The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [85]
‘No, no, Caro, of course not,’ I soothed, instantly contrite. ‘You are absolutely not going to do that. Here, let me put those away.’ I scuttled across and took the barrow handles from her, but it was piled high and promptly toppled over, spilling its load. ‘Oh Christ.’ I began slinging the rugs back in. They weighed a ton. ‘I intend to do everything,’ I informed her. ‘I just rather object to her giving me a schedule, that's all. I mean, what's wrong with nine o'clock in the morning? Hector might like a lie-in, for heaven's sake. He's a horse of a certain age, after all.’
‘Well, the later you leave it, the more poo you have to muck out, you realize that? Added to which— Oh, hello. Look who's here.’
Jack, Henry and Phoebe were shuffling warily out of the barn that housed the ping-pong table, hands in pockets, glancing about shiftily.
‘Has she gone?’ whispered Phoebe.
‘Yes, well done, you've missed her.’ Her mother bent to help me with the rugs.
‘God, that was close,’ shuddered Jack. ‘We were literally in the middle of a rally and we heard her voice. Phoebs got under the table. You might have warned us, Mum.’
‘I deliberately didn't warn you because I was hoping one of you might hop on that pony of hers.’
‘What, with her watching? No way.’
‘I wondered where you lot were.’ I gave Jack's shoulders an affectionate squeeze. ‘Thanks for the moral support, guys.’
‘You didn't need it, you were awesome,’ he assured me.
‘I loved it when you said thigh boots,’ giggled Phoebe.
‘Well, why on earth would a horse want those?’
‘And you should see what her kids wear,’ put in Henry. ‘They've hardly got shoes at all!’
‘All right, Henry, that'll do,’ muttered Caro.
‘You said so the other day, Mum, on the phone to Lottie. Said she hardly slows the car down when she drops them off for sleepovers, just tosses them out and drives on.’
‘She is a bit slapdash with them,’ she admitted to me. ‘Never a toothbrush or clean underwear, just what they stand up in. But then I find the opposite equally irritating: children who come from ultra-hygienic homes with no pets, and who arrive with kidskin slippers and a disposable loo seat cover.’
‘There is that,’ I agreed.
‘Where's Anna?’ asked Phoebe at my elbow.
‘Oh, she's… meeting someone in town.’
‘Oh.’ She nodded. I could tell she was disappointed. ‘Is she excited about Hector?’
‘Oh, very! I'm sure she'll be here as soon as she can. After school, next week. To ride him.’
But not today, to meet him; her new pony, I could tell she was thinking. No, no doubt her older, cooler cousin had bigger fish to fry: probably meeting girlfriends in Starbucks, shopping for earrings in Claire's. If only.
‘Mum, there's a woman waving at you.’
We followed Jack's narrowed gaze to a silver BMW, parked just outside the gate, tucked into the verge in the narrow lane, engine purring, looking rather temporary. A fat woman in a tight lilac blouse with very black hair arranged elaborately on top of her head, was waving a bit of paper out of the passenger window, a furious look on her over-powdered face.
‘Oh my God,’ muttered Caro. ‘Mrs Goldberg.’
‘Who?’
‘The mother of the bride last week. The strictly kosher wedding from hell, when the loos overflowed, the caterers let us down and Tim and I ended up doing the food ourselves.’
‘I hulled six hundred strawberries,’ put in Henry, grimly. ‘I counted them.’
‘I'm not paying this!’ she screeched, venturing forth from her car while her husband sat, staring stonily ahead at the wheel. She was picking her way towards us in a tight white skirt and lilac heels. ‘Not any of it! My Michelle had to spend a penny in the bushes when she was caught short – in her wedding dress!’
‘Your Michelle was so pissed she couldn't find her way up to the house where the rest of the guests were using the house loos I'd so graciously provided, when your wedding party thought it would be