by Jodi Taylor
‘May I hope that, just for once, I have rendered my wife speechless for all the right reasons?’
I nodded, still unable to drag my eyes away. He’d finished his carrot and was now calmly surveying the yard around him, apparently quite at home.
Russell was rattling on. ‘You never asked where I was going, did you, so thank you for making it so easy for me. I have to say I’ve been all over the county this last month. You very nearly got a beautiful little mare, the colour of polished mahogany, named Firefly, but something held me back and as soon as I clapped eyes on this fellow, I knew he was the one for you. He’s absolutely bombproof. He’s loving and affectionate and a complete gentleman. In fact, his previous owner says that if ever she felt herself falling off, he would stop of his own accord and wait for her to pull herself back together again. He loves attention and being handled. I think the two of you were made for each other.’
I could hardly get it out. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Thomas.’
I caught my breath. Thomas hadn’t stayed – but he’d sent. I should have known. I should have trusted him. He would never leave me completely alone. Warm joy flooded through me.
‘He’s really for me?’
‘He’s really for you.’
I tidied his forelock neatly and stroked his face, almost too full to speak. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘No, really, thank you.’
‘No really, you’re welcome.’
A thought occurred to me. I said quietly, ‘But …what about … you know … next year?’
‘We’ll talk about that later. Shall we take him inside to meet the resident loonies? Now, just keep a firm hold, look as if you know what you’re doing, and lead him in. Kevin, can you open his box, please?’
The first one was still empty, but I led him into the second. Marilyn was next door and Boxer in the big one at the end. Both of them nearly fell over themselves, craning their necks to look.
‘Yes, it’s easy to see who’s going to be the brains of this outfit,’ said Russell, following on behind. ‘Mind you, in this place you could stand a brick on the table and it would still be the most intelligent thing for miles around.’
I proudly led Thomas into his box. Kevin had it all ready for him. I unclipped the rein, gave him a final pat, and joined Russell.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Let’s just give him a little peace and quiet. They can all get acquainted and then, if Marilyn hasn’t eaten him, we’ll turn them out together. Anyone fancy another slice of cake?’
But I couldn’t be dragged away. I watched Thomas – my Thomas – investigate his box, pull at his hay net, peer through the partition at Marilyn, who peered back, rather in the manner of the abyss, and then, apparently, he went to sleep.
‘Told you,’ said Russell, turning up with a plate and a mug. ‘Nothing rattles him. A bit of much-needed sanity around the place. By the way, tell that cat of yours if I find him on my bed again, I’ll make mittens out of him.’
‘Russell …’
‘Yes, love? Do you want that cake?’
I shook my head. ‘Russell, what about when I … leave? I could reasonably take the cat with me, but a horse …?’
‘I told you, I’ll help you find somewhere. And even if we can’t, you can still keep him here. I don’t mind. And Mrs Crisp will be pleased to see you when you visit.’
‘Russell, your next wife is not … going to want me wandering in and out a couple of times a week.’
‘My next wife?’ he said, thunderstruck. ‘What next wife?’
‘Well, when I’m … gone, you’ll still need money, won’t you? You should be looking around, so you have someone already lined up. Smooth transition.’
He actually put the cake down. ‘I don’t want to marry anyone else,’ he said, after a long pause.
‘But what about …?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll think of something. But it definitely won’t be marriage; I’ll tell you that for nothing.’
I said in a small voice, ‘Has it been so … bad?’
‘No, of course not, but I can’t see myself marrying again, somehow.’
‘Russell, you’re an idiot. You’re … personable, quite charming when you concentrate, and you have this lovely house. Unless there’s something … badly wrong with the women in Rushford, you’ll be fighting them off with a stick.’
‘Mrs Crisp will be my chaperone and bodyguard. I’ll buy her one of those earpieces and some dark glasses.’
He would go back to Francesca. As soon as the door closed behind me, she would be over here like a Bengal tiger to a tethered goat.
He was watching me. ‘No, I won’t.’
‘Won’t what?’
‘Get back with Francesca. I’m not putting my hand in that fire again. I’m off leggy red-heads for good. They bring you nothing but grief,’ said my leggy, red-headed husband.
I put my hand on his arm. ‘I worry about you.’
Something odd flickered and was gone. ‘Well, I worry about you. Just promise me you won’t go back to your aunt.’
‘I promise.’
Thomas moved around his box again, calling me back to the moment.
‘I haven’t thanked you.’
‘Yes, you have.’
I put my arms around him and hugged him as hard as I could. The first time I’d ever done that.
‘Thank you, Russell. Thank you so much. You don’t … know what this means to me.’
He tensed and patted my shoulder awkwardly. I was embarrassing him, so I let go and stepped back.
‘Well, again, thank you.’
He turned quickly away and began hunting through the contents of a dusty cupboard.
‘Again, you’re welcome.’
I had my first riding lesson a couple of days later.
They marked out an area in our second field, with oil drums at each corner, marked A, B, C and, astonishingly, D. I could only assume this was for their benefit as I was already on nodding terms with the alphabet and Thomas probably couldn’t read. I wore a smart new safety hat, and with the aid of a box, climbed clumsily into the saddle. It was an awfully long way up. I could practically see the sea.
Boxer watched from over the hedge. Marilyn watched through the hedge and everyone else watched from the gate.
With Russell standing in the centre like a ringmaster, I walked Thomas from A to B, turned left at C, and walked him back to A and so on. Once I got used to the strangeness, it wasn’t too difficult. Then we trotted and I bumped gracelessly around like a – like a very graceless thing. We finished with a walk up the lane so I could show off to the Braithwaites. Their eight-year-old daughter, Fiona, was on her own pony, casually jumping fences that looked taller than me, watched by her proud parents. Everyone waved.
When we got home, I had to get my legs used to land again, and then I had to rub Thomas down under Russell’s watchful eye, pick out his feet – he lifted each one for me, such a gentleman – wash his bit, and clean the tack. It took three times as long as the actual ride and I was exhausted at the end of it. No wonder Russell was so thin.
But I was learning. I was actually learning to ride. And the day Russell saddled up Boxer as well and we rode together up on the moors was one of the best days of my life. We went for miles, closing our ears to the anxious cries of a small donkey suffering separation anxiety, drifting up from the valley below.
She was in the yard when we got back. I suspect Mrs Crisp and Sharon had been playing with her in our absence, but this did not prevent her scolding us every inch of the way across the yard. We turned the two horses into the field where they immediately enjoyed a luxurious roll and while they were on their backs with their legs in the air, she had a go at them as well.
‘Does she not have a volume control?’ said Kevin, moving out of range.
Mrs Crisp, who’d vainly been trying to get a word in, mouthed a sentence at me. She tried again, just as Marilyn finally fell s
ilent and the words, ‘So they’re on their way over,’ reverberated around the yard.
Russell stepped back. ‘Why are you yelling at me?’
What she would have done to him at this point was never established, because, with the inevitability of death and taxes, my relations were upon us.
‘Quick,’ muttered Russell, ‘Let me look at you.’
‘What?’
‘Are you injured at all? Bruised? Ill? Unhappy? Tired? Quick, tell me, so I can think of excuses.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, trying not to laugh. ‘Just for once, you’re … completely in the clear.’
Oh no he wasn’t.
I forgot to take my riding hat off.
They stopped dead as they took in the implication.
Aunt Julia opened her mouth.
Uncle Richard, with true heroism, spoke first.
‘My goodness, Jenny. Have you been riding?’
‘Yes,’ I said proudly. ‘I have my own horse.’
‘How exciting. May I see it? Julia, come and see Jenny’s horse.’
Fortunately, the horses had finished displaying their bellies and were both right side up, grazing quietly. They ignored the audience at the gate, but Marilyn bustled over to check them out.
For a second, we were a tableau of normality. The relatives admiring the niece’s birthday present. Then, sadly, the sound cut in.
‘Russell, are you deliberately trying to kill your wife?
Well, now she’d come right out and said it.
‘I think we both know the answer to that one, Julia.’
‘Are you insane? The risk … She’s not strong … Richard, you can’t allow this to continue.’
‘Well, really, Julia, why is it such a bad thing? I assume she doesn’t go out alone, Russell?’
‘Not yet. And she doesn’t go out on the roads at all. Just up the lane on to the moors. It’s very quiet. You never see another soul. Apart from Martin Braithwaite occasionally with his dogs. And certainly no traffic. And she’s coming along very well, Richard. And the horse is extremely reliable. There’s really nothing to worry about.’
Just for once, he was making a real effort to be conciliatory. He knew how much this meant to me and he wasn’t going to let anyone take it away. I was truly grateful.
Thomas wandered over to see who these new people were. I stroked him. ‘See, Aunt Julia, how gentle he is.’
She looked uncertainly at her husband. ‘Richard …’
I’ll say this for Uncle Richard, he may channel mild-mannered Clark Kent, but when he spoke, Aunt Julia listened.
‘My dear, I think you worry unnecessarily. This is a good thing for Jenny. She’s learning responsibility. Russell, I know we must seem over-protective to you, but we remember when she was – not as well as she is these days.’
‘Of course, sir. I understand, but you only have to look at the difference in her to see how beneficial this has been. I hope you will give her your blessing. She derives a great deal of enjoyment from her riding and your displeasure would certainly spoil it for her.’
They were all discussing me as if I wasn’t there – as usual – but even as I thought this, Russell turned, and concealed from them, winked at me.
‘Well, you may be right. But Jenny, please promise me you will not venture on to public highways.’
‘I promise, Uncle Richard.’
‘And you will take care.’
‘Yes, I will take care. I only ever go up on the … moor and follow the … path. And Thomas is very safe.’
‘Is that his name? Tell me about him?’
So I peeled off with Uncle Richard and talked about Thomas, while Russell, heroically, took Aunt Julia into the house, where, hopefully, she would be plied with refreshments and then go away.
Uncle Richard seemed in no hurry to follow them in, so we stayed outside in the sunshine, leaning on the gate. I remembered again, the night before I got married, how much I enjoyed talking to him. He told me about their holiday in Portugal, relating one or two little incidents.
‘And I have to say, Jenny, how much your speech has improved. You still have the slight hesitation, but it is a joy to see how your confidence has grown. You know that I was a little concerned about your marriage, but I’m delighted to say I think I might have been wrong. He’s not who I would have chosen, but there is no doubt, he’s been good for you. And I think you’ve done him good, too, Jenny. I’m very happy to see the two of you making a go of it.’
I was very touched. ‘Thank you, Uncle Richard.’
And I was very guilty. He was going to be upset when we divorced. And even more upset when I didn’t return to live with them. But that was for the future. I was beginning to adopt Russell’s ‘I’ll think of something,’ attitude.
‘And now, I think,’ he continued, in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘we had better go and find our respective spouses. You can never be quite sure how long détente will last. We wouldn’t want to put too much of a strain on goodwill, would we?’
They had brought my birthday present, with apologies for its lateness. Book tokens, which were always acceptable to me. In my pre-Russell days, I would spend weeks in the bookshop before making my choice. For me, with so much time to kill, that was the most important part of the present. The downside was that the bookshop belonged to Christopher and I had initially been reluctant to add to his profits, until it became painfully apparent to everyone that Christopher couldn’t run a race, let alone a business, and that probably the bookshop had never made any sort of profit since the minute he first walked in through the door. I sometimes wondered how much it cost them to keep him afloat.
We waved them off, basking in goodwill and sunshine. Russell disappeared to his studio, and Kevin and I, armed with weapons of mass destruction, got stuck into the garden again.
That was pretty much how the whole summer went. I rode in the mornings with Russell and then when he went up to his studio, I attacked the garden. Sometimes Russell hung out of the window, shouting advice or criticism. Sometimes I told him to wind his neck in.
Kevin signed up for his course. Mrs Crisp seemed more focused and there was no more talk of her leaving. Sharon was putting a business plan together and Russell painted. He wasn’t happy with most of it and once or twice, something came sailing out of the windows to land in the garden below, but on the whole we were a happy little bunch. I was beginning to enjoy my life but then time put on an unwanted burst of speed and suddenly it was autumn.
Kevin and I had cleared most of the garden. We’d kept one or two things, but most had been uprooted. Kevin, complaining loudly about his back, dug it over, and I, complaining loudly about the smell, wheeled over the manure heap and forked it in.
We’d found the fountain and scraped out the thick, black, stagnant contents. ‘Good job we don’t sleep together,’ said Russell. ‘It would be rude to kick you out of my bed, but I have to say, Jenny, you’re a bit of a whiffy wife!’ This from a man who smelled, in varying combinations, of horse, lemons, linseed oil, fabric conditioner, and beer. We filled it with water and were dismayed to find it empty again the next morning.
‘You need a liner,’ shouted Russell from his window. ‘Don’t bother trying to patch it with cement. That never works. Get a liner and then make a new edge with bricks. Something we can sit on. Hold on. I’m coming down.’
So for a week we had Russell leaping everywhere, but he knew what he was doing and at the end of it, we were drenched and dirty, but we had a waterproof basin with a smart new brick coping that could double as a seat. I have to say they did most of the work but I was allowed to hold the hose.
Kevin found the hussy in one of the outhouses, mostly undamaged, although her clothes were still falling off. Russell patted her fondly.
‘Pervert,’ I said.
‘No, no. She formed an important part of my education.’
‘She’s deformed. It’s a … miracle she can even stand up straight. No wonder her clothes are always falling
off.’
‘Yeah,’ said Kevin, staring.
I left them trying to get her back on her plinth in the middle of the basin, manhandling her slightly more than I thought necessary.
Summery autumn slid slowly into wintry autumn. The leaves turned. We woke up to the odd frost. I’d been married nearly nine months. I was a veteran. Russell was trying to put together a body of work to show to local galleries. He grew tense and harassed and busy. I took to riding on my own.
‘Yes, of course you can,’ he said, not taking his eyes off the canvas in front of him. ‘Thomas has enough sense for both of you. Just always tell someone here and make sure you’re back before dusk. I mean that, Jenny. It all looks very different up there in the dark.’
I nodded. I didn’t go far the first time, but grew a little braver with each expedition. And there was a long, straight bit, just before Pen Tor where we could pick up speed as well.
I didn’t mean to have such an enormous row. He was tired and wound-up and I, conscious that time was ticking by, had got some property details and accidentally left them on the table. He went up like a rocket. I’ve no idea why. And then I went up too, because I was worried about my future and he slammed into his studio, shouting that if that was the way I felt, the sooner I left the better, and I said in that case I’d be gone by the end of the month, and he said good, and I said right then, and saddled up Thomas, told Kevin that I’d only be an hour, and set off at a brisk trot.
Once up on the moor I was in no mood to hang around. The day was crisp and cold and Thomas lengthened his stride. I leaned low over his neck, enjoying the wind in my face.
I opened my eyes to a darkening sky. The bleary lights resolved themselves into emerging stars. And it was very, very cold.
I lay on my back on hard ground, tried to lift my head, convulsed and threw up, but afterwards the pain in my head receded a little. Wiping my mouth, I rolled slowly on to my stomach, and, keeping my head as still as possible, tried to get up. My hip hurt and my arm and my shoulder. I’d fallen. Up here on the moor. How had that happened? A small sound made me turn. Thomas stood nearby, head hanging, his saddle slipping to one side.
I took a step towards him and vomited again, which was no fun, but again, I felt a little better. Afterwards, I could see more clearly. Clearly enough to make out the tangle of wire wrapped around his forelegs and the dark patches of blood. Again, he made that small sound of distress.