Shopaholic to the Rescue (22 page)

Suddenly a buzzer is sounding. It’s happening. The gate is opening.

“Go, Minnie!” Suze yells again. “You can do it! Stay on!”

My whole body is braced, waiting for the sheep to start bucking crazily and throwing Minnie ten feet in the air. But it doesn’t, partly because the guy in the Arizona State Fair T-shirt has a firm hold of it. It’s squirming, but basically it can’t go anywhere.

Oh. Oh, I see.

OK, it’s not
quite
as bad as I thought.

“Good job, honey!” says the guy to Minnie after about ten seconds. “You rode the sheep good! Off you come, now….”

“Is that
it
?” says Suze, as Luke steps away to take a picture. “For God’s sake, that was nothing!”

“Ride sheep!” shouts Minnie with determination. “Want to ride sheep!”

“Off you come—”

“Ride
sheep
!”

And I don’t know what happens—if Minnie kicks the sheep or what—but suddenly the sheep gives a leap, dodges the grasp of the guy in the T-shirt, and starts off around the arena at a brisk trot, with Minnie clutching on for dear life.

“Oh my God!” I scream. “Help!”

“Stay on, Minnie!” Suze is screaming beside me.

“Save my daughter!” I’m almost hysterical. “Luke, get her!”

“Well, look at this!” the announcer is booming through the loudspeaker. “Minnie Brandon, age two, ladies and gentlemen—only two years old and she’s
still on
!”

The sheep is trotting and wriggling all over the place, with Luke and the T-shirt guy trying to catch it, but Minnie is grimly fastened to its back. The thing about Minnie is, if she wants something badly, her fingers get a kind of super-strength.

“She’s amazing!” Suze is gasping. “Look at her!”

“Minn-eeeee!” I cry in desperation. “Heeeelp!” I can’t watch anymore. I have to do something. I clamber over the fence and run into the arena, as best I can in my flip-flops, my breath coming fast and hard. “I’ll save you, Minnie!” I yell. “You put my daughter down, you sheep!”

I charge at the sheep and grab it by the wool, intending to wrestle it to the ground in one simple move.

Bloody hell. Ow. Sheep are
strong
. And it trod on my
foot
.

“Becky!” Luke yells. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Stopping the sheep!” I yell back. “Get it, Luke!”

As I start chasing the sheep, I can hear laughter from the audience.

“And Minnie’s mom has joined the fray!” booms the announcer. “Go, Minnie’s mom!”

“Go, Minnie’s mom!” a crowd of teenage boys at once echoes. “Minnie’s
mom
! Minnie’s
mom
!”

“Shut up!” I say, flustered. “Give me my
daughter
!” I launch myself at the sheep as it trots by, but it’s too quick, and I end up crashing down into a patch of mud, or even worse. Ow. My
head
.

“Becky!” cries Luke from the other end of the arena. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine! Get Minnie!” I flail my arms. “Get that bloody sheep!”

“Get that bloody sheep!” the teenage boys immediately echo, in fake British accents. “Get that bloody sheep!”

“Shut up!” I glower at them.

“Shut up!” they joyfully return. “Oh, guvnor. Shut up!”

I hate teenage boys. And I hate sheep.

By now Luke, the guy in the Arizona State Fair T-shirt, and a couple of others have cornered the sheep. They pin it down and try to remove Minnie, who is totally ungrateful for their help.

“Ride sheeeeep!” I can hear her yelling crossly as she clutches on to its wool. She looks round the audience, realizes she’s the star of the moment, and beams, lifting one hand to wave at everyone. She is
such
a show-off.

“Well, look at this, ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer is chortling. “Our youngest competitor stayed on the longest! Let’s give her a huge hand….”

The audience erupts in a cheer as finally Luke gets Minnie off the sheep and holds her aloft, still in her little helmet and body protector, her legs kicking in protest.

“Minnie!” I run toward her, dodging the sheep, which is now being manhandled back into its pen. “Minnie, are you OK?”

“Again!” Her face is pink with triumph. “Ride sheep again!”

“No, sweetheart.
Not
again.”

My legs are all wobbly with relief as I lead Minnie out of the arena.

“You see?” I say to Luke. “It
was
dangerous.”

“You see?” replies Luke calmly. “She
did
manage it.”

OK. I can tell this is one of those marital
We’ll agree to disagree
moments, like when I gave Luke a yellow tie for Christmas. (I
still
say he can carry off yellow.)

“Anyway.” I take off Minnie’s helmet and body protector. “Let’s go and have a cup of tea or a double vodka or something. I’m a total wreck.”

“Minnie was amazing!” Suze hurries up to us, her face shining. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Well, she’s still in one piece, that’s the main thing. I need a titchy.”

“Wait.” Suze grabs Minnie’s hand from mine. “I want to talk to you. Both of you.” She seems quite stirred up. “I think Minnie has a real talent. Don’t you think?”

“At what?” I say, puzzled.

“At riding! Did you see how she stayed on? Imagine putting her on a horse!”

“Er…yes,” I say without enthusiasm. “Well, maybe she’ll go riding one day.”

“You don’t understand,” says Suze fervently. “I want to train her. I think she could make it as a top eventer. Or a show jumper.”

“What?”
My jaw sags slightly.

“She’s got amazing natural balance. I know these things, Bex. You have to spot the promise early on. Well, Minnie has astounding promise!”

“But, Suze…” I trail off helplessly. Where do I start? I can’t say,
You’re mad; all she did was hold on to a sheep.

“It’s a bit early days, I’d say.” Luke smiles kindly at Suze.

“Luke, let me do this!” she persists, with sudden passion. “Let me turn Minnie into a champion. My marriage might be over, my life might be ruined—but I can do this.”

“Your marriage is
over
?” exclaims Luke, in shock. “What are you talking about?”

OK,
this
is why Suze is fixating on Minnie.

“Suze, stop it!” I grab her shoulders. “You don’t know your marriage is over.”

“I do! The tree’s a withered stump of charcoal,” says Suze with a sob. “I’m sure it is.”

“The tree?” Luke looks baffled. “Why are you still going on about trees?”

“No, it isn’t!” I say to Suze, as confidently as I can. “It’s leafy and green. With fruit. And…and birds tweeting on the branches.”

Suze is silent, and I grip her shoulders harder, trying to inject some positivity into her.

“Maybe,” she whispers at last.

“Come on,” says Luke. “I’m getting everyone a drink. Including myself.” Taking Minnie by the hand, he strides off, and I hurry to catch him up. “What the hell is going on?” he adds in a murmur.

“Bryce,” I whisper back, trying to be discreet.

“Bryce?”

“Shh!” I mutter. “Blackmail. Tarkie. Tree. Owl’s Tower.”

I jerk my head significantly, hoping he’ll read between the lines, but he just gives me a blank look.

“No. Idea,” he says. “What. Fuck. Going. On. About.”

Sometimes I despair of Luke. I really do.

From: [email protected]

To: Brandon, Rebecca

Subject:
Re: Would you like a hat from a county fair?

Dear Mrs. Brandon,

Thank you very much for your offer of a personalized Stetson reading “Smeathie” on one side and “Is a Star” on the other. Although this is very kind of you, I must decline. I’m sure you are right that it would look “fabulous” while I am gardening, but I am not sure it is a “look” I can quite carry off in East Horsley.

On another note, I am truly glad to hear that you and Lady Cleath-Stuart have gone some way to mending your differences and hope you have success with your other endeavors.

Yours sincerely,

Derek Smeath

ELEVEN

OK, here’s my verdict on county fairs. They’re really fun and interesting and have millions of different types of pig. Which, you know, is good if you’re into pigs. The only
tiny
downside is, it’s absolutely exhausting spending all day at one.

It’s five-thirty in the afternoon, and we’re all totally fried. We’ve done two turns each at staking out the ceramics tent, but no one has seen even a shadow of Raymond. Nor has Suze heard anything more from Tarkie, but she’s being very brave and not talking about it. She spent ages on the phone to her children this afternoon, and I could hear her trying to sound merry—but she wasn’t doing the most brilliant job of it. This is our third day away now, and Suze isn’t great at leaving the children at the best of times. (And this is hardly the best of times.)

Now Danny is doing another stint in the ceramics tent, Mum and Janice have gone shopping, and I’m feeding Minnie French fries in the That Western Feelin’ tent, which has bales of hay and a dance floor. At the same time, I’m giving Suze a pep talk about her meeting later on with Bryce.

“Don’t get into conversation,” I instruct her firmly. “Tell Bryce you’re not playing ball. And if he wants to get confrontational, then you’ll play hardball.”

“I thought I wasn’t playing ball.” Suze looks confused.

“Er…you’re not,” I say, a bit confused myself. “You’re playing
hardball
. It’s different.”

“Right.” Suze still looks perplexed. “Bex, will you come along too?”

“Really? Are you sure you want me there?”

“Please,” she begs. “I need moral support. I’m afraid I might go to pieces when I see him again.”

“OK, then. I’ll be there.” I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes it back gratefully.

It’s been restorative, just wandering round the fair with Suze, drifting and chatting and pointing things out to each other. I’ve missed her
so
much.

As if she can read my mind, Suze gives me a sudden hug. “Today’s been lovely,” she says. “Even despite everything.”

The band is playing some jaunty Western tune, and a woman in a leather vest has climbed on to the stage. She’s giving instructions on how to line dance, and about twenty people are out on the floor. “Come on, Minnie,” Suze says. “Dance with me!”

I can’t help smiling as Suze leads Minnie away. This afternoon she bought Minnie a teeny pair of cowboy boots, and the pair of them look like proper Western girls, doing heel-toe-kick-swivel.

Well, Suze is swiveling and kicking. Minnie’s just kind of hopping from foot to foot.

“May I have this dance?” Luke’s voice takes me by surprise, and I look up with a laugh. He’s been doing some massive great work email all afternoon, so I’ve barely seen him. But here he is, smiling down, his face tanned from spending so much time in the sun.

“Do you know how to line dance?” I parry.

“We’ll learn! Come on.” He takes my hand, pulls me up, and leads me onto the dance floor. It’s filled with people now, and everyone’s moving backward and forward together in sync. I start trying to follow the instructions, but it’s a bit difficult in flip-flops. Your heel doesn’t hit the ground properly. And you can’t swivel. And one of my flip-flops keeps falling off altogether.

At last I give up and gesture over the music to Luke that I’m sitting down again. As he follows me off the floor, he looks puzzled.

“What’s up?”

“My flip-flops.” I shrug. “I don’t think they’re designed for line dancing.”

A moment later, Suze and Minnie join us at the table.

“Come and have a go, Bex!” Suze holds out a hand, her eyes bright.

“I can’t dance in my flip-flops. It doesn’t matter.” I’m expecting Suze to shrug and return to the dance floor, but instead she glares at me, almost angrily.

“Suze?” I say in surprise.

“It does matter!” she bursts out. “I tried to buy you cowboy boots.” She turns to Luke. “But she wouldn’t let me. And now she can’t dance!”

“Look, it’s no big deal,” I say, feeling rattled. “Leave me alone.”

“Bex has gone all weird.” Suze appeals to Luke. “She won’t even let me give her a present. Bex—
why?
”

She and Luke are both surveying me now, and I can see the concern in their faces.

“I don’t know, OK?” With no warning, tears spring to my eyes. “I just don’t feel like it. Look, I want to do something useful. I’m going back to the ceramics tent. Luke, why not go and catch up with some more work? I know you need to. I’ll see you later, Suze. Seven
P.M.
at the hog-roast tent, right?” And before either of them can reply, I hurry away.

—

As I stride toward the ceramics tent, my mind is miserably whirling. I don’t know why I wouldn’t let Suze get me the cowboy boots. I know she could easily afford to. Am I punishing her? Or am I punishing myself? Or am I punishing…er…

Actually, I don’t know who else I could be punishing. All I know is that Suze is right: I’m a bit messed up inside. I got it all wrong with my job, with Dad, with everything—I feel like I’ve made mistake after mistake without even realizing it. And then, as I reach the ceramics tent, it suddenly hits me: I’m scared. Deep down, I’m scared I’m going to screw up even more. Some people lose their nerve for riding or skiing or driving; well, I’ve lost my nerve for life.