The Sweetest Thing (26 page)

‘Here she is, a mother’s dream,’ Delphi crows as she leads Bracken out down the ramp of the lorry.

I pay Delphi in cash and she gives me the pony’s passport in exchange.

‘You’ll need that when you take her to Pony Club. I hope to see her in the showring soon. She’s a super little pony with great potential.’ She pauses. ‘Any problems, let me know straight away.’

I watch the girls’ faces, their delighted smiles. Their happiness is infectious, but I do wonder – as I hand over my thousand pounds – if I’m buying their
affection, making up for taking them away from their dad? Why is my life riddled with guilt?

Georgia leads the pony into the yard, gives her a brush, feeds her a carrot then turns her out into the paddock, slipping off the head collar, a fluorescent pink affair. Bracken seems in a hurry to go … She trots about, snorting and sniffing the air. I don’t know much about ponies – correction, I don’t know anything about ponies – but she seems like a cute little thing. Georgia loves her already.

‘She’s got an amazing tail,’ I say. ‘It’s right down to her ankles.’

‘Mum, they’re called fetlocks,’ Georgia says.

‘Don’t you have to trim it? And what about her mane? She can hardly see through her fringe.’

‘That’s her forelock.’

‘How do you know all this stuff?’ I ask her, impressed.

‘I’ve been reading the books I got out of the library, because if you have animals, Mum, you have to know how to look after them properly.’

‘I wish you’d pay as much attention to your homework.’

‘I do,’ she says coolly.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, putting my arm around her shoulders and giving her an apologetic hug. ‘I was teasing.’

Guy appears with the cows, returning from the afternoon milking. He waves and I go running over to see him, looking over the gate on to the drive.

‘What have you been up to?’ he asks. ‘I saw the lorry.’

‘You don’t miss much, do you?’ I say lightly. ‘I’m starting to wonder if you’re stalking me.’

‘Jennie, I only happened to—’

‘It’s all right,’ I cut in, laughing. ‘I’m joking.’ I lower my voice and go on, ‘I rather like the idea you’re looking out for me …’

‘Right,’ he says, looking embarrassed, and my chest tightens with what I can only describe as desire, a longing for him to take me in his arms and hold me … I suppress an inward sigh of regret because, even if he should feel the same way, he seems too shy ever to be able to act upon it. ‘So, what have you been up to?’

‘I’ve bought a pony.’ I put my hand to my mouth. ‘I can’t quite believe it.’

‘Now I’m sure that you’re completely mad, Jennie.’ Guy is smiling, but there’s a serious tone to his voice. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing. A pony isn’t like a dog. It’s a big responsibility.’ He hesitates. ‘I’d better go. I’m going to visit my mother this evening – I don’t want her to be in bed. I’ll see you soon.’

‘Drop by tomorrow,’ I say, ‘I’ve got a cake I’d like your opinion on.’

‘Thanks. It’ll have to be after five – I’ve got the vet coming in the morning.’

‘I’ll save you a piece.’

‘Thanks. I’ll see you then.’

I watch him go before I return to the pony. It dawns on me then as she trots up and down beside the fence exactly what kind of responsibility I’ve taken on.

‘She looks upset,’ I say, as the girls look on anxiously. ‘You have to remember what you felt like when you moved house.’

‘I expect she’s missing her friends,’ says Sophie. ‘I miss mine. I miss Heather … Amber …’ And she reels off the thirty or so names of the people who were in her class at her old school.

‘It’s better now, isn’t it?’ I say.

‘Yes,’ says Sophie, after a pause.

Within half an hour Bracken has her head down, grazing, and all is well with the world …

… until the next afternoon when Georgia goes out to catch Bracken to take her for a ride.

‘Mum, Bracken won’t let me get her.’ Georgia’s lip trembles at the apparent rejection. ‘She doesn’t like me. Mum, you come and catch her.’

That wasn’t part of the plan.

‘She’s your pony – you’re supposed to be looking after her.’ I’m busy, but I stick a batch of fairy cakes in the Aga and set the timer for twenty minutes before joining Georgia outside.

‘Call her then,’ I say, but Georgia’s right. Bracken tilts one ear in our direction, then flicks a few flies off her hindquarters with her tail and continues munching the grass. Georgia takes a carrot into the paddock with her, but Bracken ignores that too. I go in and walk towards her, but she lifts her head and trots away, stopping when she’s just out of reach.

‘This is ridiculous.’ After several attempts, I’m hot and sweaty, and Georgia’s face is flushed bright red, and we aren’t getting anywhere. ‘I don’t understand. She let Delphi catch her. What do your books say?’

Georgia dutifully goes and checks.

‘They say let her calm down then bring her something nice in a bucket. Have we got any more carrots?’

‘I was going to use them for carrot cake, but she can have one.’

However, Bracken still won’t be caught.

I call Delphi, but although she had said she was keen
for me to call her with any problems, it seems that she’s changed her mind.

‘Bracken was never any trouble to catch when she was here,’ she says.

‘I’m going to ask Guy when he comes,’ Georgia decides eventually. ‘He might know what to do.’

We head back indoors and into the kitchen. I check on the timer, but it must have gone off some time ago.

‘I’ve burned the cakes,’ I say, rushing across to open the oven door and retrieve a tray of smoking buns. ‘How stupid of me.’

‘You aren’t a very good baker sometimes, Mum,’ Georgia giggles.

‘It’s lucky it wasn’t a special cake.’ I’m laughing with her as I throw them straight in the bin.

Georgia waylays Guy before I can offer him the last slice of chocolate and beetroot cake. He comes to assess the situation, leaning over the paddock gate with us.

‘Is the new pony giving you the runaround then?’

‘I don’t think she wants to be ridden,’ Georgia says.

‘It isn’t surprising. She’s got too much grass out there.’ He pauses. ‘Did you catch her when you went to try her out?’

‘She was in a stable.’

‘Ah, there you go.’ Guy turns to me. ‘Didn’t that ring alarm bells, Jennie?’

‘It didn’t occur to me …’

‘Where did the pony come from?’ he asks.

‘Delphi Leatherington. I saw an ad in the newsagent’s.’

‘What did it say? Good to catch, box and shoe?’

‘It didn’t say anything about catching …’

‘It’s a horsey thing. You have to read between the
lines.’ Guy chuckles. ‘Delphi’s a bit of a dealer. She knows all the tricks of the trade.’

‘So you mean we’re never going to be able to catch her?’ I say, aghast.

‘We’ll get her. When you keep animals, you have to think like them.’ Guy goes off to the farmhouse, returning with two long reins, which we use to corner Bracken.

‘Now you go and put the head collar on, Georgia. Then I’d leave it on with a short piece of rope attached, so you’ll be able to catch her next time.’

‘Thanks, Guy,’ Georgia says, more cheerfully. She hangs on to the rope and walks Bracken towards us, at which the pony rolls her beady little eyes and refuses to move any further.

‘Walk on, Bracken.’ Georgia tugs at the rope, but no joy.

Guy walks around behind her and clicks his tongue.

‘Get on, pony,’ he growls, at which Bracken ambles forward and out of the paddock to the yard.

‘Thanks, Guy,’ I say, with admiration for his talent for horse-whispering.

‘She’s going to get too fat out on that pasture. You’ll have to pen her in a smaller area – she won’t have so much to eat or so far to run.’ He grins.

‘How do you know so much about horses?’

‘Oh, I used to ride. I used to belong to the Pony Club.’

I’m not sure I can imagine him on a horse, but I look at him with new-found respect.

‘I could have helped you if you’d asked, given you a second opinion, not that you’d have listened – you’re as stubborn as that pony, you are.’

I give him a gentle dig in the ribs.

‘It’s too late now though,’ he sighs. ‘You’ve bought the ruddy thing.’

‘Yes, and Georgia would never forgive me if I sent her back.’

‘Have you got a saddle and bridle for her?’

‘We bought one from Delphi at the Tack ’n’ Hack shop. It cost me almost as much as the pony.’

‘I hope you’re made of money, Jennie. Owning a pony is like standing naked under a cold shower tearing up fifty-pound notes.’

‘I hope it’s going to be more fun than that, for Georgia’s sake.’

We walk together into the yard and stand watching her brushing the pony’s sleek, gleaming coat. Sophie is allowed to paint oil on the pony’s hooves.

‘See those rings on her feet?’ Guy says, pointing. ‘That’s a sign she’s had laminitis in the past.’

‘What on earth is that?’

‘It’s a disease of little fat ponies.’

‘Delphi said she hadn’t had any health problems in the past. I did ask her.’

‘I bet she said, “as far as I know”.’ Guy walks around to Bracken’s head and takes a look in her mouth. ‘How old did she say she was?’

‘Eight,’ I say a little curtly.

‘Eighteen more like. Did you have her vetted? No … thought not. Never mind, I should think she’s got a few more years left in her yet,’ he says. ‘Have you got any posts and tape anywhere?’

‘What kind of posts?’

‘To set up an electric fence – for the restraint of beasts.’ He smiles. ‘It’s a book –
The Restraint of Beasts
. You see, I can read.’ He’s teasing, but I still blush at the
memory of calling him a country bumpkin. ‘I am an educated man.’

My heart sinks – I’m supposed to be baking – then rises again at the thought of a trip to Overdown Farmers where I was lusting over a pair of pink wellies and a Puffa gilet when I last went in to buy a couple of sacks of layers mash for the chickens. However, Guy says he’s sure he saw a roll of tape in the barn the other day when he came out to find a ladder to change the light bulb on the landing for me, and he probably has some posts and a shrike up at the house.

The girls take turns to ride Bracken around the orchard – she stops now and then to snatch a mouthful of grass, and Guy shows them how to tie a piece of baler twine from the bit to the ring on the saddle so she can’t put her head down. When Georgia grows bolder and asks Bracken to go faster, she continues to amble about at the same pace, until Guy gets behind her, waving his arms, when she suddenly wakes up, kicks up her heels and flies from one end of the paddock to the other.

‘Hold on, Georgia,’ I yell, my pulse racing as I watch her cling on. Then, as Bracken comes to an abrupt stop, she slides unceremoniously on to the ground on her bottom. I run towards her but she gets up, brushing herself down.

‘I’m all right,’ she says, gasping. ‘It was my fault, not Bracken’s – I didn’t hold on tight enough.’ She turns, takes up the reins and puts her foot in the stirrup to remount.

‘You aren’t getting back on her?’ I say.

‘She’s doing the right thing,’ Guy says, holding on to Bracken’s head. ‘You don’t want to let this kind of pony get away with anything. Don’t worry, Jennie. I’ll
walk beside her.’ He looks up at Georgia and smiles encouragingly. ‘I don’t think we’d better run before we can walk.’

After half an hour of walking, Guy decides the pony’s probably had enough.

‘Put her away in the stable, Georgia, and I’ll go and get the bits and pieces for the fence. We’ll make a pony trap.’

He arrives back with plastic posts and white tape, and a shrike to power the fence, and he and I put up a barrier which cuts across about a third of the paddock. Guy puts the posts in and I put up the tape. He sets up the shrike, attaching it to the tape then switching it on.

‘It’s live now,’ he says, feeling for the switch underneath it. ‘Now it’s off.’

‘Are you sure?’ I ask.

‘Have a look,’ he says, and I stand close beside him, trying to find the switch. ‘It’s right there.’ Laughing, he takes my hand and shows me. ‘Have you got it now?’ he asks.

‘I don’t know.’ Keeping hold of my hand, he touches the tape, pulling away almost immediately, but not before a sharp pulse of electricity passes between us.

‘Ouch!’ I say, jumping away from him.

‘It’s on,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to electrocute you – I thought it was off.’

It didn’t really hurt. It was the shock of it. Guy held my hand and I don’t think it was merely so he could show me where the switch was on the shrike. I’m still surprised, both by his boldness and by my reaction. He isn’t so shy, and I’m not dead after all.

It’s as if he’s brought me back to life, I muse, watching him taste the last slice of chocolate and beetroot cake while sitting at the kitchen table. I used
white icing on it, cross-hatched with pink made from the beetroot juice.