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“I’m sorry you’re stressed,” she replied diplomatically, and pulled out onto the road.
“I don’t have time to deal with Mabel,” Mairi continued, “be there every single day, brushing and feeding and all that.” She let out a theatrical groan that would have made Sarah smile if she didn’t already feel so tense.
“Mabel is a commitment, Mairi,” she reminded her daughter, trying not to sound as if she were giving her a lecture when she knew she basically was. This was far from the first time they’d had this conversation, and Sarah doubted it would be the last. “One you agreed to, quite happily.”
“Yeah, when I waseight,” Mairi retorted. “What, I’m never allowed to change my mind?”
“Is that what you really want to do?” Sarah tried not to sound too censorious, toohurt. Mabel had been a present to Mairi and she’d been in love with that horse, riding her every day, taking hours to groom her, thrilled that Mabel was really hers, always asking to go to the stables, wishing they could keep Mabel in their back garden. And now she just wanted to walk away?
Her daughter was stressed, Sarah reminded herself, which was understandable, considering this was an important exam year, and Mairi had always been competitive about her academics. Sarah knew she needed to be a steadying presence, even if right now, she felt far from steady herself.
Mairi let out another groan as she slouched further down in her seat. “I mean, IlikeMabel,” she said, “but it’s a lot, you know? Every single day after school, and before school, too…”
“I’ve been checking on Mabel in the mornings,” Sarah reminded her, making sure to keep her voice mild. And she had been doing so for years. Mairi hadn’t taken care of Mabel in the mornings except on weekends since she’d started secondary school over three years ago.
“Yeah, butweekends…” Mairi protested.
Clearly, she wanted an argument. And, in truth, Sarah felt frayed enough to think about giving her one. She already tiptoed around her husband; did she have to tiptoe around her daughter, too? Yet she knew she shouldn’t take her frustrations out on her daughter, who had her own troubles to deal with.
“If you really feel like it’s too much,” Sarah stated calmly, “we can think about selling her.” Even if the prospect of doing such a thing tore at her heart. Mabel would fetch several thousand pounds at least, but Sarah felt as if she were part of the family. A Welsh cob, Mabel was a deep, russet brown, with a gleaming coat and the softest, loveliest eyes you could imagine. She was gentle and loving, but could jump like a champion.
Mairi looked startled, and then a bit alarmed. “I don’t want tosellher—”
Sarah raised her eyebrows. “I thought that’s where you were going with this.”
“No, I just…” Her daughter blew out her breath. “I just want somehelp, Mum.”
“Ah.” Sarah nodded slowly. “I see. Well, I’ll certainly help you feed and groom her today,” she replied, but Mairi let out a little sigh.
“Thanks,” she said, a bit of an afterthought, but Sarah decided it was better than nothing.
Sarah always enjoyed being at the stables, run by Trina, a cheerful woman in her fifties whom she’d counted as a friend for many years.
“All right there, Sarah? Mairi?” Trina called in a friendly voice as Sarah and Mairi headed across the yard, toward Mabel’s stall. “Lovely day, isn’t it, for October? So warm!”
Sarah glanced up at the pale blue sky, the balmy air indeed holding a summery warmth even though it was well into the month, the leaves only just starting to change color. “Yes, lovely and warm,” she agreed. Hard to believe Christmas was just two months away.
Mairi went to make Mabel’s feed, while Sarah started grooming the Welsh cob, drawing the curry comb from the top of the horse’s head, down her back in long, smooth strokes, making her coat gleam a deep brown with touches of gold. There was something incredibly soothing about the repeated motion, Mabel’s soft nickering, the smell of hay and horse. For a second, Sarah closed her eyes and rested her forehead against Mabel’s warm flank, letting herself enjoy the sweet simplicity of the moment, Mabel’s easy acceptance of her. There was no love, she thought, like the love of an animal—warm and uncomplicated.
Right now, she wouldn’t think about Nathan’s frostiness, or the fact that the Bluebell Inn was practically teetering on the verge of collapse, or how she’d started waking up in the night, eyes straining in the darkness, heart thundering as if she’d had a nightmare she couldn’t remember.
Anxiety attacks, she’d discovered when she’d looked up her symptoms online. Common to women in perimenopause, but although she was forty-six, Sarah didn’t think that was it. Her anxiety was from another source, from the events of her life that felt as if they were slipping out of her control, no matter how hard she tried to hold onto them.
But she wasn’t thinking about any of that, she reminded herself wryly as she opened her eyes and lifted her head, even if she actually was.
She pressed her hand against Mabel’s flank. “Good girl,” she murmured, and the horse nickered softly in return.
“Do I have time to go for a ride?” Mairi asked once they’d finished with the feeding and grooming. She’d clearly gotten over her mini tantrum in the car.
“I think Mabel would like that very much,” Sarah replied, smiling as Mairi went to saddle her horse.
A few minutes later, daughter and horse were cantering down one of the trails that led from the stables to the surrounding countryside.
“Coffee?” Trina asked as Sarah wandered over to the comfortably cluttered main office that made up one side of the stable yard.
“Thanks, that would be great.” She’d shared many a cup of coffee with Trina while Mairi was out riding, and she was grateful for the offer now.
“Mairi starting to resist coming a bit?” Trina surmised shrewdly as she switched on the kettle in the kitchenette in one corner of the office and Sarah managed a wry smile of acknowledgement.
