Last Ditch

‘Naturally.’

‘God,’ said Jasper. ‘This is awful.’

‘Yes. Awful.’

‘Shall we go out?’

‘Yes.’

They returned to the stable yard. Bruno and Mr Harkness were still in the loose-boxes. There was a sound of munching and an occasional snort.

Jasper put his arm round his wife. ‘OK?’ he asked.

‘Yes. You’ve been drinking.’

‘Do you want some?’

‘No.’

‘Where’s Bruno?’

Julia jerked her head at the loose-boxes. ‘Come over here,’ she said, and drew the two men towards the car. Carlotta was in the driver’s seat, smoking.

‘Listen,’ Julia said. ‘About Bruno. You know what he’s thinking, of course?’

‘What?’

‘He’s thinking it’s his fault. Because he jumped the gap first. So she thought she could.’

‘Not his fault if she did.’

‘That’s what I say,’ said Carlotta.

‘Try and persuade Bruno of it! He was told not to and now see what’s come of it. That’s the way he’s thinking.’

‘Silly little bastard,’ said his brother uneasily.

Ricky said: ‘She’d made up her mind to do it before we got here. She’d have done it if Bruno had never appeared on the scene.’

‘Yes, Ricky,’ Julia said eagerly. ‘That’s just it. That’s the line we must take with Bruno. Do say all that to him, won’t you? How right you are.’

‘There’ll be an inquest, of course, and it’ll come out,’ Jasper said. ‘Bruno’s bit’ll come out.’

‘Hell,’ said Carlotta.

A car appeared, rounded the corner of the house and pulled up. The driver, a man in a tweed suit carrying a professional bag, got out.

‘Dr Carey?’ Jasper asked.

‘Blacker’s the name. I’m the vet. Where’s Cuth? What’s up, anyway?’

‘I should explain,’ Jasper said, and was doing so when a second car arrived with a second man in a tweed suit carrying a professional bag. This was Dr Carey. Jasper began again. When he had finished Dr Carey said: ‘Where is she, then?’ and, being told, walked off down the horse-paddock. ‘When the ambulance comes –’ he threw over his shoulder – ‘will you show them where? I’ll see her uncle when I get back.’

‘I’d better talk to Cuth,’ said the vet. ‘This is a terrible thing. Where is he?’

As if in answer to a summons, Mr Harkness appeared, like a woebegone Mr Punch, over the half-door of a loose-box.

‘Bob,’ he said. ‘Bob, she’s dead lame. The sorrel mare, Bob. Bob, she’s dead lame and she’s killed Dulcie.’

And then the ambulance arrived.

Ricky stood in a corner of the yard feeling extraneous to the scenes that followed. He saw the vet move off and Mr Harkness, talking pretty wildly, make a distracted attempt to follow him and then stand wiping his mouth and looking from one to the other of the two retreating figures, each with its professional bag, rather like items in a surrealistic landscape.