‘There’s no point raising it again tomorrow. I’m not going.’
I didn’t even say that out loud. Hmm. Am I that predictable? Obviously.
Johnny hops around a bit as Lucas moves to his hind legs. ‘Easy, boy. Easy,’ he says as he settles in to clip the rear nails. ‘The party will consist of warm wine, canapés based on dead animals and a room full of tossers all high on their own self-importance.’
He may have a point.
‘It’s not exactly my favourite way to spend an evening,’ I remind him. ‘But sometimes we have to do things for the ones we love.’
‘You might have to,’ Lucas says. ‘I don’t.’
Johnny kicks out and skitters away from Lucas, so I tie his halter to the fence and jump into the pen. I lean my weight against Johnny’s back end to stop him bouncing away and try to soothe him as I do.
For my trouble he stamps on my big toe. ‘Ouch. Thanks for that, John!’ That will be another toenail lost for me. Seems to be a regular occurrence. I’ll have to enter him in the accident book – again.
Lucas moves in once more and this time Johnny deigns to lift his leg so that Lucas can reach his toes.
‘You’re a stubborn old cuss,’ Lucas murmurs to him. ‘You know this will feel better when it’s done.’
And we do them every couple of months, so it’s not as if it’s something new. After a few minutes of wrangling and some swift clipping, Lucas pats his rump. ‘All done. There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’
Johnny has one last defiant kick out, but misses us both.
So we change animals and begin subjecting Rod Stewart to the ignominy of an alpaca pedicure. Lucas takes a firm grip and I move to the front to scratch his neck to distract him. Time for a change of subject with Lucas too. There’s only so far you can push alpacas and teenagers.
‘You seem to get on well with the mayor.’
‘He’s not a dickhead and he likes poetry. Not poncy dead poets either. Modern stuff.’
‘It’s nice that you have something in common.’ A pause while he swears under his breath at Rod. ‘How’s the poem for the nativity coming along? Have you finished it yet?’
‘Yeah. No. Sort of.’
‘Oh good. That’s one thing I don’t have to worry about then.’
Lucas snorts. ‘If I told you it was the best thing I’d ever written you’d still worry about it.’
‘True.’
Lucas risks a smile. ‘You’re hopeless.’
‘I have my moments,’ I bat back. Then while we experience a brief time where Lucas is feeling relatively chatty, I venture, ‘How’s it going with Aurora?’
He doesn’t look at me when he answers, ‘All right.’
‘You haven’t seen her?’
‘We’re both busy,’ he replies, but he’s concentrating a little too hard on Rod’s toes.
‘Oh.’
‘She’s fine,’ he says. ‘I like her. Don’t read anything more into it than that.’
‘OK.’ Clearly, that’s out of bounds too. I’ll move onto safer ground. ‘What do you want for tea? We’ve got mushrooms.’
‘Mushrooms it is.’
I stop and look at him. He’s struggling with Rod, so I go round to help him again and steady the alpaca’s back end. Sometimes Lucas looks so small, so vulnerable that I come over all protective. ‘I want you to be happy.’
‘I’ll have some tofu with the mushrooms then.’
‘I don’t mean with your tea. I mean with life.’
‘I am happy.’ He pauses in his nail trimming and bares his teeth at me in a rictus smile. ‘Delirious.’
‘I might not be your mum, but I love you like one.’
‘Weirdo.’
Then that’s the last of the alpacas tortured and Lucas lets go. He stretches his shoulders.
‘You’ve done a great job there.’ Praise where praise is due. He might grumble a lot, but he does work very hard on the farm and has a great way with the animals. ‘You can have first shower.’
‘OK.’
We put the alpacas to bed and, when we walk across the yard, Lucas lets me put my arm round his shoulders.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It’s agreed that I’ll go to Shelby’s opening night tomorrow. Gah! Ken will pick me up and take me straight to the theatre, which means I’ll just about have time to do the last feed with Bev. It’ll be tight, but we’ll manage. After that, she’s going to stay here for the evening with Alan until I come home.
‘You don’t mind?’ I ask her.
‘That’s the forty-second time you’ve asked me the same thing,’ Bev says. ‘Ask me again and I might have to kill you.’
‘But you really don’t mind?’
‘Where’s that spade?’ she says looking around the yard.
‘OK.’ I hold up a hand. ‘I can take a hint.’
‘Go. Enjoy yourself. It’ll be fun.’
‘Oh no, it won’t.’
Bev points a finger at me. ‘See what you did there.’
I’m dreading it. Of course I am. Plus I haven’t yet told Shelby that Lucas isn’t coming. He’ll be so disappointed.
A car pulls up at the gate and it’s Ringo’s celebrity hairdresser, Christian Lee. Perfect timing for the little pony’s star-quality cut as his fringe is starting to make his face itch.
We wave Christian into the yard and he gets out of the car. As always he looks totally incongruous in our setting. Today he’s dressed in his usual flamboyant style, wearing fuchsia pink chinos and a black silk shirt with white trainers. Obviously ideal for cutting the hair of a frisky pony.
He gives me one of his all-encompassing bear hugs. ‘Darling, lovely to see you. Is this a good time? I was passing and thought I’d give my client a snip.’
‘It’s perfect timing. The ponies are down in the barn, so Ringo won’t be too muddy.’
‘Excellent. I hate it when you make me go yomping about in fields.’ Christian curls his lips in distaste. ‘It offends the city boy in me.’
‘Is it all right if some of the new students watch you to see the kind of A-list treatment he gets?’
‘Yes. Not a problem, sweetie.’ He casts a critical glance over my own locks, as always. ‘You look like you need a short back and sides too. I can’t remember when you were last done.’
I can. A few weeks ago with my kitchen scissors. I’ll not tell Christian that, though. My haircuts are distinctly more sporadic than Ringo’s, but usually done by Christian or, failing that, by my own fair hand which drives him mad.
Our high-maintenance stylist gets his kit from the back of his car and we go through to the barn where he cuts Ringo’s hair while entertaining his enthralled audience.
When he’s finished, he says, ‘I’m not in a rush. I’ve got time to do yours now if you like?’
‘How can I possibly refuse?’ So I get Jack to look after the dogs while we go into the caravan as Christian is less keen on an audience of inattentive puppies and it’s too cold to cut my hair outside in the yard as he often does.