Sacrifice

It was, quite simply, incredible. I'd heard, of course, of people with uncanny abilities to calm animals. I'd seen the film The Horse Whisperer, and had even gone so far as to read half the book, but I'd never seen anything like it in real life.

'Tora, will you get over here?' said Gifford, sounding half exasperated, half amused. I struggled to my feet and looked round for the pliers I'd dropped when I rolled out of the ditch. They were nowhere to be seen but the other, smaller pair lay close by. I picked them up and, glancing nervously at Gifford – I wasn't sure how long this mojo of his was going to last – approached Charles. He gave me his leg quite easily, as though it was any normal day at the blacksmith's.

Carefully, slowly, I snipped at the wire around Charles's leg. Five snips and the wire fell away. I picked it up, stepped back and Gifford let go. Charles reared and bucked and then cantered off towards the fence, where Henry had been watching the whole incident with in- creasing impatience. After a few paces Charles slowed to a walk. He was lame but still able to put weight on the damaged limb. I started to hope that it wasn't going to be too bad after all.

'How'd you do that?' I asked, without taking my eyes off Charles. 'He wouldn't let me near him.'

'You were more afraid than he was,' replied Gifford. 'He could sense that and it made him worse. I wasn't scared and I wasn't standing for any nonsense.'

It made sense. Horses are herd animals, following without question a strong leader – equine or human. Horses like to know who is boss.

'And I used a bit of hypnosis. Just to calm him down.'

That made no sense. I turned to look at Gifford.

'Animals are very susceptible to hypnosis,' he said. 'Especially horses and dogs.'

'You're kidding me,' I said, although I wasn't sure. He looked perfectly serious.

'You're right, I'm kidding you. Now, painkillers and a tetanus jab. Possibly antibiotics.'

'I'll call the vet,' I said, watching Charles and Henry nuzzle each other over the fence.

'I'm talking about you,' said Gifford, running his hand up my right arm towards the shoulder. The pain was as sharp as it was surprising; either Charles had kicked me after all, without my noticing, or I'd fallen on a pretty sharp stone. I turned towards Gifford and – oh shit – the pain disappeared beneath a stab of lust so unexpected it made me want to run for cover. I swear he'd grown two inches since I'd last seen him and in jeans and a T-shirt he was definitely not dressed for work. He was gleaming with sweat.

'Let's go in,' he said. 'I'll see what I've got in my bag.'

Gifford's car was parked in our yard and he took his bag from the boot as we walked past. In the kitchen I took off my riding helmet and sat down at the table, acutely conscious of the debris from breakfast, my red, sweaty face and hair that badly needed washing. I probably didn't smell too good either. Gifford turned on the tap and let it run till the water steamed.

'I can take you into the hospital where we can be properly chaperoned or you can have my word that I'm not about to behave inappropriately.'

I'm sure I blushed at that but my face was so red to start with he couldn't have noticed. I unbuttoned my shirt – an old one of Duncan's – and wriggled out of the sleeve. I held the fabric close to me, less out of modesty, if I'm honest, than because my bra was not the pure-white lacy one I'd probably have chosen for the occasion.

Gifford started to bathe my arm and I turned my head to assess the damage. Most of my upper arm was already starting to bruise. There was a nasty scratch, which was bleeding, but I didn't think it looked too deep. I had no recollection of it happening but, now that I was no longer running on adrenaline, it was hurting like hell.

Gifford dressed the wound and gave me a tetanus jab. Finally, he offered me two small, white tablets. They were painkillers, stronger than the sort you can buy over the counter, and I took them grate- fully.

He looked at his watch. 'I have surgery in twenty minutes.' He started to pack away his things.

'What are you doing here?'

He laughed. 'Thank you, Mr Gifford, for saving my life, not to mention that of my horse, and offering immediate and highly efficient first aid.' He closed his bag. 'I was planning to ring the vet for you but I guess I won't bother now.'

'Put my bad manners down to shock. Why are you here?'

'I wanted to talk to you away from the hospital.'

And there was my heartbeat, skipping away on a rollercoaster ride of its own again. I just knew there was bad news coming.

'Oh?'

'There've been complaints.'

'About me?'

He nodded.

'From whom?'

'Does it matter?'

'Does to me.'

'I told them I'm highly impressed with what I've seen so far, that you're doing a perfectly acceptable job and that I have every intention of keeping you on the team. But that you are in a very new environment, things will seem strange for a while and they need to cut you some slack.'

'Thank you,' I said, feeling no better. Having one friend is never enough; not if everyone else hates you.

'Don't mention it.' He closed his bag and lifted it.

'Why are you telling me?'

'Because you need to know. You need to make the effort, too. Your technical skills are all there but you don't handle people that well.'

That pissed me off, big time. Probably because I knew he was telling the truth. I stood up. 'If you have a problem with my performance at work there are procedures you need to follow. You don't need me to tell you that.'

Gifford wasn't remotely intimidated. 'Oh, get over yourself. We can do it by the book if you want. It will take an immense amount of time that neither of us can spare and the end result will be no different, except there'll be a cumbersome and potentially damaging paper trail on your file. I'll see you tomorrow.'

He turned and was gone, leaving me alone with a very sore arm and my self-esteem in tatters.

8

TEN MINUTES LATER THE VET HAD BEEN SUMMONED AND the pain in my arm had faded to an ache. I sat on the fence, watching Charles hobble around, knowing there was nothing more I could do for him but reluctant to leave him by himself. I found both pairs of pliers and used the stronger pair to cut several strands of wire from the broken fence posts. Then I gathered it up and carried it back to the yard.

Goddamned Gifford for a patronizing, manipulative bastard. I knew exactly what he was up to. I'd come across those exact tactics before, the first time in the primary-school playground. Sally Carter had taken me gently to one side and told me that none of the other girls in our class liked me. They thought I was stuck up and bossy and a know-it-all. But I wasn't to worry because she, Sally Carter, thought I was nice and had stuck up for me. To this day I can remember the bewildering mix of emotions that hit me at that moment: misery at my recently discovered unpopularity; a sort of pathetic gratitude for having at least one friend; fury at the said friend for telling me all this and ruining my day; and, at the bottom of it all, a sneaking, half-formed suspicion that she wasn't much of a friend anyway, if she could make me feel this bad. I'd met other Sally Carters over the years and learned to recognize this crude but highly effective piece of professional one-upmanship.

I took the pliers back inside. Duncan was fussy about his tools and took a dim view of my using and abusing them.

Of course, recognizing the tactic was a long way from being able to deal with it. I could (and was frequently tempted to) dismiss it as a bit of obnoxious power play. On the other hand, I've always known I'm not popular: I don't have the gift of making small talk and I'm uncomfortable in large groups; I know I don't smile easily and I have quite a way with the clumsy remark and the ill-timed joke. Much of the time I try, unsuccessfully, to be different; but sometimes I just want to scream at the people around me to grow up. I am a perfectly competent doctor; I work hard, commit no crimes, never knowingly carry out a mean or dishonourable act. I'm one of the bloody good guys, but because of a lack of surface charm, I'm doomed to be disliked by those around me. Well, fuck that for a game of soldiers!