Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage Read Online Free

and gestures towards the sink. ‘You’re welcome to wash your hands. Would you like a drink? It’s way past wine o’clock,’ she adds when I hesitate.
    It’s true. I had dinner – or what she called ‘tea’ – at five with Louise and her son, Ashley, a quiet boy of about seven. He didn’t utter a word the whole time, which I found rather disturbing. I wasn’t a shy child.
    â€˜You can have cider if you prefer, but I wouldn’t recommend the local brew unless you’re actively seeking a laxative effect.’ Louise smiles as I run my hands under the tap. There doesn’t appear to be a towel so I let them drip dry. ‘Or there’s a beer in the fridge. Mel likes a lager when he gets in from work.’
    â€˜A beer would be great, thanks.’ I don’t want a hangover tomorrow. ‘Isn’t Mel back yet? I was hoping to have a chat with him.’
    â€˜He dropped in for his tea before going off with his brother for a couple of pints. They’ll have gone to the Talymill Inn or the Dog and Duck in Talyton. I shouldn’t wait up if I were you.’ Louise fetches a bottle of lager, opens it and passes it over to me. ‘Please make yourself at home.’
    I pull up a chair and sit down as she pours herself a glass of wine.
    â€˜I’m so pleased you’ve agreed to cover for Mel while he’s getting himself sorted,’ she begins. ‘I hate to see him dragging himself out to work when he’s in such terrible pain. A bad back is an occupational hazard, but we hoped he’d get away with it for a few more years at least. He’s only forty-eight, after all: a spring chicken.’
    I’d hardly describe a man in his late forties as a spring chicken, I think, as she continues. ‘Sometimes he wishes he’d gone into dairy farming like his brother, but he wouldn’t be any good at getting up in the mornings.’
    â€˜When does he have the operation?’ I ask.
    â€˜Tuesday, the day after tomorrow. He had his pre-op checks last week so he’s ready to go. I think he was half hoping they’d find something wrong with his heart or liver so he had an excuse not to go ahead.’
    â€˜Tony told me that you and Mel met while he was shoeing your horse.’
    Tony was my ATF, or Apprentice Training Farrier. Based in Wiltshire, he’s in his early fifties, and an experienced – if not always patient – teacher. I can recall his cutting remarks whenever I put the wrong shoes in the furnace, or dropped a box of nails. It was a fun, fast-paced, and sometimes pressured environment, and I loved it. In fact, I miss being part of the gang now. There were always three or four apprentices at different stages of training, and Tony. He’s a mate of Mel’s, which is how I found out about this job. He put in a good word for me and here I am.
    â€˜I’m one of those horsey women who fell for their farrier.’ Louise runs her fingers up and down the stem of her glass. ‘Mel was still married to his first wife, but they were living separate lives – pretty much, anyway.’ I wonder if she uses that excuse to justify his infidelity and her involvement in breaking up a marriage. I can see why an older man would fall for her, with her caring outlook, sense of humour, and the beauty spot on her cheek. ‘Everyone said it wouldn’t last, but we’ve been together for nine years now, and married for seven.’
    â€˜You don’t have a horse now?’ I ask.
    â€˜I kept my mare until Ashley turned two and things started getting difficult. I couldn’t manage any longer.’
    It seems a little odd, I think, because Louise seems very much like the coping kind.
    â€˜I imagine that it’s pretty time-consuming, running a B&B,’ I observe.
    â€˜The business does well in the summer, but it’s very quiet in wintertime. My parents run a small hotel not far away