Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [27]
I nodded.
‘Are you quite sure?’ said Hilary.
Oh dear. We were off again. This time my look said it all.
‘Very well.’ Reluctantly, Hilary unclipped the halter rope and allowed herself to be propelled out of the loose-box with George close behind while I stayed with Clementine.
I heard Hilary address Lucy. ‘I hope he knows what he’s doing.’
‘He’s very competent,’ she replied.
Good on you, Luce, I thought.
The Richardsons remained just outside the stable door, fidgeting on the spot. I racked my brains for a means to get them away so as to give the mare a better chance of settling down.
‘I think we might need some buckets of warm water,’ I heard Lucy say.
‘Do you?’ asked George, peering in at me.
‘Er … yes … it might be useful.’
‘You go then,’ said George looking at his wife. ‘I’ll stay in case I’m needed.’ Hilary’s face contorted with doubt but, after a few seconds’ hesitation, she finally backed away and disappeared into the darkness.
I had another idea. ‘It would be a great help if I could have some strong bits of wood to use as handles on the foaling ropes.’
Like his wife, doubt creased George’s face, his winged eyebrows quivering. It was then that Clementine chose to neigh and swing her head round at her abdomen.
George pointed. ‘There … look … something’s wrong.’
‘Please Mr Richardson … the handles.’
‘What if something happens while I’m away?’
‘It won’t.’
‘But you never know …’
‘The handles, please.’
Clementine emitted another soft, deep neigh. George alternately jerked each shoulder up and down, a finger and thumb constantly running back and forth across his lips. ‘Well … OK,’ he mumbled and, with a final shrug of his shoulders, he gradually edged back.
With a sigh of relief, I let myself out of the loose-box and switched off one of the two blinding fluorescent lights. ‘That’s better,’ I murmured. ‘Now come on, girl. Hurry up and get on with it. You’re giving all of us the heebie-jeebies.’
Clementine blinked. Her eyes, enormous indigo pools, stared briefly at me.
‘Do you think she’s due then?’ asked Lucy.
‘By the way she’s beginning to behave … yes … see?’
Clementine had started to circle slowly round the box, shuffling methodically through the paper bedding while dark patches of sweat pricked through the hair over her flanks and under her shoulders. After five circuits, she slowly sank into the bedding with a rattling sigh. As if from nowhere, the Richardsons appeared. A bucket crashed in the yard as Hilary came rushing across crying, ‘What’s happening? What’s happening?’ closely followed by George waving a couple of short lengths of wood in the air. The commotion brought Clementine scrabbling to her feet. We were back to square one.
I looked at Lucy. ‘We need to keep them away,’ I seethed. But how?
‘What about a cup of tea?’ Lucy suggested as George and Hilary ground to a halt in front of us.
Tut, tut. Bad idea, Lucy.
‘Tea?’ they chorused, looking at each other in amazement. ‘How could we possibly think of tea at a time like this?’ remonstrated Hilary, her voice shrill with anxiety.
‘Well, Clementine won’t settle down with us all here,’ I said bluntly. ‘She needs peace and quiet. So maybe a cup of tea is not such a bad idea.’
George’s shoulders began to twitch again. He suddenly squared them and turned to his wife. ‘Seems we aren’t wanted,’ he said with a sniff. ‘Best have that cuppa after all.’ With a curt nod in our direction he pulled his wife towards the house.
‘Sorry about that, Paul,’ said Lucy, her freckled face full of concern.
‘Don’t be,’ I said. ‘It’s done the trick. Got them out of our hair for a bit. Now let’s hope Clementine gets on with things.’
We turned to watch the mare. She snatched a mouthful of hay from her hay-net and nervously chewed it, her teeth grinding. Then she emitted another groan and dropped to the ground. This time she stayed there; and with legs stretched out, she began to strain.
‘Hooray. At last,’ I muttered as I rolled up my sleeves, donned my smock and slipped quietly into the loose-box. Lucy followed and knelt down