‘Ah the simple things,’ she mused aloud, and realised with a mild shock how truly spinsterish her life had become.
Claire looked about her and felt an odd sense of emptiness and apprehension at the prospect of leaving her childhood home for the second time. It was exciting, so why did she feel uneasy? Claire tried to analyse it in the hope of making it go away. After all that had gone on this year, surely it was a simple task of closing one door and opening another.
She turned her page over, wrote the heading ‘What I need in life’ and began her list. It was a list she made every New Year’s, and it always started the same: ‘secure job’, followed by ‘house’, ‘reliable car’ and so on. She knew it by heart – they were all the things Claire McIntyre felt she needed in order to survive. After writing for a few minutes, she stopped. She stared at the first entry: ‘secure job’. There was no way what she was doing was secure. Beyond twelve months she didn’t have a clue what she’d do. But she was okay – she hadn’t fallen apart yet, had she?
Bernadette had once pointed out that most of the things she listed were wants not needs. Bernie saw needs as things like food, water and shelter, not all the other ‘luxuries’ she had written down. They used to argue about it, but eventually they’d agreed to disagree. Claire looked down through her list.
Bernadette might be able to live happily with cats and not men, but she – Claire McIntyre – wanted more.
That was what was missing: the love of a good man. A tear escaped as she thought of Keith – the man who had shared her home and heart for over ten years. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. He was also the same man who had driven her nuts with his obsession for all things golf and electronic – she certainly didn’t miss that.
Lately she wondered whether it was Keith she missed or just having someone to come home to. Why did the prospect of living alone seem so daunting? And why now, when she was moving into her own little cottage. She’d lived alone for months in her big city house.
Look what had happened to her in the past year: a loving – if at times totally frustrating – husband taken from her; her father’s accident; a so-called secure job taken from her; and houses having to be bought and sold.
Bernie was right: there really was no such thing as security. You had to be responsible for your own happiness. Only when you were truly independent could you live in harmony with someone else. It didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy company, you just didn’t have to suffocate it. Like cats – now they had it all sussed. Claire smiled to herself and added ‘kittens’ to her list.
Chapter Twenty–six
Claire was mesmerised by the hooves in the heavy sand as the horse circled her at the end of the lunge rein. If someone had told her six months ago that she’d be actually enjoying life – not just living it – she wouldn’t have believed them. But a lot had happened since she’d lost her job last October: Jack was almost back to his old self; and she’d settled into her role as co-trainer. Apart from a few bumps, the partnership seemed to be working. And she was loving being able to spend so much time with Bernie again. Not long now and she’d be moving into the cottage.
She hugged her oilskin coat around her as the autumn sun was swallowed by clouds, and tucked her gloved hands into her armpits. Winter was closing in fast, and soon she’d be cursing the cold and rain and wishing she was back in the comfort of an office with central heating. The stifling heat of summer had been bearable because, with nothing much to be done with the horses in the middle of the day, she’d been able to retreat indoors when it got too much. But if Jack could tough it out at his age, then she could too.
The horses were all progressing well, if a little slowly. For the last few weeks Claire had been left in charge of training, having questioned her father’s seemingly haphazard ‘suck it and see’ approach once too often. They hadn’t had a fight over it, Jack had just shrugged and walked away. Since then, Claire had often seen his silhouette in the kitchen window, watching her as she worked the horses in the front paddock. She wished she’d kept her mouth shut, because she still didn’t really have much strategy beyond getting them fit and looking good. But she was winning there. Even if none of the horses ever won a race, each was a picture of rippling muscles under a gleaming satin coat.
Claire studied Howie’s form as he cantered around her, his breath puffing out grey from his lips as the warmth collided with the cold morning air around him. His head was lowered in submission and his hooves dragged, kicking up sand. The poor creature had to be bored out of its brain going round and round in circles – she was.
‘Aaaaand walk,’ she called. The horse registered her voice with a slight flick of his ears and stumbled into a walk. ‘Aaaaand halt.’ Howie did as he was told and stood on the outer track, his head turned towards her, brown eyes patiently awaiting her next instructions. ‘Come here, there’s a good boy.’
Howie lifted his head and ambled towards the centre where Claire stood like a circus ringmaster.
As she rubbed his head and fed him a carrot from her pocket, she noticed his eyes were dull – gone was the cheekiness. Part of her knew it meant she had control: this was what most trainers strove for. But a bigger part of Claire felt an overwhelming sadness. Howie was losing his individuality, his personality.
She thought back to the days she’d been a state Pony Club eventer with her mother in charge, and the many successes they’d had. Standing there with her hand on this horse’s big willing sad face, she realised that her successes were only in the ribbons and trophies she’d acquired. Really, the higher the level of competition and the more schooled the horse, the less fun she’d had.
The early days of Pony Club had been a blast – the times after class when they’d roared around on the ponies bareback, sitting on the ground in fits of laughter after falling off when the animal shied sideways for no reason. So when had it got so serious? But it had to, didn’t it? You couldn’t be a kid forever.
‘If only,’ Claire heard herself say. She looked from Howie to the other three horses with heads hung over their stable doors awaiting their turns. What did they think? Were they happy to perform in return for a comfortable stable and food, or did they hate the sight of her striding towards them, lunge rein in hand?
‘Come on then, let’s give you a hose down.’
Howie would stand with a stream beating his forehead all day if you let him. The absolute contentment was clear in his half-closed eyes. Every now and then he’d grab the hose with his teeth, fill his mouth with water and squirt and dribble in a playful display of huge flapping lips that saw strings of gooey saliva land on anything within five feet.
She turned the water off just as Jack ambled over.
‘How’d he go?’
‘Good, but I think he finds the lunge too boring. He’s lost his spark.’
‘Hmm. Never saw much point in going round and round – it was more your mother’s style. And what about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘Do you find the lunge boring?’
‘Yes, but so what?’
‘You’re a partnership. He’s looking to you for leadership. If your heart’s not in it, his won’t be – same with all of them. What do you enjoy doing?’
‘Um, I don’t know.’
‘Yes you do, just think. Remember back to when you were first starting out in Pony Club. What was it you loved doing the most?’
Claire flushed slightly and shrugged. ‘Games, jumping, formation riding. Oh, and roaring around like an idiot,’ she added with a grin.
‘What you need, my girl, is to recapture your youth. Put him away and come inside – we’re going to find ourselves a new strategy.’
‘Okay. I’ll be over soon. And Dad?’
Jack turned around.
‘Thanks.’
He batted her thanks away and kept going to the house.
Claire stood at Howie’s gate for a while, enjoying his contentment while he ate. As she watched his ears flick back and f
orth in time with the movement of his jaw, it struck her that her father was right: it really was more about the journey. Why hadn’t she seen it before? She wondered if she should say something to Jack, maybe apologise and tell him things would be different from now on. Jack had never been one for soppy discussions; she’d just have to show him.
Jack already had a stack of books, a lined pad and a pen on the table when she arrived. He pushed the pad and pen towards her as soon as she sat down.
‘First, I want you to think about each horse’s personality and what that translates to in terms of having fun together as a team.’
‘But I…’
‘No buts or arguments, Claire, just take your time. Think back to when you were a kid, the various partnerships you had and what made them work. For instance, remember Bennie, and how you loved to chase foxes…?’
‘Yeah, the time we ran one down and it was hissing and spitting. Bennie loved it. Remember how he won that endurance ride, sprinting at the end and I’d hardly spent any time getting him fit?’
‘Exactly – it just worked; on another horse that strategy might have been a disaster. So what we want to do here is match a strategy to each horse.’
‘But what do other trainers do? Shouldn’t we be reading about horseracing, not thinking about my old Pony Club days?’
‘Claire, we don’t give a toss what other trainers do. You’ve got to be true to yourself, first and foremost. Good and bad horses come and go. When it all boils down, all you have is your soul and self-belief.’
Is everyone thinking like Bernie these days? Claire wondered.
‘So let’s start with Howie. What are his strongest traits?’
‘Okay. Well he’s calm and willing, not easily startled, but has a cheeky, feisty side…’
‘So that means…’ Jack prompted.
‘Well if he wasn’t so big, he’d probably enjoy gymkhana games. I’m too old for that, anyway.’
‘Nonsense. There’s nothing to say you have to be good at it. We’re just trying to add some variety.’
‘So what do you think makes Larry tick?’ Claire asked.
‘Open spaces,’ Jack said without hesitation. ‘He’s had too many bad experiences cooped up. I’ve taken him out a couple of evenings for long rides, checking fences when you’ve been out with Bernadette and David and…’
‘When there’s no one around?’ Claire gasped.
‘Why, because I’m too old?’
‘No, because…’ Claire flushed. ‘No, because if you came off we wouldn’t know where you were.’
‘I’ll be right, Claire.’
‘Well could you at least leave a note saying which paddock you’ll be in?’
‘Okay, if you insist.’
‘I do.’
‘Right. Now Bell, he hates open spaces and being alone – much more suited to the round yard. Be a nice dressage horse or hack if he doesn’t make it on the track. And Paycheque, well he needs to learn to focus.’
After an hour, several cups of tea and numerous pages screwed up and flung aside, Claire sat back in the high-backed chair and let her breath out loudly. There in front of them was a plan for each horse and trainer for the next few weeks. Secretly, Claire wondered how Jack would be able to fulfil the physical demands. He hadn’t even thought he could ride at all when he’d come home from hospital. He continued to surprise her every day, but she still wished they had another bum to put in the saddle.
Her father had been running this place single-handed all these years, regularly having as many as six horses in work at a time. With the two of them it should be a lot easier.
The key was to be organised – an area Claire was gifted in. She started making mental notes. If she organised meals ahead of time, measured out all the horses’ feeds once a week, put out her clothes the night before… Hell, she’d coped for years with the pressures of an advertising firm full of difficult artistic types. Four horses and her father should be a doddle.
‘Dad, how about I get a big whiteboard to write this up on and put it in the tack room? That way it’ll be right there to refer to.’
‘How much are they?’
‘Not much. But don’t worry, I’ll get it.’
‘Well I was just wondering if we could get one for the feeding schedule as well. I’d like to experiment more with individual feeds. I suspect Howie would benefit from more oats, but giving Larry more will turn him into a lunatic.’
‘Good idea. Two it is, then.’
Claire studied the menu and decided on the asparagus crêpes – she needed something to warm her up. She was halfway through a glass of water when Bernadette arrived at the café.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Bernie said, sitting down and grabbing a menu. Within seconds the waitress had pounced on them, taken their orders and retreated to the kitchen.
‘No worries, I was a bit early, anyway.’ Claire poured her friend a glass of water.
‘Have you met someone?’ Bernadette said suddenly, staring hard at Claire across the table.
‘Sorry?’ Claire was genuinely perplexed. ‘I meet people every day – just saw Jillian Cooper at the post office, Bill Markson at the newsagent…’
‘There’s something different about you, but it’s not your hair, that’s the same… Who is it? It’s Derek, isn’t it?’
‘What is? Bernadette, have you been inhaling too much glyphosate or something? You’re not making sense.’
‘Look at you. You’re positively radiant.’
Claire blushed slightly and brought her hand up instinctively to smooth her hair.
‘You’ve found love, it’s the only explanation,’ Bernadette said triumphantly, and took a deep slug of water.
‘All right, I confess,’ Claire said, laughing and holding up her hands in surrender.
‘I knew it,’ Bernadette cried. ‘So, spill – tell me everything.’
‘Well, the first one,’ Claire began, noting with amusement the startled expression on her friend’s face, ‘has the biggest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. He’s easygoing, gentle yet big and strong.’ Claire paused, wondering how much further she should go. Bernadette was leaning across the table hanging on her every word. Just then David appeared. A subtle waft of aftershave stalked him as he kissed Bernadette and then Claire on the cheek.
‘Don’t you smell yummy,’ Bernadette said.
‘It’s “CK Contradiction”. Do you like it?’
‘Lovely,’ Claire said, sniffing close to him.
‘Thanks. And how are my two favourite girls today?’
‘Well I’m good,’ Bernadette said, ‘but apparently Claire here is in love.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘Ah, do tell,’ David said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Claire looked from one to the other, a bubble of laughter rising up in her chest. She felt naughty, but their inquisitive expressions were just too much.
‘Bern, it’s Howie – the horse – you moron!’
‘Sorry? I don’t follow,’ David said, frowning.
‘We’ve been had, David. Claire’s been a deceitful cow.’
‘You’re the one who insisted I was in love.’
‘So you’re not?’ David said, clearly disappointed.
‘No, she’s not,’ Bernadette snapped.
‘Actually I am – with life,’ Claire said in an airy tone, waving her arms around.
‘Oh God, here we go,’ Bernadette and David groaned in unison, and then laughed at their synchronicity.
‘Well, clearly nothing juicy here. I’ll get back to my boring café, then,’ David said, getting up.
‘Thanks a bloody lot Claire,’ Bernadette groaned, putting her head on the table. ‘I feel like a complete idiot.’
‘Oh well, you’ll get over it. Teach you to jump to conclusions, won’t it?’
‘Probably not, but you’re right. I’ll get over it. Okay, so tell me what’s making you so happy?’
‘Well everything. I don’t know, it’s like life is finally falling into place,
making a bit more sense.’
‘So you’re on track for the move, is that what you mean?’
‘Yeah, that’s all fine, but it’s the horses really.’
‘What, finally the McIntyre marvels are showing signs of promise? I didn’t know you’d been to another race meeting.’
‘We haven’t.’
‘Then what the hell are you talking about? You are so not making sense.’
They were interrupted by the delivery of their meals by David’s waitress. Claire picked up her cutlery and began to eat. After a few mouthfuls she paused, fork poised mid-air.
‘I never thought it would be so much fun.’
‘What, winning?’
‘No. God, Bernadette, we haven’t won anything. Not yet, anyway.’
‘And you’re okay with that?’ Bernadette stared at her friend in disbelief.
‘Not that I have a choice but, actually, yes I am. It’s like I kind of get it all now. Dad’s right. It’s about the journey, not the destination.’
Bernadette shot her friend a doubtful look.
‘What is it you find so hard to believe?’
‘You. This. It’s weird.’
‘Haven’t you been telling me for years to lighten up and “trust in the cosmos”? Have faith in myself?’
‘Yes, but Claire, now you’re actually doing it you’re scaring me.’ She laughed tightly. ‘You’re sounding like a new-ager.’
‘I don’t know – I’ve been trying to put my finger on it.’
‘So, what exactly is it that has you so excited?’
‘Promise not to laugh.’
‘No. I will promise not to laugh at you, though.’
‘Okay, I can live with that. Well it’s not one particular thing, more a philosophy…’ Claire stopped, suddenly it didn’t feel right to tell anyone what they were doing. She couldn’t understand it – they discussed everything. She could probably count on one hand the number of secrets she’d kept from Bernadette over the years.
‘Ah, I won’t bore you with the details. It’d be like you telling me what you feed each individual species at the nursery,’ Claire said.
Paycheque Page 19