The Wild Boy and Queen Moon (7 page)

‘I’ve got some old gas-pipe – if the old one won’t mend, I can easily knock up a new one.’

He lolled comfortably at the table, a large blond man from Liverpool with a conspicuously easygoing attitude to life. He didn’t appear to work very hard, not like Josie who was always on the go, decorating, doing the washing, gardening, looking after the baby and in her spare time making pottery, which was what she had trained in. Josie was dark and tense, like Ian. Leo was very susceptible to Ian, although he was usually scowling and bad-tempered. She sat down next to him, but he pulled his books away and made a great show of being disturbed in the middle of his work.

‘You can go and work in your father’s study,’ his mother said to him quietly, but of course he
didn
’t want to work that badly. Only pretend he did.

‘I don’t know anybody who does their homework on a Saturday morning,’ Leo said conversationally. She did hers on Sunday night. It took her no time at all.

‘You haven’t got exams,’ Ian said darkly. ‘Not for years.’

‘No, of course, I’m only
little
,’ Leo said scathingly.

‘Coffee, Leo?’ asked Mrs Fielding. She was always calm and unruffled, whatever happened around her; always willing to listen, slow to take sides. Sandy was like her mother. Not ambitious, but utterly reliable. Nice, Leo thought. She didn’t think she was as nice. Nor Julia. Sandy had an inferiority complex about being boring. Nobody wanted to be what they were. ‘Being nice doesn’t mean you’re boring,’ Leo said, to comfort. Ian was neither nice nor boring.

‘Who were those people riding out?’ Josie asked. ‘New people?’

‘Yes. We’ve got another, Dad,’ she added. ‘Julia Marsden. She brought a pony this morning. Her mother won’t have it.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘Nothing. They’ve had a row.’

‘How many are there now?’ Josie asked. ‘You must be about full.’

‘Eight counting Leo. Nine with me.’

‘That’s a fair amount of dosh!’ Glynn said respectfully.

‘It’ll be a living for Sandy when she leaves school,’ her father said. ‘Livery’s the thing these days. And she can teach – get a few ponies. Better than farming – it’ll pay better.’

‘She’ll have to get qualified to teach,’ Leo said. ‘She’ll have to go to college.’

‘You don’t need to go to college to teach kids to ride!’

‘You do.’

‘Of course you do, Dad,’ Josie put in scathingly, to support Leo. ‘You’ve got to be qualified to teach, whatever it is. And certainly to teach riding.’

‘Gawd, all these rules! You’ve got to pass exams to show a kid how to sit with its legs either side of a pony? It’s nature, I’d have thought.’

‘You sound just like Grandpa!’ Josie said, laughing. ‘Where is Grandpa, by the way?’

‘He’s gone up to the village to get some tobacco.’

‘Thought it was peaceful.’

‘Is that one of yours – lad on a grey pony, always going flat gallop?’ Glynn asked Sandy. ‘He went past this morning.’

‘No. We don’t know who he is.’

‘He rides like he’s stuck on with glue. No saddle either. Where’s he come from?’

‘Up Riverhead way, we think.’

‘I know who he is,’ Ian said.

‘Who then?’ Leo pounced.

‘Why are you so interested?’ He grinned.

Leo bit her tongue. ‘Just wondered,’ she tossed off. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Then, because she couldn’t help it, she added, ‘What’s his name?’

‘I’m not telling.’

‘You don’t know!’

‘I do. I know his name and where he lives and what he does.’

‘Tell us then.’

‘No.’

‘You are a pig!’ Sandy shouted.

‘Clear your books away. I want to make pastry,’ Mrs Fielding said to Ian tartly. ‘And you can take Gertie’s lunch up when I’m ready. So don’t disappear.’

‘It’s not my turn! It’s Sandy’s.’

‘Sandy’s been working out in the yard since seven. You haven’t been out yet. Do you good.’

‘It’s not fair!’

‘Boo-hoo!’ Josie jeered. ‘Sandy works like a slave. Talk about do-it-yourself. They jolly well don’t, as far as I can see.’

‘That’s a fact,’ said Mrs Fielding. ‘If you’re making more money, you ought to get some help for Sandy, Bill. Now the horses are all in at nights and half the owners ask Sandy to do it, it’s going to be too much – nine of them.’

‘Some of the owners do it,’ Sandy said loyally.
‘It’s only Uncle Arthur who hardly ever comes, and Sneerwell is pretty hopeless, and old Stick and Ball ask me sometimes, not often. Polly and Henry never miss.’

‘Duncan can lend a hand,’ Bill Fielding said. ‘I’ll tell him.’

‘Oh, no.’ Sandy was shocked. Duncan the cowman worked all hours, and had to go home on a bicycle. He had horrid parents and had to give his mother nearly all his money.

‘Duncan never stops. Why should he do it and not Ian?’

‘A good point,’ said Mary Fielding. ‘Duncan has enough to do.’

‘I’m not going to muck out stupid horses!’ Ian shouted.

‘No, but you could hump the hay and straw down from the barns,’ his mother said. ‘That would be a help.’

‘Only if I can use the tractor.’

‘I hope you’ll manage to take Gertie’s dinner up without using the tractor! I’m getting a bit tired of your attitude, Ian.’

Ian snatched up his books and flung out of the room.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ Bill Fielding asked, not having noticed.

‘It’s his age,’ said his mother.

‘I thought it was only girls they say that about,’ Josie said.

‘People,’ said Mary Fielding. ‘They all have their difficult times. Ian . . . Gertie . . .’

‘I hope you’re not including me in that generalization,’ said her husband.

She laughed. ‘Oh, you! You’re difficult all the time. Isn’t he, Sandy?’ She put her arm round Sandy and gave her a hug. ‘We’re the only sane ones in this house, aren’t we?’

Just as she said this there was a shrill shout from outside the house. They all looked out of the window and saw Julia sitting there on Empress of China, holding a riderless King of the Fireworks by his reins.

‘Oh, Lor’! What’s happened?’

Sandy made a rush for the door.

Julia shouted, ‘He’s come off. He’s unconscious! Can somebody go down?’

Sandy ran to take King of the Fireworks. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing really. The horse bucked. He came off on his head. He’s hopeless.’

The men came out, shrugging into their coats. ‘Where is he?’

‘Down by the sea-wall. Not far. On the track.’

‘We’ll take the Land Rover. Silly idiot!’

‘That horse is much too good for him,’ Julia said, slipping down from the Empress.

King of the Fireworks, undisturbed, turned his handsome head and gave Julia an affectionate shove. She patted his neck and took him into his
box
to unsaddle, while Sandy and Leo took the Empress. Leo noted how naturally Julia took the best horse, the star.

‘It would be awful to lose Fireworks,’ she said to Sandy. ‘He’s so lovely. What if Sneerwell’s put off?’

‘He can’t be, or he won’t get his aunt’s money. I’m sure that’s a terrific incentive.’

‘A blow on the head might do him good.’

When they had put the horses away they all went to meet the Land Rover as it came back up the track. Mrs Fielding came out and told them to go indoors, so they waited in the kitchen while Anthony Speerwell was unloaded. He wasn’t unconscious any longer, but he was extremely groggy and very cross. He refused the offer of a bed and staggered into Grandpa’s easy chair by the Aga.

‘Bally horse is useless!’ he muttered.

Julia said in a clear voice, ‘No. It’s you that’s useless. The horse is too good for you.’

This remark seemed to bring him round more quickly than offers of strong tea or brandy.

‘What do you know about it?’

‘Quite a lot, actually.’

‘Don’t start an argument, for goodness sake!’ Mary Fielding admonished her. ‘He needs to keep quiet. Just lie still, Anthony, and I’ll give your mother a ring. You’re in no fit state to drive yourself home.’

He groaned, but did not demur. Josie and Glynn decided to depart, and Ian took the opportunity to disappear. The three girls sat at the table and Mary Fielding gave them the potatoes to peel. Grandpa came back from the village and demanded his chair.

‘You can’t have it, Dad. The young man’s had an accident. Sit at the table with the girls. You can read your
Sporting Life
and have a coffee.’

‘Who’s ’e then?’ Grandpa demanded fiercely of Sandy.

Sandy explained in a soft voice and Grandpa said, ‘Who? Oh, them Speerwells. She that was Nellie Pointer before she married the builder. Should ’ave known better. Money’s not everything, I say.’

‘Oh, shut up, Grandpa,’ Sandy whispered. ‘Don’t be rude.’

‘Rude? I’m not rude!’ Grandpa trumpeted. ‘I ’aven’t said anything. Nellie Pointer’s mother went with one of them American soldiers – what did they call them? A GI. Just when the war was ending. A bomber pilot he were and Cissie – she were called Cissie, Nellie’s mother – she had a baby, that were Nellie, and folks said—’

‘
Grandpa!
’ Sandy could feel herself going scarlet. Leo had got the giggles.

‘What you laughing for, young lady?’ Grandpa demanded.

‘I’ve just thought of a joke.’

‘What’s your joke then?’

‘There were these pleasure boats on a lake, hired out by the hour, and the attendant shouted, “Your time’s up, number ninety-nine!” and the other attendant said, “We haven’t got a number ninety-nine,” so then the first attendant shouted, “Are you having trouble, number sixty-six?”’

After Grandpa had worked it out he laughed so hard that he started his smoker’s cough and had to be taken out into the scullery to have his back thumped and his eyes wiped. The girls got on with the potatoes, behaving themselves, until Mrs Speerwell drew up outside in her Alfa-Romeo and Mary Fielding went to greet her.

Mrs Speerwell looked about twenty-five. She was fabulously made up and dressed in a cream suede coat over a red cashmere dress, with many gold trinkets and rings. A strong smell of scent came in with her.

‘Tony, darling! Whatever have you been up to?’

Sandy was pleased to see that darling Tony looked as sick as any lad whose mother was an embarrassment to him. He scowled furiously and stood up, swaying slightly, to fend her off.

‘So kind of you to take him in!’ Mrs Speerwell smiled. Her large blue eyes were darting about to take everything in. ‘I really never know what he gets up to these days.’

‘He came off his horse. I think perhaps a doctor
should
check him to be on the safe side. Concussion is a tricky thing.’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll give Dr Menzies a ring as soon as we get home. So kind of you! Come along, Tony darling! You can walk to the car, can you?’

‘Diddums,’ Leo whispered.

Neither of them mentioned the horse, Sandy thought sadly, as they departed.

Grandpa came in and said, ‘What’s the pong in here?’

‘Mrs Sneerwell,’ said Leo.

‘Cor. Like a funeral!’ Grandpa loved funerals. They gave him a superior feeling at outdoing all these young fallers-by-the-wayside. ‘What’s for dinner then?’

Leo went home for her own lunch on her bicycle. Julia came with her and, after the hill flattened out, Leo let her get up behind for the ride into the village. There Leo went left and Julia right, and they parted.

Julia, walking the half-mile to her house, hugged herself with sheer joy at the glory of her day. It had been the best Saturday morning she could ever remember. It felt like six days rolled into one, and yet was only half over. Later she would go down and do Faithful for the night. She might even offer to do King of the Fireworks, too.

Leo let herself in her back door and found her
mother
cutting up nuts to put in the salad. Her house was cold and silent. Her father was out birdwatching.

‘Leonie, you must do something about your hair!’ her mother moaned gently, as was her habit. ‘You look – you look – oh dear! Dirty.’

‘I am. I’m covered in horse manure. Smell me. Yum.’

Leo held her hands up close under her mother’s nose. Then she picked some nuts out of the salad and ate them and her mother gave another moan. I really hate it here, Leo thought.

SANDY KNEW THERE
was something wrong when they passed Gertie’s house on the way to school. She stopped and Ian said, ‘What’s up?’

‘I don’t know.’

It was raining, not hard but miserably, and the water ran gurgling down the ditch in front of Gertie’s house.

‘I’ll just give her a shout. Say hello.’

‘If she starts yakking we’ll miss the bus.’

‘You go on then.’

Ian shrugged, scowled, and decided not to wait. Sandy cursed and went round the path to the back door. It was open. Sandy hesitated. Ian was right: the old girl had no idea about catching school buses and what it cost her, Sandy, to do this simple duty. ‘I am foul,’ Sandy thought, and went inside.

‘Gertie!’

There was no answer.

The cat hadn’t been fed and came running in after her, leaving wet paw marks over the already
dirty
kitchen lino. The house smelled of old woman. Sandy knew then that it was all wrong. She felt a cold hand claw at her stomach.