Eight

‘Oh my God, look at that!’ whispered Shelley loudly, her eyes glued on the tall man who was pulling down the ramp of Petra’s lorry in the row opposite.

The man was wearing pale-blue jeans and had obviously shunned Petra’s yellow team polo shirt, in favour of a dark-blue T-shirt with “this is not what I signed up for” written on the front in pink holographic lettering.

‘He is gorgeous – who is that?’ Jules was gazing at him.

Caitlyn was busy putting studs in The Mechanic’s shoes and, without looking up, she told them it was Tom, Petra’s new groom. Working five nights a week in the Cup and Kettle meant that Caitlyn always knew the local gossip.

‘Wow,’ Katie took in the dark hair that had been gelled into spikes and his beautiful tan, ‘he is indeed gorgeous.’

Tom, sensing he was being watched, turned to the Fleming Bowen lorry and flapped both his hands up and down to wave at them.

‘Gay,’ chorused Katie and Jules.

‘No, no, he can’t be,’ moaned Shelley, ‘he’s beautiful.’

Katie was putting on her gloves in preparation for Brogue’s show jumping. ‘If he’s not gay, Petra will be shagging him anyway.’

‘No, she won’t,’ snapped Shelley and then, turning back to look at Tom again, muttered that something that gorgeous wouldn’t go with a bitter old hag like her.

Roger was shrugging on his jacket inside the lorry, watching his team unashamedly gawking at the new member of Petra’s workforce. He was amused by the look of adoration on Shelley’s normally passive face, but when he saw Katie also examining Tom critically, he felt a flash of anger, and as he climbed down the lorry steps, he told her coldly that she was cutting it fine for her show jumping.

‘Do you have to use those ridiculous stirrups?’ He pointed at Katie’s rose-gold stirrup irons hanging on Brogue’s jumping saddle.

‘They were a present from my mum,’ she replied calmly, catching eyes with Caitlyn who giggled. ‘I’m sorry that you have a pathological hatred of anything pink, but I like them.’

‘And for heaven’s sake put your tits away, Shelley,’ Roger barked as Shelley, wearing a low-cut T-shirt, bent over to screw in Lightoller’s studs, giving Tom an eyeful of her cleavage.

•

Deliberately bumping into the gorgeous Tom at the secretary’s marquee later in the day, Shelley introduced herself and said he must come for a drink at the Cup and Kettle with her and Katie, so he had some friends in the area.

‘He said Petra’s going to let him have a crack with Warrior next year,’ Shelley told Katie when she got back to the lorry, before adding that she hoped he made an arse of it.

‘Gay, then?’ queried Katie.

‘As a lavender-coloured handbag,’ came the swift reply.

Tom in fact was free to join them that very evening in the Cup and Kettle and even offered to drive as he would have to head back to Petra’s staff house at the end of the night.

Any faint hope Shelley was harbouring that Tom might indeed be heterosexual was firmly quashed when he arrived at the Dorchester wearing a pink and purple flying suit with a pale-pink Michael Kors crossbody leather satchel over his shoulder.

The three of them got along so well, meeting up in the pub became a regular occurrence, even if it was, as Katie put it, “to see what batshit crazy outfit Tom was going to wear to scare the regulars with”. Much to Shelley’s delight, Tom was also terribly indiscreet and proceeded to tell them all about Petra’s yard, her intense moods and her horses. The new horse, Hoplite Warrior, who Roger was helping Petra with, was a handful and was proving to be much too strong for her. He was also aggressive in the stable, difficult to ride and generally not easy to handle.

‘So, I said, “Petra, it’s alright for you with your strapping nutcracker thighs that would crush a man to death in seconds, but when you’re like me and ride just using your incredible natural sense of balance, that horse is a menace to take up the gallops”.’ Tom crossed his legs on the bar stool and drained his vodka and grapefruit juice. ‘I said, “Petra, perhaps if you actually put them in the field instead of leaving them in the stable all day, they wouldn’t have such suicidal tendencies”.’

Tonight, to the locals’ amusement, Tom was wearing an orange boiler suit, unfastened to the waist with the arms tied around him, and a pale blue T-shirt with the slogan “you’re a naughty boy, go to my room” written on the front.

‘What did Petra say?’ Katie asked as Shelley’s mouth dropped open.

‘She said, “Tom, if I wanted a six-foot fairy to ride and muck out, would I have to pay them as much as I pay you?” and as she flounced out of the yard in a huff, she told me to get a job as a bus driver if I wanted some form of safety.’

Shelley consciously closed her mouth. ‘She’s got a point,’ she mumbled.

Tom slapped her thigh. ‘Now don’t you start being nasty with your Rab C. Nesbitt tone, we’re here to have a lovely evening after Katie’s wonderful third place today.’ He waved at Brian the barman. ‘Could we have another Salty Dog and two vodka and tonics for the fag hags here.’ He flapped his hands at Katie and Shelley either side of him.

‘He means a vodka and grapefruit juice for himself,’ Shelley told Brian as Tom scowled at her.

‘Anyway,’ Tom recovered himself and turned to Katie, ‘you must be as pleased as punch with Brogue today?’

‘Delighted.’ Katie poured tonic into her vodka.

‘So,’ Tom uncrossed his legs and crossed them again, ‘who is the Rogerable Roger going to let you ride now?’ Tom had a terrible crush on Roger.

Catching Shelley’s quick shake of her head, Katie said she didn’t know.

She actually knew very well. Roger had already put an entry in for Brogue in the bigger class and had entered Vision and Paperchase at a competition in three weeks’ time.

Katie and Shelley loved Tom dearly, but like Mrs Royal, you never told him anything that you wouldn’t have put in the Northumberland Herald.

‘Well, I for one,’ Tom placed his hand on his chest dramatically, ‘am delighted for you, missy, and I’ve bought you both a little present for being so kind and allowing me to be your friend.’ He rummaged in his new Ted Baker handbag. ‘One for you,’ he handed Katie a tiny black box, ‘and one for you,’ he handed an identical one to Shelley, ‘you miserable bitch.’

‘Tom, they’re beautiful.’ Katie was looking down at a pair of little silver horseshoe earrings; in each nail hole glittered a blue stone.

For once, Shelley was almost lost for words. ‘Tom, they’re lovely.’ She gave him a hug.

‘Well, darlings, if my family can’t cope with who I am and want nothing more to do with me, I’ve got to spend my inheritance somehow.’

‘Seriously, Tom?’ Katie was putting her earrings in. ‘Why have you never told us before? That’s awful.’

Tom flapped his hands again. ‘I think, sweetie, I’ve just now come to terms with it. They put money in my bank account every month in the hope that I’ll just disappear.’

‘You’ve always got us, Tom.’ Shelley was putting the back on her earring. ‘You’re like an honorary brother.’

The Cup and Kettle was filling up; people who had been in for food were filtering away, and a space had been cleared in the bar for the karaoke to be set up.

‘What a lovely handbag.’ Mrs Grayson paused to stroke Tom’s blue bag before picking up her gin and tonic from the bar. ‘My granddaughter would love it, but then again she’s only six.’

Tom snatched the bag away from her grimy fingers. ‘I’m sure she would indeed love it, but I very much doubt that she could afford it, sweetie,’ he said haughtily. ‘Oooh I love a good karaoke.’ He deliberately turned his back on Mrs Grayson and began thumbing through the lists of songs. ‘What should I sing? “I am what I am”? Or should I do something by Sam Smith? Oooh, there’s Roger.’ He dropped the karaoke list.

‘Thought you’d be in here.’ Roger signalled to Brian for a beer. ‘Jules? Caitlyn?’

‘Said they’d be in later.’ Shelley took a mouthful of vodka and noticed that Tom’s Salty Dog had salt around the rim of the glass, and a there was a yellow cocktail umbrella stuck into a cherry. She raised her blonde eyebrows at Brian who blushed and quickly looked away.

Tom had slid gracefully off his bar stool and was urging Roger to sit down as he must be exhausted after riding five horses at Heathingstone today.

Although no one had expected Jules to turn up, she arrived an hour after Caitlyn, wearing a tiny strappy top and the shortest skirt imaginable above long, brown legs.

‘That’s why she’s late,’ fumed Katie. ‘Fake tanning everywhere for the lucky Roger.’

In contrast, Caitlyn had rolled up in a pair of jeans and an overstretched T-shirt with the words “I don’t work here” printed on the front, in the hope that she didn’t get roped into working behind the bar on her night off.

‘Pretty earrings.’ She pointed at Katie’s glittering horseshoes.

‘Present from Tom.’ Katie pushed her hair back so Caitlyn could admire them. ‘Shelley’s have got green stones to match her eyes.’

Jules had indeed been planning to avoid the Cup and Kettle, knowing that the entire evening would be the whole lot of them crowing about Katie and Brogue, telling Katie how marvellous she had been. Unfortunately, Jules was so blinkered she couldn’t even appreciate the incredible recovery Katie had made after Brogue had got the first part of the combination at the top of the hill entirely wrong. As Roger looked at the photographs, he let out a low whistle and asked Katie how on earth she had managed to get Brogue over the next fence two strides later. She replied that she wasn’t very sure, especially as she had had only one foot in a rose-gold stirrup and had dropped her whip.

Jules had swiftly changed her mind about attending the Cup and Kettle karaoke when she had got Caitlyn’s message asking her if she was coming, and even Roger was there. So, she had hastily fake tanned her legs, straightened her hair and warned her parents that she might be late.

Brian the Barman had sung “Suspicious Minds” while staring at Tom; Shelley had yelled her way through the only Manically Challenged song that was in the karaoke man’s files; Tom had not only sung “I Will Survive” but also several Pet Shop Boys classics when Brian rang the brass bell on the bar for last orders.

Katie, realising that she was absolutely shattered, was sitting talking to Roger, watching the rest of the group dancing to the pub’s jukebox.

Roger lifted his bottle of beer to tap her glass. ‘Cheers. Are you happy?’

‘Very.’ She looked up to find Jules, in alcohol-induced bravery, openly glaring at her. ‘I just wish everybody was.’

‘Ignore her.’

‘It’s hard to ignore her when she detests me quite so much.’ Katie removed the cocktail umbrella from Tom’s empty glass and folded it shut. ‘Tom says Petra’s thinking of letting him compete Warrior next year.’

Roger tightened his lips. ‘I like Tom,’ he said firmly, ‘but I’m not sure he’s up to Warrior. The horse is incredibly sharp.’

Katie yawned.

‘Come on, I’ll give you all a lift home.’

She picked up Tom’s Ted Baker handbag from the bar. ‘I’d better take this; he always forgets his bag when he’s pissed.’

•

As the number of horses Katie was given to ride increased, so did the workload and activity in the yard. Often, they were away competing on both Saturday and Sunday and show jumping at least one night a week at the local equestrian centre. Roger’s hours away from Athward Hall giving lessons declined dramatically, as he was so busy with his own horses, and Katie felt she was under his constant scrutiny.

Despite Roger having a part-time secretary, there was still a mountain of paperwork to do for the yard and estate, as well as keeping on top of the entries. In days gone by, the eventing season began in late March and was pretty much over by mid-September. Now the season was longer, and if you weren’t doing dressage, show jumping and cross country schooling when you weren’t at an event, you were quickly left behind by the competition.

Roger was pleased with the way Katie was riding. It took some of the pressure off him as he was able to give her anything on the yard to ride and know she would make a decent job of it.

‘I’ve had an idea about The Mechanic,’ Roger looked across at Katie in the passenger seat of his Discovery, ‘but I’m not sure you’re going to like it.’

They had left Shelley and Jules to bring the lorry back from the competition and were hurrying home to ride Bluebell, The Mechanic and Brogue, who were competing back at Easton Mains the following day. From the grass verge, the cow parsley was waving frothy white heads at them in the warm May sunshine, and there were stretches of blackthorn where the blossom was beginning to emerge. Having come to Northumberland at the end of January when the trees were naked and the fields of clay were orangey-brown, Katie thought it was as though the county was finally waking up from hibernation.

She eased herself forward, trying to get comfortable. She’d had a heavy fall with Paperchase when a loose dog had chased them halfway around the cross country course, causing the horse to completely lose his head and bolt. Despite Katie screaming to “get out of the fucking way”, a helpful steward trying to slow the pair down by waving his arms had made Paperchase swing around in panic, and the pair had fallen on the flat. The horse had landed on her left leg and then trodden on her ankle as he got to his feet, leaving Katie lying on the grass in her inflated air jacket like an upturned woodlouse.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Sore.’ She gingerly sat back, wondering how on earth she was going to manage to ride Brogue the next day.

‘Did they find the owner of the dog?’

She shook her head. ‘They kept appealing for them to come forward, but I suppose they grabbed their bloody Weimaraner and went home as quickly as they could.’

‘A Weimaraner?’ He was starting to smile.

‘Yep. Just my luck, a Jack Russell wouldn’t have been able to keep up with us for so long. And then the fence judge gave me a telling-off for my language.’

‘Well—’

‘You would have said much worse things to him, if you’d been galloping towards him with no control and seen him waving his arms around like a hyperactive mime artist. And because my air jacket went off, I’ll have to fork out for another canister for it.’

‘Do you have a spare?’

‘It’s in the lorry, but it’s the only one I’ve got.’

‘You should always have more than one spare. There are five canisters in a bag in the front locker, just take one of those.’

‘Why do you have five spares? Do you expect to fall off that much?’

‘Cheeky cow,’ he replied with a grin. ‘Anyway, I’ve been thinking about The Mechanic a lot, especially about how he behaves at a competition.’ Roger deftly overtook a silver car that was travelling too slowly for his liking.

Katie turned her head to look at him and noticed how brown his forearms were now he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

‘I’m going to speak to Charles tomorrow because I want you to ride him.’

She leapt forward, making her seat belt lock, and then winced. ‘I can’t fucking ride him!’ she retorted. ‘He nearly bucked Shelley off on Thursday, how on earth will I stay on him? I’m too short in the leg.’

‘I’ve checked and checked, he’s never been competed by a woman.’ Roger pretended not to hear her. ‘Are you up for it?’

He overtook another car and noticed her hitting an imaginary brake.

‘I must get this car looked at – the invisible pedals on the passenger side don’t appear to be working.’

Katie relaxed her right leg and squirmed in the leather seat. I can’t say no, she thought desperately.

‘You can’t say no,’ he said, reading what she was thinking.

‘Okay, but just once to see what he’s like.’

‘He’s entered at Bellick next weekend; I’ll put in a change of rider.’

Katie sighed and changed the radio station, her hand hovering as she listened to what they were playing, her finger ready to press the button again.

Immediately, his hand reached over hers, selecting the CD option, and Lewis Capaldi started singing “Someone You Loved”.

‘Oh good.’ She looked out of the window at the passing countryside, trying as hard as she could to ignore the heat that had shot up her arm when their hands had briefly touched. ‘Music to slash my wrists to.’

‘I’m starving; if I make a detour we’ll go past a McDonald’s. A quarter pounder with cheese and a chocolate shake?’