Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
J ohan
One Saturday morning in early December I’m late rising. I’m still not staying over every night, but more often than not, and I am becoming more comfortable with the arrangement. I stumble into the kitchen and Cole is standing looking uncharacteristically awake and cheery. He’s fully dressed and with a flush to his cheeks that you only get from being out in the fresh air.
“Have you been up long?” I wonder why he hasn’t woken me.
“I haven’t been in long.”
Then I remember the call in the middle of the night. Cole has been out on a call.
“Oh god, sorry, I forgot. Was it difficult?”
“No, just a colic, up at the polo club, but all good now.”
“Urgh, you are way too cheery,” I grumble. “Are you sure you won’t come back to bed?”
“Noooo, I thought we could go out somewhere today.”
Now he has my attention. We’ve hardly ever been out together.
“Out? Where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Cole Walker, are you taking me on a date?”
He laughs, a sound I will never tire of hearing. “Something like that.”
“Okay, give me some coffee and I’ll go get dressed.”
Half an hour later we’re in his truck , the dogs bundled in with us and on the road, heading west.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Nope.”
“Now I am intrigued.”
But he doesn’t say anymore and keeps driving.
It must be about an hour and a half before he turns down a lane, the truck bumping over potholes. The lane turns into a track and he pulls up outside a farm. It’s an old stone house which looks like it had been dropped there hundreds of years ago. There’s a truck, older than the one loaned to me by Tom, in the yard, as well as a very smart new Land Rover.
At the sound of the truck the old wooden door opens and two dogs—black Labradors—fly out, gathering round the vehicle barking, but their tails are wagging so I’m not so bothered. Vin and Roffe take an interest but they don’t bark back. A few seconds later a man comes out pulling on a coat. He looks to be about fifty years old.
Cole winds down the window.
“Mr Fanshawe?”
“Yes, call me Bob. You Cole Walker?”
“I am, are the dogs okay?”
“Yes they won’t bother you.”
Cole gets out and I follow.
“He’s over here.”
Cole flashes me a grin and follows Bob, leaving me to trail behind. I still have no clue why we’re here. The guy leads us through some old yards full of dilapidated buildings, some which have fallen down and others which look like they might fall down any minute. We emerge into a concrete yard with a couple of stables. Out of one of them a horse pokes his head.
“Here he is, take a look.”
Cole heads over to the stable and stands in front of the horse. He allows the horse to check him out before gently raising a hand for him to sniff. The horse blows over his hand and then investigates his coat before blowing gently over his face.
He brought me here to look at a horse? I don’t mind but I’m not sure why the secrecy was needed.
“Come and meet him.” Cole calls out to me and I stand next to him. The horse is big. He looks like he could have been a cart horse.
I feel the horse’s gentle breath on my face; it tickles and I can’t hold back a smile. He’s a beautiful animal with a noble profile.
“I’ll be sad to see him go, but with Dad going into a home I need to sell this place. I never followed him into farming, I work in the city.”
“Are you thinking of having him?” I turn to Cole. His eyes look bright and he’s smiling.
“Yes, to add to the herd.”
“I didn’t want to sell him.” Bob turns to Cole “He’s getting old and I didn’t like not knowing where he would end up. You were recommended to me.”
“Can I check him over?”
“Of course you can.”
Cole unbolts the door and ducks inside, pulling a stethoscope from his pocket. I watch, fascinated, as he goes through his checks of heart and lungs. He runs his hands down the horse’s legs and across his back. He looks in his mouth, peering at his teeth.
“Late teens, maybe eighteen?” he queries the man.
“That’ll be about right.”
“Do you have a halter for him?”
“Just on that hook over there.” Bob indicates an old webbing halter hanging at the far side of the stable.
Cole fetches it and places it over the horse’s head.
I open the door as he leads him out. The horse looks even bigger now he’s out of the stable. He’s a mottled brown colour, a roan, with white on his feathered legs that extends up to and across his belly. Cole turns him in a circle either way and then hands the rope to me.
“Trot him up and down for me. I just want to check if he’s sound.”
Bob looks a little worried. “Would that make a difference?”
“No, it won’t, but I need to know if there’s any special care that he’ll need.”
The horse is quite happy to trot alongside me as I run up and down the yard. Cole seems satisfied, and asks me to put him away. I give him a stroke as I take the halter off before bolting the stable door.
“Thank you Bob, he is fine. I’ll arrange transport for him within the week if that’s okay?”
They shake hands and we head back to the truck. Bob disappears inside and I turn to Cole.
“You brought me all this way to look at a horse?”
“Do you mind?”
“No, but you said it was a date.”
He gives me a grin. “No, you said it was a date.” He leans in and kisses me “But the day isn’t over yet.” Then he starts the truck and we head back.
After a short distance, maybe thirty minutes, he turns off into a car park.
“Shall we let the dogs stretch their legs? They have been in the truck for a while now.”
I had wondered why we’d brought them with us.
Out of the car Cole takes hold of my hand and we follow a path up a hill.
“Where are we?”
“Have you heard of the Uffington White Horse?”
The ancient white chalk horse carved into the countryside, one of several in England.
“I have, but I’ve never seen it.”
We reach the brow of a hill and Cole looks at the rolling hillside in front of us.
“This is it.”
We trace the line of the horse, the dogs scampering in front of us. It’s quiet, not many people want to be out walking in December. I can almost feel the atmosphere of the ancient people who carved it. The views across the countryside are stunning. Cole stops and then climbs onto a hillock, putting him a few inches taller than me. He seems delighted with the prospect as he bends down to kiss me.
“You know, the horse, Samson.”
He looks away across the valley and then back at me. “He would be big enough for you.”
“Did you just acquire a horse so I can go riding with you?” I ask him, my heart bursting with his generosity.
“Well, he was in need of a home.” Cole tries to justify himself. I put my arms around him. “Thank you, that is so thoughtful. You didn’t have to, you know.”
“But I wanted to, though he was coming to live with us anyway.”
That word, “us”, I always feel a little surge of joy when he says it. “Thank you Cole, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.”
He leans in for another kiss. “Being you is enough.”
“I don’t know what to say to that.”
He gives me another of his brilliant smiles.
“You don’t have to say anything, but how about we go grab some lunch, I’m starving. I’ve been up for hours!”
I don’t need to be asked a second time so I grab his hand and we walk back to the truck, the dogs following.
It’s so perfect; Cole, the dogs, the day in the country, him thinking about me. I feel so guilty, so sad that it has to end soon. I’m halfway through my time in the UK; in three months I have to give all this up, go back to Sweden. The thought of it brings a lump to my throat and I’m glad that Cole doesn’t require me to talk as we walk back to the car. I take a deep breath, determined not to let thoughts like that ruin the wonderful day Cole has planned for me.
We have lunch at a pub close to the chalk horse. This is a bit busier. People are more happy to drive near the tourist site to eat than they are to get out and see it. But it’s pleasant enough, and before long we’re heading back home.
When we get back we curl up on the couch and watch a movie. Cole rests against me, the dogs curl up on a chair together, and I feel more content than I have for a long time.