Pink Wellies and Flat Caps by Lynda Renham

Author:Lynda Renham
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
ISBN: 0957137249
Publisher: Raucous Publishing
Published: 2013-01-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

‘Wine or something stronger?’

It was Edward’s idea to stop at a pub on the way to the auction. I’m having a very quiet mini breakdown. I’m sure there is a time and place for emotional breakdowns and I’m sure mine could have been put on hold until I got to The Priory. I may make it there just before Christmas. I hear The Priory is very nice that time of year. Charlie jilting me, combined with my impending period is enough of a mix as it is, but throw in a shot to the head of a horse and you have a lethal combination that would tip over even Hillary Clinton. Mind you, she turns on the tears at the drop of a hat doesn’t she? Let’s change that to Margaret Thatcher, The Iron Lady. It’s dimly lit for a pub but at least I can whimper on and off without anyone noticing. It’s warm too, which is good because for some reason I can’t stop shaking. One minute I was fine and normal, that’s if I’ve ever been normal. Georgie claims I am far too nice to be normal and the next I am shaking so much it’s like I’ve been injected with a short sharp burst of Parkinson’s disease.

‘Something stronger,’ I say, thinking a jab with his tranquilliser gun would be helpful. However, he returns with a brandy, which comes close.

I throw it back in one hit.

‘Was it that bad?’ he asks.

‘Worse,’ I say knocking back his too.

‘The first time I shot a horse I polished off five double whiskies,’ he says thoughtfully, before going to the bar for another round.

The first time? How many times have there been? How many poor horses are in horse heaven thanks to Edward Fairfax? He’s a serial horse killer.

The brandy warms my insides and my heart slows down and thankfully the shaking ceases. Edward returns with another brandy and a whisky for himself. He pulls his brown woollen jumper over his head, giving me a glimpse of his hairy chest. I stare fascinated. He runs his hand through his ruffled hair and looks at me and I realise I am still staring.

‘Charlie waxed his chest,’ I hear myself saying and then realise that I have totally given away the fact that I have just seen his.

‘Ouch.’

‘He wanted me to watch once. You’d think he was being tortured. I hated it then but I think I could enjoy it now, watching Charlie being tortured.’

What am I saying?

‘Oh I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry I just feel a bit fragile after the Mabel thing.’

He avoids my eyes and downs his whisky.

‘I don’t usually wish bad things on people,’ I say reiterating, just in case he should think I’m Saddam Hussein’s evil sister. ‘I can’t even watch torture scenes in films.’

‘It doesn’t seem an unreasonable thing to wish considering he jilted you a few weeks before your wedding. What was it like to watch?’

Oh, a fellow sadist.

‘This is true. I did

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