Keeping the Peace by Hannah Hooton

away.’
    Pippa shrugged, looking at herself in the reflection of the kitchen window. There was a streak of grime across her forehead. She wiped it with a weary hand.
    ‘Savings. They’re both retired now. The house is paid off.’
    ‘Couldn’t they lend you some to get Dave’s place sorted out?’
    ‘No,’ she replied firmly. ‘This is something I’m going to do on my own. Besides, Dave wasn’t hugely popular in my household. He was a gambler and a risk-taker, and well, you know what my parents are like.’
    ‘God, yes. Buying Crunchy Nut instead of corn flakes is seen as taking a risk with your parents.’
    The two friends giggled. Pippa didn’t mind Tash ripping off her parents. She was almost their surrogate daughter so she was allowed to. Suddenly, an eardrum-rupturing alarm went off in the background.
    ‘Oh, hell!’ cried Tash. ‘I forgot the lasagne in the oven. Got to dash, Pip. Speak to you soon!’
    ‘Bye, Tash,’ Pippa said to the dead line.

     
    The new week brought with it a wet cold spell and Pippa had to scrape ice off her windscreen for the first time with her debit card. She took it easy driving to work, more in admiration of the countryside than in caution. On either side of the road the leafless branches of the trees were tinged silver and the grass glistened jade.
    ‘I could probably get that using a slate grey and forest green. Maybe a hint of periwinkle,’ she murmured. She had grabbed a couple of hours to start on Hazyvale Dawn over the weekend and, now that she had picked up her brushes again, it was like eating Pringles. You couldn’t just have one, you had to stuff yourself until the whole tube was finished. Her inspiration was coming back in tidal waves.
    The deep growl of a tractor coming in the opposite direction refocused Pippa’s attention and happily she waved back at its driver. People didn’t do that on her street in London, she thought as a flood of well-being gushed through her. All they did was hoot and crouch over their steering wheels, in too much of a hurry to take any notice of those around them.
    She carried on to work, humming along to the crackling radio, satisfied with the mental photograph she had taken of her surroundings which would hopefully reappear on canvas later.

     
    ‘Jack?’ Pippa poked her head round his door.
    Jack glared at her, his temper simmering beneath the surface.
    ‘What?’
    Pippa closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. There was no point in both of them being in bad moods. Jack was still standing beneath the black heavy cloud that had emerged after Black Russian’s defeat on Saturday in the Fighting Fifth Hurdle. The fact that Pippa was blissfully unaware of the crucial and unexplained result hadn’t helped when she had cheerily asked how Aspen Valley had performed over the weekend. She decided in future that she was better off watching the races on TV herself so that she would be prepared for Jack’s foul moods. The numerous calls from the media just seemed to feed the flames.
    ‘Dan Cameron just rang to say he’s got to rearrange your appointment today,’ she said, naming one of Aspen Valley’s premier owners. ‘He can’t do lunch so he said that you should meet him in Bath at half eleven.’
    ‘What! You told him that was okay?’
    ‘No, of course not. He didn’t give me much choice though. He said that he wants to speak to you about Black Russian, as you know, and that half eleven was the only time he can see you.’
    ‘Bloody ridiculous,’ Jack muttered. He looked at his watch. ‘Shit. I better get going then.’ He downed the last of his coffee and snatched up his jacket. He strode towards Pippa. ‘Here are today’s entries. I haven’t finished them. Put Leopard Rock in the two thirty-five at Huntingdon, Spurwing Island in the three ten, Carribea Bay in the four fifteen at Wincanton and Asian Dancer in the two fifteen at Chepstow. Can you remember that?’
    ‘Don’t worry – oh, Jack!’ Pippa