‘Yes, yes,’ I said quickly, seeing Jake’s face light up.
‘And she got too close to her Waitrose trolley. Got attached. Apparently the balls are very magnetic.’
I gaped. ‘No.’
Jake guffawed.
‘Andy’s worried he’s going to be sued, he wants to recall them all. Said he was worried about zinc bar stools or something.’
I felt my eyes widen in horror at this vision. Rows of stuck women. ‘I’ll ring him,’ I muttered, hurrying on house-wards. ‘Andy catastrophizes.’
I climbed in through the open kitchen window, resisting the temptation to wonder aloud why three strong boys couldn’t have moved the boxes to the barn, whilst they resumed their horizontal positions, pausing only to put beer to their lips or light another fag, should they have the energy to roll it. In the kitchen, every cupboard door swung wide in welcome, every drawer hung out cheerfully, and no surface remained uncovered, so thoroughly had every plate, mug and glass we possessed been utilized. The sink, likewise, was piled high with baked bean and bacon pans. I gritted my teeth and moved quickly through to the sitting room where the curtains were drawn, the television blared, and the carpet was covered with dog-licked plates and mugs from previous meals. In a nod to civilization the waste-paper basket overflowed with yoghurt pots and folded pizza boxes, but the kitchen bin was clearly a bridge too far: too much of a hike. A putrid smell of boys’ feet, trainers, stale booze and smoke, heavily laced with chips, prevailed. All animals, however, appeared to be alive, albeit pretty much in my front garden, so I couldn’t really complain. I turned off every appliance and light, flung open the curtains and windows, carried the plates and mugs through to the kitchen and balanced them on the already tottering pagoda in the sink, then I fled upstairs to change. When I came down in my old jeans, still doing up my shirt which seemed to have shrunk in the wash, Paddy was in the kitchen.
‘Ah. Good. You’ve changed.’
‘Why good?’ If he wasn’t going to say hello neither was I. We regarded one another coldly. I put my hands on my hips.
‘Well, obviously you’re here to ride this horse. I need to see its paces before I can pass it.’
‘Can’t you do it?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’m supposed to observe; you know that as well as I do. But hey, if you don’t want this sale to go through, that’s fine. I’ve got a heifer with a twisted gut in Barrowbridge and I should have been there ten minutes ago. I’ll be on my way.’
‘No, wait. Hang on.’ I flew to my purse on the dresser, found twenty pounds and climbed outside through the sash window. Paddy followed, simultaneously answering his phone. I glanced around the garden. Two sleeping boys.
‘Where’s Nico?’
Jake raised his head. ‘Gone to see a man about some business.’
‘What sort of business?’
‘Gone to see a dude about some grass,’ muttered Derek, eyes still closed.
I gasped. ‘What did you say?’
‘He said there’s a man in Potterham wants his grass cutting. Paying good money,’ said Jake, kicking his mate. ‘Nico thought he might earn a few extra quid. You know how driven he is.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, Nico will be hopeless at that, he’s never mown a lawn in his life. How long will he be?’
‘As long as it takes, man,’ intoned the gormless Derek. I ignored him. I had a nasty feeling that boy took drugs. Either that or he was phenomenally stupid. When I’d asked Minna, she’d said a bit of both.
‘Right.’ I bit my lip, annoyed. Jake lay back and shut his eyes again. After a moment, I crouched down beside him. ‘Jake,’ I murmured. ‘Can I ask you something?’ Jake remained prone but his eyes snapped open sharpish. Biddy had told me he’d already serviced one or two yummy mummies in the neighbourhood, which I felt sure was a thumping lie, but he nonetheless had a twinkle about him.
‘Absolutely, Molly,’ he murmured. ‘Ask away.’
‘Um, Jake,’ I whispered. ‘Do you ride?’
He gazed at me a long moment. Then he propped himself up on one elbow, turning his back on Derek. Happily Paddy was still on his mobile, pacing round the garden. ‘Ride? You mean … euphemistically?’
Clever boy, this Jake. Bound for Oxford, apparently. I tried to remember what euphe-thingy was.
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Throw a leg.’
His eyes held mine. He licked his lips. ‘Well, I’ve broken in a fair few fillies, if that’s what you mean.’
‘It is indeed, Jake. Splendid. Would you do it for me?’
There was a long silence as he gazed some more, his eyes widening. He sat up properly, his back firmly to his friend whose eyes had flickered. He cleared his throat. ‘Here?’ he whispered. ‘Now?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid I’m a bit desperate.’
He stared.
‘And you don’t mind an audience, do you? I’ll pay.’ I proffered my note. ‘Twenty quid?’ I fluttered my eyelashes mock wantonly. Jake liked a bit of banter. He looked a bit alarmed.
‘Hey. There’s no need for that.’
‘Nonsense, I’d like to.’ I straightened up as Jake did too. He got to his feet with alacrity. He looked frightfully keen. Good boy. I liked Jake. He had a bit of backbone. Unlike that dopey Derek. He strode towards the house and the open window, casting his friend, who was now all eyes and ears, a very cocky look.
‘Oh no, I’ll get you a hat, Jake. You go and meet the horse.’
He stopped in his tracks. ‘The horse?’
‘Yes.’ I sprinted past him. ‘Over there, in the yard. The grey.’
When I returned with Nico’s hat, which had taken ages to find in the gun room, Paddy had put the tack on Nutty and was looking dubiously at Jake.
‘You’re riding?’
‘Yeah.’ Jake grinned sheepishly, scratching his ear. ‘Apparently.’
‘You do this much?’
Jake shrugged. ‘Like riding a bike, isn’t it?’
‘Well, hardly.’ There was a pause. Mr Pritchard and Paddy were looking at him sceptically. ‘Well, get on,’ said Paddy impatiently. ‘I haven’t got all day.’
‘Right.’ Jake put a foot in the stirrup. He didn’t have the reins, though, just a hand either side of the saddle, and he swung himself up with such gusto … that he promptly went straight over the other side and landed on the concrete.
He moaned, clutching his leg. ‘Crap. Man. That hurt.’
I stared down at him, aghast. ‘I thought you said you could ride?’
Jake got to his feet, rubbing his thigh. ‘Yeah. Years ago, though. Bit out of practice. Mostly ponies at the village fête.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ snapped Paddy, looking at his watch. ‘I’ve got another appointment. Hop up, Molly.’
‘But I—’
‘Oh, just bloody well get on.’ He seized my leg, yanked it backwards and legged me up.
This really wasn’t in the script, I thought as I landed in the saddle. I hadn’t ridden properly for ages. Wasn’t riding-fit. But there was nothing else for it and, silently cursing Jake, I gathered up the reins and rammed on Nico’s hat which Paddy had passed me and which was horribly small.
‘Right. Take him into the paddock and walk him around a bit. Then trot, and when I say so, canter.’
So bossy. ‘Is that what you’d like to see, Mr Pritchard?’ I pointedly asked the bald head that was walking along beside me, like a huge egg. Had he even greeted me? Or I him? I couldn’t remember. He might have clicked his heels and I probably should have saluted. ‘After all, you’re the client, and my vet here is known to be over-rigorous. You’re a very busy man. Shall I just walk a few circles and call it a day?’
‘No, of course not, I want to see his paces,’ Pritchard said testily, barely glancing at me. He’d lost none of his charm. ‘I’m paying for a five-stage vetting here. At vast expense, I might add.’
Five-stage. Blimey. Usually my horses were vetted to the two-stage, and all that meant was a fetlock test, a peer
in the mouth and a trot up in hand. Five-stage was the works. Also, I always rode in a sports bra and I had on a rather tiny balcony bra, a recent acquisition for Felix, plus a tight-ish shirt, the buttons of which were prone to popping open at the best of times, and this was the worst of times. None of it was ideal. Nutty, too, had quite a bouncy trot, which hadn’t escaped Paddy, or Jake, I noticed, who appeared to have recovered his equilibrium and come to the fence to watch. As I circled and passed them on the right-hand rein at a brisk rising trot, only Mr Pritchard was looking at the horse.
‘Right, change the rein,’ ordered Paddy. He leaped the fence in one deft bound and strode to the centre of the circle like a bloody ringmaster. I could tell he was enjoying this. Jake and Mr Pritchard looked on from the side. Jake was grinning from ear to ear as I got bouncier and sweatier and more and more breathless and jiggly, and even dopey Derek had ambled across to join them, sniggering. I wished I could put one hand across my chest to steady the buffs but the buffs were doing their own jaunty thing, and Paddy was making me trot for what seemed like an eternity, a huge grin on his face, before he yelled ‘Canter!’, which was equally bouncy. Worse, in fact. Nutty was very fresh and leaped with every stride. Round and round I went, all eyes on me.
‘OK, gallop!’ Paddy yelled, which was, frankly, unkind.
‘Really?’ I yelled back. ‘Is that necessary?’
‘All part of a five-stage vetting,’ he assured me. ‘Mr Pritchard wants his money’s worth.’
Mr Pritchard got it. As I pushed Nutty into a gallop he couldn’t believe his luck and bucked with delight. I kept my seat – just – but not my buttons. As I landed with a bump in the saddle, they flew open, to reveal my scanty balcony bra, which was aptly named, as a great deal was spilling over the railings. Glancing down, I shrieked in horror, which spurred Nutty on to greater speed, despite my yanking on the reins. It was at this point that a throaty old white Fiesta roared into the yard and pulled up at the fence. Nico had arrived, just in time to see his mother galloping around in her bra – just – to roars and whoops of approval from his two best friends, a hugely grinning Paddy Campbell, and an aghast-looking Mr Pritchard.
22
‘What the fuck …’ Nico leaped from the car Miami Vice-style, only just pausing to switch off the engine, but not to shut the door.
I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe either, such was Nutty’s speed. It was all I could do to stay on board and sit the next fly-buck he’d decided to throw in for good measure as we careered around the paddock. He hadn’t been out for a good long while and this was the most fun he’d had in ages. In desperation I yanked the left rein very hard, putting all my strength into it, turning him straight for the hedge on to the lane, which was a good four foot, and which I knew would stop him in his tracks. It didn’t. He locked on to it as if he were in the Grand National, ears pricked, hooves pounding, mouth like iron as I pulled for all I was worth. When he took off it was with an almighty, unseating bound and we parted company mid-air. Pegasus flew on whilst I soared vertically, as if propelled by a double 0 seven ejector seat, before landing, luckily in the field and not in the lane, and thankfully on my bottom, which was well padded, and not on my neck or my back. Nonetheless, it completely knocked the stuffing out of me. I sat there amongst the daisies, seeing stars. I wondered if I was also going to see my breakfast. As I staggered to my feet, Nico rushed up, not an iota of concern on his face.
‘You are so out of control it’s not fucking true!’ he roared. ‘What the fuck are you up to, galloping around with no clothes on in front of my mates?’
‘I wasn’t – wasn’t galloping with no clothes on,’ I gasped, feeling for my shirt which was right around my back. I dragged it back across my overflowing bosoms and with trembling fingers did up the buttons. ‘Just flew undone,’ I panted. ‘Bit tight.’
‘You’re a fucking disgrace!’ he bellowed. ‘Derek took pictures – have you any idea what that’s going to look like on Facebook?’
I felt faint. Really faint. In the unhappy pantheon of terror, pain and mortification, this seemed like the worst blow so far. What would I do? Change my identity? Where would I go? Australia? But Facebook was everywhere. Should I kill myself? Yes, definitely. What a shame my neck hadn’t broken in the fall.
‘He wouldn’t do that, would he?’ I quaked.
‘He won’t now,’ said Jake, who’d joined us, snatching Derek’s phone from him and speedily pressing a few buttons before tossing it back.
‘Oi!’ objected Derek loudly. ‘I could have sold those!’
‘Are you all right?’ asked Mr Pritchard, also making it over to us with his bow-legged, military gait. He was looking deeply embarrassed and everywhere except at me.
‘Yes, fine, thank you,’ I gulped, still breathless and rubbing my coccyx. I noticed Paddy hadn’t put in an appearance except – oh yes, there he was. Coming back down the lane having gone after Nutty. Typical bloody vet, not even as concerned as Pritchard was about me. He was leading, I noticed as he came in through the yard gate, a badly limping horse.
We made our way back towards the house but Nico hung back. I heard him talking on his phone.
‘I swear to God,’ he hissed, ‘she got her tits out. She was like Lady fucking Godiva – in front of my friends!’
Lucy. Or Minna. But most likely Lucy. Oh God.
‘She is like totally out of control. We need help. Professional help.’
‘Don’t mind Nico,’ Jake murmured comfortingly in my ear, ever the gentleman, but walking just a bit too close. ‘He’s always been a bit prudish. My mother always tears around in her bra. So what?’
‘Thank you Jake,’ I said, knowing this was extremely unlikely. His mother was a tight-lipped, prim-looking matron who worked at County Hall and was buttoned up in every sense. But I was grateful for the solidarity. Grateful for anything, frankly. I’d take what I could get. And actually, you never knew with those librarian types. They were often the worst.
By now we’d reached the yard and Paddy was approaching, leading Nutty, and still grinning from ear to ear.
‘Ah. You’ve recovered your equilibrium, I see,’ he said jovially. I hadn’t seen Patrick Campbell so happy for a very long time. Generally he went around with a face like a wet weekend and a mouth like a cat’s arse. I told him so. He threw back his head and roared.
‘Ah, but then I haven’t been so royally entertained for ages. Your horse is lame, by the way,’ he told me cheerfully. ‘Strained tendon.’
‘I can see that,’ I snapped, snatching the reins possessively. ‘All your bloody fault for making me gallop. I’m so sorry, Mr Pritchard, it seems you’ve had a wasted journey. Due to my vet’s recklessness, my valuable horse has sustained what I’m sure will be an expensive injury, but then that suits him tremendously well. No doubt he’ll charge like a wounded rhino for the treatment and obviously send you a bill too for this wasted visit.’
Paddy laughed. ‘Oh, naturally I’ll charge. I’ve been here bloody ages, and I charge by the hour these days. Had to get someone else to do the heifer.’ He turned. ‘Oh – goodbye, Mr Pritchard!’ he called, and we all turned to see the rapidly retreating back of a man in a hurry, desperate to escape this madhouse with barely a thank you or even a backward wave.
‘I’ll be in touch, Mr Pritchard,’ I called, hastening after him, but he was already in the driving seat of his swanky convertible, in which he looked ridiculous. ‘When Nutty’s better, no doubt you’d like to come back? I’m sure once he’s had a bit of box rest he’ll be absolutely fine, and then why don’t you bring your wife next time and—’
‘If you think I want my wife anywhere near that uncontrollable animal you’ve got another think coming!’ he spat at me, his bald head going a bit mottled. ‘You’re lucky I’m not having you up under the Trade Descriptions Act. Bombproof, you said. Snaffle mouth. Lovely controlled paces. There was nothing remotely controlled about that!’
‘I think you’ll also find I described him as a
“fun ride”, and I for one had a ball. Galloping and jumping are meat and drink to me, and who cares about the occasional little tumble. But if that’s all too adventurous for your wife she’d probably better stick to dressage and ponce around in circles.’
‘Good day, Mrs Faulkner!’ he spluttered, thrusting his expensive machine into first gear and speeding off towards the gate.
‘And goodbye to you, you old fart!’ I bellowed after him.
‘That’s it, Mum. If all else fails, resort to the language of the playground.’ Nico walked past me with his friends towards the house. Jake cast me a last, admiring glance.
‘Leave it out, mate, your mum’s a legend,’ I heard him say, to which Nico responded: ‘She’s a fucking nutter.’
I took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly and gave myself a moment, standing in the dust that still gently hovered in the wake of Pritchard’s car. Then I shut the gate on Buddy, who was inching sideways towards it, and stalked back to Paddy, who was untacking Nutty. He was whistling in a rather irritating way, still smiling broadly.
‘My grandfather used to say only window cleaners whistle,’ I told him, snatching the tack as he handed it to me.
‘My, what a classy family you must have been. What a shame you’ve been reduced to horse-trading, the oldest and shadiest profession bar—’
‘Prostitution, yes, I know. And which, according to my children if you’d care to canvass them, is pretty much what I’ve resorted to anyway these days, so hey, why not combine the two?’
Paddy caught something in my tone and glanced up. He’d been about to hose Nutty down. ‘What’s up?’
‘What d’you mean, what’s up? Everything’s up,’ I muttered, stalking off towards the tack room with the saddle and bridle, tears unaccountably pricking my eyelids. I lifted the saddle on to its rack and hung up the bridle. Then I leaned my forehead on the saddle and shut my eyes. Just for a moment, I wished Paddy and I could stop sparring with each other. Stop this relentless verbal volleyball, and get back to how we were a few years ago, before I’d stood him up in the pub in front of all his friends and before he’d never forgiven me. Back to when we were friends, and when David had just died, and I’d been left with all these ruddy animals. He’d been a bit of a brick, if I’m honest. Something of a rock. I remembered him coming round regularly when all the ewes were giving birth in the fields and I was running round in circles like a crazy woman, screaming at all the afterbirth, repulsed and anxious at the same time. He’d arrive unannounced and calmly deliver any that were in difficulty, not sending a bill, just saying he’d been passing. At night, on occasion, I’d scream down my mobile to him, crouched in the barn with a ewe I’d brought in who was bleating in agony, her sides heaving horribly: I couldn’t bear it. Triplets, it had been that particular night: two safely delivered but not the third, and the first two incapable of surviving without the mother, I’d thought. Two tiny, wet black things in the straw, the third breached. And I couldn’t deliver it. Couldn’t bring myself to stick my arm up and turn it. Now, of course, I could. I’ve stuck my arm up more ewes’ fundaments than I’ve had hot dates, but not then. Then I was terrified. And in deep shock from losing David. In the middle of the night, Paddy had come. Those days were long gone. But I could do with a friend right now. Not a man. Just a friend.
About Last Night . . . Page 25