Free Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage by Cathy Woodman

mobile to his pocket as she leads the horse away.
    â€˜Daddy!’ A girl dressed in school uniform – a royal blue polo shirt, grey pleated skirt and brown sandals – comes running across the yard from the car, while a woman – Robbie’s mother, I assume – takes some shopping bags out of the boot.
    â€˜Maisie, this is Flick.’ Robbie holds her hand tightly. ‘Flick, this is Maisie.’
    â€˜Hello. I’m seven. How old are you?’ She looks up at me.
    â€˜Twenty-nine.’
    When she smiles, I can see the resemblance between her and her father in her high cheekbones and deep blue eyes. Her long hair is a lighter brown with a fringe and tied back in a ponytail.
    Robbie sweeps her up into his arms. She giggles and clonks him affectionately over the head with her book bag.
    â€˜Did you have a good time at Ashley’s house?’ he asks.
    â€˜We made fairy-cakes.’
    â€˜I can tell.’
    â€˜How?’
    â€˜You have icing sugar stuck to your chin.’ He rubs it away gently with a finger.
    â€˜Nanny’s got some in the car for you. We put sprinkles on and fairy-dust and everything.’ Maisie puts her arms around his neck and tips her head to one side. ‘Can you help me with my sentences now?’
    â€˜You know Miss Fox only gave me three out of ten last time.’
    â€˜She gave you six. Please, Daddy …’
    â€˜I’ll come and help with your homework as soon as I’ve taken some hay over to Wisteria House for Flick’s horse.’
    â€˜And then can I have a ride on T-rex?’
    â€˜Not tonight. I’ve had a busy day.’
    â€˜You don’t have to lead me.’
    â€˜You know very well that I do. There’s no way you’re riding him on your own.’
    â€˜But I really, really, really want to ride on my own.’ Her lower lip wobbles and tears threaten to spill down her cheeks. ‘Demi at school rides off the lead rein.’
    â€˜That’s because she has a sensible pony. You know what T-rex’s like. He’s a—’
    â€˜Very naughty boy,’ she finishes for him.
    â€˜That’s right. One day we’ll find you a pony that I can trust to look after you.’
    I can’t help smiling. Robbie seems more protective of his daughter than my dad was of me. When I was a child, he bought or leased me the best ponies and the most expensive kit: fitted tweed show jackets with velvet collars; canary-yellow jodhpurs; shiny leather jodhpur boots. I had long hair down to my waist and Mum used to plait it at the same time as she plaited the ponies’ manes and tails, finishing it off with a ribbon to match their velvet brow-bands.
    Some of the ponies were highly strung, and on the rare occasions that I came off, my father would pick me up, dust me down and drop me straight back on. He treated me like a princess, but one with attitude. I dismiss a twinge of regret. I wish my father had the same confidence in me now as he did back then.
    â€˜Can I help you with the hay?’ Maisie asks. ‘Not this time. We agreed that you wouldn’t stay up late when you have school the next day,’ Robbie says. ‘I have to go – we don’t want Flick’s horse to starve, do we?’
    â€˜Don’t be long.’ She turns and skips back to where her grandmother is waiting.
    â€˜Who’d be a single parent?’ Robbie sighs. ‘Actually, apart from being utterly exhausting at times, it’s brilliant. Maisie’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’
    â€˜She’s lovely.’ Like her dad, I want to add, my heart melting. Not only is he the ultimate horse-mad male, it’s obvious that he loves his daughter to bits, too.
    â€˜This way.’ He moves up to my side.
    I sense the firm touch of his hand against my back as he guides me in the direction of the barn in the yard, beyond where the trailer, a double horsebox in blue