The Village Vet (16 page)

‘How exciting,’ I call back, before remembering that, if I go, Libby will be left here by herself. ‘I should stay here, Jack. Libby and I have got too much to do.’

‘Actually, I need as many hands as possible. There’s a pony on the loose.’

‘Frank Maddocks’s little mare?’ I ask, shading my eyes from the sun as I look up at him.

‘I went to see her this morning. There was no one at Frank’s place and the paddock gate was hanging open. I think Dolly’s gone in search of some decent grazing.’

‘Have you any idea where she is?’

‘There have been a few sightings so far; the last one was of her trotting along the road near the Green. I should think she’s given a few drivers a shock.’

‘As long as no one’s been hurt,’ I say. ‘I’ll fetch Libby.’

When I return from the kennels with her, Jack is making a hash of turning the lorry round, making it judder and stall several times through a three-point turn.

‘Do you want me to have a go?’ I yell up to him. ‘You can go back much further. You’ve got miles between the back of the lorry and the fence.’

Jack’s head appears out through the window. He’s looking flustered, his hair ruffled and his face red.

‘I can’t do it with you two watching,’ he complains lightly, but Libby and I stay where we are, chuckling to each other and commenting on male drivers. ‘I’m being ultra-careful,’ Jack goes on. ‘Alex Fox-Gifford lent me the box and I have to return it in one piece.’

‘You’ll be lucky,’ I shout over the sound of the engine. ‘It looks as though it’s going to fall apart at any minute.’

Eventually, the lorry is facing towards the track. Libby and I move around to the passenger side and climb in, Libby letting me go first to take the seat next to Jack.

‘Age before beauty, Tessa,’ she says cheekily.

‘Thanks for that,’ I say, smiling as I fasten the seat-belt. ‘Are we going?’ I ask Jack as he struggles to put the lorry into first gear.

‘Patience, Tess,’ he says, glancing shyly towards me. The lorry rumbles forwards and bumps its way along the track down to the lane, the dashboard vibrating so violently that it dislodges the paperwork Jack’s left on top.

‘I hope we don’t meet anything coming the other
way
,’ Libby observes as she picks up the papers and tries to put them back in order.

‘So do I,’ Jack says.

Down by the river, there’s a strong police presence, for Talyton anyway: one police car with flashing blue lights parked on the Green and a lone policeman running after a piebald pony across the field beyond. Jack turns in and parks the lorry on the Green as well.

‘My aunt isn’t going to like this,’ I observe, noting the tyre tracks in the damp grass. ‘The council will be up in arms.’

‘Think of it as our contribution to the community: if the council is fussing about a bit of mud, they won’t be poking their noses into anything else,’ Jack says. ‘I put a new front door on my house before I went away, and now they want me to apply for retrospective planning permission. Can you believe it?’ He pauses, looking back towards the bridge across the river where Fifi is getting out of the Volvo. ‘I know I shouldn’t be rude about your aunt, but here comes the Gestapo to tell me to shift the lorry.’ He jumps out and makes for the stile. ‘You deal with her, Tess. Libby, you’re with me.’

Fifi comes stumbling through the grass in her heels.

‘Darling, Tessa, I heard there was a drama on the Green, and I had to come,’ she says, touching her throat as if she’s slightly breathless. ‘What’s going on?’

I point to where the pony is cantering off way into the distance with the policeman – I think it’s PC Phillips – still chasing after her and gradually falling behind. Apparently realising that he’s on a hiding to nothing, Jack and Libby are coming back to the lorry.

‘I thought we’d try with a bucket of feed,’ Jack says. ‘Libby, there’s one in the back of the lorry along with a couple of lunge-lines, a head-collar and a chifney.’

‘You know you shouldn’t have parked on the grass,’ Fifi says, while Libby hunts for the equipment. ‘There’s the beer festival and Britain in Bloom competition coming up, and the Green must look pristine.’

‘I’m sorry, Fifi,’ Jack says politely. ‘I didn’t want to obstruct the traffic by parking on the bridge, and it’s imperative that we catch this pony before she causes an accident … You do understand,’ he adds, as if he’s challenging her to argue back.

‘Oh, of course, Jack,’ my aunt says, giving in, but there is a wicked twinkle in her eye when she continues, ‘Speaking as a member of the council, the grass is top priority, but as chair of Talyton Animal Rescue, the pony must come first. What can I do?’

‘If you had your running shoes on, I would send you off after PC Phillips.’ Jack glances down at her feet. ‘You aren’t going to get very far in those.’

‘There must be something I can do. I’m not one of those people who can stand and watch.’

‘Actually, there is,’ he says, looking towards the stile where PC Phillips is struggling to get his weary legs over the top and down the other side. ‘You can keep Kevin occupied here. Talk to him about traffic calming or something. He hasn’t a clue when it comes to horses. He’s chased Dolly almost into the next county, and if we’re not careful she’ll end up on the main road to Talymouth.’

‘Why is he here anyway?’ Fifi asks.

‘Two reasons. Firstly, to seize the pony on behalf of the police.’ Jack glances towards me. ‘The fact she’s strayed is like a gift. It’s a great way of getting her away from Frank Maddocks just as it looked as though there wasn’t enough evidence to make a case against him. Secondly, it’s good to have a police presence in
case
Frank should turn up, not that he’s likely to in the immediate future. He isn’t answering the mobile number I’ve got for him, and when I called in at his mobile home his son said he’d gone on holiday with his girlfriend, to Spain, he thought, or Turkey.’ Jack smiles briefly. ‘Geography doesn’t appear to be his strong point.’

‘Isn’t he worried about Dolly?’ I ask.

‘He said she was nothing to do with him. It was up to his father.’ Jack greets PC Phillips as he staggers towards us, clutching his hat and rubbing his sweat-soaked hair into spikes.

‘I’m not as fit as I was,’ he gasps, looking down at his muddy uniform. ‘I’m going to have to take up running. You’re the expert, Jack. How are we going to catch the little sh—’ He stops abruptly at the sight of my aunt. ‘Ah, good morning, Fifi.’

‘Hello, Kevin,’ she says. ‘Mind your language, dear boy. Remember you’re not mixing with common criminals now.’

‘I apologise.’ He blushes. ‘It’s that pony. I’ve let it wind me up.’

‘It’s all right, Kevin,’ Jack says. ‘I have a plan. There’s a gap in the hedge she must have forced her way through. If you can wait near the stile, you can head her off if she comes back in this direction, but be careful not to stand in her way – she’s built like a tank. Find a stick to wave at her, or make a lot of noise to frighten her off. In the meantime, Libby, Tess and I will take the gear and see if we can tempt her to come to us.’

‘I can’t see how that’s going to work,’ says PC Phillips.

‘I’m depending on her being hungry,’ says Jack. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go.’

We share the equipment between us. Jack carries a head-collar and rope, and a bucket half filled with pony nuts. The bucket is bright purple, like the lorry. Libby and I bring the rest, walking along the path beside the river for some distance before we catch sight of Dolly, who’s standing in the shade of an oak tree, her head down, eyes half closed and resting one hind-leg.

‘We’ll stop here,’ Jack decides in a low voice. ‘Now, remember not to chase her. If she gallops off again, just turn around and walk back the other way. If we spook her she’ll be through the next hedge and into the garden at the back of the pub, and from there it’s hardly any distance to the main road, and you know how fast the traffic travels along there.’

It’s true, I think. I blame it on the grockles, or tourists, who aren’t familiar with the road, gaining speed along the long straight sections and scaring themselves witless at the hairpin bends on the hill down into Talymouth.

‘Why don’t Libby and I stand along the hedge-line and flick the lunge-lines at the pony if she tries to make a break for it?’ I suggest.

‘You can try,’ Jack says. ‘I’ll approach her with the bucket. Be patient though – I might be some time.’

Libby looks at me. ‘Rather him than me,’ she mouths.

Jack plants the bucket a few metres from the pony and stands a little way back, side-on to her, his shoulders slumped and eyes averted in order to appear non-threatening as he did before. He might have convinced himself, but he hasn’t convinced Dolly for she opens her eyes and raises her head, flaring her nostrils and snorting with alarm, a sound that sends a
flock
of pigeons flying out from the branches above her, making her leap forwards in fright and taking her closer to the bucket. She knows what it is and she’s interested, but it takes her ten minutes to decide that it’s safe to put her nose inside it and start snaffling up the nuts.

‘Good girl. You’re doing so well, Dolly,’ Jack says in a voice that would seduce any female. Well, it would work for me, if I was looking for a man, which I’m not, although I find myself transfixed by the way he gradually and quietly moves in to the pony’s shoulder to reach out and scratch her withers before laying the lead-rope over her neck. He waits for a moment for her to lift her head from the bucket, and slips the head-collar over her nose before taking advantage of Dolly’s decision to dive back for more pony nuts, lifting the strap behind her ears and fastening it at the side of her head.

I give him the thumbs up, not wanting to scare the pony by cheering and shouting, and we begin to make our way across the field back towards the Green, taking the shorter route along the old railway lane, Jack leading Dolly ahead of me and Libby. At least, that was Jack’s intention, but before he gets there, the pony catches sight of some sheep grazing in a small flock on the hillock to our right. Either that or she’s suddenly decided that recapture was not on her agenda. She arches her neck and sets out at a trot, tearing the rope from Jack’s hands, swinging her rump as she passes and landing both barrels on Jack’s behind.

‘She got me!’ Jack shouts, as Dolly thunders back towards me and Libby, the rope tangling around her front legs, without deviating from her chosen path. We jump aside to let her pass before running over to Jack,
who
stands, grimacing and clutching his rear. ‘She got me,’ he repeats.

‘What’s the damage?’ Libby says, half serious, half laughing at her brother’s discomfort. ‘Show me.’

‘No way, sis,’ he says, shaking his head.

‘Won’t you have to report it as a work-related accident?’ she teases.

‘It’s nothing,’ he insists. ‘Now, where’s that bloody pony?’ She hasn’t gone far, having returned to the shelter of the oak tree, somewhere she appears to feel relatively safe. ‘I shouldn’t have relied on a head-collar. I should have put her in the chifney.’ Jack looks towards me. ‘You’ve got that, haven’t you? It’s the leather headpiece with the thin metal bit attached – the kind of bit they use for leading racehorses and colts to stop them rearing and getting away.’

I hand it over, wishing him the best of luck and wondering if we’re ever going to catch her.

It’s another two hours before Jack gets Dolly back to the Green and another thirty minutes to load her into the lorry, by which time I’m not sure who is sweating the most, the people or the pony. It’s a relief when we return to the Sanctuary. Jack parks the lorry and Libby goes to make some cold drinks, feed the baby birds and let the dogs out, while I shut the gate onto the track, making sure the catch is secured so we don’t risk losing Dolly again. Together, Jack and I open the ramp at the back. The pony stands behind the partition, rolling her eyes, tossing her head and pawing furiously at the floor. Her coat is dripping with perspiration and the air is rich with the scent of dung, sweet meadow hay and hot horse.

Jack enters quietly.

‘Hey there, Dolly. Let’s calm it down, shall we?
You’re
going to love this place.’ He glances towards me, and adds, ‘I hope.’ He unties the quick release knot before I take the clip off the partition and swing it open for him to lead the pony down the ramp – or, as it turns out, for her to lead him. She hesitates at the top and throws herself off, yanking the rope from his grip yet again.

‘You are one ungrateful pony!’ Jack shouts, losing his patience with her at last. I don’t blame him. She’s infuriating, and doesn’t she know it, trotting about the car park, holding her head and tail up high, snorting and showing the red flare inside her nostrils. She has one blue eye and one brown, and she doesn’t look anything like a lumbering cob now. She’s light – and surprisingly quick – on her feet as she grabs a mouthful of begonias from the tubs that Fifi donated from the garden centre, before spinning around and cantering towards the paddock, where she stops and nudges at the gate.

‘There doesn’t appear to be much wrong with her legs, after all,’ I point out. ‘She’s like a racing thoroughbred.’

‘I think we need the bucket again,’ Jack says, heading off around the back of the lorry. He takes some time and, assuming he’s having trouble finding the bucket, I decide to give him a hand.

‘Jack,’ I call as I run up the ramp. ‘I think I saw it underneath the saddle racks.’ I stop at the top. Jack is standing half hidden by the partition, facing away from me with the bucket slung over his wrist, his trousers and pants halfway down his thighs, his torso twisted as he tries to examine his buttocks. I don’t know where to look, but it’s too late to pretend I haven’t noticed.