A cup of water

I let the tourguide fill my plastic cup, but the water smelled like a nosebleed. Dad swallowed his: ‘Full of iron, that is, It’ll put hairs on your chest.’

I was going to pretend to drop the cup on the pavement, and I’d turned round so Mum wouldn’t see me when a man on a horse almost trampled me. I stepped backwards, and nearly walked into a tree. That was weird, because there is a line of trees down the middle of the Pantiles, but I was sure there wasn’t one right behind me.

This man on the horse, he looked awful – sort of greenish, and tired. ‘Give me that cup, girl.’

What sort of town has litter police on horseback?

I handed the cup up to him and he downed it. ‘That’s better. Tis a thirsty ride after a night of Lord Abergavenny’s wine.’ And he sat there for a moment on his horse, looking down at the sunlight dappling the ground through the leaves. ‘A pretty spot. Who owns this place? Abergavenny? Camden?’

I shook my head. I didn’t know either of those people, and I was puzzled because there were dead leaves and earth under my feet, not brick pavement.

‘I know of plenty who would benefit from the waters,’ said the man dropping the cup. ‘I’ve a mind to bring a few of my brothers in wine here tomorrow.’

And the cup clattered on the pavement and all the tour group stared at me. Mum made a face that means trouble: ‘If you didn’t want any water, you should have said.’