for Jennie?
Now, however, as I drove along the edge of the common in Wessington, I considered it rationally; wondered if Frankie really would be stupid enough to be seduced by a teacher. I’d thought about it overnight and decided, on balance, it was unlikely. In which case, who was the boy? Some family was going to be equally shattered, surely? And for some reason hard to fathom, stemming as it did from time immemorial, and belying what had happened in the Garden of Eden when God had firmly pointed the finger at Eve as she tucked into the apple, the fault always lay with the boy. ‘He got her into trouble,’ the Avril Collinses of this world would say; not, ‘She got him.’ I glanced at my toddler son in the rear-view mirror as we sped along in the weak, milky sunshine which was struggling to make an appearance now the rain had ceased. ‘You be careful, my boy,’ I whispered. ‘You steer clear of those pretty girls.’
He grinned toothily back.
The kennels were at the far end of the common, down a bumpy little track which terminated in a farmyard. Two functional, breeze-block enclosures for the hounds ran in parallel lines down either side of a pristine yard, and a white Victorian cottage crouched at the far end. One or two dogs bayed a welcome as I arrived, but most were sleepy and silent. I drove through the yard and parked right outside the house, where I would be able to see Archie, who was now asleep. But as I got out I realized it looked a bit arrogant, parking so close to the windows. I was about to go and move the car, when I saw Mark himself was sitting on the front doorstep watching me, so it was too late. One of the hounds was upside down between his legs, and he appeared to be doing something to its paw. I approached nervously as he regarded me, tweezers poised. The hound wriggled briefly, but was instantly limp and submissive after a curt word from Mark. I stood before him.
‘I’ve come to apologize. My horse kicked Peddler and I panicked and didn’t tell anyone. I meant to, really I did, but everything happened so quickly and I realized I’d committed the worst sin and I lost my bottle. I’m so ashamed and so sorry I killed your hound.’
He continued his steady gaze, his dark eyes in his smooth brown face like two bright pieces of coal.
‘You’re Peter Mortimer’s daughter, aren’t you?’ he said eventually in his slow, country brogue.
‘That’s right. D’you know Dad?’
‘Everyone knows your dad. Where d’you think we get our horses from? That bay of yours could make a decent enough hunter, but he should have told you it kicks.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t know.’
‘It’s his job to know. I’ll take it off the price of the next one I buy from him. I’ve told him as much. It’s all right, he’s already rung.’
‘Dad has?’
He nodded. Resumed his inspection of the paw which I could see, close up, had a huge thorn in it. He removed it carefully with the tweezers and glanced back at me.
‘I appreciate your coming, love. And your dad ringing. There’s many that wouldn’t.’
‘Oh.’ I felt a wave of a relief. A slight easing from the hook. ‘But you were very fond of him,’ I said anxiously. ‘Peddler. I was told he was your favourite.’
‘Doesn’t do to have favourites. But he’d been with me the longest. Was the oldest and boldest, certainly. The most disobedient too.’ He grinned, briefly revealing very yellow teeth.
‘Oh, really?’
‘Why d’you think he was on his own? Little bugger, sloping off like that, away from the pack. Couple of weeks ago, out cubbing, we was drawing your woods near Massingham, and we lost him. Eventually found him with some scruffy mongrel with a huge plastic collar, giving her a good seeing-to.’
Blimey. Leila.
‘He was an old rogue and make no mistake,’ he told me. ‘And no doubt he’d been somewhere else he shouldn’t when he slunk back and your horse kicked him. Wouldn’t surprise me if he died with a smile on his face. Perhaps that’s why I liked him so much, the scoundrel.’ He got to his feet, releasing the hound who twisted himself the right way up and leaped instantly to put his paws on Mark’s shoulders and lick his face frantically.
‘Things die in the country, love,’ he said, pushing the hound down. ‘Badgers on the road, deer caught in wire. There’s carrion and carnage wherever you look. Don’t fret about it.’
I sighed gratefully. Didn’t speak, but felt lighter, less hunched.
‘And as I say, I’ve told your dad I’ll be having a discount next time.’ He was clearly very pleased with this. ‘And he wasn’t
