The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [14]
I swallowed; saw my nerve rapidly disappearing down the plughole. Well, OK, I'd talk to her, I determined. She'd probably calmed down a bit by now, as had I, and we'd sort this out like… like friends. Like sisters. If Caro really meant Anna needed a pony for Pony Club, then fine, we'd get one, but if she'd meant over her dead body, we'd forget it. Anna would understand. I quaked, remembering her eager little face at the gate this morning.
On the other hand – I leaned forward, dissecting the ad minutely – this pony might go quickly. It was clearly a winner, and my sister-in-law was a busy woman. She never answered her mobile and I'd have to go to the farm to track her down, and whilst I was canvassing her opinion in a pigsty, or sucking up to her whilst her head was down her Portaloos, she'd say she'd think about it and get back to me, while in the meantime some other lucky teenager would have bought it. Whereas if I just presented her with a fait accompli… In another moment, and with that famous impulsion Ant was so fond of, I'd plucked the phone from the bedside table and dialled the number.
‘Hello, yes, I've just seen your ad in the local paper…’
Ten minutes later I'd agreed to meet a man in a stable yard off the Woodstock Road, who'd promised me a mare to die for: a horse so serene the Queen herself would be proud to be seen on her, so quiet she'd take a sugar lump from your head without harming a hair, and so well trained she'd wandered into his kitchen only yesterday, quiet as a mouse, without him even noticing.
I'd had a rather unsettling vision of a horse, perched on a stool at my granite breakfast bar, legs crossed, calmly reading the paper and demanding cereal, but agreed that my daughter and I would most certainly be there on Saturday morning, early, to meet this equine paragon. Then I put the phone down and flushed with horror. Lord, what had I done?
I quickly dialled Caro's number. Tim answered.
‘Oh, Tim.’ I flooded with relief. ‘I was, um, ringing to thank you both for yesterday,’ I lied. ‘Such a lovely day, and all that delicious food!’
‘Well, it was good to see you. How did Anna get on?’
‘Oh, fine. She said it was easy. I mean – not bad.’
‘Grade seven, Caro tells me!’
‘Um, yes. Tim, is Caro around? I wouldn't mind a word.’
‘She's not at the moment. She's down at the yard with Harriet.’
‘Harriet?’
‘The blind pig. She has to hand-feed her or the others don't let her get a look in.’
I blinked. The paradox didn't escape me. Caro was already up and hand-feeding her blind pig, whilst I was sitting up in bed in my Cath Kidston nightie.
‘Right. Yes, well, speaking of animals, Tim, I just wondered…’ and off I skittered, it all coming tumbling out, ending up with ‘… I mean, we obviously haven't got anywhere to keep it, so I just sort of wondered—’
‘Course you can,’ he boomed, interrupting me. ‘God, we've got too much grass here for our own horses, one more won't make any difference. And if it lives out it's no trouble at all. No mucking out stables and all that malarkey.’
‘Well, that's what I thought,’ I said eagerly. ‘And obviously I'd pop over and – you know – check it occasionally.’
‘Oh, Caro can do all that. She has to sort out the others, she can cast an eye.’
‘Oh, no, I don't want Caro doing anything,’ I said quickly. ‘It's my responsibility. But I just wondered, if it needed – I don't know – its feet picking out or something and I couldn't get there, maybe you, or Jack…?’
‘Well, not me, obviously. I don't know the first thing. Dangerous at both ends and uncomfortable in the middle, as far as I'm concerned, but Jack's your man, or Phoebe. And how lovely to see more of Anna. The kids will be thrilled.’
I knew he was genuinely pleased. There was a bit of a gap,