want to risk our reputation by taking a lame horse into the arena. Someone's bound to notice.'

I don't put the new shoe in the furnace. I check it cold against her hoof, but she still leaps upwards like a cat, knocking me sideways. Robbie gives her a stern telling off, which surprises me. I've never heard him raise his voice to a horse before.

‘Are you all right?' He holds out his hand to pull me up.

‘I'm fine.' I limp back to the anvil where I hit the iron into a better shape. ‘How much longer have we got?'

‘About ten minutes at a push.' He calls his brother over. ‘Can you grab my cloak? It's in the lorry.'

‘Let's leave the mare here,' Dillon says, striding across. ‘She's a right pain in the arse. She'll make us look like idiots. Don't take the risk.'

‘I don't take risks. You know me.'

‘I'm ready,' I interrupt. ‘The shoe will fit well enough.'

I pick up her foot. Diva tenses. Robbie growls at her. She settles and lets me hammer in the nails, clench them and rasp them smooth while he fastens his cloak.