quad bike, we heard, had picked up the hound, Peddler, and was taking it back to the kennels. Meanwhile we carry on. The show must go on.
We set off at a lick, and since we’d pretty much exhausted this neck of the wood, were off to the next valley apparently, having ridden almost a full circle. Sure enough, from our vantage point on the hill I could see the trailers and lorries parked in a field below. One or two women with children on lead reins were peeling off, saying a cheery goodnight, and I peeled with them, earning a relieved smile from Angie and even a ‘Well done! Not easy, your first hunt.’
Oh, she was sweet now. Felt guilty, perhaps, for briefly not being a friend. For snapping. And of course I forgave her that; we all snapped in the heat of the moment. But what about my own, much bigger moment? Would anyone forgive me that? If only I’d owned up. They would have been shocked and horrified, naturally; but would eventually have forgiven me. Not now, though. Not half an hour later, I thought, feeling sick to my stomach as I rode back down the zigzag track to the Home Farm beside Sam’s house. The two chattering women I’d ridden silently back with headed for their trailer, tossing me a breezy farewell, and I managed at least to respond.
My breath was very shallow as I rode on alone. I thought I’d got to the age when I wouldn’t find out any more about myself. Interesting, then, that I had, and it wasn’t good.
Dad, Jennie and the kids were huddled by the lorry, sheltering from the wind which had picked up, together with a jolly band of foot followers. Dan was there, I noticed, on the other side of the field, talking to a couple of local farmers, Angus too, looking rather splendid in tweeds. Quite a few people had dogs on leads, including Leila in her huge plastic collar. They’d followed for quite a while, Dad and Jennie told me as I rode up. Great fun, but exhausting; wished they’d taken the car.
‘But well done you!’ they cried, as if I was the conquering hero returning, as I finally slid off the wretched, sweaty horse and handed him thankfully to Dad.
‘You did brilliantly!’ Jennie told me, her eyes shining, one arm circling my shoulders as she gave me a hearty squeeze. ‘Did you have a good day?’
‘I’m so proud of you, love,’ said Dad, beaming and slapping my back. ‘I knew you could do it!’
‘We saw you jump, Mummy!’ Clemmie leaped into my arms. ‘You jumped a hedge and nearly came off and your face was so funny – like this.’ She made a terrified face, and I managed to raise a smile. ‘And then you jumped a ditch and said the f word, and there was a shouty man who said, “Bloody woman!” cos you went in front of him!’
‘Lots of shouty men, darling,’ I breathed. ‘Shouty ladies too.’
I embraced my son, who’d toddled up for a hug, his head buried in my thighs as he gripped my knees fiercely. Visiting rights, obviously; perhaps more lenient ones for women with children. Dad would bring them. Or Jennie. In new clothes I wouldn’t recognize.
The children both scampered away to join a few village kids they knew, who were also waiting for parents, kicking a ball around. Dan had joined in, big kid that he was himself. Just Dad and Jennie, then.
‘Killed a hound,’ I gasped.
They both turned. Dad had been throwing a thin blue rug on a steaming Thumper.
‘I did,’ I managed. ‘I killed it. Dead.’
‘How?’ Dad had gone pale.
‘Thumper kicked it. Left it in the bushes. No one saw. Didn’t own up. Need to move. France, probably.’
I’d already thought it through as I rode back. Down near Toulouse, a little place called Gaillac. I’d been there once on a school trip, years ago. Pretty. And I’d open a little shop, like that woman in Chocolat who had a secret. No one would know me. I’d be a mystery, an enigma, me and my two small children. Yes, a chocolate shop.
‘Oh, God.’ Even Jennie, totally un-horsy, knew this was bad.
‘The house will sell quite quickly,’ I gabbled on, ‘always getting things through the door from estate agents. And the children will be bilingual, huge advantage.’
‘Do shut up,’ she told me, taking my arm and sitting me down on the lorry ramp. Dad, who’d rugged up Thumper and