She took all the horses in on Friday and kept them stabled with rugs, to minimize the chances of any of the greys lying down in something awful and getting covered with green poo stains. Charlotte worked like a trooper, polishing all the leather of the head collars and making sure Tor’s tack was gleaming. She was angling to do a ridden demonstration, even though it bore very little relevance to the afternoon’s events.
Several clients had volunteered to come along and act as horse handlers; they’d heard about the accident and wanted to show their support. And Brian and Carol – separately – offered to help too, each promising they’d bring along some extra bodies to make the place look busy.
‘Not that it won’t be,’ Carol had said, comfortingly.
‘I really appreciate this,’ Ella said.
‘You’ve changed my life,’ Carol smiled. She’d driven to the shop and bought flowers for the office, and was arranging them neatly in a vase. ‘If I hadn’t come here, I wouldn’t be the person I am now. I love this place. And the horses.’
Ella felt a rare smile reaching across her face. She’d been almost numb with worry. She hadn’t heard anything from the local authority, and Lissa kept telling her that no news was good news. She also still hadn’t heard a word from Jenny, or Harry. She’d dropped in with a box of chocolates, a pony magazine and some flowers, but Lou had answered the door. He’d thanked her, in his gruff, kindly way, but hadn’t asked her to come in. All she knew was that Hope was doing fine, and that she was back at school (that thanks to Lissa’s updates) with a brightly coloured cast on her leg, which was the envy of all her new schoolfriends.
But she couldn’t think about Hope, or Harry, now. She had to concentrate on getting everything perfect for the open day. She didn’t want all the good work she’d done to fall apart, and Bron to return – if she ever did – to a failing business.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Harry
Harry sat on the plane, gazing out of the little window at the lights sparkling below as they circled, waiting to land. He shifted in his seat.
‘Sorry,’ said the woman sitting next to him, automatically polite as he knocked her leg.
‘My fault.’
She smiled and looked at the printed-out report he was reading. ‘No rest for the wicked, is there?’
A smile curved at the corner of her mouth. They had another twenty minutes to landing and he couldn’t face conversation – his mind was spinning.
‘Something like that.’ He cleared his throat and looked down at the papers, frowning as if concentrating hard.
The truth was, he wasn’t taking them in at all. In the days since Hope’s accident, he’d spent long hours awake running over everything in his head. It was glaringly obvious. Whenever he and Ella were near each other, bad things happened. He thought back to his childhood. When his mother had moved out, he’d overheard an argument in which his mother had shouted angrily that if they hadn’t had children, they might have stayed together, but that when he came along, everything changed. The words had settled deep within him, until he met Ella. When he fell for her, and went home to the warmth of her house and her lovely, kind-natured dad, he’d felt that perhaps there was a space for him. Bron had come to visit and filled the house with delicious food. The whole place had felt safe and welcoming. It couldn’t have been a bigger contrast to the echoing, silent cavern that was Burnham House.
And then everything fell apart, and he was alone again. After the accident and the divorce, his parents’ sympathy took the form of money. He was told to take some time off, travel and see the world. The unspoken message had seemed to be and don’t bother us. So he hadn’t.
Then Sarah took his hand that day at the hospital. Small and dark and freckle-nosed, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She pulled him into her family and into her life, and he was happy to be towed along. It seemed safer to keep the truth of what had happened in the past in a box, separate from his new life. But the truth was –
The moment he’d seen Ella in the hall of the cottage on Christmas morning replayed itself in his head. The way she’d looked when she’d stood up and turned around. The expression on her face – not anger, not resentment. It was something else. Something different. Something –
He shook his head. The truth was that no matter what he might feel, those feelings were dangerous. Hope had suffered a broken leg, but it could have been far worse. It wasn’t a coincidence that Ella had come back into his life – it was a warning.
The email from the solicitor had arrived yesterday, when they were having a break from a meeting that had dragged on interminably. His head was pounding and his A-level French was flagging. He’d headed out into the cool stone of the corridor. The building was in the centre of Paris, and he’d found himself looking out across an early evening skyline that was achingly romantic.
Dear Harry,
There are some final details regarding the sale of your father’s property which require signatures. I can have these sent to you by special delivery if needed, or you can pop by, soonest.
Yours, etc. . . .
It could have waited, but he wanted it done. Harry ducked out of the meeting, handing over the reins to the eager – and more than capable – Kamal. After landing at Heathrow, he hired a car to drive north, cutting through the rolling green of Essex and up to the fenlands. The road seemed to go on forever, the miles counting down one by one, until he turned into the centre of town. The ornate, old-fashioned clock tower of Downham Market marked home.
He parked the car and made his way up to the beautiful building that was home to Donald Jenkins, who had been the family solicitor for years.
‘Sorry to spring myself on you first thing,’ Harry said. He towered over the little desk that was set to one side in a room which had – once upon a time – been the drawing room of a very fine town house. Now – and for as long as the furniture had been there, which looked like the early 1970s – it was the home of the redoubtable Donald Jenkins, a tall, thin man who looked like a crane bird in a suit. Harry always half-expected him to pick up one long, spindly leg and hold it, folded, in mid-air. Since they’d last met he’d lost even more hair, so all that remained was a faint memory, circling a bald patch which reached almost to his ears.
‘Wasn’t expecting you to drop in quite this quickly,’ Donald said. He picked up a pile of letters and riffled through them briefly.
‘Can you deal with these, Peter, and bring us through a pot of tea?’
The young man behind the desk – probably only eighteen or so – nodded and smiled, nervously.
Harry signed the paperwork and passed it back to Donald.
‘Well.’ He looked at Harry over his glasses. ‘You’ve got a quite considerable nest egg now, even after inheritance tax. Any plans?’
‘I think I might give up work,’ he said, surprising himself.
You about?
About as in – here?
As in – put the kettle on.
Harry smiled to himself as he stood on the front step of Holly’s little cottage. There was a crashing from inside as she threw herself down the stairs, and pulled the door open with a beaming smile.
‘What the bloody hell, Macallan. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
Harry loosened his tie and put it down on Holly’s little round pine table. It slithered off some newly bought frames and landed on the floor. She handed it back.
He shook his head. ‘Bin it.’
‘You what?’ Holly held it at arm’s length, as if it were a snake.
‘Put it in the bin.’
‘It’s not that bad.’ Holly curled her lip. ‘Bit boring, if you ask me.’
He reached across, laughing, and took it out of her hand. ‘I didn’t.’
With a fluid movement he reached across, tapped open the bin, and dropped it in, on top of a mess of eggshells and left over baked beans. He closed the lid.
‘OK.’ Holly sat down. ‘We’re going to need to take this from
the top.’
‘D’you fancy a drive out to my dad’s place, and I’ll tell you the whole story?’
Holly looked at the picture frames. ‘I’m meant to have them at the Country Kitchen for their art sale tomorrow.’
‘Don’t worry.’ He made to get up. ‘It was just an idea.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m in.’
As they made their way down the drive of Burnham House, Harry realized they were effectively trespassing. The house wasn’t anything to do with him anymore, and he’d already said goodbye.
‘Bloody hell, I forgot how massive your dad’s place is. I mean, was.’ Holly grimaced. ‘Were you not a tiny bit tempted to keep it and do the whole Lord of the Manor thing?’
‘Not even slightly.’
‘I so would. I’d have millions of dogs and make it an art collective and turn the big sitting room into a gallery.’ They got out of the car. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t. That would mean people, and I can’t be doing with people. I’ve realized I’m quite happy with my own company.’
They headed around the back of the house, down the lawn, and through the hedge into the vegetable garden. He’d paid a gardener to keep it up after his father died, so the soil stood, bare and hopeful, waiting for spring.
There was an old metal bench where he’d sat at weekends when he was small, watching his mum weeding carefully, thinning out carrot seedlings and earthing up potatoes. It was rough with rust, the paint bubbling and flaking away. He sat down.
‘OK.’ Holly sat down beside him. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing. Except I’ve handed in my notice, I’ve no idea what I’m going to do next, and Jenny and Lou are about to head back to Norwich – and I’ve got to work out a way to tell them I’d like to start living my own life.’
‘You mean, you and Hope?’
He nodded.
‘About bloody time.’ Holly blew upwards so her fringe puffed up in the air.
‘You don’t think –’ He paused for a moment, thinking.
‘I think – now you’re asking, and I’ve been biting my tongue for bloody ages, if you actually want to know – that you’ve all been skirting around each other trying so bloody hard to do the right thing that you’ve ballsed it all up.’
‘Cheers. Break it to me gently, why don’t you?’
‘I’ve tried that numerous times with you and Jenny, and neither of you take a blind bit of notice.’ She snapped off the end of a dried-out piece of bindweed and started tearing it into tiny pieces, dropping them on her lap. ‘Sarah would go bloody mad if she saw the state of you lot. Jenny’s always been prone to interfering, and she doesn’t know when to let go. Never did. You’re too nice for your own good, and Lou’s been so busy working himself to death to avoid grieving for Sarah that he didn’t even notice what was going on.’
‘All right, agony aunt extraordinare, so what do I do now?’
‘You go back to Wales, and you hang out with Hope, and you do whatever it takes to keep the smile on her face that I saw there when I came up before Christmas. That’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her. You know why that is, don’t you?’
‘Why?’
‘Because –’ Holly took a moment and then swallowed, as if she was thinking about what to say. ‘Because Ella is good for her. For both of you.’
They drove back, closing the gate on Burnham House for the last time. Holly was still staggered, shaking her head in amazement.
‘Of all the stables in all the world . . .’ she repeated, in a Humphrey Bogart voice.
‘Very funny,’ he said drily.
‘You’ve got to admit it’s a bit unlikely.’
‘It might be, but it’s bloody happened. And I’ve no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do about it.’
Chapter Forty
Jenny
Jenny paused for a moment, her hand on the iron gate of Hillside Farm. Her stomach was churning, but she felt certain she was doing the right thing.
She took a deep breath, swung the gate open, and stepped onto the gravel.
‘Two secs!’ said Charlotte, who was tying a balloon to a bucket full of water and half-hidden by a hedge, before looking up. ‘Just got to – oh . . .’
She flushed a bright scarlet, which clashed terribly with her newly purple hair. ‘How’s Hope doing?’ She bit her lip, brows pressed together in concern.
‘Not too bad, thank you.’
‘I’m really sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen.’
Tears brimmed on her thickly mascaraed lashes and then started to fall down her cheeks.
Jenny stepped forward, putting an arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. ‘It’s not your fault, my love.’
Charlotte sniffed and swiped at her eyes. ‘But I was with Hope.’
‘And you were doing what you were supposed to, weren’t you?’
‘Yes.’ She wiped her nose with the sleeve of her fleece. Jenny reached into her bag and pulled out a tissue, passing it to her.
‘Well, accidents will happen. I understand what happened.’
‘I thought you were going to sue us. That’s why Ella’s doing –’ she waved her arm to indicate the stable yard, which was a hive of activity – ‘this.’
‘Sue you?’ Jenny shook her head. ‘Hardly.’
‘Ella’s in the stables. Do you want me to go and get her?’
‘I’ll go.’
The yard was immaculate and there was a horse looking out of each stable door. They were all gleaming and bright-eyed.
‘Hello.’
Ella looked up from her position on the floor, where she was squatting down, bandaging the leg of a pretty grey horse. When she saw Jenny her eyes widened.
‘Jenny,’ she said. ‘I just need to –’ She wrapped the bandage round again and secured it with some tape, biting the end off with her teeth.
She stood up. The stable smelled of the sweet last-summer fragrance of the hay, and the unmistakable scent of warm, dry horse. The grey horse lifted an experimental foot as if trying out the bandage, then walked in a circle before settling down to eat.
‘Hope would like that,’ Jenny smiled.
‘How is she?’ Ella fiddled with the packet the bandage had been in.
‘A bit frustrated and cross, but fine.’ Jenny put a hand out, feeling the smooth edge of the stable door. It had been worn over years to a satiny finish and she traced a finger along it, thoughtfully. ‘I just wanted you to know she’s OK.’
‘I wondered if you’d come up for the open day.’
‘Open day?’
‘It’s today. Twelve until three. I wanted a chance to show that we . . .’ She tailed off.
Jenny didn’t need her to say any more. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.
‘We’ve got wheelchair-friendly facilities, if you’d like to –’
For a second Jenny wavered. Hope would be delighted. She could picture her face.
‘No.’
Ella gave a small, flat smile. She flicked her eyes upward, meeting Jenny’s for the first time. ‘I’m truly sorry –’ she began.
‘I am, too.’ Jenny looked at the girl in front of her. If they were moving back to Norfolk, they were going to have to rip the plaster off at some point. Hope’s broken leg was a natural – well, a natural breaking point. She swallowed, thinking of the angry little girl she’d left sitting, unable to move, on the sofa. ‘For all of it.’
The open day was a success. Carol and Brian, dressed in matching checked shirts and Stetsons – which were, Charlotte hissed under her breath, either beyond sad or beyond cool, she couldn’t work out which – served teas and coffees to a stream of visitors. Some ex-clients had come to offer support, and Ella was particularly touched that the head teachers of both the primary and the secondary school took the time to visit and have their photograph taken for the Facebook page, telling everyone who’d listen what a brilliant service Ella offered. She suspected Lissa had had a hand in that, but Lissa – handing
out leaflets detailing the services they provided – simply looked enigmatic.
‘Nothing to do with me. It’s clearly your natural charm that’s brought them up here.’
‘Whatever it is, I’m bloody grateful.’ Ella pulled her into a hug and had to squeeze her eyes tight to stop the tears from falling. They could wait for later.
Jenny smiled, watching Hope as she determinedly shuffled backwards up the stairs on her bottom. With the heavy temporary plaster cast off and replaced with a much lighter fibreglass one in a very fetching shade of purple, she was much happier and able to get around – albeit in a rather unusual manner – independently.
And independence mattered a lot to Hope. She knew her own mind, like her mummy had. Jenny glanced across at the framed picture on the mantelpiece.
‘What would you say to all this?’ she murmured.
Sarah’s happy, open face smiled back at her. She didn’t need to ask. The answer was obvious. If spending time with the horses made her darling Hope happy, then that’s what she’d be doing. She wouldn’t be sending agonized glances up the hill to the stables, and doing everything she could to distract an unconvinced Hope with assurances that they’d sort something out very soon, darling . . .
‘I still don’t see what the problem is,’ Lou had said. ‘You’re not being unfaithful to Sarah – and for that matter neither was Harry. If you ask me, you’re both getting worked up about nothing. Take the girl to see the horses. She’s pining for them.’
He’d pulled on a jacket – it was an unseasonably sunny day, with the future hint of spring in the air – and set off to stroll into town. Yes, he chuckled, gently. Not too fast. And yes, he’d call her to get a lift home later, and no, he wouldn’t try walking back up the hill or anything silly like that.
She smiled to herself, remembering the conversation. She’d thought it impossible that Lou would find a space for himself in the village, and yet he was the one off making friends and fitting in.
Spending time with the horses – and it had been a revelation to discover that Harry was easy and comfortable around them, too, although she understood now why he was so familiar with it all – had changed them all as a family. It wasn’t just the practical equine therapy work – just being around the animals seemed to bring huge benefits. Perhaps when they went back home, they could see about finding another stable where Hope could take part.
Finding Hope at Hillside Farm Page 28