Sitting on the train to Surrey, I was halfway home and texted the builder boyfriend to say when I would be at the station. But instead of texting me back to say he would be there, the BB messaged to inform me that I had driven my car into town.
‘What are you doing on the train?’ he asked. I texted back to say I didn’t know. The car was parked in Clapham. I leapt up as the train was pulling into Surbiton. I threw myself off, and ran up the steps and over to the opposite platform where a train to Waterloo was just arriving.
I sat on this train puzzling about where my mind had gone. I have been wandering around in a daze since poor Gracie left us. Since her passing, I have been at a complete loose end, my routine in tatters. After the shock, the terrible boredom of unending loss settled down.
I was in the habit of rising very early to go to the field to feed and check her and the thoroughbred, Darcy. And at the end of each day, I would go back there again to spend time with them, walk the dogs. Usually, I would ride one of them.
After the pony went on her way, I had to move Darcy to a stable yard as she was on her own. She had horses on the other side of the fence but as they were geldings I worried she wouldn’t settle.
The stable yard, which is run by friends, was doing a fantastic job of looking after her. But after a week of not having to do the horses I was lost. Waking at dawn, if it had not been for the dogs jumping on my head, I don’t know how I would have got up.
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