Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Mel doesn’t accept cheques,’ I say as she tries to hand it over.

  Delphi frowns. ‘Nicci always pays by cheque.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I take it, accepting that this is another of the exceptions he forgot to tell me about. ‘Let me know if there are any problems,’ I say, squinting as we move back into the sunlight.

  She gives me a look. ‘I hope that won’t be necessary.’

  Me too, I think, but I always mention the possibility. It’s all part of the service.

  ‘I’ll see you in two weeks’ time.’ I checked the diary earlier – Delphi has a regular slot every other Tuesday.

  ‘You mean Mel won’t be back in harness by then?’ she says sharply.

  My heart sinks because I thought I’d won her round.

  ‘He’s had major surgery. He won’t be back to work for at least twelve weeks.’

  ‘Oh dear, I thought he was putting it on. I shouldn’t have made such a scene when I found the girls rubbing liniment into his loins the other day.’ Delphi snorts with laughter, sounding much like a horse. ‘I’ll see you again soon.’

  I drive to the Saltertons’ next, arriving at about lunchtime. The dogs walk across to greet me, their tongues lolling with the heat. I look around for Robbie. He and Dillon are in the arena with a group of horses, and Kerry is looking on from just inside the gate. I wander over to watch.

  ‘Hi,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Kerry says. ‘Come and see the experts at work.’

  ‘How is it going?’ I ask. Robbie and Dillon, both dressed in dark breeches and yellow T-shirts with the Eclipse team logo across the front, are cantering around the arena in opposite directions, Robbie standing on Nelson’s back and Dillon on Scout’s. Each has a bay horse moving alongside. The sight gives me goose bumps.

  ‘They’re practising a new routine.’ She smiles wryly. ‘It isn’t going too well.’ She points towards Robbie, who carries a trailing whip, not to punish, but to guide the horse beside him; except that the horse has other ideas, spinning away from Nelson and attaching himself to Dillon’s pair of steeds. Robbie and Dillon pull up.

  ‘That’s Turner,’ Kerry says. ‘He’s a lovely horse, but not the brightest.’

  ‘Let’s pair him up with Scout this time,’ Robbie suggests.

  ‘It’s a bit of a pain,’ Dillon argues. ‘Scout’s always worked with Dennis.’ Dennis is a bay horse who is part of the team.

  ‘But Turner is very friendly with Scout.’

  ‘They are field buddies,’ Kerry says.

  ‘Let’s try it,’ Robbie says. ‘It’s always better to work with a horse, not against him. It would save embarrassment later. Can you imagine him doing that in front of the paying public, let alone the TV producer and his associates?’

  ‘I think we should stick to our guns,’ Dillon says. ‘What use will Turner be if he won’t work without Scout to hold his hand? He needs to learn to be completely independent.’

  ‘He hacks alone,’ Kerry points out.

  ‘That’s all very well, but how will he react on set if some actor who’s had a crash course in riding is on his back and he sees Scout in the distance?’ Dillon says. No one responds. ‘Yeah, exactly.’

  ‘We’ll work on that,’ Robbie says. ‘In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to swap for the sake of the new routine.’ He glances towards me, as if aware of me for the first time. ‘Hello, Flick. I’ll be ten minutes.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I say. ‘I’m in no hurry.’ I’m not in a rush to shoe Diva, although I know I’ll feel a lot better when I’ve finished.

  Robbie tosses the whip to his brother and they canter around the arena again. Turner seems more relaxed in his new pairing, matching his stride to Scout.

  ‘That’s better,’ Kerry observes. ‘It’s pretty stressful, running a successful stunt team, and I sometimes wonder if we’ll ever get it right. Perhaps I should try a show-jumping yard for a quieter life.’

  ‘Would you prefer that?’ I ask.

  ‘Not really. At least, I don’t think so.’ She grins. ‘Maybe I’ll get a chance to be on the telly as an extra. It’s my belief that you can always replace one stuntman with another, but you can’t do that with a groom. Robbie and Dillon couldn’t do without me.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ I say.

  ‘It’s me who makes sure that everything is prepared before we leave for these events. It’s me who remembers to black out the little patch of white on Scout’s chest so that he matches Nelson, and it’s me who checks that there’s enough fuel in the horsebox the day before.’ She moves to the end of the gate and picks up four head-collars that are hanging from the post. ‘Are you done?’ she calls.

  ‘That’s enough for now,’ Robbie calls back. He jumps down from Nelson’s back, landing lightly on his feet.

  ‘I’ll put them away then,’ she says.

  ‘Thanks, Kerry.’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Dillon says, stepping across from one horse to the other and sliding off over Turner’s rump.

  Robbie moves to the gate and vaults over the top as Kerry catches the horses.

  ‘I thought we might have to cancel,’ he says. ‘Kerry couldn’t catch Diva in from the field earlier, but Dillon and I managed to round her up. She isn’t nasty, just maligned and misunderstood.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘I expect that’s what they all say.’

  ‘Owners do tend to see their horses through rose-tinted spectacles.’ I smile back, glad to be back in his company. He changes the subject. ‘I wondered if you could spare the time to go and see this pony, then have a quick bite of lunch before you shoe Diva. What do you think?’

  ‘Yes, that would be great. I’d love to.’

  ‘Come with me then,’ he says, and I follow him across the yard and jump into the Land Rover that’s hitched to the trailer.

  The wolfhounds watch us go, their expressions forlorn.

  ‘The dogs don’t look very happy,’ I observe.

  ‘They don’t like being left behind.’

  ‘How was Maisie’s party?’

  ‘I survived it. That’s about all I can say.’ Robbie grimaces. ‘I was in hot water because I forgot to buy party bags. For a while, I was the worst dad in the world.’

  Not for long though, I think, watching him smile fondly as he drives along the lanes towards the Sanctuary.

  ‘So, what’s it like so far, trying to fill Mel’s shoes? Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say trying to fit them …’

  ‘I am fitting Mel’s shoes,’ I point out firmly. ‘I know what I’m doing. There’s no trying about it.’

  His eyes grow soft with regret and a little hurt, perhaps at being misunderstood.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s all been rather stressful. The reversing warning on the back of Mel’s truck has broken – I drove it into a fence this morning.’

  ‘I know someone who can have a look at it for you.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’ll get it into the garage when I have five minutes.’

  ‘Here we are.’ He lets me jump out to open the gate at the entrance to the rescue centre. We meet Tessa outside the bungalow, without the baby this time.

  ‘I’m so glad you’ve agreed to take Paddington,’ she says.

  ‘Take him?’ I turn to Robbie as we stroll towards the paddock, where the chestnut pony is waiting at the gate. ‘You mean you’re going to give him a home?’

  ‘I’m a sucker for a sob story,’ he says wryly. ‘Jack confirmed everything you said.’

  ‘The wound on his face is healing well,’ Tessa joins in. ‘He just needs a good diet and some TLC.’

  ‘We have plenty of grass at home; probably too much for a pony like him.’ Robbie lets Paddington nuzzle the side of his neck. ‘He seems very chilled.’

  ‘He’s been as good as gold,’ Tessa says. ‘Jack said you were looking for a therapy pony – he’ll be perfect.’

  ‘I’ll try him under saddle too. He might turn out to be suitable as a riding pony as well. Maisie will adore hi
m, whatever. She’ll be able to groom him and lead him about in a way she can’t with T-rex. Have you got the paperwork?’

  ‘It’s all ready for you to sign. Do you want to load him first then drop into reception?’

  ‘Yes, let’s do that. I’ll fetch a head-collar. I’ve got one in the trailer.’

  Paddington ambles straight in, ready for the trip to his new home, and Robbie signs the papers. When we arrive back at the yard, I lead Paddington out of the trailer and Robbie opens the door to the empty stable beside T-rex, who whinnies and kicks at the partition between the two boxes. Paddington whickers back.

  We watch them looking at each other over their stable doors.

  ‘Thanks for the tip-off. Now I have an extra mouth to feed.’ His arm slides around my back, his hand resting on the curve of my waist as he pulls me towards him, giving me a brief squeeze.

  My heart beats faster at being appreciated in a way that I haven’t felt for a long time. I’m pleased for the pony too. I only hope he turns out to be what Robbie is looking for. As I glance up at the outline of his face, the wayward locks of hair that fall across the broad forehead, the straight nose and the strong jaw, I wonder if he could also be looking for someone like me if I should convince myself that I’m ready to move on. It’s a long shot, though. I don’t know that much about him, in the scheme of things.

  He relinquishes contact and steps up to feed T-rex a couple of mints from his pocket.

  ‘I shouldn’t really. It makes him nippy.’

  I smile when I notice him do the same with Paddington, who puts his head in the air and curls his upper lip, revealing his teeth as if he’s never been fed treats before.

  ‘Maisie will spoil him. I can’t wait to see her face when she gets back from school.’ He changes the subject. ‘I’ll put our lunch order in, then we can make a start on Diva. What would you like? A baguette with ham and pickle, cheese and tomato, chicken and salad, or any other combination thereof? Water, Diet Coke or orange squash?’

  ‘Are you sure? I have food with me.’

  ‘Have something fresh, for goodness’ sake,’ he insists.

  Thanking him, I give him my choice and he disappears off to the house, while I slip my leather chaps over the top of my jeans, put my baseball-style cap on and apply sunblock to my arms. I keep a bottle in my survival kit with my shades, water and cold coffee to drink, insect repellent, a packet of digestive biscuits and some fruit, along with lip-gloss and antiseptic hand cleanser.

  I lift the anvil and tools out of the truck, by which time Robbie is back with a tray of food and drink. The woman I recognise as Maisie’s grandmother accompanies him. She’s about fifty, with straight, shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair, and wearing a maxi-dress in blues and greens. Up close, I’m surprised to find that she’s less than five feet tall.

  ‘Flick, this is Sally Ann, my mum. Mum, this is Flick,’ he says, introducing us.

  ‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she says. ‘Robbie’s told me a lot about you.’

  I notice how he blushes under the tan.

  ‘So where’s the new pony then?’ she goes on, as Paddington’s head appears back over the stable door. ‘Oh, he’s a funny-looking one with all that white on his face.’ She moves closer to him. ‘How could anyone bring themselves to hurt him? He’s very cute –’ she turns to me – ‘unlike the mare. Good luck with her.’

  Robbie leads Diva out of her stable and ties her to the ring outside.

  ‘You have remembered that you’re picking Maisie and Ashley up from school this afternoon?’ Sally Ann says.

  ‘It’s okay. I won’t forget.’ He smiles. ‘Not this time, anyway. I told you I was the world’s worst dad …’

  The big bay mare starts pawing the ground. Robbie touches her shoulder and she stops.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it. I have a load of admin to do indoors. It’s a shame – it’s such a lovely day.’ Sally Ann returns to the house.

  ‘Help yourself,’ Robbie offers, and I take a swig from one of the bottles of Diet Coke. I have a couple of bites of a chicken-and-salad baguette before making a start.

  Now that the mare is here in front of me, the nerves have returned. I take a deep breath. As well as teaching me how to shoe a horse, Tony also taught me never to show your fear. I make friends with her, giving her time to see that I’m not a threat, before I move to her shoulder and run my hand down the back of her leg. As I reach her fetlock, she lifts her foot. So far, so good. I catch her foot between my legs, take my hoof nippers from the trolley and start to clip away the excess horn. The wolfhounds grab the pieces and trot away with them, and I begin to relax. I repeat the exercise with the other feet, rasp the hooves smooth and measure her up for a set of shoes.

  I glance at Robbie who remains close by, skipping out the stables to keep them clean during the day, and punching some extra holes in a pair of stirrup leathers.

  ‘These are too long for Maisie as they are,’ he says in explanation. ‘As for Diva, I’m not saying a word. I don’t want to jinx it.’

  ‘Hot or cold?’ I ask him.

  He tips his head to one side, considering. ‘She’s been shod before, according to her previous owner. Hot’s better, isn’t it?’

  ‘It makes for a better fit.’

  Robbie fetches a bucket of water while I heat the shoes in the furnace. I start with the near or left fore, picking up Diva’s foot with one hand and holding a shoe with the pritchel in the other. I apply the shoe to the foot, briefly at first to get her used to the smoke and the smell. She shifts her weight slightly on to mine. I touch the shoe to the foot for a second time so it will leave a mark on the hoof to show me where to rasp away any unevenness.

  As the smoke crackles and swirls, the mare pulls back and drops herself almost on to her knees. I can’t hold her. She staggers up. The shoe and pritchel go flying, as does the trolley of tools, as I jump back to get out of her way.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Robbie makes his way to the mare’s head; he grabs her by the head-collar and leads her a step forwards to reduce the tension on the rope.

  ‘I’m fine.’ I collect up the tools, the pritchel and shoe. I drop the shoe into the bucket of water. ‘Let’s try cold.’

  ‘I’ll stay with her.’

  With bated breath, I try again, checking the cooled shoe against Diva’s foot, while Robbie whispers sweet nothings into her ear. Whatever he’s saying, it works, because she lets me nail the shoe on once I’ve flattened the toe slightly with the hammer to match the shape of her foot. I repeat with both of her hind feet, and move on to the last one, the off or right fore.

  The shoe is the perfect fit. Holding the nails in my mouth, I lean into Diva’s flank with the fetlock flexed and her hoof caught between my knees. I apply the shoe and tap in the first nail, using light taps to start it off and harder blows to drive it through the hoof, listening for the sound that tells me I’ve seated the nail in the right place.

  The nails are shaped so they bend outwards and emerge on the sides of the hoof as they are hammered in, preventing them hitting the sensitive inner part of the foot. The first goes in fine, and the second. When I knock in the third one, Diva tries to pull her foot away. I hold on, take a breath and go for the fourth. As I’m about to make the first tap with the hammer, she leaps skywards and back down again. I’ve still got her. I drive the nail through and out the other side of the hoof and through the flesh at the base of my left thumb. My first thought isn’t the pain. It’s that I’ve just nailed my hand to the hoof of one of the most unpredictable horses I’ve ever met, and I’ve got to detach it somehow without upsetting her.

  I take a breath as the pain takes over, searing up my arm and bringing tears to my eyes. I breathe out and focus on slowly disconnecting my hand from the nail, feeling it ripping slowly through my flesh. Robbie remains silent, keeping Diva calm.

  ‘Done it,’ I gasp as quietly as I can. I move away and examine the wound.

  ‘Did you prick her or something?’ Robbie
asks.

  ‘No, I pricked myself.’ I look at the hoof to check there’s no bleeding that would indicate I’d driven the nail into the sensitive part of the foot by accident. ‘I’ll replace that nail to make sure. I don’t want her going lame.’ I reach for the tools and pull it out before finishing the job.

  The mare fidgets the whole time I’m cutting off the sharp points and clenching the nails. She shifts her weight on to me – it’s killing my back – and she pulls back abruptly at least three times, twisting my spine in the process.

  ‘Hey,’ I scold, as perspiration drips from the tip of my nose. I’m losing it. I really am.

  ‘Stand up,’ Robbie says gently to Diva. ‘This won’t take much longer.’

  The more I hurry, the more difficult and diva-esque the mare becomes. When I go to pick up a foot, she resists. When I insist, squeezing the back of her leg, she snatches it up and slams it back down.

  ‘I’m done,’ I say eventually. My joints ache, my back hurts, my hand is throbbing, my head is swimming and my knees are weak. ‘Will you trot her up, just to make sure I haven’t done any damage?’ Aware that Robbie is gazing at my injured hand, I hide it behind my back, just as I did to hide my plaster from Gina when I went to shoe Rambo. It’s ridiculous, but I’m burning with embarrassment. Why does everything conspire to make me look incompetent when I’m trying to prove myself?

  ‘It wouldn’t be your fault if you had. Diva moved at the wrong moment.’ He unties her and leads her away to trot her along the concrete and back.

  ‘She looks fine, but if she goes lame in the next day or two, we’ll know why,’ I say as he leads her back into the stable and closes the door behind her.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ He moves up close to me. ‘You’re looking very hot.’

  ‘There, and I thought you’d never notice,’ I say lightly as I sway against the trolley.

  ‘Ha ha,’ he says dryly. ‘No, really, you look kind of clammy, as if you’re going to …’ I feel his arms around my back as he catches me. ‘… Faint.’ He sits me down on a nearby bale of shavings.