Free Jump! by Jilly Cooper

ever.
    Returning to the barn after school, Drummond had complained he’d seen a big rat in the potting shed, locked Etta in when she went to investigate, ate a box of chocolates she’d been sent as a moving-in present, and became so hyper he beat up his sister for letting Etta out.
    Returning to screaming chaos, Romy ticked Etta off roundly. Poppy then announced that Granny was going to get a puppy.
    ‘You are not getting a puppy, Mother,’ exploded Romy. ‘It would chew up everything and dirty our lovely barn. Drummond is allergic to dogs. And frankly, Etta, aren’t you a little too old? It’s rather selfish to take on a puppy that might outlive you. You’ll be kept quite busy enough getting to know your grandchildren.’
    The following morning, returning to the bungalow having dropped off Drummond and Poppy at their school, Etta began worrying about what she could give them for tea without poisoning them. And how the hell could she find a home for the towers of books on the floor, the clothes on her bed and the pictures propped against the walls before Romy bagged them for the Willowwood Autumn Fayre?
    Her despondency was interrupted by a knock on the door.
    Outside were a jaunty chocolate Labrador with a bunch of yellow roses in his mouth, and a very pretty teenager with a round pink face, blonde hair drawn back in a ponytail, large suspicious pale turquoise eyes fringed by thick blonde lashes, a tiny nose and a full, sweet but determined mouth. She was wearing a dark blue man’s sweater, which hung to the knees of her ripped jeans. Not as tall but older than Trixie, Etta thought, putting her at fifteen.
    Her manner was formal, her voice piercing, as she announced: ‘Welcome to Willowwood, Mrs Bancroft. My name is Dora Belvedon. This is Cadbury who has brought you some flowers.’
    But as the beaming Labrador proffered a fat paw, he reminded Etta so much of Bartlett’s last moment that she burst into tears.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ cried Dora, ‘you poor thing. After death and divorce they say moving house is the most stressful experience and you’ve had both.’
    Ushering Etta back into the bungalow, Dora handed her a piece of kitchen roll and made her a cup of coffee into which she tipped a large slug of Alan’s brandy, as Etta explained about Bartlett.
    ‘I miss her so much, she gave a paw like Cadbury. I wanted to get a puppy. There must be such lovely walks round here, but my grandson Drummond is allergic to dogs.’
    Forbearing to say that most of Willowwood was allergic to Drummond, Dora said Etta could walk Cadbury whenever she wanted.
    ‘Why don’t you come for a walk with us now to cheer you up? I’ll tell you who everyone is.’ Then, looking at the clock: ‘It’s at least an hour and a half before you pick up your grandchildren from school. You don’t really need a coat,’ Dora helped a submissive Etta into a Barbour and wrapped a blue and white striped scarf round her neck, ‘but people feel the cold at times of stress.’
    ‘You are kind. Where d’you live?’ asked Etta.
    ‘I’m staying with Joyce Painswick,’ said Dora. ‘She was school secretary at Bagley Hall, where Trixie your granddaughter and I go, but she’s recently retired to Ivy Cottage, just up the road. Perhaps you could go to the cinema together. She seems a dragon but she’s got a heart of gold. I can’t live at home at the moment. My mother’s very high maintenance and is on the hunt for a new backer.’
    Rather like Blanche, thought Etta with a shiver.
    Crossing the wooden bridge over the rushing stream, on reaching the road Dora turned right towards the village. Parked all along the verge were vehicles whose owners were working on Badger’s Court. Two lorries had stopped outside the gates for a gossip, blocking the road to the fury of a stout bald man with a bristling moustache who was driving a very clean Rover.
    When hysterical tooting failed, he leapt out and started shouting, only pausing to shake his fist