Going Too Far Read online

  Catherine Alliott

  GOING TOO FAR

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Follow Penguin

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Catherine Alliott is the author of twelve bestselling novels including One Day in May, The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton and A Crowded Marriage. She lives with her family in Hertfordshire.

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  GOING TOO FAR

  ‘Her books are supremely readable, witty and moving in equal measure and she has a brilliantly sharp ear for dialogue’ Daily Mail

  ‘Possibly my favourite writer’ Marian Keyes

  ‘An addictive cocktail of wit, frivolity and madcap romance’ Time Out

  ‘Sensitive, funny and wonderfully well written’ Wendy Holden, Daily Express

  ‘Another charming tale of heartbreak from this wonderfully warm and witty author’ Woman

  ‘A poignant but charming journey of self-discovery. A bittersweet and captivating novel’ Closer

  ‘We defy you not to get caught up in Alliott’s life-changing tale’ Heat

  ‘A fun, fast-paced page-turner’ OK!

  Chapter One

  ‘… so if everyone would just keep their seats for a moment,’ boomed the voice over the loudspeaker, ‘Mrs Penhalligan will present the prizes for the best-turned-out pony and rider.’

  There was a faint ripple of applause and Nick nudged me hard in the ribs. ‘Go on,’ he whispered, ‘you’re on!’

  ‘Eh? What?’ I looked around. People seemed to be nodding and smiling at me encouragingly. Oh Lord, was this it, was this me? I’d been miles away, actually, at a different, rather grander horse show. The Horse of the Year Show, in fact. Yes, there I’d been in the middle of the great Wembley Arena, pinning a red rosette on to Harvey Smith’s mount, smiling graciously as I presented him with a huge silver cup, the applause of the vast stadium ringing in my ears, when all of a sudden here I was being hauled out of my reverie and on to my feet by my husband.

  ‘Go on!’ he urged.

  ‘B-but, where do I go?’ I blustered. ‘Where’s my hat?’

  ‘You’re sitting on it!’

  ‘Oh no!’ I retrieved the flower-strewn concoction from under my bottom and punched out the crown, feeling flustered and confused. The applause from the tiny Helston Gymkhana crowd was beginning to sound a little tired.

  ‘For God’s sake, get going,’ hissed Nick, propelling me towards the white tape of the collecting ring. ‘Everyone’s waiting!’

  ‘But which one do I give the cup to?’ I hissed back, desperately scrambling around to find my shoes, which I’d kicked off in the heat and which now seemed to be under everyone else’s seat but my own.

  ‘The bay gelding on the end, you idiot,’ he muttered. ‘It’s already been judged – all you have to do is present the prizes!’

  He yanked up the white tape and shoved me under. Still cramming my hot, swollen feet into shoes I’d bought a size too small on the grounds that they might make my feet look petite, I shot underneath it, losing my hat again on the way. I grabbed it, rammed it down hard on my head and turned back.

  ‘Yes, but what the hell is a bay gelding when it’s at –’

  ‘Ah, Mrs Penhalligan,’ purred an extremely agitated voice in my ear as my arm was seized in a vicelike grip. ‘Come along, my dear, we’ve been looking everywhere for you!’

  The grip on my arm tightened as I was frogmarched away by a very determined gentleman who’d materialized at my left elbow. He was dressed from head to toe in Harris tweed and came complete with white whiskers, a brown felt hat and a large red ‘official’ badge on his left lapel. We appeared to be heading towards a line of horses in the middle of the ring.

  ‘Just give out the rosettes, my dear. The riders will pin them on to the bridles themselves,’ he murmured, hastily thrusting four rosettes and a cup into my hands. ‘Start at one end of the line and move slowly along to the other. Off you go now!’

  ‘Er, yes, but which end of the line do I –’

  ‘Marvellous,’ he muttered, ‘marvellous result for Clarissa!’ and with that he burst into noisy applause and scurried back into the crowd.

  I clutched the rosettes. Clarissa? Who the devil was Clarissa? I peered at the fiercely intimidating quartet of fourteen-year-old pigtailed girls astride their fat little ponies. They looked like something out of a St Trinian’s film and could all quite easily be Clarissas. I took a tentative step in their general direction and smiled nervously, peering intently at their grim little faces. Totally impassive, except – hang on, suddenly I noticed that something akin to a reaction was flickering on the face of the one at the far end. Surely she was – yes, she was nodding and smiling at me in an encouraging sort of way. That must be Clarissa!

  I took a deep breath and marched smartly over. Well, I thought as I got closer and noticed her bright-green eye shadow, at least this one didn’t look like her horse for a change, and she was really rather nicely turned out, which, after all, was the whole point of the competition, wasn’t it? Instead of having one of those boring black jackets with the velvet collars, she had on a natty tweed affair. Admittedly it was a bit on the big side and had patches on the elbows, but she’d rolled the sleeves up for a touch of trendiness, rather like I do when I borrow Nick’s.

  I gave her a dazzling smile and handed over the red rosette, even going so far as to pat her beast’s neck. I instantly wished I hadn’t, as it was disgustingly hot and sweaty.

  ‘Well done,’ I beamed, wiping my wet hand on my skirt, ‘jolly jolly well done.’ I was pretty sure that ‘jolly’ was a word that was bandied about with abandon in horsy circles. ‘Frightfully well turned out!’

  ‘Ta!’

  She seized the red rosette in a twinkling and her eyes lit up with delight.

  I frowned. Ta! Clarissa? Surely not. Within another twinkling she’d rammed the rosette on to her pony’s bridle and whisked the cup out of my hands, and before you could say ‘congratulations’ she was standing up in her stirrups, waving both arms delightedly to her family in the crowd. At least, I thought, turning to look, I assumed it was her family. There certainly seemed to be an awful lot of them, and they seemed equally ecstatic, standing up in their seats and doing an extravagant kind of Mexican wave in response.

  Ah well, I thought, smiling benignly at Clarissa, much as I’d done to Harvey, what it is to make people happy. I wafted gracefully along the line to present the second prize to a girl who looked equally chuffed.

  ‘I say, frightfully well done,’ I brayed, well into my horsy stride now. ‘Terribly well turned out and what a delightful pony you’ve –’ Suddenly I stopped in mid-bray as an anguished wail broke out from the other end of the line.

  ‘That’s not fair!’ bawled a blonde with heavy braces on her teeth, astride a fat brown pony. ‘She’s given it to Kimberly and they said I was the best! Why did Kimberly get the cup, Mummy?
It’s not fair!’ and she promptly burst into floods of very noisy tears.

  ‘Well, it’s too late now, innit?’ snapped back the girl at my end who I now saw was clearly very much a Kimberly and not a Clarissa. ‘I’ve got it now cos the judge gave it to me, didn’t you?’ she demanded, giving me a defiant stare and clinging like billyo to the cup. Oh crikey.

  ‘Er, oh dear,’ I muttered, feeling myself flushing deep puce. ‘I’m most awfully sorry, I seem to have made a bit of a –’

  ‘You give that cup back right now, Kimberly Masters!’ boomed a dragon’s voice behind me, making me jump out of my skin. ‘Give it straight back to my Clarissa! She won that cup and you know it, now hand it over!’

  I turned to see an enormous tweedy woman, purple in the face with fury and with a matching purple hat squashed on to her Grecian 2000 curls, emerging from the crowd. She reached us in a matter of giant strides and bore down on the quite undaunted Kimberly, quivering with rage and shaking her fist in her face.

  ‘Go on, hand it over right now!’

  ‘Shan’t,’ pouted Kimberly, hugging the silver.

  ‘You jolly well will, my girl, you see if I don’t come and make you! And as for you,’ she stormed, suddenly rounding on me, ‘my Clarissa was far and away the best-turned-out gel here, any fool can see that, you ought to be sacked! Handing out cups to all and sundry – just look at the state of this one!’ she cried, indicating the petulant Kimberly. ‘Her jacket’s a disgrace, a hand-me-down if ever I saw one, and she hacked six miles to get here from the council estate so her pony’s up to his hocks in mud and sweating like a pig and she hasn’t even plaited his mane. Best turned out? She couldn’t win a fancy-dress prize at a cattle market! You give that cup back right now, Kimberly Masters, or I’ll damn well come and take it from you!’

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the bleedin’ kind, Daphne ’Eggerty!’ roared another, equally furious, but decidedly less fruity female voice. ‘My Kimberly won that fair and square and the judge’s decision is final, in’t that right?’ demanded an angry peroxide-blonde woman in a lime-green shell suit who had joined the happy gathering. I recognized her as one of the enthusiastic Mexican wavers.

  ‘Er, yes, you’re quite right,’ I quavered nervously. ‘Usually the judge’s decision is final, but, you see, I’m not actually here in, um, a judgemental capacity. I’m just sort of presenting the prizes.’ I inched nervously away from these warring mothers. ‘But you’re right,’ I added, nodding enthusiastically as the tweedy woman’s face darkened, ‘there certainly seems to have been some sort of a mix-up here, all my fault, I’m sure. Er, maybe if I took all the rosettes back and started again, we could –’

  ‘No bleedin’ way!’ screeched Lime-green Shell Suit, waving a bright-pink fingernail in my face. ‘No way! My Kimberly won that cup and we’re gonna get her name put on it and ’ave it on the sideboard in the lounge and that’s that!’

  ‘Oh! Oh well, yes, of course, I’m sure it would look lovely but – oh look! Here’s one of the judges! We’ll let him sort it out, shall we?’

  It was with intense relief that I caught sight of the official who was bustling furiously over. About time too, I thought, beginning to feel decidedly damp under the arms.

  ‘Now now, ladies,’ he soothed, as he eased his way between the irate mothers and stroked his moustache nervously, ‘no need to get excited. I’m quite certain we can sort this out. I think perhaps Mrs Penhalligan got just a teeny bit confused, so perhaps if we started again, and maybe if I were to present the prizes we could –’

  ‘Oh, what an absolutely marvellous idea,’ I breathed, hastily thrusting the remaining rosettes into his hands, ‘yes, terrific! If you would be so kind as to take over,’ I was already scuttling backwards, ‘that would be marvellous, because you see, apart from anything else,’ I clutched my head dramatically, ‘I’ve got the most appalling migraine coming on. Must be the heat.’ I fanned my face energetically. ‘Bye then, and so sorry about the mix-up, all my fault I’m sure, thanks ever so!’

  With that I rammed my hat firmly down over my by now puce face, put my head down and hastened towards the edge of the ring and the gawping crowd beyond. I ducked underneath the white tape and without looking left or right, but aware that a million eyes were upon me, scurried through the murmuring masses which parted for me like the Red Sea. Scarlet with shame, I didn’t even have the nerve to look around for Nick, but just headed doggedly for the exit gate. What a nightmare, what a complete and utter nightmare, just get me out of here!

  I flew through the gate, rounded the corner and was just scampering off down the lane in the direction of home and sanctuary when I heard footsteps pounding along behind me. I dared not look round – please God, don’t let it be one of the mothers, please God! A moment later Nick drew level with me and grabbed me by the arm.

  ‘Hey, slow down, will you,’ he panted between bouts of convulsive laughter. ‘Oh God, Polly, you’ve no idea the mayhem you’ve caused back there – you really are unbelievable!’ He clutched his stomach, doubled up with laughter. I shook him off and marched on down the lane.

  ‘Oh yes, go ahead, laugh,’ I snapped, feeling a bit of eye water coming on, ‘very funny, I’m sure, but it’s not you that’s going to be the laughing stock of the village for the next six months, is it?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly, no one’s going to laugh at you,’ he said, trotting to keep up with me and trying hard to keep a straight face. ‘It was just a simple mistake, that’s all. I mean, let’s face it, anyone could have thought that Kimberly Masters, up to her eyeballs in mud and mascara and in an old tweed jacket that clearly belonged to her father, was the best-turned-out pony and rider, anyone, Polly!’ More helpless mirth followed this unkind observation.

  ‘Well, she obviously came fourth, didn’t she?’ I snapped. ‘I mean, she can’t have been that bad!’

  ‘There were only four riders in the competition, Poll,’ he spluttered. ‘She came last, actually.’

  ‘Well, how was I supposed to know who to give the blasted cup to? I mean, I asked you, didn’t I? Fat lot of good you were.’

  ‘I said the bay gelding, remember? The bay gelding, not the black mare!’

  ‘And just what exactly is a bay gelding? Eh? I mean, why didn’t you say the blonde girl on the end with a mouth full of wire?’

  ‘Bay is brown and gelding means it’s had its balls off – you must know that by now!’

  ‘No, I don’t, actually,’ I gulped, grabbing my beastly hat as it flew off towards a ditch, ‘and, anyway, what was I supposed to do, crawl around on all fours checking out its genital arrangement or something? What a ridiculous way to describe an animal! You wouldn’t describe a man as having brown hair and being circumcised, would you?’

  ‘Not quite the same thing, Poll,’ chortled Nick, who was clearly finding this whole affair highly amusing. ‘It’s a bit more drastic than being circumcised – hey, slow down, will you, and stop sulking. It doesn’t matter; everyone thought it was hysterically funny. We haven’t had a good row in the county for ages. Those two families will be at each other’s throats for the next ten years now – it livens things up no end!’

  I sighed gloomily but slowed down a bit. ‘And trust me to be the one to liven things up,’ I said, kicking a pebble viciously. ‘Good old Polly, you can always rely on her to cock things up and give everyone a good laugh. Why can’t I ever get anything right in this blasted village?’

  Nick grinned, and put his arm round me as we walked along. ‘Getting the Helston Gymkhana prizes muddled up is not exactly the end of the world, you know.’ He gave my shoulder a squeeze.

  ‘I know,’ I said ruefully, ‘but, all the same, I wish I was a bit more …’ I bit my lip and gazed wistfully over the hedge to the field beyond us.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you know, a bit more, sort of … county. And capable. I mean, don’t you ever wish that you’d married someone with a name like Lucinda Raffetty-Bagshot or – or Camilla Ponsonby-
Bunkup? Someone who knew her hocks from her elbows and could ride to hounds with one hand, milk a cow with the other and build a dry-stone wall with her eyes shut?’

  Nick pulled me abruptly to a halt in the middle of the road.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, you know, I’m not exactly country-house material, am I? Don’t you ever think you’d have been better off with one of Daphne Heggerty’s girls, for instance?’

  ‘What, you think perhaps the oldest one might have suited me, do you? Henrietta with the buck teeth who sprays you with water every time she opens her mouth? Or perhaps the next one down, Matilda, isn’t it, whose voice has been known to smash glasses at dinner parties? God, I’d run a mile from girls like that, you know I would; they frighten the pants off me. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Poll, and don’t pretend you don’t know it.’

  I gazed up at him and gulped. Yes, I thought, as I looked into his serious dark-brown eyes, yes I did know it, but by God it was nice to be reminded now and again, especially by this most taciturn and undemonstrative of husbands. Talk about an uncharacteristic display of affection. My eyes watered briefly, but this time it was nothing to do with cocking up the prizegiving. I gave him a watery smile.

  ‘You’re all I’ve ever wanted too, you know,’ I whispered.

  ‘You’re so unoriginal, aren’t you?’ he muttered as he bent down to kiss me. ‘Can’t you even think of your own sweet nothings? D’you have to nick mine all the time?’

  I giggled. ‘What d’you mean, “all the time”? They only occur about once in a blue moon or when England win a Test match, which is even less.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to overdo it, got to be economical with my pleasantries, you know. It wouldn’t do to let you get a big head, got to keep you on your toes!’

  Suddenly a speeding car turned the corner and came hurtling towards us, nearly knocking us flying as we stood laughing and hugging in the middle of the lane.

  ‘Look out!’ yelled Nick, as he pulled me on to the grass verge.