“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Joe turned his dark gaze on me. “I pretty much sign cheques with a big fat X. I didn’t go to school much—Emma has to type out everything for me.”
“Yeah, well... there’s plenty of things you can do that I can’t. And every skill is worth more than people think.”
Joe said nothing, and I wondered, as ever, what on earth he was thinking. But I didn’t have time to ponder for long. The derelict farm he was directing me to appeared on the horizon, lit up by the flashing blue lights of police vehicles, and the time for small talk was over.
I parked next to an RSPCA van and we got out of the horsebox. I hung back while Joe talked to the inspectors and glanced around. The police were leaning on a gate, apparently disinterested, and another van from a veterinarian’s practice was nearby. In the darkness, I squinted at the large black objects they were lining up. It took a minute to sink in that they were body bags.
Horror washed over me, and snatched conversations I’d overheard on the farm over the last few days clicked into place. Joe and Emma fretting over ten abandoned ponies. Lacey and Jemima cooking up farfetched plans to rescue them in the night. George grumbling about red tape and bureaucracy. But all of their fears about being too late had been realised. Four horses hadn’t survived.
Joe came up on me, his face grave. “We need to get a move on. These nags are starving. Can you call home and check they’re going to be ready?”
“Of course. Can I have—”
But Joe was gone again before I could ask him for the number. I dug my phone out of my pocket—apart from checking in with Rhys, I’d hardly used it since I’d been on the farm—and searched out the email that had Emma’s mobile number in it. I called, praying that she’d answer. I’d only seen Sal when I’d picked Joe up from the bungalow.
Emma answered on the third ring, breathless and clearly stressed. “Harry? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, as far as I know,” I said quickly. “Joe just asked me to call and see how Sal was getting on in the tack room. He wants to move fast with these ponies.”
“Oh. Okay. You scared me. We’ve never spoken on the phone before, and I’m not very good at it.”
I chuckled softly. “Neither am I, but don’t worry. Joe’s fine. He just wants to get home.”
“I know Joe’s fine if he’s with you. I’m being silly. And you can tell him that we’ll be ready for you. We’ve got most of the stuff out. It’s all on your bed at the moment. Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine.” I glanced across the muddy farmyard and spied Joe heading back my way with the first of the ponies. “We’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Drive safe, Harry.”
“I will.”
I put the phone in my pocket and met Joe at the back of the horsebox. “Are we taking three at a time?”
“Nah. The four strongest first, then the other two. I’m gonna have to go in the back with them to stop them keeling over.”
I didn’t like the sound of that but knew better than to argue with Joe about horses. He stood aside while I opened up the box, then led the ponies up the ramp. Another two followed, and then we were on the road, heading back to the farm.
Emma was waiting for us. George had appeared from somewhere too. He took the ponies to get settled in the paddock.
Joe watched him go, then turned to Emma. “I need to call Dex.”
“Dex? Why?”
“Because the next two aren’t fit enough to go out in the paddock. The foaling stable is the only safe place for them, so I need him to take a couple of old-timers off my hands.”
“Weneed him to. This isn’t just your problem.”
“So you’ll call him?”
Emma flushed, her face pale, like someone had pulled the plug out of her complexion. I nudged her and held up three fingers, hoping she remembered the coping mechanisms we’d gone through the other day.
She stuck out her chin. “Of course.”
It was a small victory, but when I saw the state of the remaining horses, I clung to it. the ponies were skin and bone, empty eyes, and bleeding gums. I asked Joe if they’d survive, and his hollow stare said it all.
I drove the box back to the farm while Joe stayed in the back with them. I took it slow, avoiding bumps and sharp turns, but he still looked traumatised when we pulled up. “Are you okay?”
