‘I just wanted to help,’ I say in a quiet voice as they square up to each other. ‘Some of the villagers told me the hotel might close if the launch doesn’t go well, and I was trying to save it by .?.?. by showing some of the local colour.’
‘Aye, because that’s all we needed,’ says Dante. ‘For a tourist from London, who’s never been to the Highlands in her life, to spend five minutes here and decide she alone knows how to “save” us.’
He holds his fingers up and makes scare quotes. It would be quite amusing, if only he didn’t look quite so much like an angry Ken doll.
Oh, and if the anger in question wasn’t directed at me, obviously.
‘I’m really, really sorry,’ I say pleadingly, looking from him to Sabrina and back again. ‘I honestly didn’t intend to post it. But look, I’ll delete it right away,’ I add, brightening as the obvious solution to all of this hits me. ‘And the good thing is that it was just me who posted it, and no one ever sees what I post, anyway. I only have 2,012 followers, and most of them don’t even use .?.?. Oh.’
I stop speaking as Sabrina thrusts the iPad in my face and I see the number of hearts at the bottom of the video.
‘Twenty thousand likes,’ says Sabrina. ‘And it’s already been shared multiple times.’
‘Really?’ says Millie, finding her voice at last. ‘Oh, well done, Rosie. That’s amazing.’
‘It’s not amazing,’ spits Dante, doing the waggly-finger thing again. ‘It’s a disaster. She made the food sound terrible with the “tiny wee” portions we apparently serve, then said she almost died in the sauna. Who’s going to want to stay here after hearing that?’
‘Maybe .?.?. people who are on a diet?’ suggests Millie brightly. ‘That could work.’
By way of response, Dante lets out a groan so hollow that it startles the ponies. Bex’s steed whisks its tail in alarm, and takes a step backward, making Bex grab onto its thick mane in fright.
‘I hope you realise what you’ve done,’ Dante says, his voice rising as he turns to face me through the drizzle. ‘This kind of bad publicity could make the hotel fail before it’s even open. We could all lose our jobs.’
I open and close my mouth uselessly, feeling like I’m in one of those nightmares where you’re trying to scream but nothing comes out.
‘Do you have nothing to say for yourself?’ shrieks Sabrina, so shrilly that Bex’s horse takes another step back from us all, whickering nervously.
‘Stop shouting,’ screams Bex, shouting louder than anyone. ‘You’re scaring this thing. It’s going to throw me off.’
She jerks the reins roughly, and the little pony’s eyes widen, showing the whites.
‘Be quiet, Bex,’ yells Daniel, just as loudly as his wife. ‘And stop pulling its hair. You’ll scare it.’
He takes a step towards the animal, his hand raised. It looks to me as if he’s planning to grab hold of the bridle to stop it moving any further away, but the pony obviously thinks differently, and when it sees Daniel’s hand looming towards it, it whinnies again in fright, then turns tail and goes galloping off down the beach, Bex clinging helplessly to its neck, her white dress billowing around her like a ghost in a wind tunnel.
For a second, no one moves, and then Hunter and I both spring forward, running for our ponies. I reach Bramble first, and scramble up into the saddle, accompanied by another loud tearing sound as the seat of my jeans rips even further.
There’s no time to think about that now, though.
Bex’s pony is bolting along the shoreline, headed for the cliffs at the end. I know it’ll keep going now until something stops it, and, for Bex’s sake, it would be much better for that thing to be me than either a very jagged landing on the rocks, or an extremely wet one in the sea; especially given that she’s not wearing her safety helmet. So I turn Bramble’s head towards the shore and urge him forwards, praying I haven’t forgotten everything I ever learned during that pony-mad summer I spent hanging out at the local stables when I was twelve.
Surely it’s just like riding a bike, though?
Isn’t it?
Chapter 17
It is not, it turns out, anything like riding a bike.
Bikes are significantly smoother, for one thing; and a whole lot easier to control. Plus, there’s virtually no chance of a bike deciding it doesn’t want you on its back any more and randomly tossing you into the ocean. But horses? Horses have minds of their own – as Bex has just found out.
Fortunately for me, though, Bramble doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in getting rid of me (which makes him the only one here who feels that way, but this isn’t the time to dwell on that . . .), and instead allows me to urge him first into a lolloping canter that feels a bit like being on a rocking horse, and then into a slow gallop, his thick mane streaming out behind him as he takes off in pursuit of Bex, who’s still clinging valiantly onto her pony’s neck.
I’m vaguely aware of the sound of hooves thundering on the sand behind me, and a lot of shouting from the group by the picnic blanket, but I’m too busy concentrating on staying in the saddle to pay much attention to anything else. Rain rushes into my face as we fly over the wet sand at the edge of the water, spray from the sea mixing with the steady downpour in an icy cold froth. It’s quite exhilarating, really, with the wind snapping at my face and the rhythmic pounding of hooves echoing in my ears. For just a moment, I allow myself to forget about everything else – the chaos behind me; the sheer horror of the video; Ian holding up that cucumber – as I lean forward in the saddle, the wild beauty of the beach stretching endlessly ahead.
‘Rosie! Look out!’
Hunter’s voice reaches me just as I spot Bex up ahead, her pony moving more slowly now that the initial fright has passed. It’s still showing no signs of stopping, though, and Bex looks like she might slide off at any second, so I close my legs around Bramble’s burly sides and encourage him to speed up until we’re just behind, and then almost level with them.
