Chapter 2
Entering the showground on the banks of the River Lark, Holly pushed her hair back from her face and surveyed the chaos around her. She stepped smartly to one side as a Shetland pony barged past, head down, eyes on the prize of the apple-bobbing stall behind her. The young girl on board clearly had very little control and her freckled grin made it clear that she didn’t really care. After all, in the water meadows of the Larkford Valley, and with most of the population gathered together on this sunniest of Saturdays, there were more pairs of hands to help than was probably necessary.
Holly caught hold of the twins as they each attempted to pull in separate directions, Tom heading for the cake stall as per usual and Ben entranced by the Barn Owl Rescue Charity. Lizzie’s three children looped around her legs like excitable puppies, their little faces painted like tigers, already slightly smudged, and their energy certainly not in short supply. No wonder Lizzie had been so keen to hand them all over and take to the Main Arena for her moment in the spotlight.
‘We’ve got all afternoon,’ Holly protested. ‘We can do cakes and barn owls later. We need to get to the Main Arena or we’ll miss Eric and Lizzie in their competition.’
Alice fell happily into stride beside them. ‘I can’t believe how fantastic this is! It’s a proper country show. Elsie’s already ensconced in the VIP tent and I just walked past Cassie and Marion having a real to-do about the correct jam-to-cream ratio in a Victoria sponge.’ The rivalries in Larkford over the best cake/marrow/flower display had been building for weeks in anticipation of this very day and Alice was clearly enjoying every spat.
Holly noticed that Coco pressed herself tightly against her owner’s ankles, evidently not enjoying the spectacle quite so much. It took quite a lot to throw Coco off her game, but the general noise and hubbub of the Larkford Country Show seemed to be properly testing her bombproof credentials. The little spaniel flinched slightly as the loudhailer crackled into life and Taffy’s voice, returned to its more usual Welsh cadence, could be heard echoing across the meadows.
‘Could all the entrants for “Dog that looks most like owner” please come to the Main Arena. And to be clear, folks, we do actually need the dog and the owner to be there in person.’
Holly grinned. She knew exactly why this announcement had been necessary. Mrs Greene – undefeated champion for the last three years – had been threatening to enter by Skype this year, as the show happened to coincide with her family holiday to Ireland. The ruckus in The Kingsley Arms at the very suggestion had been quite the eye-opener as to how high the passions ran in this country market town when there were prizes and bragging rights up for grabs.
Alice bent down to scoop Coco out of the path of a vast four-wheel-drive pram, and stroked her silky chocolate-coloured ears. ‘It’s quite something, all this . . . I’m even slightly tempted to join in next year.’
Holly tried not to look surprised. Alice had been in Larkford for a year now, but although she had clearly softened to their way of life, there was still a certain reserve. She hadn’t leapt into Larkford with both feet the way Holly had, but then maybe, she thought, Alice had less to prove?
‘For the record,’ said Holly, ‘I think you’re quite mad to wait. You and Coco would steal the title now, if only we could persuade you to enter.’ Holly reached across and lifted a strand of Alice’s mahogany bob to prove her point. ‘I can’t tell where your hair ends and Coco’s ears begin. Definitely lookalike champions in the making.’
Alice blushed slightly, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. ‘I think Coco and I might lack the competitive edge,’ she said, as Major Waverly walked past, he and his terrier, Grover, sporting matching bow ties. To be fair, their salt and pepper whiskers and twinkling eyes made them dead ringers for one another, but it did bemuse Holly that a well-respected septuagenarian might set such store by a lookalike contest.
Holly leaned in, her twins hanging off each hand. ‘Do you know, I wouldn’t be Dan today for all the money in the world. Whoever he chooses to win, there’ll be consequences. When he chose your aunt’s brownies over Cassie Holland’s last year, she didn’t speak to him for a month!’
The two women both smiled, secretly thinking that a month without Cassie Holland in your ear actually sounded more like a perk of the job than a downside. ‘Speak of the devil,’ said Alice quietly.
Even Coco and all the children tensed slightly as Cassie hove into view, her clipboard pressed officiously to her hessian-clad chest. ‘Don’t dither around, ladies – if you’ve time on your hands then there’s plenty to do. We’re not just here to have fun, you know.’ She thrust a printed sheet towards Holly and waggled it annoyingly when Holly refused to take the bait.
It was one thing spending hours last night printing out blank certificates and twisting coloured ribbons onto safety pins for the prize-winners, but Holly had really hoped that she was now off duty and would be able to properly relax and enjoy the Larkford Country Show. If there was one thing she’d learned with Cassie Holland, if you gave her an inch she would take a mile. ‘I’ve done my bit, Cassie. I’m here with the children now,’ she said pleasantly, but firmly.
‘What about you then, Dr Walker?’ pressed Cassie with an edge to her voice. ‘Spit-spot. Don’t just dither on the edges in your designer togs. I do hope you’re not afraid to get your hands a little dirty?’
‘Oh Cassie, leave the poor girl alone,’ interrupted Holly, taking umbrage on Alice’s behalf. It was hardly as though Alice was teetering in four-inch Chanel heels; apparently merely looking smart, on-trend and un-muddied was the equivalent though, in Cassie’s beady little eyes.
Alice herself just shrugged. Seemingly unfazed.
Holly truly felt for her – they all knew that the locals enjoyed discussing Alice’s wardrobe, commenting without filter on her figure and her looks. As the newest young, single doctor in town, it was probably to be expected, and Alice seemed to accept a certain amount of scrutiny without question. But then, as Holly knew only too well, that didn’t mean she necessarily appreciated it. In fact, the more time she spent with Alice, the more she realised how carefully Alice guarded her privacy. A year in, and Alice’s hidden depths were no closer to revealing themselves. Holly was beginning to feel almost protective of her – not in a maternal way, more of a sisterly solidarity in the making.
The tannoy crackled into life again. ‘Would Cassie Holland please come to the cake tent. That’s Cassie Holland to the cake tent. Your son is, er, waiting for you.’ There was an ear-splitting squeal of feedback and Taffy carried on talking, clearly under the illusion that his conversation was no longer being broadcast. ‘And causing chaos. Little sod. I can’t believe he ate the Best In Show! What that boy needs is a— Ah, thanks, Lucy.’ With an abrupt click, the transmission ended.
Holly deliberately avoided catching Alice’s eye, the two of them frozen by some unspoken agreement to avoid the overwhelming urge to laugh. Cassie paused, the form she had been waggling in Alice’s face now hanging limply from her hand. She opened her mouth as though to speak and closed it again, before wordlessly turning on her heel and barrelling towards the cake tent.
If only there were a bollocking on little Tarquin’s horizon, thought Holly, there might still be time for him to become a decent member of their community. As it was, with his liberal and free-range upbringing veering towards the negligent – all in the name of child-centred parenting – he was actually becoming a mini-tyrant. Poor Marion had been forced to ban him from the Spar shop for pilfering the Pick-And-Mix, and many a resident automatically moved their beloved dog out of range as he ran by, for fear of a kick or a poke from his omnipresent stick.
‘Oh poor Taffy,’ said Holly in consternation, knowing only too well what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a Cassie-tirade.
Alice shook her head. ‘It really does take all sorts, doesn’t it? How does she get away with being so opinionated and so utterly wrong, without fuelling an angry mob?’
Holly nodded, still quietly fuming on Alice’s behalf about Cassie’s ignorant assertions the previous week. For God’s sake, as a doctor and a Type One diabetic, Alice knew perfectly well that diabetes was not a self-inflicted illness, but by the time Cassie had said her piece, the poor girl had looked shattered. Holly could only hope that Alice wasn’t allowing those vile comments to stick in her head and torment her.
‘She’s all talk though, isn’t she?’ Holly said reassuringly. ‘I just try to remind myself that every little dig and jibe is another window into her own insecurities. And that, actually, we should be feeling sorry for her.’ She paused and wrinkled her nose cheerfully. ‘Well, sometimes that works. Sometimes I have to physically restrain myself from clobbering her.’
Alice nodded, seemingly comforted that she was not alone in that temptation at least.
Holly turned her head to the sunshine, drinking in the laughter and conversation around her. The Larkford Country Show really did have to be seen to be believed – a slice of Middle England on parade. The Major’s cronies were demonstrating the best way to cast with fly-fishing rods over the River Lark; one of the farmers had rigged up a whack-a-mole (thankfully not with a real mole this year); the ladies of the Larkford WI were keeping the cake and produce competitions running and under control (no mean feat actually when the competitive edge around here was so acute) and there was a bouncy castle to exhaust toddlers and offer parental reprieve. Holly couldn’t help thinking that the Pimm’s stand would do a roaring trade if it had been adjacent to Kiddie Korner, but she wasn’t prepared to weather the looks of judgement should she dare to suggest it.
At least she could relax in the knowledge that Lucy, their ponytailed yet formidable receptionist, was on hand to keep Taffy on track in the commentary box today. Whoever had thought it was a good idea to give her garrulous fiancé free rein with a microphone clearly didn’t know him very well!
‘Oh, how lovely!’ exclaimed Alice. ‘Would you look at that?’ All heads turned as a parade of ponies trotted through the showground, all dressed up to the nines. The children on board sported immaculate white jodhpurs and fitted tweed jackets and their ponies’ highly groomed coats shone in the sunlight. It was a remarkable and beautiful sight to behold, if only because the riders themselves were so diminutive and yet so accomplished. This was no ordinary Pony Club, this was the Larkford Equine Association. There were Arabellas, Imogens and Clementines galore in this subset of their community and most of these children radiated the glowing health of privilege. In fact, Holly realised, she had rarely seen any of them in her consulting rooms – perhaps they had a private GP on the Pony Club payroll?
Their parents strolled casually through the parkland, their gilets and shades cutting quite the stylish dash through the quilted waistcoats and Tattersall check shirts of Larkford. Holly quietly bit her tongue, realising that young Alice may not be quite so quick to join in with the jokes about their voguish pack-mentality as Lizzie always was. It was tough out there on the streets of Larkford if you failed to measure up to the yummy-mummy standard; indeed Holly had long since given up trying and was all the happier for it.
As Charlotte Lansing strode into view, her lips pursed against a hunting horn, Holly tried hard not to laugh. Charlotte’s corduroy trousers and leather boots had a soundtrack all of their own as she marched past. ‘Ride halt!’ she bellowed, and every single pony stopped on a dime and turned into line – a noticeable improvement in obedience on the previous class of puppies and dogs leaping about excitedly.
Dan Carter strolled up beside them. ‘Well, I’m glad I’m not judging this class as well.’ He looked almost shell-shocked, covered in muddy paw prints and with an alarmingly vivid lipstick imprint on his cheek. ‘I’m not sure it was a good idea to put Lizzie and Eric in first place. Even if they were the best match by a mile. I can’t throw a brick around here without cries of nepotism!’
Holly laughed, delighted that Eric, the ‘time-share puppy’ she owned with Lizzie, had picked up a prize, even if her best friend’s lipstick on Dan’s face had obviously ruffled a few feathers. ‘What did they win?’
‘A year’s supply of doggie treats,’ Dan answered, ‘so it’s not as if I’m in for a cut of the swag, now is it? Even if she is my cousin.’
The tannoy above their heads squealed its introduction and Taffy’s increasingly tense, increasingly Welsh tones echoed around the valley. ‘Could the person with the Mercedes reg B16 DIX please move your vehicle – you are blocking the exit from the car park.’ There was a clunk of a button being depressed. ‘And you clearly need to get a life, I mean really, who are they kidding, Big Di— Oh, thanks, Lucy.’ Another squeal and the tannoy fell silent.
‘Somebody seriously needs to teach your fiancé how to use an off-switch,’ said Dan, laughing so hard it was only a silent exhalation.
‘In so many ways,’ Holly agreed. ‘He’s like a whirlwind of energy. All the time.’ She shook her head, still laughing. ‘It’s like living with the Duracell Bunny.’ And she loved it, she thought to herself; her house was filled with laughter and fun and chaos. So what if she occasionally needed a long, long shower just to get some peace? Living with Taffy Jones had changed her life and Holly treasured every moment.
As a small bunch of boys hurtled through their group, swinging around legs and tent poles in their haste to catch one another, Coco shied away and Alice bent down to pick her up again. Holly knew it wasn’t training protocol to do so in a busy area, but as the number of visitors multiplied and the number of events going on simultaneously grew, Holly was aware of a faint peripheral nervousness that she couldn’t quite place. Perhaps Alice had the right idea? She held on tightly to the children’s hands, gathering them around her, and looked about, trying to place the source of her unease.
Major Waverly marching up to Dan in indignation didn’t exactly help. ‘I’m very disappointed in you, young Daniel. Grover and I were clearly a shoe-in for that award. I have to confess I feel rather let down – and after I’d organised such a lovely surprise for you all as well.’
‘A surprise?’ asked Dan, looking around, refusing to be drawn into the debate.
The Major looked at his watch and then up at the sky. ‘Any moment now, in fact. Supposed to be my glory parade. Too late to cancel,’ he harrumphed.
A smattering of applause from the Main Arena announced that the ‘Under-Ten Ridden Show Pony’ class had clearly reached some kind of denouement and Holly wondered whether the entrants there would take the result as personally as the Major clearly had.
Coco suddenly scrabbled in Alice’s arms. It was so unlikely, so unusual, that Alice nearly dropped her. This trembling bundle of chocolate-coloured fur pressing tightly into Alice’s neck and whimpering took all of them by surprise.
Only moments later, it all made sense. A growling from the skies grew to apocalyptic proportions and a vintage biplane buzzed overhead. Holly barely had the chance to register that there were two small figures standing on the wings, before it turned into an ambitious loop-the-loop.
There was a second’s delay on the ground but that was all, before absolute chaos broke loose.