Zara Stoneley - Stable Mates

‘Grandma, I don’t need watching.’

‘I do wish you wouldn’t call me Grandma, it makes me sound ancient.’

‘And I like Rory. He’s fun.’

‘Hmm, I bet he is.’ The sharp eyes gave her an uncomfortable once-over. ‘Life isn’t just about fun though, is it? I mean it is fine for men to sow their wild oats, but even these days it isn’t good form for a lady. And nor are those plimsolls.’ The slight twitch could have been a supressed smile, Lottie reckoned, or a warning there was more to come.

She groaned inwardly. ‘Converses, Gran.’ She knew she couldn’t win any kind of discussion with Elizabeth. And why were ‘plimsolls’, as she termed them, any worse than the green wellies that her grandmother stomped out in, whatever the weather, along with the ancient, waxed Barbour jacket that must be nearly as old as she was?

‘So, are you going to tell me about that young man?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Oh, Bertie, you really shouldn’t.’ Lottie cringed as her grandmother tugged determinedly at her knickers which, for some strange reason, were visible at the waistband of her tweed skirt, then heaved a sigh of relief as Elizabeth triumphantly pulled out a handkerchief which she wafted in front of her nose. Bertie had stood up at the sound of his name and was now swishing his tail around like only a fat Labrador can, his big brown eyes fixed unerringly on his owner. ‘These bloody dogs know exactly how to get what they want. I’m sure he can pass wind at will. Worse than children. Come on you smelly bugger.’ Lottie shifted back so that the whip-like tail didn’t catch her on the shins. She’d got enough bruises and scratches from Rory’s terriers, any more and she’d be looking like a badly patched quilt in shades of purple.

Whatever Elizabeth said though, there was a definite family resemblance between Dominic and his mother. They were both slim, upright and had the type of striking long noses and piercing gazes that left you feeling like you were being told off by a particularly stern schoolteacher. Lottie hadn’t a clue how old her grandmother actually was, but she didn’t act or look it. And she didn’t move at all like a geriatric when she wanted something. She was already marching out of the room, her words echoing in the cavernous, wood-panelled hallway, Bertie and his half-brother, Holmes, hurtling after her, nails tip-tapping on the hard floor in her wake, as Lottie put her drink down and scrambled after them. She was still trying to catch her breath as a welcome rush of fresh air hit her.

Elizabeth didn’t believe in central heating, it was just for softies who liked to burn money, which meant the house was freezing all year round. Even in summer.

‘You were telling me about this man?’

‘Was I?’

Elizabeth tut-tutted and waved the dogs on in front. ‘You were out with Philippa?’

‘Ah, that man.’ It suddenly simultaneously dawned on her who she was being interrogated about and worried her as to why. Elizabeth never made casual enquiries, there had to be a reason. ‘Tom.’

Her grandmother was waiting for more.

‘Tom Strachan. He’s a model.’ She absentmindedly picked up the stick that Bertie had dropped at her feet and flung it as far as she could across the manicured lawn, which wasn’t far. The bounding Bertie soon came back, his head held high, Labrador smile across his happy face as he stopped in front of them. Dropped his prize, his whole body wagging in wobbly ecstasy.

‘Pretty boy, isn’t he? Bertie NO.’

Just in time, before she grabbed it, Lottie realised that Bertie has deposited a decomposed rabbit at her feet this time, not a stick. She wiped her hand down the front of her top, even though she hadn’t actually touched it.

‘Er, yes.’

‘Charles always did say one should never trust a man with long hair. He’s either an artist and waster or a scoundrel.’

‘He’s a model, Gran, and it’s not that long, his hair.’ Lottie tried to remember exactly how long his hair was, but however much she screwed up her eyes and mouth the image didn’t come.

‘Don’t do that, darling, it will give you frown lines.’

‘Anyway, Gramps only said that because he was in the army. He thought anything that wasn’t a short back and sides was long.’

Elizabeth waved a dismissive hand. ‘I suppose he will at least dress well, if he’s a model.’

‘I don’t know really. He models underwear, y-fronts, you know, pants.’ Were pristine pants the equivalent of dressing well?

‘I do know what pants are Charlotte, and I know you mean pants not trousers. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’ve lost my marbles. But what’s his proper job? Standing around in your pants isn’t a job for a real man.’ Modelling obviously wasn’t going to cut it.

‘I think.’ Oh, God, why hadn’t she been concentrating on what Pip had said? She should have known the all-seeing Elizabeth would want answers. It suddenly came to her, and she almost shouted it out triumphantly. ‘He runs a rescue home for dogs as well.’ Or something like that. Bertie barked, impatient at the delay, and Elizabeth made a huffing noise.

‘And there’s obviously a huge demand for that type of thing here.’ Elizabeth’s tone was laden heavy with sarcasm.

Okay, dog rescue wasn’t going to cut it either. ‘I think he came here because his wife left him, and his daughter likes horses, so…’ She shrugged and threw the stick, which hit the sunbathing Holmes squarely on the rump, followed closely by the full weight of Bertie who was going too fast to stop and didn’t believe in swerving. Holmes leapt up with a snarl, as his seniority demanded in times of attack.

‘Boys, stop that.’ Even Lottie jumped as the full force of Elizabeth’s bellow stopped them dead. ‘And do you think he’s gay?’

‘Gay? I never said I thought he was gay. Well no I mean he’s married, and then his daughter—’

‘No, not Thomas, Dominic.’

‘Well, I—’

‘He’s not dear.’ Elizabeth patted her arm. ‘I must admit I did wonder, but I’d say he’s just very careful. Right, hadn’t you better be off?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m supposed to be playing golf this afternoon, although why on earth that woman can’t get up early like normal people do and get a round in before breakfast is a mystery. Come along dear, you can give me a lift to Christine’s and I will get Dominic to pick me up later.’

Elizabeth turned on her heel and set off back towards the house, Lottie and the dogs getting tangled up in the scramble to follow her.

***

It was only when Lottie got to her car, luckily in advance of Elizabeth, that it dawned on her that it was even more of a mess than it normally was. Which was down to too much time spent trying to fit visits to Rory in, in between running round after her father.

Lottie sighed as she opened the passenger door of her car and a crisp packet drifted out. She stared at the mess. Brushing the car seat with the old pair of jodhpurs she found in the back of the car didn’t seem to help matters at all, in fact it left a very nasty brown smear on the seat, which just had to be chocolate. And when she opened the glove compartment to shove the empty drink can and sandwich box in, several empty minstrel packets, along with a snickers packet (empty) and a mars wrapper (full), tumbled out. She took a bite of the chocolate bar and then started to stuff things under the seat with her spare hand. Elizabeth had no qualms about climbing into a Land Rover full of muddy boots and dog hair, but plastic wrappers of any kind were worthy of a sniff. One just didn’t buy things in wrappers, well at least Elizabeth didn’t. The housekeeper did, then she unwrapped everything, burned the paper and pretended that everything was cooked from raw ingredients that she’d more or less grown with her own hands. The operative word being less.