‘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 snitching on you, neither. As a matter of fact I already knew it was you, and he knew I knew, which was why he rang.’
I nodded, the Chinese whispers of the horsy world anathema to me; irrelevant too, so long as all was well.
‘Cup of tea?’ he asked as he turned to go inside. I glanced back at the car. ‘He’s asleep,’ he assured me, ‘and you’ll see him from the window.’
‘Thanks.’ I followed him in, surprised and pleased. I only knew Mark Harrison by repute, but knew enough to know he didn’t suffer fools, or even court much human company. And that he commanded huge respect. He was of indeterminate age, anywhere from a raddled thirty to a sprightly fifty, and a countryman like my dad; the type of man who, despite loving animals passionately, was no-nonsense and unsentimental about them – in my father’s case reserving his sentimentality for other things. But if I’d been expecting a carbon copy of my father’s living arrangements inside, I was surprised. Mark’s house was as neat as a pin. No saddles, bridles and whisky bottles littered proceedings here, just an immaculate three-piece suite with plumped-up cushions, a well-vacuumed carpet, and a row of gleaming glasses on the sideboard. The only hint that this was a horsy household were the banks of framed photographs on one wall: hounds, horses, puppy shows – some accompanied by rosettes, and very occasionally, people.
As he disappeared to boil the kettle, I crossed the room to study them. Beautiful hunters with hounds at their feet, puppies with raised tails and keen eyes; Mark as a young man, looking almost exactly the same as he did now, those sharp bright eyes in the smooth face, the clothes and the quality of the print the only hint the snap was taken some time ago. Some of the smaller ones were black and white, presumably from his father’s era: men in Harris tweeds and voluminous breeches. One photo, small and in colour, albeit faded by the sun, caught my eye. It was of a group of young people in their late teens or early twenties: a very pretty girl in dark glasses, two young men, one on either side of her, one of whom was Mark, and one …
‘Is that Sam Hetherington?’ I pointed in surprise at the boy with long hair, in jeans and a T-shirt, as Mark came back with a couple of mugs. He handed one to me and