S Bolton: Blood Harvest

Except, maybe they were. Behind one of those dark windows someone was watching her, she was sure of it. Without appearing to look, she let her eyes scan left and right. Not the faintest hint of movement that she could see, but there was someone there all the same. She turned slowly.

There it was. Movement. Way up high. Evi raised her hand to her eyes to shut out the sun. No, it was impossible. What she thought she’d seen was a shape scurrying along the top of the church. No one could be up there. She’d seen a bird. A squirrel maybe. Or a cat.

She unfastened the chin-strap and removed her hat. The pressure in her head eased immediately. She lifted her hair with her fingers, letting the air get to her scalp and soothe it.

She could hear footsteps. Her ginger-haired knight in shining stripy shorts was back, half jogging along the church path towards her, carrying a glass of water.

‘Hi,’ he said as he drew closer. ‘I can do tea as well but that takes a bit longer. How’re you doing?’

How was she doing? She’d been harassed by feral teenagers who could move at warp speed, she’d fallen off a fifteen-hands horse, had to lie in the road like a beached whale, and then, just on the off chance that she had a shred of dignity remaining, she’d been hoisted off her feet by a ginger-haired twit who smelled like… like a man.

‘Better, I think,’ she said. ‘It’s always a shock, coming off a horse. Especially when you don’t land on soft ground.’

He joined her on the bench. ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to sound rude, but should you really be out on your own, with a weak leg and all?’

Evi opened her mouth and then closed it tight. He meant well. She looked at her watch, giving herself a second. ‘Well, it’s not likely to be happening again any time soon,’ she said. ‘The yard I ride from are very strict. I’ll be doing supervised trots round the manège for the next six months.’

‘Well maybe…’ He caught a look at her face and stopped. ‘How far have you ridden?’ he asked.

‘From Bracken Farm livery yard,’ she said. ‘It’s about four miles across the moor.’

‘Shall I phone them for you? I’m not sure if they can get a horsebox all the way up here, but I can walk-’

‘No.’ It came out louder and firmer than she’d meant it to because she had a feeling there was a battle imminent and, bruised and shaking though she might be, it was one she had to win. ‘Thank you,’ she went on, forcing a smile. ‘I’ll be riding back in a minute.’ Feeling far from ready to remount, she finished the water and put her hat back on, determined to make I’m going now signals, because she knew exactly what was coming.

He was shaking his head. Well, of course he was shaking his head. He was tall and strong, with full use of his limbs, and that made him the boss. ‘I’m not putting you back on that horse,’ he said.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Sorry, pet, but you’re disabled, you’ve taken a nasty fall and you’ve probably got concussion. You can’t ride four miles across open moorland.’

Sorry, pet! She looked down at the road so she wouldn’t be able to glare at him, because the disabled aren’t allowed to be angry. If she’d learned one thing over the past three years it was that. Normal people who get angry are just pissed off and that happens to us all; when you’re disabled, any sign of temper means you’re disturbed, you need help, you’re not capable of…

‘Thank you for your concern,’ said Evi, ‘but, disabled or not, I am still responsible for my own actions and I don’t actually need any help to remount. Please don’t let me keep you.’

She handed back the glass and eased herself sideways on the bench. It would be better by far if he were to leave her alone now.

‘How?’ He hadn’t moved.

‘Excuse me?’ she repeated.

‘How, exactly, given that you couldn’t get out of the road by yourself and needed to be carried to this seat, do you intend to walk fifteen yards down the hill and remount a large horse?’

‘Watch and learn.’

She pushed herself upright. The wall was only two feet away, it would support her weight as she walked downhill.

‘Hold on a second. Let’s do a deal.’

He was standing right in front of her. Getting to the wall by herself was possible; negotiating her way around him first probably wasn’t.

‘What?’

‘If you agree to rest for another ten minutes and then phone me the instant you get back to the yard, I’ll help you mount and walk you back to the bridle path.’

So now she was bargaining for the most basic of freedoms with a man she’d just met. And if I don’t agree?’

He produced a mobile phone from his pocket. ‘I’ll phone Bracken Farm livery yard to tell them exactly what’s happened. I imagine they’ll be on their way over before you reach the end of the wall.’

‘Asshole.’ It slipped out before she could bite her tongue.

He held up the phone.

‘Get out of my way.’

He pressed a series of digits. ‘Hi,’ he said, after a second. ‘I’d like the number of a livery yard…’

Evi raised her hands in surrender and sat back down again. The man apologized to the operator and replaced the phone in his pocket. He sat beside her as Evi pointedly looked at her watch, knowing she was being childish and not giving a toss.

‘Cup of tea?’ he offered.

‘No, thank you.’

‘Another glass of water?’

‘Only if it takes you a long time to get it.’

The man gave a low, embarrassed chuckle. ‘Crikey,’ he said, ‘I haven’t had this much success with a woman since I got drunk at my cousin’s wedding and threw up over the maid of honour.’

‘Yes, well, I’m feeling about as thrilled to be in your company as she must have been.’

‘We went out for eighteen months.’

Silence. Evi looked at her watch again.

‘So what do you think of Heptonclough?’ he asked.

Evi was staring straight ahead, determined to look at nothing but the small flight of steps and the tiny street, hardly wider than the span of a man’s arms, that lay opposite. She had a sudden urge to remove her hat again.

‘Very nice,’ she said.

‘First visit?’

‘First and last.’

An iron railing had been fixed into the wall to allow older, less agile people to navigate the steps. Even using it, Evi would struggle to climb steps so steep. Four steps. They might as well be a hundred.

‘Are you sure you’re not concussed? People aren’t usually this rude when they first meet me. Later, quite often, but not right away. How many fingers am I holding up?’

Evi’s head shot round, already opening her mouth to tell him… he was holding up both fists, no fingers in sight. He made a mock start backwards. She raised her right arm to punch him right in the face and to hell with the consequences and…

‘You’re much prettier when you smile.’

… realized it was the very last thing in the world she wanted to do.

‘You’re very pretty when you don’t smile, don’t get me wrong, I just happen to prefer women when they’re smiling. It’s a thing I have.’

She didn’t want to hit him at all. She wanted to do something quite different. Even here, in the street, where the whole world could see…

‘Shut up,’ she managed.

He drew two clasped fingers across his mouth in a zipping motion, a silly, childlike gesture. His mouth was still stretched wide. She looked away before her own smile could become too… too much like his.

Silence again. Across the road a cat appeared. It sat on the top step and began cleaning itself.

‘I’ve always wished I could do that,’ he said.

‘Aah!’ She raised one finger.