Short Story > Making the Horse Laugh

A complete short story by Jenny Roberts

I just couldn’t believe I was doing this. Until last week I’d been resigned to my single, well-ordered, undemanding urban life. I would be thirty in 5 weeks; I felt I’d earned the right to avoid difficult social situations.

Yet, here I was, driving along a country lane, going to see a woman I didn’t know, to give her my expert view on something I knew nothing about.

I blame it all on Stella. This was all her idea. I’d been over to see my friend for the day and had mentioned casually that I’d bumped into this fabulous woman in the supermarket in town. It would have ended there if Stella hadn’t been low on petrol and called in at her village filling station.

The woman was there again, leaning against her beat up old Land Rover, gazing around and looking sad, whilst George pumped in the diesel and attempted his version of conversation. Her short blond bob was being blown around by the wind and every so often she had to push the hair back away from her face. Stella saw me staring as she waited in the car for her turn – self-service hadn’t reached Tenterton yet - and passed her hand in front of my eyes. “Sandra, it’s rude to stare.”

“That’s her.” I said, surprised but pleased at the coincidence.
“Really?” said Stella. “She doesn’t look a bit like you described her.”
But she had the same effect on me as the first time. She was my age but a few inches shorter than me: around 5’2” with a neat oval face, and a small full mouth. She wore no make-up but she had a strong natural colour as if much of her life was spent outdoors. Her denim, blazer-style, jacket hung casually from her shoulders over a white shirt and dark blue denim jeans.

George ambled off to the office with her money and she followed him, kicking at pebbles as she went, looking disconsolate and a bit lost. For all my determination to stay single, she made me feel involved, she made me feel like I wanted to gather her up in my arms. It was just the same the last time I’d seen her - in the supermarket, buying mushrooms. I was in a hurry and caught the side of her trolley as I passed, which bumped into her. She dropped the bag, spilling the contents all over the floor, swearing loudly and obscenely.

“Oh sorry about my language.” She said, self-consciously, when I bent down to help her gather them up.

“No, It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have been so clumsy.”

As I said it, I had been drawn right into her sad, deep-blue eyes and my whole body had gone AWOL.

Now she came back to her vehicle and looked across at us, the way people do when they sense they’re being watched. I turned away casually, as if I had just been idly looking around. But Stella carried on staring. “You really do fancy her, don’t you?” she said, grinning her wicked grin. “Go on, quick: chat her up, say hello again.” She poked me in the ribs. “Go on, whilst you have the chance!”

I scowled at her. This was vintage Stella – single for the last five years but ever-ready to push me into something at the drop of a hat. “Don’t be daft, I can’t do that, I don’t know her!”

By then it was too late anyway, she was in her Land Rover and gone. I was left gazing after her, wishing that I had more courage. I hadn’t had a relationship since Anna, nearly three years ago now. And, somehow, after loving one person through most of my twenties, I’d lost the knack of chatting up. I mentally shrugged, I’d had quite enough hurt for this lifetime; it was safer this way.

Maybe it was. But Stella, being Stella, didn’t see it that way: I could hear her talking to George as he filled the car up.

Tenterton is only a small village – a few hundred houses, no more – and gossip gets around fast. The gruff old bugger who runs the garage, isn’t known for his discretion. If you want to know anything about anybody – ask George. If you want to spread a malicious rumour – tell George.

His eyes lit up when Stella asked about her but his face remained set in the same miserable expression that he’d spent the last fifty years cultivating. “Ay, she’s just moved in round ‘ere.” He said matter of factly in his flat North Yorkshire accent. He looked at her dolefully (Go on, ask me some more).

Stella pushed the money for the petrol under his nose. “Whereabouts, George? Somewhere in the village?” I felt like a small child again, waiting for a treat, waiting whilst Auntie Stella asked the nice man if it was still available. And feeling embarrassed, wishing she wasn’t making it so obvious.

“Oh ay, she’s moved in down on Carr Lane – just over t’hill – y’know, the old Hawksby place.” I missed the rest of the conversation, but with my attraction to the woman, and Stella’s persistence, I might have known it wouldn’t end there.

Stella had visited her, within the week – as a sort of neighbourly, villagey thing, she said. The sort of thing country people do all the time, she said. She broke the news to me when we met in town the following Friday and part of me wanted to crawl into the usual hole. But, this time, there was another part that wanted to know more, to know everything there was to know. I let the two of them fight it out as I listened.

“She’s called Debbie …and she’s S-I-N-G-L-E!” Stella gushed excitedly. “Moved here two months ago from up north, after her lover ran off with another woman.”

I remembered her eyes. She was someone who needed loving, someone who liked to have someone else around. Then I remembered how much I preferred being on my own and the whole thing began to feel distinctly dodgy. “So she’s straight is she?” I said, hoping that this would be the end of the matter.

Stella shook her head, still glowing from every pore. “Didn’t say, love – I tried to worm it out of her, of course, but she avoided all the pronouns – just referring to her lover, her partner.” She grinned at me meaningfully. “She must be a dyke, a straight woman wouldn’t do that.”

“Fine.” I said, feebly hoping that this was the end of the matter. “So now we know.”

“Yes,” said Stella, her enthusiasm unbounded, “and Sandra….”

“Yes Stella.”

“….She’s got a horse that’s depressed.”

I looked at her hoping for some sort of rational explanation. She grinned at me dramatically and made a sort of trumpeting sound whilst waving her hands about. She was up to something, I just knew it.

I looked at her totally bemused.

“Don’t you see?” she said, speaking very slowly, metaphorically underlining every word as if I were thick. “Her: attractive single woman with depressed horse. You: drowning in your own secretions every time you see her.”

Maybe I was thick, but all this was still beyond me. “Stella?”

“Yes, Sandra”

“Just what the fuck are you rabbiting on about?”

She sighed impatiently. “It’s obvious, isn’t it, Dumbo? You know about animals, you fancy her… so…” She paused for effect, overwhelmed with her own cleverness. “…I told her you used to be an animal counsellor, and that you would be pleased to sort the horse out.”

“Stella…” I said, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut, “I worked as a vet’s assistant for six weeks, three years ago.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, you! You’re so pedantic.”

***********

I followed the narrow country road until I saw the sign for Garth Cottage on my right at the top of a rough-looking lane. The cottage was tucked in about 25 yards down. It wasn’t the ‘roses-and-clematis-round-the-door’ kind you find in stories, more the ‘this-is-a-rather-boring-(and very small)-brick-built-house-that-we’ve-called-a-cottage-because-there-is-no-other-way-to-make-it-interesting’ sort of place you find in real life.

I parked the car on the grass verge and pushed open the rusty iron gate, wondering if I was really doing this and only half convinced that I was. The door was open, so I shouted out a half-hearted ‘hello’. My stomach muscles were cramping up now with fear and I could feel the adrenalin priming my body for a fast escape across the cornfields all around me.

Hold on Sandra. Fucking hold on.

No answer. Ah well.. I tried Stella, I tried.

I was retreating gratefully back to the safety of my car, when I heard her voice from the garden to my right.

She was only feet away, dressed in shorts and T-shirt, her hair spilling out from beneath a floppy khaki hat, her knees and legs all scratched and grubby and a bunch of weeds in her hand. But her eyes were the same – deep blue and sexy and still a little sad. Eyes that could swallow you whole. She smiled when I turned - the sort of smile that sent everything around it into soft focus. Including me.

I think I probably stood there for hours, my legs wobbled and then disappeared completely, the rest of my body followed. All I had left was a brain that was a vortex of fear and longing. And a big wet ache where my bits should have been.

She put her head on one side and looked concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Er… yes.. sorry, it’s just the heat and too many late nights.” I lied. “Bit of a dizzy spell. I’m ok now though.” My head felt like it was on hinges and I had to get a grip to stop myself from nodding like one of those dogs you see in the back of cars. “Erm… I’m Sandra, I think you know my friend Stella?”

“Oh yes!” She exclaimed brightly. “She said she’d get you to come round. It was about my horse, wasn’t it?” Now she was fidgetting. Good, she was nervous as well, that evened things up a bit.

“You’re… er… an animal Psychiatrist aren’t you?”

I swallowed hard and tried to bring some saliva back into a mouth that was as dry as the Gobi Desert. “Well, more of a behavioural therapist, really.” I croaked, self-consciously, my face getting hotter and hotter. Just you wait Stella.

“I think you better sit down for a while.” She said. “I’ll get you a cold drink of lemonade, I made some fresh this morning – it’s just in the fridge.”

I did as I was told and sat on an old bench, my heart pounding like it was going to take off very soon. She touched my shoulder as she left and it went into a spasm.

She was a nice woman. And vulnerable. The more I saw of her, the more I liked her and the less I liked myself. This just wasn’t fair. I felt like I was taking advantage. Whatever Stella would say, I had to leave. I couldn’t do it.

She returned and held out a glass. “Here you are, Sandra, drink this. It’ll cool you down.”

I drank the whole glass of cold sharp liquid in one go and felt calmer. I smiled at her nervously. She smiled back weakly. The freckles around her eyes seemed to be jumping around. I blinked hard.

“Look, I haven’t done this sort of work for years….”

“But you will try and help, won’t you?”

She was looking down at me with those sad eyes.

“Well, I was never very good. Stella exaggerates…”

“Please, you’re my only hope now…”

Oh fuck.

“Alright, I’ll try.” It didn’t sound like my voice.

She nodded quickly, and more of her hair spilled out from under the hat. “It’s my mare, Flo…. Oh, er… She’s called Flora really.” She said smiling apologetically. “But I changed it when I bought her. Uh, I didn’t think she looked anything like a tub of margarine… but she’s acting like one at the moment.”

I laughed weakly and she looked embarrassed.

“The vet says there’s nothing physical, that it’s probably some kind of equine depression. But I’ve changed her feed, I exercise her regularly, I groom her every day – sometimes twice – and I’ve given her all the supplements she suggested….” She dropped her arms to her side and sighed with frustration, “…and she’s still fed-up”

“Okay,” I said, surrendering; unable to do anything else. “maybe we should take a look.” Maybe I did know a little bit about animals. Maybe I should at least try.

We walked across the garden to the fence behind the house, where there was a small green paddock, spotted with of piles of dung. The mare was mooching by the fence and looked up briefly as we approached.

“There she is, Sandra. Isn’t she lovely?”

She was a big chestnut, and though she was obviously mature, she can’t have been as old as she looked just then, her head down, her ears back, sagging everywhere a horse could sag. This was one really pissed-off equine.

We climbed over the fence and she held her whilst I stood and watched.

“Well?” she asked.

I looked at her. “What?”

“Well aren’t you going to examine her?”

“Oh, yes of course…..” I stuttered, trying to stay calm. “I was just making an initial assessment. You hold her, whilst I have a look.” I tried to think of what a behavioural therapist would do, and tried to look as if I was doing it.

I stood back and studied the horse. Then I walked slowly round it, keeping well clear of the rear, grunting knowledgably all the time. Flo turned her head, following me every inch of the way, her great big, beady, brown eyes staring pointedly at me, deriding me. Uh! Behavioural therapist? Bullshit! I could tell what she was thinking.

I returned to Debbie, nodding seriously, frowning slightly.

“Is she going to be alright?” she asked, turning those eyes on me again.

I looked at her, then I looked at the mare. Are we really going to let this woman feel that there is no hope? Flo looked back, her eyes overflowing with boredom. Uh, said the horse, who cares.

“When did all this start?” I said, regaining my composure and discovering that I had put a protective arm around her shoulders as I led her back to the garden.

“About five months ago, back in March. My partner and I had just split up – we’d been together for nearly five years. We’d done alright, well financially anyway. House in the country near Carlisle, a horse each, a pleasant life style….” She shrugged, disconsolately. “But we weren’t happy. Then another woman appeared on the scene…. And that was that.”

“I’m sorry.” I said

“That’s life.” She said.

“So she left you?” I said. I had to know. Use a pronoun, woman, tell me.

She looked at me briefly and continued. “Well, anyway, I went to stay with my mum, whilst we got everything sorted, and put Flo in stables. She was alright at first, then after a few weeks she started to go downhill. She went off her food, lost all her energy and…” she pointed to the mare, “…started to look like this.”

“Then you came here?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I thought she would improve as soon as she was put out to fresh spring grass.” She shrugged. “But she didn’t. Now I don’t know what to do….”

She paused, looking at me, waiting. Hoping I had the answer.

I had, of course. Stella and I worked it out days before. Before I met Debbie properly, before I saw how attached she was to the horse, before I met Flo.

Maybe what I was doing wasn’t so bad after all. The woman needed some kind of hope, after all. Maybe I was just being kind. And, bloody hell, she was nice.

We sat down next to each other on the bench. It was a small one and we were sitting close. I could feel the heat from her body and smell the warmth of her skin. She was still looking at me. Her eyes wide open and damp, her mouth turned down slightly at the edges, her hands fidgeting again.

“Well,” I said , trying to sound objective and professional, “it looks like a case of bereavement adjustment to me. I think that Flo is simply missing your ex…. What did you say her name was?”

She looked a little taken aback. “Er Kate…” she said guardedly, “how could you tell it was a woman?”

I shrugged, matter-of-factly, getting into my stride at last. “Oh, you know, behavioural therapist and all that.”

She looked impressed. “And you’re… er….?”

“A dyke? Yeah.” I said, as off-handedly as I could, though the joy and relief of her answer was still reverberating around my body. “Yeah,” I continued knowledgably, “ I would expect Flo to find it hard. Some horses are more sensitive than others. And, with them, it can be just like children. In a separation, you expect kids to feel a degree of trauma. It’s no different for horses like Flo.”

She looked at me, a light crossing across her face and then fading again. “But what can I do about it?” She said. “I’d never take Kate back. Is that mean? Should I try and make up for the sake of the horse?” She shook her head. “ I just couldn’t.”

I took her hands in mine, to reassure her, to enjoy her touch. The skin was smooth, her fingers long and sinewy. I wanted them.

“It’s OK, Debbie.” I said squeezing her hand. “You don’t have to get back together. Horses like Flo get used to a relationship between their owner and another. It’s the existence of a relationship that counts, not who it’s with.”

She looked at me with that lost look, and my heart started bouncing around in my chest again.

“I can see that, Sandra. But there’s no way I can just go out and get another girlfriend. I’ve just moved here, I don’t know anyone. I haven’t even got any friends.”

I paused. This was going better than I’d ever dared hope. Stay cool Sandra, for Christ’s sake stay cool.

“…..well… I suppose I could help.” I said, as reluctantly as I could. “I’m pretty free, work-wise, at the moment.”

She looked puzzled.

“Look, you don’t actually have to have another relationship, you’ve just got to make Flo believe that you have.”

“And how do I do that.”

“Well…. if you want… I could come around here for the next few days and we could do the sort of things that you and Kate used to do – sort of make Flo feel more secure again.”

She looked at me gratefully. “Would you really do that for me?”

I coloured up in spite of myself. “Yeah. I’d be pleased to help.” I said. “ But it will be a few days before I can be sure of the prognosis – we need to see what progress is made.”

Debbie breathed out with relief and, for the first time since I’d met her she looked satisfied and happy.

I looked over the fence at Flo. She’d turned her back to us now and she lifted up her tail and farted.

***********

Stella was beside herself with curiosity when I saw her that night. But she was temporarily thrown when I asked to borrow her mare for a few days.

“But you haven’t ridden for years, Sandra.”

“Oh yeah, I know. But it’s like riding a bike, you don’t forget, do you. I’ll be fine.”

I could see she was torn. It was wonderful to behold. In order to get me fixed up, she was going have to do the unthinkable and lend me her mare. I knew Stella well enough to know that there was no contest.

She was like Mother Hen when she helped me tack-up the following morning and watched, concerned, as I left and rode awkwardly through the village astride Beth, a big grey mare of character, rather odd to look at, but sturdy. I didn’t exactly cut a dash but it was the best I could do at short notice.

We trundled down the lane to the cottage. Beth picking her way through the potholes and stumbling occasionally over a small stone. My legs ached already, my bum was sore and the brief feeling of confidence I had from yesterday had evaporated. I wondered again why I was doing this. Then, when I saw Debbie, I knew. She was tacked up and waiting. A black riding hat on her head, her blond hair dropping underneath neatly encased in a net. My eyes ran down over her body across the tweedy hacking jacket down to her stomach, along her jodpurred legs to her shiny brown riding boots. I felt upstaged and overawed.

She smiled as I approached. “You look smart.” I said, feeling like a scruff in my baggy jumper and jeans.

She didn’t seem to mind. “You look great.” She purred. “Being on horseback suits you.”

Flo’s ears had pricked up at the sight of another horse and Beth too lifted her head and tiptoed around excitedly at the sight of the other mare. I gripped my knees and hung on.

We had a good ride. We kept to a slow pace, thank goodness; Flo wasn’t up to cantering in her present state and I didn’t know if Beth could have managed it if she’d tried. But I couldn’t take my eyes off Debbie as we trotted, her back straight, her breasts thrusting forward rhythmically, her body rising and falling, the tight material between her legs brushing the saddle.



When we got back we leant against the fence and watched the two mares in the paddock. They were nudging each other, half-heartedly trying to decide who was boss. Maybe Beth didn’t have the energy for confrontation and Flo lacked the motivation. But they looked good together and, for the first time I saw Flo’s ears pick up. Within minutes, and quite incredibly, they were cantering round the field like two young fillies. Then they stopped near us, by the fence, and both of them looked over.

“Debbie,” I said, my confidence and my passion rising. “Did you and Kate… er… ever show… you know… affection in front of Flo?”

“Oh all the time.” She nodded, smiling a little.

“Well,” I said, as seriously as I could. “I really think we should do the same.”

She turned to me straight away and put her face near mine, resting a hand on my arm.

“It’s got to look convincing if it’s going to work Debbie.” I said, behavioural therapist to the end.

She nodded seriously, putting her hands around my neck and her lips on mine.

We held each other close and kissed. Finding each other’s lips, searching for the right angles, exchanging techniques. After a few minutes we were both starting to get the hang of it and awkwardness faded as pleasure took over.

Then we both forgot about the two mares completely, as we explored each other’s mouths and bodies, lost in a passionate embrace right there in the middle of the Yorkshire countryside.

But the guilt was still nibbling away at the edges of my consciousness. I was a fraud. I was on the make – and this lovely, vulnerable woman had played right into my hands. I had to stop, I had to say something. I pulled away, suddenly feeling bad.

“Debbie, I have a confession to make.”  She looked at me expectantly, her beautiful weather-tanned face looking up into mine.

“You won’t like it.” I said.

“Try me.” She replied.

“Well… I don’t know how to say this…” I hesitated, scared now that by telling the truth, I would lose her. “Debbie… I’m not an animal behavioural expert.” I stepped back from her, waiting for the rejection. Feeling miserable. “In fact, I don’t know anything about psychology. I just fancied you like mad and it seemed a good way to get to know you.”

She looked at me, amazement in her eyes, and giggled. “Oh, I’m sorry Sandra, I haven’t been very fair with you. You didn’t really think I believed all this behavioural therapy stuff, did you?” She said, her face breaking into a big smile. “I’ve grown up with horses – I’ve known all along what’s the matter with Flo.”

Now it was my turn to look perplexed.

“She’s lonely Sandra – just like me.”

“When Stella came to visit me, I soon realised that her friend, the ‘animal therapist’, was the woman I’d seen her with at the filling station.” She stroked my head gently. “And, more to the point, the woman who I’d met in the supermarket.” She laughed gently and kissed me briefly on the lips. “I didn’t care what you were. I played along with her. Uh, I played along with you, Stella told me you were difficult about meeting people. I knew you were a dyke, I knew you liked horses… And I liked you.”

“You mean, you knew I was fibbing all along?” I felt slightly offended but enormously relieved.

She moved in close again and put her arm around my neck, rubbing my nose with hers. “Yeah we both were. I just wanted to get to know you. Uh, what I didn’t expect was this.”

I turned and looked out into the field, trying to take it all in. Feeling relieved, feeling good. The two mares were standing, head to tail, licking each other’s parts and leaning together. Flo glanced at us momentarily, her ears up, her eyes bright. And I could swear I saw her smile.

Debbie saw them too and snuggled into me again.

“Well, what do you know, Lesbian horses!” She breathed. Then she looked straight at me and her face broke into a wicked smile. “Do you want to do that?”

“What? Lick a horse?” I said.

Debbie rolled her eyes, took my hand and led me inside.

***********

Reproduced by kind permission of Jenny Roberts