Country Lovers

by Fiona Walker

  ‘Luca grew up in a big pack,’ Ronnie was quick to point out when she reappeared with a reddened phone-call ear to find Pax in a flour-covered pinny, spying on them picking out pony hooves. ‘Super with kids.’

  Unlike me, Pax reflected anxiously. Parenting was something she always felt pressurised to get right, like exams, a systemised process some people had the knack for, while others like her had to work very hard at it. Being passionate about one’s subject wasn’t enough. She loved Kes fiercely, but as Mack – who had often made her feel incapable as a mother – was fond of saying, ‘parenting is so much more than just loving’. She was too passive, he’d told her, too childlike herself, an orphan to maternal instinct.

  ‘Kes needs normality,’ she said it again, thinking hopefully about the little village school, about the bright-eyed children she’d seen covered in paint like at Holi festival.

  ‘We both know there’s no such thing. His father’s an utter shit, mind you.’

  ‘Isn’t he just?’ Mack was now only communicating through his parents and solicitors.

  ‘I meant Luca’s father. Total crook. Makes Johnny seem saintly.’

  ‘But you keep telling me Daddy was a good man. He was just a drunk one.’

  ‘It’s a bit more complicated than that.’ Ronnie’s eyes stayed fixed on Kes.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He had his secrets, like we all do.’

  ‘I don’t want to know.’ Pax felt her throat tighten. ‘Whatever it is, it died with him.’

  ‘I thought you might say that.’

  Sensing her mother was about to launch into one of her positive-spin spiels about the misunderstood brilliance of Johnny Ledwell again, Pax fished out her kitchen timer. ‘I must check my scones.’

  ‘I’ll do it!’ To her surprise, Ronnie marched off towards Lester’s cottage. Not for the first time that week, Pax was reminded how much of a bossy stranger she remained at times, how fractured their bond. That must never happen to her relationship with Kes, she vowed as she went to help him sort through the pile of tack Coll had come with.

  Five minutes later, when her kitchen timer went off, she realised she could smell burning.

  ‘Not the scones again!’ She belted inside to find more char-black pucks pluming smoke in Lester’s Rayburn. On cue, the smoke alarm went off. Tears welled in her eyes once again, furious at herself for entrusting the task while she daydreamed. ‘Mummy, where are you?’

  A cough behind made her jump. ‘Unforgivably distracted,’ Ronnie said briskly, stepping out of the hallway. ‘I was looking for something.’

  While her mother balanced on a kitchen chair trying the wrestle the battery from the alarm, Pax carried her fuming baking tray outside. Eyes smarting, she checked her watch. There was no time to cook more. Bridge and her little tribe would be here soon. At least she’d managed some rock-hard fork biscuits that looked like cowpats and a lopsided Victoria sponge that had sunk soggily in the middle.

  The cottage was silent again. Ronnie watched her from the door. ‘I can run to the farm shop quickly, if you like?’

  ‘Honestly, it’s fine.’ Wishing she’d done that in the first place, Pax stomped back onto the yard where Kes was badgering Luca again. ‘Come here, Kes!’

  He ignored her.

  ‘Here!’

  Nothing.

  Kes was trying to make Luca laugh by holding the Shetland’s mane up to his face like a moustache and beard.

  Beside her, Ronnie smiled. ‘Aren’t they just the pair? Mowgli and Baloo.’

  ‘Hardly. HERE, Kes!’ Her jolly call voice was shrill and unfamiliar now. ‘Luca has a job to do, darling. Let’s leave him to get on with it while you help me whip cream to fill the cake.’

  ‘Sure, it’s no bother,’ Luca said cheerily, and she watched in despair as Kes bounded back, realising she was growling under her breath.

  Ronnie sighed alongside. ‘If we find you a Shetland companion, will you stop feeling so sour, I wonder?’

  ‘I’m not sour.’ Pax regrouped, cocking her head. ‘Shouldn’t you be setting off soon?’

  ‘Not for an hour or so. Just got time to get you on a horse and round the Poacher’s loop before we lose the light. Luca can mind Kes. I want to talk to you about your father.’

  ‘You forget I have friends coming.’ Pax said a silent prayer of thanks to pushy Bridge, whose visit she’d been looking forward to with almost indecent excitement as well as bad baking. Her need for a village mum gang was great, no longer barred by Mack’s disapproval of her having her own friends.

  Without warning, a thousand firework sparks exploded again. I’m free, she remembered with a burst of delight, the customary high turning her black mood upside down.

  By the time Kes thundered up, towing an apologetic Luca by the coat sleeve, she was beaming, arms wide as her son rammed into her legs with a killer hug tackle. ‘Mummy, I love you! Loo Car just told the best joke. Tell her, Loo Car, pleeeeeease.’

  Luca cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes rolling at Pax. ‘Knock knock…’

  It was the eye-roll that did it. Was it deliberate? It shouldn’t have been funny, but it was. Stupidly funny.

  ‘Who’s…? Pax’s laughter morphed into giggles liked a hiccups.

  He waited.

  ‘Wh—?’ She waved the question away, chest in a vice.

  ‘Knock knock,’ Luca repeated, green gaze on her contorted, teary face. He rolled his eyes again.

  Pax was incapable of speech, body shaking with laughter.

  Ronnie stepped in. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Idy Dap,’ Luca said awkwardly.

  ‘Idy Dap Who?’ Ronnie asked obligingly and then, as Kes, Pax and finally Luca dissolved into a heap of snorting weeping, laughter, she held out her arms in confusion. ‘I don’t get it. Am I missing something? What’s funny about Idy Dap Who?’

  The more she said it the harder they laughed, clinging onto each other, chests aching. Straightening up, eyes meeting, Luca and Pax were smiling so much their faces hurt.

  Sometimes there’s no such thing as too soon she recalled his words with a jolt, identifying that long-lost feeling at last. It was something that had been far more dangerous and forbidden through her barren marriage than pity, empathy or even desire. More precious even than male friendship, into which she’d so gratefully boxed him. It was having someone who understood her.

  Getting the punchline at last and starting to laugh, Ronnie bellowed, ‘“I did a poo”. Is that it?’

  And they all collapsed into giggles again.

  When she took Kes back to the cottage, the back door was open. A rubble trail of black crumbs led from garden through the kitchen and past upside-down cooling racks on the floor to the dog beds. These were covered with telltale cake and biscuit crumbs. The soggy-bottomed Victoria sponge was a memory, the cow-pat biscuits wolfed. Even two trays of black scones on the back step had been demolished.

  Watching Pax take in the scene from beneath the table, Stubbs and Knott thumped nervous tails.

  ‘Mummy, please don’t cry.’ Kes gripped her hand.

  ‘I’m not crying.’ Why did the giggles keep resurfacing? ‘I think we’d better clear this up and have a quick wash, don’t you?’

  ‘Knock knock.’

  ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Olive.’

  ‘Olive who?’

  ‘I love you too!’ he beamed and she hugged him tighter than ever. He smelled very strongly of Shetland.

  *

  Carly worked with absolutes: I will be there, we will do this, this is what is happening. The vague time-keeping of village life maddened her; the ‘whenever suits you’, ‘we’ll be around this week’, ‘sometime tomorrow morning’ fluidity left her lost at sea.

  Accepting a job with Ronnie Percy fitted into that fluid category. They’d vaguely agreed Carly would help out on the yard some weekends – but she’d heard nothing more. Whereas writer Petra was surprisingly timetabled, Ronnie had yet to reply to a text, didn’
t answer her phone and was never on the yard when Carly called in. She was starting to think she’d imagined the job offer, and she felt awkward about Bridge inviting her along today – especially given she hadn’t found Pax Forsyth too friendly the previous time.

  Pushing their buggies around the village green towards the stud, flecks of rain spitting sideways at them, Carly listened as Bridge chattered too fast and loud about how great her new job was going to be, how mad Aleš was driving her, and how funny and down-to-earth Pax was.

  ‘She’s got her head screwed on, that one, which is why her wee lad’s trying the school tomorrow. Honest to God, but it’s a little gem, so it is. I told Aleš that’s where I want ours to go. He can laugh all he likes, it’s something special.’

  ‘Ellis likes it there.’ She watched him running ahead of them, rattling his ’Splorer Stick against the trunks of the wintering horse chestnuts.

  ‘That’s what I told Pax. She can’t wait for him to meet Kester.’

  Carly thought it a weird name, like a character from a BBC costume drama. ‘Ash wasn’t happy about it. Says they’re a bad lot at the stud. Stuck-up.’

  ‘Pax isn’t stuck-up, queen. She’s roughed it. A woman can tell.’

  ‘Ash says there’s history between Percys and Turners.’

  ‘Turners hold a grudge against most folk round here, don’t they?’

  ‘I guess. They’re all bad-tempered buggers, especially the men. Better watch their backs. Ash is psyching himself up for a fight.’

  ‘With the Percy family?’

  ‘No, his own.’ She felt the familiar tug of worry.

  ‘A bare-knuckle contest?’

  ‘You know about that?’ She looked at Bridge in surprise.

  ‘I’ve heard rumours.’

  ‘Yeah, well I’ve told him no way,’ Carly said darkly.

  ‘Think he’ll take any notice?’

  ‘Do they ever? It’s all fists and honour with men, isn’t it?’

  Bridge made a harrumphing noise. Beneath the thick make-up, that bee-stung mouth was still more Joe Louis than Angelina Jolie, Carly had noticed. She’d yet to get to the bottom of why she’d wanted Skully’s number the day she’d fallen off her horse, although she’d heard Bridge complain that her husband thought of Craic like a love rival.

  ‘Everything all right at home with you now, is it?’ she asked casually.

  ‘Fierce. I don’t know where you get the idea Aleš lamps me about. I’d fecking deck him first.’

  Carly sucked her teeth uncertainly. Her hands had started buzzing hotly on the buggy handles, sensing something in pain or distress, but she didn’t know Bridge well enough yet to pry.

  ‘Mother of God, will you look at this place?’ Bridge said when they rolled into the stud’s first big stable yard. ‘It’s like Blenheim Palace. Let’s dander under the arch. Is that Ronnie?’

  A small figure in a huge squishy coat and bobbled beany hat was letting herself out of a stable, blue eyes taking in the young mums and toddlers invasion with delight.

  ‘Carly!’ She strode across beaming, quilted horse rug over one shoulder. ‘Just the person! Your ears must be burning. When can you start? Saturday too soon?’

  ‘Fine by me.’ Carly admired her hat, which had the biggest and fluffiest pom-pom she’d seen. In person, Ronnie always reminded her of a posh Kylie, far less intimidating than she was barking on the phone.

  ‘Wonderful!’ She stooped to greet the occupants of the buggy, both equally entranced by the pom-pom. ‘I don’t suppose you can spare a few mins now? I’m not here on Saturday, and it’ll save Luca’s valuable time if you’re already up to speed.’

  ‘We’re both here for the grand tour.’ Bridge stepped forward, looking eagerly at Carly who realised too late she was expected to introduce her. ‘Pax invited us.’

  ‘Oh, she’s still baking I think,’ Ronnie said brightly, straightening up. ‘We’ve got time to go through the basics. Luca!’

  ‘Yeah, great,’ came the Belfast drawl, ‘but the thing is, queen, we’ve got the kids—’

  ‘You’ll look after them, won’t you?’ Ronnie cut off a now shocked-looking Bridge. ‘I recognise you from the village. What beautiful children you have. Have you been skiing, little chap?’ she asked Zak, his face weirdly bronzed now that Carly looked at him. He let out hiccupy giggles as small dogs crowded round the buggies, the two matching black and tans and Lester’s wire-haired terrier with his Tom Jones beard full of crumbs.

  ‘Where’s your big lurcher?’ Ronnie turned to Carly again.

  ‘At home with Ash. Mrs Bullock says she frightens some of the mums.’ Poor Pricey – another scar-faced female – had been banned from school pickup.

  ‘As does Battleaxe Bullock herself, I gather.’ Ronnie whistled hers closer. ‘Do bring her here when you work; there are kennels if she’s a bother. We’re thrilled you can help cover weekends. The pay’s not much as you know, but we can throw in lots of lessons.’

  ‘I don’t want lessons.’ Ash hated the idea, and Carly only had to look at Bridge’s lip to remind herself why. She preferred equine company from the ground. ‘I don’t want to ride.’

  ‘Heal, Carly!’ Ronnie was already striding away with the rug.

  ‘Did she just say that?’ whispered Bridge, still in shock. ‘Like you’re a dog?’

  ‘H-e-a-l-ing lessons, not riding lessons!’ Ronnie continued shouting over her shoulder as she marched out through the archway. ‘I’ve already told Luca he must harness that gift of yours. He’ll talk you through the weekend routine when I can find him. Luca!’

  ‘Do you think she expects me to go with her?’ Carly asked Bridge, looking around for Ellis, whose red nylon book bag was abandoned nearby.

  ‘You stay put,’ Bridge scowled. ‘I’m with Ash on this. Talk about stuck-up. And she was rude about Mrs B.’

  ‘I want this job,’ Carly reminded her in an undertone.

  Ronnie was still bellowing in the adjacent yard. ‘Luca! Come and give this pretty girl your number and talk to her about Saturday. Where is he?’ She marched out of sight.

  Carly and Bridge waited awkwardly for a moment, Jackson letting out squawks of protest as the dogs raced away after their mistress.

  ‘Get off that, Ellis!’ Carly spotted him balancing precariously on the stone mounting block steps.

  Their wait stretched on, Jackson’s nappy now full judging by the smell.

  ‘Does Pax even know we’re here?’ asked Carly.

  Bridge looked around. ‘I don’t know which bit she lives in. This cake had better be worth it or I’m fecking right off.’ She winked to reassure Carly it was a joke, their senses of humour not always on the same page.

  ‘Maybe it’s a complicated recipe?’

  ‘Hello?’ a soft voice called, and they turned as an arched door in the wall at the far side of the yard opened with a rusty creak and Pax emerged, cramming a hat over hair still wet from the shower, small boy and grey puppy hiding behind her long legs. ‘You poor things, I didn’t know you were here! Welcome!’

  Carly had forgotten how beautiful she was, tall and model thin, her waxy, translucent skin foxed with freckles. She felt her hands throb more, suddenly hot as coals.

  ‘Hello, who are you?’ Pax laughed as she was brought up short by Ellis with his feather duster racing across to stand to attention at her knees and gaze up, enthralled and too tongue-tied to speak. ‘It’s Ellis, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hey, Pax!’ Bridge was already belting across with her buggy like a yummy mummy eager to score a favourite seat at a pavement café. ‘This is the lad you saw at Maggers last week.’

  Maggers? Carly’s lip curled. Why was Bridge suddenly sounding like Miranda Hart?

  ‘And you know Carly.’ She beckoned her to follow.

  Watching Carly push her buggy over the cobbles, Pax’s yellow eyes glowed like hurricane lamps. ‘Oh goodness, you’re Ellis’s mum?’

  She nodded defensively. Her hands were pure electricity now, driven b
y a thousand needles. ‘Say hello, Ellis.’

  Ellis scuffed his toes shyly, still gazing up at the beautiful freckled face.

  ‘Hello.’ Pax’s wide golden gaze softened as she stooped down, arms outstretched to introduce Kes. ‘I hope you two will be friends.’

  She thinks she’s the Duchess of Cambridge, Carly thought irritably, the cold rain pips like sharp gravel against her skin as she reluctantly acknowledged just how much she resented Pax her privilege, her family support, Bridge’s girl crush and her beautifully mannered son who was introducing himself to the still-mute Ellis and asking if he’d like to meet his pony.

  ‘You two are going to be in the same class tomorrow,’ Pax was telling the boys.

  In school not life, thought Carly, saying, ‘Show your manners, Ellis, say hello!’

  ‘This is my ’Splorer Stick.’ Ellis showed off the manky feather duster he was illogically attached to, and Carly felt a rare flash of mortification, especially when Kes held out a classic one-eyed vintage bunny and introduced ‘Rab C. Nesbitt’ in a posh sing-song voice.

  ‘His father named him,’ Pax muttered at Bridge who snorted with laughter.

  Excluded because she didn’t understand the reference, Carly wondered why someone like Pax would want to send her son to the village school.

  Her hands were on fire.

  ‘I’m afraid I burnt the cakes like King Alfred then the dogs ate the rest,’ Pax was apologising. ‘I’m truly sorry.’ The deep voice was hypnotic enough to be forgiven anything. To Carly’s ear, it was ridiculously plummy. She added, ‘I think I’ve enough egg and flour left to make drop scones with lashings of honey after our walk round.’

  ‘Eggs on toast is fine for Ellis.’

  ‘Say, how about we eat out?’ Bridge suggested, her strong accent turning all the ‘ows’ into ‘ighs’, and Carly noticed Pax looked politely baffled.

  ‘Norn Irish for “how about we eat out”,’ she translated helpfully.