Postcards from the Past by Marcia Willett

Author:Marcia Willett
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466846517
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The next morning Ed sits in his car at the edge of Colliford Lake, hoping to find inspiration for the next chapter of his book. He raises his binoculars to scan the choppy water for the sight of a bird, looking across to the opposite shores of the lake in search of movement, for some sign of life. Above the marshy banks, where stunted willow and furze shiver in the chill north-westerly wind, one white horse stands in a small field. It looks towards Ed, still as a statue in the sunshine, its mane flickering and blowing.

Ed wonders whether to get out and take a photograph of the lake and the horse – he likes to take as many photographs as he can whilst each book is in progress – but he knows that the tripod will be at risk in this strong wind and, after all, there are no birds. Yet the horse appeals to him. He knows that technically the horse is called a grey, though its coat is white as milk, and he wonders why it is all alone in its scrubby little field.

Even as he watches, a boy appears out of the sharp black shadows of the thorn hedge. He is carrying a head collar looped over his arm and he keeps one hand in his pocket. He approaches the horse confidently and it raises its head in welcome and trots to meet him. Ed sees it nuzzle the boy’s shoulder – he can imagine the whicker of warm breath – and the boy takes his hand from his pocket and offers the horse a treat. As it drops its heavy head to the boy’s palm he slips the collar on quickly and then turns away, leading the horse across the field. At the gate they pause; both boy and horse turn as if to look back at him. Watching them through his powerful binoculars, Ed catches his breath. They seem to be staring directly at him, challenging him. The boy’s face is friendly, open, as if he is encouraging Ed in some endeavour; the horse’s eye is intelligent, his ears pricked forward. Then they turn, the boy unfastens the gate, pushes it open, and they go through it and disappear from sight behind the hedgeline.

Ed continues to stare after them for a moment and then lowers the binoculars. He thinks about the horse and the boy, and a story begins to form about them; a magical story that children might love. Almost immediately he shies away from it. What does he know of children? So many times he’s had this odd longing to write and illustrate a book for children but each time he’s rejected it. He’s had no children of his own – Gillian’s two were teenagers when he first knew them – and he has no experience of what they like.

‘But you were a child once,’ a colleague said, years ago, when he’d confided his thoughts to her. ‘You read books and loved them.

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