‘It was more than that, though, wasn’t it?’ she said. ‘I heard you telling Sally about Plan A and Plan B. Saying it was a mistake to come.’
‘Grace, you really shouldn’t eavesdrop! It’s a bit sneaky.’
‘It wasn’t my fault! The door was open – how could I help hearing?’
‘OK.’ Mum sighed. ‘Well. It’s a bit like trying to stop the Titanic from hitting the iceberg. Too late.’
‘Saving Flambards, you mean?’ Plan A must be selling off the whole place, Grace remembered, and Plan B was to sell off some of the land – the meadow – for building. ‘Can’t you think of Plan C? Isn’t that why you’re here?’
‘The planning side isn’t really my job. I’m here to do better publicity for the courses. I really don’t know how Flambards can be saved. If there’s an easy way of making it pay for itself, no one’s thought of it yet.’
‘Haven’t you got any ideas?’
‘Yes, of course – but it might be too little, too late. I’m worried that the Trustees have wasted their money, employing me. And soon enough that’s what they’ll decide.’
‘Then what? You’ll have no job and nowhere to live.’
‘Something’ll turn up, I expect,’ Mum said, but vaguely, not as if she really believed it. ‘I knew this was only temporary. I’ve still got my other clients, even if I’m neglecting them at the moment.’
There was a miaow at the open door. Cat Siggy came in, twining himself around Grace’s legs. Legs. If he noticed that one of them wasn’t warm and bendy like other people’s legs, he didn’t seem to care.
‘Don’t encourage him to come in, Gracey.’ Mum was looking into the small mirror she kept in her bag, tweaking her fringe, getting ready to go back to the office. ‘He’ll start to think he lives here.’
‘But I like him.’ Grace bent to scoop him up, and cuddled him close. ‘When we go, we could take him with us.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Mum closed the mirror with a snap. ‘He’s Roger’s cat now, isn’t he? Besides, a lot of rented places don’t allow pets.’
On Sunday, Grace’s dad and Chloe took her to the seaside.
‘I used to come here as a boy,’ Dad said, scanning the seafront for somewhere to park. ‘Years and years ago now. I thought it’d be nice to have a traditional seaside day. Fish and chips for lunch. Donkey rides. Buckets and spades on the beach.’
He must be joking – Grace couldn’t see any donkeys, and surely he and Chloe hadn’t brought buckets and spades. But the beach was crowded; there was no free parking space, and Dad drove farther along the coast road, saying there must be a car park along here somewhere. They ended up on a quiet headland, looking down on a river estuary where birds gathered and roosted on shining mud flats. Squinting at them, Grace wished Jamie were here to tell her what they were. To Dad and probably Chloe they were just gulls, but she could make out the slimmer, darker shapes of other birds among them. Without Jamie’s influence she wouldn’t have looked closely enough to notice.
When Dad had first introduced Chloe, a few weeks before It, Grace was wary, though she soon thawed in the warmth of Chloe’s radiant smiles and keen attention. But Chloe was too friendly, too eager to be liked, too relentlessly sunny. Today, as usual, she beamed at Grace like a heat-lamp, asking her opinion of everything, enthusiastically agreeing. She wanted to know all about Flambards and how Grace was spending her time there.
‘Riding! How exciting! I’ve always wished I could ride.’
Besides being a good bit younger than Mum, she was – Grace grudgingly admitted – prettier, with smokily made-up grey eyes, and thick blonde hair caught up in a top-knot, wispy tendrils straying attractively. There was something lush and glossy about her. She had the sort of fair skin that flushed easily, and in the fish-and-chip cafe they found for lunch she coloured up hotly when Dad took her hand and said, ‘We’ve got news for you, Grace. A surprise. Haven’t we, darling?’
Had he ever called Mum darling? If he had, Grace hadn’t heard.
‘Go on, you tell,’ he said, smiling, his face close to Chloe’s.
‘No, you.’
‘You’re going to have a baby.’ Grace plonked the words down, putting an end to this.
‘Yes! Yes!’ Chloe’s smile widened. ‘Oh, clever Grace!’
Really, did they think she was five years old?
Dad took over, smiling broadly. ‘Isn’t it exciting? We’re both thrilled.’
Well, hurrah for you, Grace thought.
‘And we hope you’ll like being a big sister.’
Grace considered. Another big thing to get used to. Another change.
‘Boy or girl?’ she asked. As if she cared either way. Neither Dad nor Chloe seemed to notice that she wasn’t exactly bouncing up and down with excitement.
‘We don’t know yet.’ Chloe laid a protective hand on her belly. ‘Maybe at the next scan. He or she’s due in January.’
Grace looked at Dad. ‘Does Mum know?’
‘Yes. I told her on the phone.’
She felt indignant, as if they’d all been plotting behind her back. ‘She didn’t say!’
‘No, I asked her not to. I wanted to tell you myself.’
At first, after the split, Dad used to take Grace out on his own. Now she rarely saw him without Chloe there too: it was Dad-and-Chloe now. And soon it would be Dad-and-Chloe-and-child.
A child that would be with them all the time, not just for odd days.
A child with two legs. A child without a flaw. A child who could run and jump, race into the sea and swim. A child who didn’t have to take off a prosthetic leg every night before getting into bed and then hop or use crutches.
But this new child wouldn’t be a Russell; there’d be no Russell blood in his or her veins. That was her one consolation.
‘Anyway, can we lure you away from Flambards for a bit?’ Dad squeezed the tomato sauce bottle, producing a farting sound that made Chloe giggle and Grace roll her eyes. ‘You know we’re having a holiday in the Lake District later this month? If you’re getting bored, stuck out there in the middle of nowhere, you could come with us.’
‘Oh, do come!’ Chloe urged. ‘We’re renting a lovely cottage near Derwentwater. There’d be plenty of room for you.’ She made it sound as if having Grace with them would be the one thing to make her holiday perfect.
Grace hesitated. Walking in the hills. Up high on the sheep tracks, looking at craggy summits. Another activity she’d have loved, before. Still, there were lakes, and boats, and things she could do. But wouldn’t Dad and Chloe prefer to be on their own, gushing adoringly at each other without restraint? And … wouldn’t it feel like abandoning Mum? And Flambards?
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Can I think about it?’
During the drive back, a new fear struck her.
What if Mum had another baby too? She wasn’t too old, was she? Of course she’d have to meet a suitable man first, and since Dad left she hadn’t so much as been out on a date, as far as Grace knew. What if she did meet someone, though? Then there’d be two new families, with herself suspended in the middle, a damaged remnant of the life both parents had left behind.
Back in the flat, she broached the subject.
‘How long have you known about Dad and Chloe’s baby?’
Mum was setting out the ironing board. ‘Oh – a week or so. He asked me not to tell you.’
‘So you didn’t. Like you owe him any favours. You could have given me a bit of warning! But – what do you think?’
‘Lovely for them,’ Mum said.
‘Oh, come on, Mum!’ Grace flashed back. ‘You’re nice, but not that nice – what do you really think? Aren’t you a bit—’
‘A bit what?’
Grace considered. Not jealous – that wasn’t what she meant. She settled for, ‘A bit thrown?’
‘Maybe. Yes, OK. But what difference does it make, what I think?’
‘I know that. But still.’ Grace stopped, unsure where she wanted th
e conversation to go. Yes, she decided – she wanted Mum to be angry, resentful, jealous. Surely it wasn’t quite truthful to say how lovely, as if other people’s happiness was the only thing that mattered.
What about me? What about us? We’re the leftovers.
‘And you?’ Mum asked carefully. ‘Do you like the idea of being a big sister?’
Grace pictured Chloe cooing over a swaddled bundle, handing it over to be held and admired; Dad gazing proudly at his new, flawless child. A perfect family. She couldn’t imagine herself as part of it. Babies could be sweet, but on balance, she decided, she preferred animals.
‘Not sure. Maybe. It’s not like it’s you having another baby, that would live with us all the time.’ She hesitated, remembering her thoughts on the way back. ‘Would you like that?’
‘Me?’ Mum gave a little laugh. ‘How could that happen?’
‘Well, if you met someone, obviously. You might.’ Hunting in the cupboard for biscuits, she added, ‘There’s online dating if you wanted to give it a try. Jenna’s mum’s always finding men that way.’
‘Grace!’ Mum looked up from the sleeve she was pressing. ‘I don’t want another baby, I can tell you that for sure. And I’m not looking for another man, either. I’m quite happy with the two of us. Aren’t you?’
CHAPTER TEN
Full Gallop
‘Shorter reins,’ Charlie shouted from Sirius’s saddle. She and Grace were riding along the road that led from Marsh House towards the harvested cornfields and the Flambards woods, and she was just as particular as she’d been in the schooling ring. ‘Keep her together. You mustn’t let her slop along. Be a rider, not a passenger.’
Grace would have preferred Jamie’s company. Far from slopping, Plum was having to walk briskly to keep up with Sirius’s longer stride, occasionally breaking into a jog-trot, which Charlie said not to allow. Grace nurtured a secret delight that soon she’d be allowed to do this all on her own, without Charlie – then there’d be just her and Plum, the pony’s four legs to carry her, the woods and the fields stretching as far as she could see. She’d been thinking about that in bed, early this morning: how she could pretend to be Christina, riding out on her own horse. It was impossible to pretend that now, with the constant flow of instructions from Charlie. Still, it’d be worth putting up with this to earn the freedom she longed for.
‘Keep over to the left. Don’t let her drift to the middle. Cars sometimes come round this bend too fast.’
As if to prove Charlie’s point, one immediately did – slowing only at the last moment. Plum took no notice at all, but Sirius danced sideways while Charlie raised a hand to the driver in grudging thanks because he had at least braked. Grace was relieved when they turned off the road on to a broad uphill stretch of track.
‘We’ll canter here,’ Charlie called out.
Sirius set off at his easy, ground-eating pace, Plum eager in his wake. Grace leaned forward in balance, her hands light on the reins. Oh, this was brilliant! – the pounding of hooves, clods of grass flying from Sirius’s hooves, the breeze in her face making her eyes blur. Plum’s ears were pricked keenly in her efforts to keep up with the bigger horse ahead.
At the top of the field Charlie wheeled round in front of a gate that led into woodland, and Grace slowed Plum to a trot.
‘OK?’ Charlie said, grinning. ‘You’re still here, anyway!’
‘Fantastic!’
Charlie was leaning over to unhook the gate, which swung open. ‘There are some log jumps in the wood, low ones. I think you’re ready to have a go.’
‘Great!’ Confident from the fast canter, Grace felt ready to try anything.
‘It’s easy, like a bigger canter stride. Just lean forward and go with her. Grab her mane if you feel unsteady.’
Being surrounded by slender tree trunks on both sides emphasized the speed. Grace wasn’t at all sure she was in control as Plum followed Sirius along the track, neatly jumping the logs and branches that crossed the path. Grace wobbled a little and lost her left stirrup over the second one, but regained her balance with the help of a handful of mane, and was sitting upright, panting, by the time she and Plum caught up with Sirius in a glade at the end.
I did it! Rode over jumps!
She was exhilarated. Christina, she was sure, had soared over gates and thorny hedges on a big horse like Sirius and would hardly have seen these small obstacles as jumps at all, but this was a start.
‘All right with that?’ Charlie was making Sirius wait, holding him with difficulty; he was full of go, sidling and almost barging into Plum as she drew level. ‘They’re only little, but it gives you the idea. We can canter on again along this bit – no jumps. Then we’ll go all the way round and come back over the logs.’
This time Sirius gave a great plunge forward, caught up by Charlie’s hands firm on the reins, and they were off. Grace heard Charlie’s voice: ‘Slow down, idiot horse …’ He seemed such a double handful that Grace was thankful for good, reliable Plum. Straining to keep up, the pony swerved around a branch that jutted out into the ride, and again Grace was unbalanced, clinging on, jolted, hardly able to see clearly through the muddle of leaves and twigs and flying tail ahead of her.
Then, abruptly, everything was thrown into confusion. With a rattling screech, a pheasant whirred into flight from under Sirius’s nose – Grace glimpsed copper plumage, a clumsy flail of wings, long tail trailing. Sirius veered to one side, reared and pirouetted round. Charlie was thrown over his shoulder, suspended momentarily between horse and ground before landing heavily with a cry of pain.
Following hard behind, Plum had to swerve to avoid her, while Grace clung on, sure for a split second that she’d fall off too.
Sirius paused, nostrils flared and neck arched as he faced Plum. Sensing unaccustomed freedom he jinked away, high-stepping, soon breaking into a gallop and disappearing among the trees.
‘Oh, f—’ Charlie was half-sitting up, clutching one arm, then collapsing to the ground. ‘Catch him, Grace, for God’s sake …’
‘What?’ Now Grace was having to restrain Plum, who was a compressed spring beneath her, wanting to go after her companion.
‘The road. If he gets to the road …’ Charlie was grimacing in pain.
‘What about you?’
‘I can’t – something broken … Catch him if you can, then get help from home …’ Propping herself up with difficulty, she looked about to pass out.
What am I supposed to do? Grace thought of her phone, uselessly back in her rucksack at Marsh House. Surely Charlie shouldn’t be left? And how on earth could she catch a powerful horse in full gallop? But following him was easy enough, simply by relaxing her hold on the reins, at which Plum shot off at a fast canter. Grace wasn’t even sure which way Marsh House was now, after the twists and turns of the woodland paths, but she trusted that Plum and Sirius would both head for home.
The gate. Wouldn’t Sirius stop at the gate? Or would he jump? Her heart pounded as she clung to Plum’s mane with both hands. What if Plum tried to jump it too? She’d be thrown off, for sure … She was relieved when there was no sign of Sirius round the next bend or at the closed gate, but farther along a track led straight out into the next open field – there he was, on the horizon, galloping fast with mane and tail streaming. Which way was the road? If he careered into the path of a speeding car he could be horribly injured, or could cause a crash and kill someone …
Grace felt sick.
‘Come on, Plum!’
The pony gamely gathered speed, and Grace felt the bunching and release beneath her, the lengthening of stride. She was galloping, actually galloping, and if it hadn’t been for the urgency of her mission she would have shouted for joy at the thrill of it. Ahead, a line of sapling trees marked the lane, and there was a five-barred iron gate, high enough to make Sirius waver and skid to a halt, reins and stirrups flying. Then he threw up his head and began pacing along the hedge one way and then the other, trying to get through, t
ossing his head in frustration.
Now Grace would have to try to catch his reins and lead him home. How to manage that, she had no idea. Approaching, she sat back, her hands firm on the reins to make Plum slow down. She was bouncing in the saddle far more than was right, just about managing to hang on.
‘Whoa, whoa, Plum, good pony,’ she panted. ‘Sirius, good boy, good boy – come here, please …’
Should she dismount? But approaching Sirius on foot would be more alarming than trying to reach him from the saddle. And clearly he didn’t want to be caught – he ducked his head, plunged and skittered aside in a way that looked almost playful, teasing her. Can’t catch me! His reins were broken, trailing on the ground.
Someone was coming along the lane, concealed behind the hedge; she heard the whirr of bike tyres. Perhaps it was someone who could help, someone who could manage horses and would know what to do …
A black-and-white collie appeared in the gateway; then the cyclist, who stopped to take in the scene.
Flash. And Marcus. Grace felt giddy with relief.
‘Hey – what happened?’ Marcus was off his bike at once, propping it in the hedge. ‘Where’s Charlie?’
Grace explained, pointing back at the woods. ‘She couldn’t get up – her arm’s broken, I think …’
Marcus assessed the situation with quick understanding. He told Flash to sit and stay, came into the field and spoke calmly to Sirius, who was still keeping himself out of reach. Gradually the big horse stood more quietly: wary, snorting, but slowly allowing Marcus to approach him, take hold of the trailing reins and pat his shoulder. It was clear that Marcus knew how to handle horses, and Grace remembered that Charlie had called him a natural.
‘You go on to Marsh House and get help,’ he told Grace, when they were all through the gate – luckily it wasn’t padlocked – and on the lane. ‘I’ll lead him – he’s too unsettled to ride – but you can get there quicker on Plum. You know the way? Straight along, then turn left – about half a mile. Let’s hope there’s someone in. Are you OK?’ he added, and looked at her as if seeing her properly for the first time.
The Key to Flambards Page 9
