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Lois shrugs. ‘I’m a townie. Get over it.’
‘Right.’
‘So come on. Let’s get saddled up. I’m probably going to be a natural at this, you know.’ She slaps her thigh. ‘Yee-ha!’
I grimace as her noisy hilarity earns her a disapproving look from a haughty-looking woman riding by on a big velvety brown horse.
‘What?’ she demands. ‘Am I showing you up?’
‘No.’
‘Right. So come on, then.’ She takes a deep breath and tenses her arm muscles determinedly. ‘Let’sdothis.’
‘Hi! I’m Sally. You must be Clara and Lois?’ The woman called Sally, looking sleek in jodhpurs and black riding boots, is walking over to us. ‘I gather you’re both beginners?’
We say we very much are, and she first of all sizes Lois up. ‘I think I’ll give you... Peppermint. She’s a lovely-natured horse. So patient. Perfect for a beginner.’
She leads us over to Peppermint’s stable. The horse nods its head over the door as if in greeting and Lois ducks away with a shriek.
‘Stroke her nose. She loves that,’ urges Sally, and Lois obliges, holding her head as far back as she can with a look of incredulous distaste.
Sally smiles encouragingly. ‘There. She likes you.’ Turning and looking along the row of stables, she murmurs, ‘Now... Clara. Let’s get you sorted.’
Lois throws me a sly glance. ‘Clara will need something a little bit sturdier,’ she calls.
‘Gee, thanks, Lois.’
‘Well, you’re heavier than me.’ She grins. ‘You’re heavier than most people, let’s face it.’
‘Nice.’
‘Oh, God, I’mjoking. You’re not fat at all. Half a stone would do it. And you’ve got really nice eyes. Why do you always take things soseriously, Clara Dimwit?’
‘Resigned I think is the word,’ I mutter, as Lois turns away to attempt another stroke of Peppermint’s nose.
I’m used to Lois’s ‘jokes’ but I wish she’d stop calling me Clara Dimwit. Especially in front of people. There’s no point saying anything, though. She’d just laugh and do it even more.
She and my stepmother, Irene, dreamed the nickname up weeks ago– it’s a ‘hilarious’ take on Charlie Dimmock, the fabulous TV gardener– an sly dig at my total lack of expertise as a gardener. The very opposite of Charlie Dimmock, in fact. It still makes them both crease up with laughter.
It’s ironic, really. If they saw the job I made of Gran’s garden when she was in hospital– with help from Rory– they’d realise I’m no longer that person who murders plants with just a look. I learned alottransforming that wilderness into a respectable garden. (Lois was there when we had a welcome party for Gran when she came out of hospital, but she was obviously far too focused on getting it together with Rory to evennoticethe neat lawns and the weed-free drive and vegetable plot.)
‘Hi, Clara!’
I turn and there’s Jaz, who runs the Zumba classes in Sunnybrook Village Hall. She’s leading a gleaming dark brown horse and a young girl is sitting in the saddle.
‘Hi! It’s a small world,’ I laugh, and we do the introductions.
Jaz is with her stepdaughter, Summer, and she tells me they often go riding together when Summer is visiting. ‘We love it here. But we’ve heard the owner is thinking of selling up, so we’re keeping our fingers crossed it comes to nothing.’
‘Oh, it would be awful if they closed just as we’re starting lessons!’ I glance at Lois. She’s not exactly looking disappointed at the thought.
‘How’s Elsie?’ Jaz asks. ‘I know you were hoping she’d find the confidence to go to dance classes.’
‘Yes. And she did! She absolutely loves it. She’s made a new friend and she’s even performed on stage at a show put on by the dance school. She was a lettuce in a show about vegetables!’ I look at Lois. ‘I wish you’d have come with us to watch, just to see Elsie. She was brilliant.’
Lois smiles politely and nods. She hates shows like that. But she could at least have made the effort to go along and support Rory’s little sister...
‘Well, enjoy your lesson,’ says Jaz. ‘Ellie tells me you’ve started work at the café, Clara, so I’ll no doubt see you in there at some point. With a toddler in tow, of course, up to all sorts of mischief.’
