‘Not a chance,’ he said without even glancing at her, keeping his chin firmly on his right shoulder as he manoeuvred into the road.
‘I didn’t mean we should buy him,’ Leanne lied.
Henry rammed the car into first. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘But if we did, I’d look after him, Dad, honest.’
It was Henry’s turn to sigh. It was a short, irritated sigh, accompanied by the word, ‘Nope.’
Leanne folded her arms and stared directly forward, jaw rotating crossly.
‘Maybe I’ll get you a hamster,’ Henry offered.
The jaw ceased its rotation.
‘How about a pet rat?’
‘Dad — shut it,’ she told him, but a smile flickered on her lovely lips and suddenly her cross mood changed. ‘I hope Kelly’s there and Charlotte. . if they are, can we go for a McDonald’s after?’
‘We’ll have to see.’
‘Oh good,’ she beamed and clapped her hands at the thought.
It was about four miles to the riding stables, which were situated in the countryside in the Marton area of Blackpool. As Henry slowed down at the stables, Leanne leapt out of the car almost before it had stopped because she had spotted Kelly already. Henry drew to a halt on the rough area of hard ground they called the car park and chuckled to himself as he watched Leanne run off. She was totally happy. Doing well at school. Brilliant at home and great company to be with. Kate had told Henry that both girls were more content than they had ever been for years. Henry knew that implicit in that remark was that their happiness was directly related to his regular presence at home.
A big Mercedes coupe pulled in alongside Henry’s Mondeo. It was driven by the mother of Charlotte, one of the girls mentioned by Leanne, whom she had met through riding.
Charlotte was in the front passenger seat next to her mother. Henry saw that the youngster was looking pretty morose. She got out and sauntered towards the stables, dragging her feet, watched by her mother from the car.
Henry smiled at Charlotte’s mother as he got out of the car. She gave him an eyes-to-heaven look.
With a couple of sections of the Sunday Times under his arm which he’d brought from home, Henry went to the indoor riding school. It had become his practice to watch Leanne begin her hour-long session, then mosey out to the portacabin-cum-cafe near to the main stable block where he would consume copious amounts of cheap coffee and a sausage sandwich and read the paper until Leanne showed up, usually red faced, exhausted and exhilarated after the lesson.
There was a small seating area down one side of the school with two tiers of benches. He sat himself down, shivering in the chill, blowing out his breath in spurts, trying to make smoke rings.
Riding was not for him. Horses did nothing for him. Not since the time when, as a young, headstrong police constable, he’d thought that life in the Mounted Branch looked glamorous, controlling football crowds and attracting young ladies who swooned over huge sweaty beasts — and horses too. He had managed to get a place on the coveted sixteen-week equitation course, where he then discovered it was not as pleasant as it seemed from the outside. The course was held in deep mid-winter and stables are harsh, unforgiving places to be when the temperature drops below zero. He found he detested the hard work involved, nor — and more fundamentally — did he particularly like horses either. But he stuck it until the eighth week, when he came a cropper. During a lesson on a particularly stroppy horse, it bucked and threw him. He broke his right wrist and bruised his lower spine. And that was the last he ever saw of the Mounted Branch. He had learned enough about riding to see him through the occasional holiday escapade when the girls wanted an hour’s cross-country, but that was all. No regrets about not becoming a mounted officer.
Leanne’s class came into the indoor arena and began to work out.
His daughter was proficient on the back of a horse. She had been riding about six months — longer than any other interest she had ever had — and worked hard to progress her ability. She seemed good at the basics and her balance was near perfect.
Not that Henry knew much about things like balance and the seat, but she seemed to be a natural.
He watched the lesson for a while, then decided it was time for food and drink. He edged his way across the bench, past Charlotte’s mother, who was perched at the end. She moved her knees for him. He said thanks and smiled again. He did not ever remember her staying to watch her daughter ride in the past.
The portacabin cafe was a haven of heat. He settled down at a Formica-topped table in one corner with a chipped mug of coffee, toasted sausage sandwich and newspaper spread out in front of him.
There were a few people in the cabin, mostly young girls giggling in huddles, discussing boys, pop stars and horses, in that order.
Again, Henry was slightly surprised to see Charlotte’s mother buying herself a coffee at the counter. He had never seen her in the cabin before today. He thought nothing of it and began to read the headlines about the police in London discovering deadly poisons in the hands of Middle Eastern terrorists. It was an ongoing story, one he had been following with relish and not a little envy.
He was, he had to admit, beginning to miss being a cop. He felt like he was in limbo, trapped and unable to do anything. If only he had a crystal ball and could forecast his future — one way or the other — he would be a whole lot happier.
As he read the story he became aware of someone standing in front of him. When he looked up, for some reason it was not unexpected that it was Charlotte’s mother.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Mind if I join you?’
He shuffled uncomfortably in the plastic chair. ‘Er, not at all,’ he frowned.
She sat opposite, cradling her mug of steaming coffee in her hands. She placed a plastic lunch box down by her feet. She blew on the hot liquid. ‘I’m Charlotte’s mum,’ she said. Henry nodded. ‘And you are Leanne’s dad.’ He nodded again. He closed his newspaper. He had moved on to a story about Blackpool and its planned regeneration as the Las Vegas and gambling capital of Europe, which he doubted would ever happen. He folded the paper to one side and gave his attention to the lady sitting opposite, who, he noticed for the first time at such close range, was extremely attractive.
She had well-cared-for, shiny, bobbed blonde hair, wide blue eyes, a slightly flat, elf-like nose and a full mouth which looked very biteable. Her chin was the feature that, if anything, let her down. It was slightly square and jutting, giving her face a hard edge that, as Henry appraised her more, took away the first impression, but only to a few degrees. She was dressed sloppily in loose sweatshirt and jeans.
It was the first time he had ever been so close to her. He had been aware of her dropping Charlotte off in the past and picking her up again an hour later, but he had only seen glimpses of her in one of several classy motors. He got the impression she was good looking (and knew it) and was obviously loaded, but had thought no more about her. In his newly adopted role in life of being a devoted husband and loving father — as opposed to his former mantle of adulterer and absent parent — he had surgically cut out registering the presence and possibilities of other women. All he wanted now was a simple life without complex entanglements and he never thought about other women any more. At least that had been the case for the last four months and it was his intention for it to be so for the rest of his life.
He assumed that, for whatever reason, Charlotte’s mum was having to stay on site to wait for her daughter today instead of dumping her and collecting later, and all she wanted was to pass the time by chatting with someone caught in the same situation.