full.’
‘He’s out of control. He’s going into a home tomorrow.’
‘He’d never get in – they’ve got a five-year waiting list.’
‘I took the precaution of booking him a place at Ashbourne House a year ago,’ said Rupert triumphantly.
‘We can’t, he’d hate it.’
Next moment there was another squawk, as Marjorie, Eddie’s whiskery carer, bustled in.
‘We’re busy,’ snapped Rupert.
‘Ay’m sorry, Taggie, Eddie has just put one hand up my skirt and fondled my breast with the other.’
‘Extraordinary how my father always goes for the same type,’ drawled Rupert. For a second his eyes met those of Taggie, who was trying not to laugh.
‘Ay’m afraid ay can’t tolerate that kaind of behaviour.’
‘You won’t have to any more,’ said Rupert. ‘My father’s going into a home.’
Marjorie’s face fell. No more Taggie’s cooking and a very pretty room, with Sky and her own microwave.
No more carers, thought Rupert ecstatically, and there was now no reason why Taggie, who had been looking desperately tired, couldn’t abandon Penscombe for a month and join him on a round trip to Singapore, Japan, Hong Kong and China.
Taggie, to his fury, refused. There was far too much to do at home, she said, particularly in the run up to Christmas; filling up the deep freeze for the office party, finding turkeys for the tenants and presents for staff and family.
She and Rupert parted, not friends.
The moment Rupert, Cathal, his Irish travelling Head Lad, who was in charge of the horses once they left the yard, his stable jockey Lion O’Connor, and two stable girls – sweet, smiling Lark who loved Young Eddie and horses, and ‘woluptuous, wolatile’ Marketa from the Czech Republic who loved the opposite sex and Safety Car – flew off to the Far East with six horses, the family, as if by telepathy, knowing the coast was clear, moved in.
Tabitha Rannaldini, Rupert’s daughter, and Caitlin, Taggie’s sister, claiming the need for more quality time with their husbands, dumped their children, dogs and nannies on Taggie. Janey Lloyd-Foxe immediately invited herself for Christmas because she was so sad, exhausted and missing Billy.
Taggie was further demoralized, being dyslexic, by her step-grandchild, Timon Rannaldini, calling her ‘a crap granny’ because she couldn’t read him a bedtime story. Even worse was Timon’s sister Sapphire announcing: ‘I think Daddy and Mummy are getting a devalse and Mummy says she, me and Timon will be coming back to live with you.’
Oh God, thought Taggie in terror, we’ve already got Young Eddie as a permanent fixture. At least with Marjorie gone, the chocolate biscuit consumption had plummeted.
Taggie’s withers had also been wrung by putting Old Eddie in the care home. Sewing nametapes on all his clothes was like sending a little boy off to prep school, particularly when he sobbed and sobbed, clung on to the banisters, wept all the way on the journey and even louder when she left him. Taggie felt so dreadful that she insisted on visiting him every day, which took up even more of her time.
On her tenth visit on a dank, grey November afternoon, she was passed going the other way down the drive by Brute Barraclough. Brute, the foul trainer who was so unkind to his darling wife Rosaria, but had no intention of leaving her because she did all the work and kept owners and horses sweet. Brute, the on-off lover of both Gav’s ex Bethany and Janey Lloyd-Foxe.
On arrival, Taggie was immediately summoned into theoffice of Mrs Ramsey, the head of the home, who grumbled that she had just had to deal with Brute Barraclough who, discovering that someone’s rich old mother, Mrs Ford-Winters, was a resident, had dropped in and managed to sell her a horse called Geoffrey.
‘I’m not sure if she can afford it
and
our fees. You racing folk, Mrs Campbell-Black! And I’m afraid your father-in-law has been rather wayward.’
Old Eddie, it seemed, had been sliding
‘He’s out of control. He’s going into a home tomorrow.’
‘He’d never get in – they’ve got a five-year waiting list.’
‘I took the precaution of booking him a place at Ashbourne House a year ago,’ said Rupert triumphantly.
‘We can’t, he’d hate it.’
Next moment there was another squawk, as Marjorie, Eddie’s whiskery carer, bustled in.
‘We’re busy,’ snapped Rupert.
‘Ay’m sorry, Taggie, Eddie has just put one hand up my skirt and fondled my breast with the other.’
‘Extraordinary how my father always goes for the same type,’ drawled Rupert. For a second his eyes met those of Taggie, who was trying not to laugh.
‘Ay’m afraid ay can’t tolerate that kaind of behaviour.’
‘You won’t have to any more,’ said Rupert. ‘My father’s going into a home.’
Marjorie’s face fell. No more Taggie’s cooking and a very pretty room, with Sky and her own microwave.
No more carers, thought Rupert ecstatically, and there was now no reason why Taggie, who had been looking desperately tired, couldn’t abandon Penscombe for a month and join him on a round trip to Singapore, Japan, Hong Kong and China.
Taggie, to his fury, refused. There was far too much to do at home, she said, particularly in the run up to Christmas; filling up the deep freeze for the office party, finding turkeys for the tenants and presents for staff and family.
She and Rupert parted, not friends.
The moment Rupert, Cathal, his Irish travelling Head Lad, who was in charge of the horses once they left the yard, his stable jockey Lion O’Connor, and two stable girls – sweet, smiling Lark who loved Young Eddie and horses, and ‘woluptuous, wolatile’ Marketa from the Czech Republic who loved the opposite sex and Safety Car – flew off to the Far East with six horses, the family, as if by telepathy, knowing the coast was clear, moved in.
Tabitha Rannaldini, Rupert’s daughter, and Caitlin, Taggie’s sister, claiming the need for more quality time with their husbands, dumped their children, dogs and nannies on Taggie. Janey Lloyd-Foxe immediately invited herself for Christmas because she was so sad, exhausted and missing Billy.
Taggie was further demoralized, being dyslexic, by her step-grandchild, Timon Rannaldini, calling her ‘a crap granny’ because she couldn’t read him a bedtime story. Even worse was Timon’s sister Sapphire announcing: ‘I think Daddy and Mummy are getting a devalse and Mummy says she, me and Timon will be coming back to live with you.’
Oh God, thought Taggie in terror, we’ve already got Young Eddie as a permanent fixture. At least with Marjorie gone, the chocolate biscuit consumption had plummeted.
Taggie’s withers had also been wrung by putting Old Eddie in the care home. Sewing nametapes on all his clothes was like sending a little boy off to prep school, particularly when he sobbed and sobbed, clung on to the banisters, wept all the way on the journey and even louder when she left him. Taggie felt so dreadful that she insisted on visiting him every day, which took up even more of her time.
On her tenth visit on a dank, grey November afternoon, she was passed going the other way down the drive by Brute Barraclough. Brute, the foul trainer who was so unkind to his darling wife Rosaria, but had no intention of leaving her because she did all the work and kept owners and horses sweet. Brute, the on-off lover of both Gav’s ex Bethany and Janey Lloyd-Foxe.
On arrival, Taggie was immediately summoned into theoffice of Mrs Ramsey, the head of the home, who grumbled that she had just had to deal with Brute Barraclough who, discovering that someone’s rich old mother, Mrs Ford-Winters, was a resident, had dropped in and managed to sell her a horse called Geoffrey.
‘I’m not sure if she can afford it
and
our fees. You racing folk, Mrs Campbell-Black! And I’m afraid your father-in-law has been rather wayward.’
Old Eddie, it seemed, had been sliding
Similar Books
