Jumping to Conclusions (30 page)

Would they ever do anything together again?

Tonight the kitchen was empty apart from the animals. There was no note. The dogs scrabbled across the flagstones to greet him, the cats stretched out in front of the switched-off boiler, looked up, yawned, and slept again. There was the remains of beans on toast on the table, and half a cup of cold coffee.

'Maddy!'

Silence.

'Mad! Maddy?'

Drew exhaled. Peapods was totally silent. There was no sound of the television in the sitting room, or Poppy's laughter from upstairs. There was no sound of anything except the ticking of the clock echoing in the hall. Maddy might have gone to bed, of course, exhausted by her stint in the refreshment tent at the Jamboree, but somehow he doubted it. The house had a hollow feel, an air of emptiness, as if there had been no one there for quite some time.

Throwing open doors, calling, Drew covered every room. Maddy and Poppy Scarlet had gone. Trying not to panic, not to allow the horrendous thoughts to bubble to the surface, he thundered back through the house. She must be somewhere. He flicked the answerphone in the hall. A string of messages from friends and owners – but not the voice he wanted to hear. Maybe she'd phoned through to the office. Maybe she was in there. Poppy liked playing with the computer. He almost laughed – she certainly didn't take after him.

There was nobody in the office. Outside in the yard he could hear the lads piling out of the hostel on their way to the Cat and Fiddle. They were joking and swearing. It all sounded so normal.

Maddy might have gone to Fran's after the Jamboree; she might have gone to see Suzy. She might have gone to any of the dozens of other friends she had in the village. But, if she had, why hadn't she left him a note? Should he ring round and ask them? If he did, would they guess why? Did they all
know
why, for God's sake?

Making sure the dogs were secure in the kitchen, he crashed out into the yard. The rain misted through the twilight. Vincent's cottage was in darkness. So was Charlie's. They were Maddy's other bolt-holes. He'd hoped against hope that she might be there. He rubbed his eyes. He couldn't bear to lose her. He couldn't live without her. God! How many times had he heard other men moan similar words in maudlin drunkenness? How many times had he felt some pity for their plight, but not truly understood? But then, they hadn't been losing Maddy, had they?

He crossed the cobbles and unlocked Bonne Nuit's box. In the dark-red glow of the stable Bonnie regarded Drew with calm and intelligent eyes. He patted the chestnut neck. 'Sorry to disturb you. I need someone to talk to.'

Bonne Nuit pushed his head against Drew's arm. Today he'd believed that this horse would be his salvation – but what was the point of Peapods surviving without Maddy?

Merely hours earlier he and Charlie had congratulated each other on their buy, and wondered if Gillian had had the advantage of spiritual guidance. Bonne Nuit had finished in third place behind two experienced jumpers and, as they'd hoped, had drawn no interest from the punters whatsoever. Plenty of time now, they'd said, to organise his training schedule and build him up into a potential National horse. There would be ample opportunities over the next couple of months to try him out at various meetings and develop his stamina and fitness. And if everything went to plan, the Hennessey at Newbury in November would be his first big race.

Charlie had reported that Bonnie knew exactly what had been needed today, had kept plenty in reserve, and thoroughly enjoyed his trip. They'd grinned at each other, almost convinced that they might just have pulled off the miracle. The coup that every trainer dreams of: a horse from nowhere that has big-time ability. And not only was he a star on the course, Bonne Nuit had a dream of a temperament. He'd travelled back calmly in the horse box, eaten well, and settled easily.

Drew tugged the velvety ears. 'Where's she gone? What am I supposed to do? Hang around like a wimp? Or am I going to make a king-sized prat of myself and rampage round the village like Othello in overdrive?'

Bonnie snuffled his contempt. Drew wasn't sure which part of the sentence he'd disagreed with. Probably both.

'Okay, then. Half a pint of whisky and the telly until she comes home?'

This seemed more acceptable. Bonnie head-butted Drew's arm. He rubbed the horse's long bony nose. 'But what if she doesn't come home? What if she never comes home again?'

It was unbearable. Drew hadn't felt this aching desolation since his parents had died. The pain of knowing he'd never see them again. He couldn't bear it.

Blinking, he bolted Bonne Nuit's box, gave the other horses a cursory glance and dragged himself back to the house.

He turned on the television and poured half a tumbler of whisky. Neither offered any comfort. The cats, seeking warmth, crept in and curled by the empty hearth. They stared at him over their shoulders, as if blaming him for the lack of crackling flames. The dogs, more forgiving, all flopped on the sofas.

Another half-tumbler of whisky from the decanter. It wasn't Glenfiddich. He couldn't touch Maddy's Glenfiddich. What a selfish bastard he was. All he'd worried about was Peapods' survival, about winning the Grand National, about being a top trainer. He'd always assumed that Maddy would be there to share it with him. It was because of Maddy that he'd got this far. Without her there was nowhere to go.

The dogs pricked their ears above the irritating roar of the television. Drew was instantly on his feet. He was already smiling. They hadn't barked. Their tails were thumping as the sitting-room door opened.

'Mad! Where the hell have you been? Oh —'

Charlie shrugged. 'Wrong size, wrong colouring, wrong sex – otherwise pretty close. And much as I like you, I really wouldn't want to share your bed.'

Drew slumped down on to the sofa again as the dogs wagged round Charlie. 'I thought that –'

‘I was Maddy.' Charlie helped himself to a small whisky and a lot of slimline ginger ale. 'Yeah, I gathered. Where is she, then?'

'I have no hacking idea.'

'Jesus.' Charlie lolled into a fireside chair. 'Don't scream at me. I came for a bit of comfort and advice – not a bollocking.'

'Comfort and advice are in short supply.' Drew drained his glass. 'She's gone.'

'Gone where? No – no, sorry. I mean, she can't have gone. This is Maddy we're talking about. Maddy wouldn't have gone anywhere – you and Maddy are like sausages and mustard. Steak and chips? No, well, Morecambe and Wise – er – perhaps not. Still, you get my drift.'

'Shut up, Charlie.'

Charlie sank back into his chair. 'Have you had another row?'

'A row would be a step forward. No, she just wasn't here when I got back. Not a sign of her or Poppy. Shit, Charlie – what's happened to us?'

Charlie shook his head. 'I don't know. I've tried to talk to her. She seems the same to me –'

'No, she doesn't. That's bullshit and you know it. Everything started to go wrong when I told her about the divorce coming through. As soon as she knew I'd be free to marry her she changed.'

'Don't marry her then.' Charlie swirled his diluted whisky. 'Just carry on as you are. I know I'd run a mile if I thought my freedom was about to be curtailed. Maybe she's just scared of the actual ceremony. Have you tried asking her?'

'Of course I've tried bloody asking her!' Drew roared, making the cats flinch. 'What do you think I've been doing for the last three months! All she says is there's nothing wrong and she doesn't want to talk about it – oh, and why are we rushing into it when we're okay as we are?'

'There you are, then. Tell her you don't want to get married –'

'But I do! I've wanted Maddy to be my wife from the first moment I saw her! I want Poppy Scarlet to have proper parents, I want everyone to know how I feel about Maddy – I want the whole world to know

'That's an awful lot of "I wants",' Charlie interrupted. 'I didn't actually catch any "Maddy wants" in there –'

'Fuck off! Don't sit there and lecture me! You can't hold down a relationship for more than five fucking minutes!'

Charlie laughed. 'Very true. Which is one of the reasons I came to drown my sorrows with you. I was going to drag you to the pub and bend your ear a bit — but it's obviously not a good time.'

'No, it isn't. But go on, anyway. The trivia of your love life just might take my mind off my own problems.'

He hadn't meant to sound so bitchy, Charlie had always been a good mate, but he really didn't want to hear about the acrobatic Tina, or Lucinda, or whoever else was currently topping Charlie's seduction list. His ears strained towards the telephone and the door.

'Lucinda had left a message for me on the answerphone when I got back from Fontwell.'

Big bloody deal, Drew thought. Charlie's answerphone was always being used up by women. He constantly missed spare rides because trainers couldn't get through. If that was all he'd come over to moan about -

'Her ma, the mighty Bathsheba, found a book I'd given her in her bedroom –'

Jesus! So what?

'And it was still in Jemima's bookshop bag, and Bathsheba is now on the rampage. She wants the shop closed down. And she's told Lucinda she's not to work there any more. And she tried to get Lucinda to tell her who'd given her the book, and Lucinda being a little star said she'd borrowed it from Maddy –'

Was there any point in this? Drew tried to work out any relevant implications. Lucinda was going to study English at university, wasn't she? Surely the discovery of a book in her bedroom was likely to make
News at Ten?

‘– which would explain away the inscription, of course. But it does mean that Bathsheba may start asking you some questions. And –'

Why the hell would Bathsheba Cox want to close the bookshop because Charlie had written in a book he'd bought there, and – 'What bloody inscription?'

'I sort of wrote something appropriate ...'

'What?'

Charlie had the grace to stare at the carpet. 'You wouldn't really want to know – but I didn't sign it, so I wondered if Bathsheba asks you, if you would be a real pal and say that you'd written it and given it to Maddy ...'

'Not a bloody chance. I warned you early on about messing with Lucinda. She's a lovely kid – and, while she may well have her head screwed on and got you sussed, Bathsheba definitely won't see it that way. You may have some very heavy parental questions to answer regarding your activities over the last few months. I've got enough problems – I don't need yours as well.' He slumped back into the cushions. 'Oh, shit. You know I don't mean it. Go on then. Tell me about it.'

Charlie did. Drew reached for a further whisky and wished he hadn't asked. Still, it would be nice to see Bathsheba go ballistic when he told her he'd written in the book – just what exactly was cliterature anyway? – for Maddy. He'd have to tell Mad, first, of course. They'd share the joke and then -

'Bollocks.' How could he share it with Maddy? The despair kicked in again.

The shrill of the telephone made him jump. Zapping the still laughing television into silence, Drew grabbed the phone. 'Yes?'

'Hi, Drew. It's Fran.'

Shit. Shit. Shit. 'Oh, hello – um – Mad's not here just at the moment –'

'I know. That's why I'm ringing.'

The carpet dipped and swayed. His palms were damp. 'Oh, is she with you?'

'No, but Poppy is. I've got her for the night. I'm really sorry. I was supposed to ring and tell you ages ago.'

Christ Almighty! Maddy had gone! She'd left him and Poppy – 'Tell me what?'

'Oh, that Suzy and Luke had a real bust-up when they came back from Epsom. Actually, Richard said they were snarling at each other even in the parade ring –'

Oh, God. Cut to the bloody chase. 'Sorry, Fran – I'm not following you. Is Poppy okay? Where's Mad?'

'Poppy's fine. Sharing Jack's bed and sleeping like an angel. What? Oh, yeah. Well, Suze phoned Maddy in hysterics. And Maddy thought it would be better if Poppy stayed here while she went to do her big-sister act, and it all happened dead quick. And she asked me to let you know, only Jack's got colic and wouldn't go to sleep straight away, and I've only just remembered that I hadn't –'

'Where's Maddy?'

'At the cottage with Suzy. But –'

Drew hurled down the receiver and grinned at Charlie. 'Finish the whisky. Watch the adult channel. Eat whatever you can find in the kitchen – and there are some fags in the visitors' box. Enjoy yourself – and tell Bathsheba whatever you like. I'm going to sort out my life.'

Not even stopping to grab his flying jacket, Drew tore out into the darkening drizzle. Slithering on the cobbles, his jeans and denim shirt were soaked before he'd reached Peapods' gate. A huge articulated lorry, snaking its way along the High Street in the direction of the Cat and Fiddle, halted his progress.

'Hurry up,' he muttered, recognising Maureen's Brian in the cab. 'For God's sake, hurry up.'

Hardly waiting for the tail-lights to pass, he dashed across the road and up the cottage's overgrown path. He'd have to go to the front door; only the new and unwary visitor would be reckless enough to attempt to circumnavigate the debris accumulated by the back door. In daylight it was treacherous; after dark it could prove fatal.

He squatted down and rattled the letter-box. In the two years since Maddy had vacated the cottage, neither Suzy nor Luke had fixed the doorbell or the knocker. God – it brought back memories. All his early wonderful times with Maddy had been spent here. How bloody cruelly ironic it would be if this was where it was going to end.

He rattled the letter-box again.

'Hang on,' Maddy's voice echoed cheerfully from the other side, 'I've just got to kick the rug away – although why you haven't got your key – ah! There!'

The door flew open. Maddy, just pushing her hair back from her eyes, and smiling, had never looked more beautiful. She blinked at him. 'Oh – I thought you were Luke. There's nothing wrong with Poppy, is there? Has Fran phoned? Sorry I wasn't in – but this has been like Goths and Vandals. Oh – you're soaked. Come in – how did Bonnie do? Did he win? I tried to check the results but you know what the Jamboree committee are like –'