Must Be Love

by Cathy Woodman

  The ache of longing becomes a pang of annoyance and regret. Bother Astra and her skiing. I’d planned to have Alex all to myself tonight. After the party, or as soon as we could respectably get away, we’d escape to the Barn across the courtyard from the Manor, where Alex lives. (I used to imagine Alex living there with his horse, drinking tea out of a bucket and sleeping on a haystack, but it’s a proper conversion, double-glazed with plumbing and electricity.) Anyway, I thought we’d fall through the door in a passionate embrace, Alex’s hands hitching up my dress to find the hem of my lace-top hold-ups, and mine on the leather of his belt. I thought we’d strew our clothes across the floor on the way to the hearth of the open fire, and there we’d –

  Alex gives me a nudge before I get too carried away.

  ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. These things happen,’ I say, trying to sound as if I don’t care in the slightest. Maybe it’s for the best, because I’ve just realised that in all my hurry to get away from the practice this evening, I’ve left my overnight bag behind with my toothbrush and other bits and pieces. I’ll have to get a taxi back later.’

  ‘Thanks, Maz.’

  I look up as Alex’s children troop down the stairs.

  ‘Hello again,’ I say, but they gaze at me mutinously, Lucie with her sequinned gold dress lifted up and hugged tight across her chest, and Seb in a white shirt, velvet bow tie and waistcoat, with a finger up his nose.

  ‘Say hello, guys,’ says Alex, but they remain silent.

  ‘Don’t force them,’ I say gently. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘Where are your manners?’ he grumbles at them. ‘I let you stay up tonight because you promised to be on your best behaviour.’

  ‘Only because your girlfriend’s here,’ Lucie says scathingly. ‘Did you know, she doesn’t even know how to ride yet. Mummy says –’

  ‘Shh,’ Alex interrupts. ‘We don’t want to know what your mother thinks.’

  I know what I’m thinking, that Lucie’s a spoiled brat.

  ‘I want my mummy.’ Seb’s voice turns to a scream as his sister takes a swipe at him.

  ‘That’s enough, both of you,’ Alex says, remarkably calmly. ‘Let’s get you something to eat. I told the parents they should have some decent food, not those awful puff-pastry things, but they won’t break with tradition. What do you fancy?’ He glances towards me and I mouth the word ‘You’, and he grins, and says, ‘You mean you’ve reverted, Maz, wanting a piece of meat,’ which makes me giggle quietly to myself.

  ‘Can we have toast, Daddy?’ says Lucie.

  ‘I expect so,’ Alex says. ‘I’ll see what I can find in Humpy’s kitchen.’

  Lucie and I end up sitting on the stairs, waiting for Alex and Seb to fetch provisions from the kitchen. Actually, I sit on the third stair up while Lucie sits astride the banister.

  ‘How old are you?’ Lucie asks me from her superior position.

  ‘Thirty-one.’

  She frowns. ‘That’s really old.’

  ‘Not as old as Alex – I mean, your dad. How old are you?’ I ask back.

  ‘Six.’ She flings herself forwards and hugs the newel post as if she’s petting a horse.

  ‘And when were you six?’

  She gives me a long sigh and a withering look, much like the one her grandmother gave me earlier.

  ‘On my birthday,’ she replies. ‘You know, you aren’t as pretty as my mummy. She never wears black clothes.’ She frowns. ‘She says you’re a gold-digger.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Lucie pauses as if gauging my reaction to what I’m assuming is an insult, before she goes on brightly, ‘What’s a gold-digger?’ Then, rushing on before I can give her an answer, ‘My mummy says it won’t last. That’s what Humpy says too. Over my dead body,’ she adds, mimicking her grandmother’s severe tone.

  ‘Does Lucie ever stop talking?’ I ask Alex when the party has drawn to a close with the gutsy midnight chimes of the grandfather clock in the hall and the singing of ‘Auld Lang Syne’, and the guests are beginning to disperse. ‘I feel as if I’ve been interrogated for hours.’

  ‘She doesn’t give up easily,’ Alex says. ‘Talking of which, did that dog we brought back from Talyford make it? I forgot to ask.’

  ‘She’s still with us.’ It’s been a week now, though. I checked up on Sally before I left, changing the bag on her drip, giving her another dose of painkiller and stroking her soft wavy fur. ‘Hang on in there, Sal,’ I murmured, but she didn’t raise her head or wag her tail. She barely had the strength to open her eyes under those long blonde lashes of hers. ‘I’m not sure she’s going to pull through. I’ve never seen a dog look so depressed.’

  ‘Don’t take it to heart, Maz. You can’t do any more.’ ‘I know. I can’t help it, though. Her owner’s lovely and been through a lot. It doesn’t seem fair somehow.’

  ‘Life isn’t fair, though, is it,’ Alex says, his voice suddenly harsh, and I wonder what he’s thinking of, a patient or his family torn apart by his ex-wife. (Astra left him for a footballer several years her junior, before hooking up with Hugo, her current man.) I can’t ask him because Mr Lacey has mislaid his coat.

  ‘It’s a Barbour,’ he says, which isn’t much help, I think, amused by the sheer number of waxed coats and jackets hanging on the hooks behind the stairs. Rolling his eyes at me in mock despair, Alex starts hunting through them while Fifi sidles up to me, fastening the ties on her outdoor hat.

  ‘I imagine you don’t have to worry about driving home, Maz,’ she says with a smirk, as if she’s anticipating a triumph in uncovering my current domestic arrangements.

  ‘Indeed, I don’t. Alex has ordered me a taxi.’ I lie brazenly. I check my watch. ‘It’ll be here in ten minutes.’

  ‘Oh? Oh, if I’d known, I’d have offered you a lift. My husband’s acting as chauffeur tonight.’

  ‘Never mind,’ I say cheerfully. ‘There’ll be another time. Goodnight, Fifi, and happy New Year.’

  Deciding to make myself useful, I return the tray of empty plates and glasses to the kitchen – Alex and I had cheese on toast with ketchup with the children.

  The kitchen is vast like the other rooms in the house – vast and primitive, with an Aga, two butler’s sinks, an old fireplace, big enough to roast one of Alex’s bovine patients whole, and an antiquated fridge and freezer that don’t match. The waitresses who were serving the drinks and nibbles have retreated here, apparently to finish up rather than clear up. One of them is Shannon, and she isn’t so quiet and shy among friends. She’s in black, of course, and standing on the kitchen table with two others, casting off her white pinny and draining a bottle of champagne at the same time. Vampire, activist and binge drinker. Emma and I have chosen well! I only hope she recovers from her hangover before she starts work at Otter House in a couple of days’ time.

  On my way back along the gloomy corridor that links the hallway to the of the house, I hear voices. I hesitate, staggering back into the spiky shadow of a set of antlers mounted on the wall and draped with streamers. I look towards the light, where Delphi in the lilac dress is talking to Sophia and Old Fox-Gifford, their backs to me.

  ‘Alexander insisted on inviting her,’ Sophia says.

  ‘You know what he’s like,’ says Delphi. ‘He’s always so generous.’

  ‘I don’t know where he gets it from,’ Sophia says, ‘not from his father, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Are you taking my name in vain?’ Old Fox-Gifford cuts in.

  ‘We’re talking about Madge,’ says Sophia.

  ‘One of the mad cows from Otter House,’ says Old Fox-Gifford. ‘Her name’s Maz, which makes her sound like a woman trying to be a man to me.’

  I’d like to show myself, to contradict them, but my legs are a little unsteady after consuming rather more Buck’s Fizz than I intended and on an empty stomach. I am neither mad nor a man.

  ‘I can see the attraction, but her family connections–’ says Old Fox-Gifford.

  ‘We don’t know he
r family,’ Sophia cuts in. ‘We haven’t met the parents.’

  ‘We don’t know that she has any, and if she has, they wouldn’t be our type. It’s no use looking them up in Debrett’s.’ Delphi titters as Old Fox-Gifford goes on, ‘She’s a Londoner, born in the shadow of Battersea power station and a stone’s throw from the dogs’ home. Alexander thinks he’s going to teach her to ride, but she’s always got some excuse. It’s too cold, too wet, too muddy.’

  ‘What a shame,’ says Delphi. ‘I’d ride out with him anytime.’

  There’s an edge to her flirtatious tone that makes me realise she’s serious, and I make a mental note to watch out for Delphi Letherington in future.

  ‘Well, if it’s any comfort, Delphi, it won’t last,’ says Sophia. ‘He’ll soon see she’s completely unsuitable.’

  ‘I have no doubt you’ll make absolutely certain of that, Sophia,’ says Old Fox-Gifford.

  ‘He’s besotted by her looks, that winning smile of hers and her city ways, but once he’s taken her out and about in society a few more times, he’ll realise she has no social graces,’ Sophia insists.

  ‘According to Alexander she was dragged up on some council estate,’ Old Fox-Gifford says.

  ‘So she’s more ladette than lady. A bit of a chav, in fact.’

  A chav? I doubt that even Sophia realises how hurtful that is. How dare she talk about me like that. I’m not ashamed of my roots. I bite back tears and straighten my spine. I mustn’t let them get to me. It’s the Fox-Giffords who should be ashamed – they are contemptible.

  ‘I’ve had such a wonderful time,’ Delphi says. ‘It’s my favourite night of the year.’

  ‘We’re very glad you could join us,’ says Sophia. ‘It’s lovely to see some of the old set up at the Manor. We have to stick together, those of us who are left. It was such a shame about you and Jake.’

  Sophia reminds me of a lamb I saw at vet school, a stillborn creature with two heads, two faces …

  Delphi holds up her hand, palm out. ‘My first resolution of the New Year is to forget we were ever married. New Year, new start, new horse. Which reminds me, I want Alex to take a look at one of the horses that’s just arrived on the yard. He’s a gelding, yet he’s trying to mount everything in sight.’

  ‘It’s probably a rig,’ says Old Fox-Gifford, and to my alarm, they start moving towards me. ‘Someone’s left a ball behind somewhere. It happens.’

  I’m not sure what to do, run back the other way or tough it out. I choose the latter, nodding and smiling as I go, showing off my devil-may-care exterior, when inside my confidence is completely shattered. I can’t understand why Alex’s parents have taken against me. I would have thought I’d have been the perfect match, another vet who knows what it’s like to be on call, leaving meals half eaten to dash off to an emergency. If nothing else, I’m surprised they haven’t seen the potential for a takeover of Otter House, not that I’d let them of course. Emma would have a fit.

  My heart is filled with regret. I don’t expect them to love me like a daughter, but they could treat me with a little respect, if not for my sake, then for their son’s.

  Outside, the cars have a thin film of frost on them, yet I hardly feel the cold as Alex and I walk hand in hand across the gravel towards the Barn with Lucie and Seb in front of us. Lucie persuades us to divert past the stable block where a light comes on and a horse whickers softly and puts its head over one of the stable doors, flaring its nostrils and sending wisps of condensation into the air, like a smoke-breathing dragon.

  Alex pulls a packet of mints out of his trouser pocket, along with a few coins, which Lucie and Seb fight over as they spill to the ground.

  I watch the horse – Liberty, she’s called – crunch on a mint and search Alex’s hand for another. He strokes her chestnut coat, which glints like polished copper. I’m aware of Alex gazing at me.

  ‘Sometimes I think you’re jealous,’ he says.

  ‘You probably spend more time with her than you do with me.’

  ‘You can’t be jealous of a horse.’ He chuckles, and moves closer, sliding his hand across my buttock and giving me an affectionate squeeze.

  She isn’t just a horse, though, I muse. They’re a partnership, and they’ve been through hell during the past year, Liberty surviving major surgery for colic and Alex the fire at Buttercross Cottage.

  ‘Liberty’s almost as special to me as you are,’ Alex whispers, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. ‘Happy?’

  I nod, although my happiness is tempered by the issue of the invitation and his parents’ rudeness towards me, but I won’t talk about it now, not until the children are out of earshot. I watch Lucie cantering across the yard, holding up her dress like the reins on a bridle, and Sebastian stumbling along behind her.

  ‘You know we could get up really early in the morning and ride out,’ Alex goes on.

  ‘I’d rather stay in bed,’ I say as seductively as I can manage, my lips rubbery with alcohol and the cold.

  ‘Actually, so would I …’ The husky tone of Alex’s voice makes my heart beat faster, and I start wishing I’d remembered that overnight bag, but he continues, ‘Unfortunately, I think the kids will have something to say about that, though. Seb’s usually up by six.’

  It turns out that Seb is a night owl as well as an early riser.

  Inside, I sit on the sofa – it’s chocolate leather, very masculine and not to my taste at all – in front of the dancing flames of the open fire, and under the beams that crisscross the vaulted roof of the Barn, while Alex puts Seb to bed upstairs in the smallest of the three bedrooms, which opens out onto a balcony above. I can hear his low murmur drifting in and out of my consciousness, reminding me of how I used to read stories to my brother when my mother was out at work.

  An hour later, Alex returns with dark shadows under his eyes, his cheeks shaded with stubble and his shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

  ‘If Bob the Builder should meet with an industrial accident right now, I’d be more than happy,’ he says.

  ‘Is he asleep?’ I shift over to let Alex sit down beside me. As soon as he’s settled, the length of his thigh against mine, his arms around me, our lips about to touch, something vibrates in his pocket – and no, it isn’t what you’re thinking.

  Alex pulls out his mobile and switches it on to loudspeaker.

  ‘Alexander, is that you?’

  ‘Course it’s me, Mother.’

  ‘You sound breathless,’ she says, sounding affronted. ‘Are you all right? Is Madge still with you?’

  He swears under his breath. I start giggling, I can’t help it.

  ‘Can’t Father go?’

  ‘He isn’t so good.’

  ‘He was fine earlier.’

  ‘He’s overdone it. Won’t admit it, of course. Anyway, it’s one of Delphi’s and she’s asked for you.’

  I don’t believe Sophia. She’s doing this deliberately, determined to drive a wedge between me and her son. Well, it won’t work.

  ‘It’s the horse you saw on Christmas Eve,’ Sophia goes on. ‘Delphi looked in on it after the party and it’s taken a turn for the worse.’

  ‘Tell her I’m on my way,’ Alex says, cutting the call. ‘I’m sorry, darling.’ He kisses my cheek and drags himself away. ‘Duty calls.’

  It crosses my mind after he’s gone that I might have gone with him. Sophia could have looked after Seb and Lucie. However, when I glance down at my legs, sheathed in dark silk, I realise I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion. Instead, I wait for Alex on the sofa, tucked up in the faux-fur throw I stole from his bed. I can’t sleep for thinking of him, of him and Delphi Letherington alone together in a stable in a deep bed of straw … I give myself a mental slap. I’m tired, a little drunk and my mind is playing tricks on me.

  I must have fallen asleep eventually, because I’m woken the same morning, not by Alex or the children, but with a bang. (I should be so lucky!) I jump up, and run upstairs to grab Alex’s robe so I can c
over up before I look out of the window.

  Old Fox-Gifford is standing in the middle of the yard in one of those Wee Willie Winkie nightcaps, a big coat over his striped pyjamas. He has a stick in one hand and a smoking gun in the other. The dogs mill around a bale of straw on which are lined up the bodies of several rats. A cockerel crows in the distance and Sebastian joins me in Alex’s bedroom, crying for his mummy. People move to the country to find peace and quiet. However, as I try to calm Sebastian down, I find myself contemplating a return to the city.

  I didn’t intend to spend the New Year wiping noses and pouring out bowls of Coco Pops, but I find myself warming to Lucie and Seb when they start talking about their lives.

  ‘I like being with Daddy, and I like being with Mummy as well,’ Lucie pronounces sadly while Seb stares wistfully into his bowl of cereal. ‘Mummy won’t let me take my pony to London.’

  ‘I can’t say I’m surprised, Lucie. Can you imagine taking your poor pony to live in the city? He’d hate it. There’d be no room for him to gallop about and stretch his legs.’ An image of a Thelwellian pony ordering a latte in Starbucks springs to mind and I suppress a smile.

  ‘I s’pose not.’ Lucie looks at me with what I hope is new-found respect at my knowledge of horses. ‘Have you got a mummy and daddy, Maz?’

  ‘Sort of. My mum lives in London. My dad’ – it never gets any easier to talk about him – ‘well, I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘Is he dead?’ Lucie says, wide-eyed. Then before I can answer, ‘I’ve seen a dead pony before, and a cow. My daddy killed them. He’s a vet.’

  ‘I know. So am I.’

  ‘Do you kill animals too?’

  ‘That’s only a small part of the job,’ I point out, and Lucie’s off again, running upstairs to change into her jodhpurs so she can go outside and brush her pony. Her energy leaves me feeling slightly breathless.

  As I clear up, I catch sight of photos of Seb and Lucie on the exposed brick ledge beside the fire, and toys in the corner, including a Safari Vet set and some Duplo horses. There’s a box of 50ml syringes too, lying on top of brochures for various marques of four by four on the floor.