The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [50]
But Caro wasn't finished. ‘Except that this mare has been drugged,’ she hissed. ‘And unfortunately for you, it shat on my sister-in-law's foot, and that shit is still on that shoe, Mr Docherty, and I shall have it tested forthwith. If traces of promazine are not found in the droppings, I shall be very much surprised!’
An equally surprised silence greeted this, as Caro, holding the phone away from her ear, triumphantly demonstrated to me, eyebrows raised. Finally, Mr Docherty found his voice. A compromise of sorts was reached: Caro agreed she would return the horse to save him the effort, and he, in turn, would return the cheque. She snapped her phone shut with a satisfied click.
‘How did you know about the shoe?’ I yelped.
‘Anna told me, just now, when we went to get her a hat. Together with a hysterical account of you feeling fetlocks and attempting to buy a horse unridden. No malice intended, of course.’
Of course, I thought, following her back to the house, biting my thumbnail. There never was. But why did I feel recently my smarty-pants daughter laughed at me, not with me? Smarty-pants! I'd never thought of her like that. I flushed. And thank God she was smart, actually, in this instance; thank God she'd recounted the story to Caro, who'd had the presence of mind – and the nerve – to use it. Otherwise I'd be one thousand five hundred pounds out of pocket, with a thoroughly dangerous, practically unbroken horse on my hands. Yes, thank God I was stupid.
The children were munching cake when we got to the kitchen. No plates, so crumbs everywhere, and trails of tea where they'd dripped one tea bag after another to the bin, like so many snails, along with pools of milk, which they were incapable of pouring without spilling. Caro pointed this out as she bustled around, putting the cake on a plate, wiping surfaces, admonishing her offspring. Anna's equilibrium had clearly returned, though, and she was laughing at Jack's impersonation of her face as she flew through the air and hit the ground. Henry was shouting, ‘No – it was like this!’ and pulling something even more wide-eyed and aghast, like Edvard Munch's The Scream. Anna and Phoebe roared with laughter, and then they all shuffled off to the playroom to watch interminable reruns of Friends. Phoebe wanted to know if Anna preferred Chandler or Joey: ‘Anna, Anna! Chandler or Joey?’ and then instantly agreeing, ‘Yeah, Joey's a legend,’ whilst Jack showed off, balancing a plate on the end of a hockey stick, Anna laughing and seizing the remote control, the balance of power restored.
‘Nice for her to see them,’ I remarked, as Caro shut the door on them and put the kettle on the Aga for us. Mum's old blue Aga: I knew the exact squeak of the joint as you raised the left lid, which no amount of oil could soothe. I'd never quite got used to Caro moving around this kitchen – cursing the way the window over the sink always stuck as she tried to throw it open, muttering about the loose floorboard – which was ridiculous, really, because she'd been moving around it for years.
‘I've always said we'd like to see more of Anna.’
Damn. Quick as a flash she'd leaped on that, and I sensed that if I said, well, I'm making the effort now, here she is, she'd flash me a look that said, when it suits you. Which was right, I supposed. Suddenly I felt very tired.
‘Look,’ I said wearily, ‘let's forget this pony business. Anna probably isn't quite up to owning one yet, and I can see it's going to be a lot of hassle for you. We'll go back to having lessons at the riding stables. She'll understand.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Caro, flicking through her address book as she stood with her back to me at the dresser. ‘She's set her heart on it now. And anyway, you've promised.’ She turned to give me a look that