He climbs the staircase to his office two steps at a time.
‘Do they have horses in those stables?’ I ask.
‘Yes. I love horses,’ Hattie replies. ‘I love going riding. Look over there.’ I follow her finger pointing to a dilapidated stable block, mostly hidden in the dense woodland at the far end of the lake. ‘That’s where I used to keep my horse before Justin built the new stables for Beth’s new horse.’
The outhouses look functional, but from where I’m sitting, I can’t see any horses. No remnants of hay. No muck. No horses.
‘I used to ride every day until I broke my back.’
I turn to her. ‘You broke your back! Hattie, that’s dreadful,’ I say, then realise that she’s probably confused. ‘What happened?’
‘Devil of a horse. And Harold!’ She swats away a fly buzzing around her face. ‘Harold is a brilliant horseman. He rode in the Grand National, you know.’
Dementia distorts memory, but this is bad. I saw a photo of Hattie and Harold in the kitchen. He towered over her and looked as if he weighed a good twenty stone – hardly a professional jockey. She continues talking about his days as a jockey.
Movement across the lake catches my attention. Justin runs down the staircase from his office, crosses the grass and disappears into the house. No sooner has he gone than he’s back outside, running up to his office again.
Beth is my next best bet, but I need to tread carefully. She’s obviously a very ill woman.
I look across to the stable block and at the upstairs room to where Justin disappeared. My answers are close. I just need to reach out and grab them.
32
BETH
I try to rest, but I’m too het up. Justin needs to take my concerns seriously. He used to listen to me. Without me, he wouldn’t be where he is today. It was me who got him there.
But there’s no question about it. I have to get that girl away from here.
The front door slams shut, jolting me from my thoughts. It’s no good. The room is airless, despite the open window. I can’t stay in bed any longer. It’s too damn hot to sleep. And I’m too worked up. The thought of more chemo isn’t helping. I always find it difficult to sleep when another round is on the horizon.
I get up. Blue lifts his head from his bed beside me and stretches. After changing into a fresh summer dress and adding a thin cardigan to hide my arms I’ve scratched to pieces, I pick up my laptop from the dressing table.
Blue follows me downstairs. Hattie is in her usual chair in the kitchen, staring into space. The kettle is boiling. Immy is preparing a pot of tea. Good grief – that smile of hers is far too sickly. ‘What a lovely home and garden you have. Hattie and Ihave been for a walk to the lake. I’m making some tea for her. Would you like a cup?’ She’s all sweetness and light.
I pull out a chair. My body drops into the seat. I fan my face with one of Hattie’s trashy magazines from the table. ‘It’s too hot for tea.’
‘I agree,’ Immy says. ‘I’ve just cut a wedge of lemon for some iced water. Want some instead?’
The table tilts as if someone is pushing against it. The room shifts and goes out of focus, the heat pressing in from all angles. Merciless.
‘Are you OK, Beth?’
‘I’m fine. I’ll have that glass of water.’
‘Is Harold coming home soon?’ Hattie asks.
‘No,’ I snap, then soften. ‘Not today, Hattie.’
Immy crosses the room and sets a cup of tea in front of Hattie and a glass of water in front of me. The ice cubes clink. ‘Sit with us,’ I say.
‘Sure.’ Immy joins us with her drink. ‘I hear you have horses in the stables.’
I frown. ‘Sorry?’
‘Horses.’ Immy nods at my mother-in-law. ‘Hattie says you keep horses. I used to ride when I was a kid.’
I glance at Hattie hunched over her cup of tea and shake my head. ‘We used to, but my beautiful Honey died. Then I fell ill, so we never replaced her.’
