‘Yes, fine. Will do.’
Grace turned Plum and set off at a fast trot, knowing better than to canter on the hard road.
Afterwards, reliving the day’s drama, she realized that during that wild ride she’d hardly thought about her leg for a moment. She’d simply been riding – hurrying, galloping, even! – intent on her mission.
Perhaps the oddest thing in a very strange morning was to find herself acting as a team with Marcus. Thankfully, she found Ian and Gail both at home; her news sent them speeding off in their van to find Charlie. Grace led Plum into the stable and took off her saddle and bridle, and soon Marcus arrived with Sirius. He knew what to do next – rub down the sweaty horses, fill their water buckets and bring them hay from the barn. When both were settled and dry, there seemed little point waiting.
‘They’ll probably be ages at A & E,’ Marcus said. ‘We might as well go back to Flambards.’
Only now did it occur to Grace that she’d have to walk across the fields, unless she felt like waiting for Mum to return from a meeting in Chelmsford; the arrangement had been that Ian would drive her back to Flambards after her ride. Marcus whistled to Flash, and was about to set off to collect his bike from the gateway where he’d left it when the same thought must have struck him.
‘What about you? You can have my bike if you like – I don’t mind running. Can you ride a bike?’ He looked at her doubtfully.
‘I haven’t tried.’ Not since It, she meant. ‘But I don’t see why not. Thanks.’
When they reached the gateway, Marcus held the bike while she mounted, self-conscious, not wanting to look awkward in front of him. Bend her right knee, place her foot carefully on the pedal – she had to look. Then a push forward and away, and she was wheeling sweetly along the lane.
Cycling! Another thing she could do!
Her spirits rose. It was like cantering on Plum – freedom, speed, the joy of movement – and no one would know. She could hear Marcus’s trainers pounding the road as he jogged behind, and Flash’s eager huffing.
‘Oh, it’s easy!’ she called out, glancing over her shoulder. Next moment her right leg was flying out in front, the front wheel wavered, and before she could correct it the bike rammed into the verge and crashed to the ground. She lay there on her side, shocked and dizzied, her face shoved into rough grass, the bike collapsed on top of her. In an instant Flash was there, panting into her ear, licking.
‘Ow!’ Carefully she moved an arm, then the other.
‘Are you OK?’ Marcus was lifting the bike off her; she saw his face taut with anxiety.
‘I – think so.’ She’d landed mainly on her shoulder, and had wrenched her hip, but was otherwise unhurt. ‘It’s all right. My leg doesn’t fall off. At least it never has done, yet.’ She got up, smiling shakily. She knew what had happened. Her right foot, with no feeling, had slipped off the pedal; it was like the problem with stirrups when riding. ‘Can I have another go? I’ll be more careful this time.’
‘Well! If you’re sure.’
She took the bike by the handlebars and he stood back, watching her with a hint of amusement – or even admiration?
‘Don’t say anything to my mum, will you, or yours, about this?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want Mum to stop me doing things.’
He nodded. ‘Not if you don’t want me to.’
She rode as far as the T-junction, concentrating hard. When Marcus caught up he said, as if he’d just thought of it, ‘You know that thing people say about feeling the toes on your missing leg, even though they’re not there? Is it true?’
‘It’s sort of true. I used to get a pain shooting up my leg – still do, sometimes. And you know what the worst thing is? Having an itch, a really tickly itch, and you can’t do anything about it because there’s nothing to scratch.’
She felt oddly pleased by his question, the way he’d come straight out with it. As if it was a perfectly normal thing to ask, and answer.
At Flambards all was quiet; it was the hour before lunch time. This week’s group, ecologists – six of them, so small a group that Roger had been on the point of cancelling the course – had gone out on a field trip for the day.
‘I don’t know where Jamie is,’ Marcus said. ‘I was on my way to find him.’
‘Perhaps he’s down at the lake, with the otters.’
‘Yeah. He’s crazy about those otters.’
His smile transformed his face. So far she’d only ever seen him smile at Flash; this time it was for Jamie.
Later that afternoon, after a long time at the hospital, Ian came round to Flambards. Charlie had broken one of the bones in her forearm, and was furious – it meant she’d be out of action for the autumn competitions she was training for. She was at home now, with her mother trying to console her.
‘Poor Charlie!’
To Grace, it had brought back thoughts of how quickly things could change, how an ordinary day could turn to disaster. She felt for Charlie, even though the fractured ulna would soon mend.
‘She sends her thanks,’ Ian told her. ‘She’d have been frantic if Sirius had got loose with no one to help. To say nothing of having to stagger home with an arm broken.’
‘It was Marcus too. I wouldn’t have managed if he hadn’t been there.’
‘Yes, that was a stroke of luck. Oh, and do come over and ride Plum whenever you want,’ Ian added. ‘Charlie’s fine with that.’
To Grace’s embarrassment, she was being treated as a heroine – ‘Galloping to the rescue like that! When you’ve only been riding such a short time!’ – and required to give her account several times over, for Gail and Ian, for Mum and again for Roger.
‘My goodness!’ He was last to hear, as he’d been busy trying to find a replacement tutor for one who was ill. ‘You really have proved you’re a Russell, haven’t you?’
Later, getting ready for bed, Grace was thinking how different Marcus had seemed today – purposeful, capable, concerned. She didn’t feel wary of him any more.
Marcus is much nicer than I thought, she texted Marie-Louise.
Oh? Tell me more, came the quick reply.
But immediately Grace took off her leg and got into bed, she was too tired to think, let alone explain what had happened. She was aching all over in a way that was oddly enjoyable, the result of her strenuous ride; her shoulder and hip were sore from the bike crash that was her secret. Hers and Marcus’s.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ghost Soldiers
After that, Grace didn’t mind quite so much when Mum invited Sally and Adrian for supper on Thursday. She had only glimpsed Adrian through a window or across the yard since their startling face-to-face meeting, but it wouldn’t be too bad if Marcus was there, and Roger was coming as well.
‘Couldn’t you ask Jamie too?’
‘I can’t really invite Jamie without Ian and Gail and Charlie. There just isn’t the space up here.’
‘Marcus would like it better if Jamie came.’
‘Marcus doesn’t have to come if he doesn’t want to,’ Mum said.
But Grace found herself hoping he would.
Two days after the accident Charlie came down the garden at Marsh House while Grace was brushing out Plum’s tail, getting ready to ride.
‘Here, these are for you.’ Charlie’s left arm was strapped up; she handed Grace a carrier bag with her right hand. ‘A thank you for the other day.’
In the bag was a riding helmet – ‘My old one, but you can keep it’ – and a new hardback book called The Manual of Horsemanship.
‘Thanks! But you didn’t have to give me anything.’
Charlie shrugged. ‘I’d have been in bad trouble if you hadn’t been there.’
‘And now? How are you doing?’
‘Fed up. Grounded. I’ll be riding again as soon as I can, but in the meantime I’ll ask Jamie or Marc to keep Sirius exercised. Just quiet walking and trotting, nothing exciting. You can ride out together if you like.’
‘Is that a g
ood idea?’ Mum objected, when Grace told her this. ‘Isn’t it another accident waiting to happen? If Charlie, who’s so experienced, can be thrown like that – I really worry about you having a fall yourself.’
‘It’ll be fine, Mum,’ Grace said. She was adamant that she was going to ride every day, while she had the chance. ‘Plum will look after me.’
Grace’s mother finished work early on Thursday and threw herself into a flurry of kitchen activity. She invited people for meals only rarely, and tended to attempt too much and then panic, so Grace was relieved when everything reached the table unspoiled. A lot of it was salad, anyway. Grace had helped with the shopping and preparation and setting the table.
The three Greggs arrived: Sally first – a bit over-talkative, in a way that told Grace she was nervous because Mum could be like that sometimes, saying too much rather than leave space for silence – followed in by her husband and Marcus.
‘I don’t think you’ve met Grace, have you?’ Mum said to Adrian, and he didn’t put her right and say that he had. He did actually look at Grace to say hello – briefly – and there was even a hint of a tight smile. She saw Sally’s anxious glance and knew that the edginess was because she couldn’t be sure how her husband would behave.
When Roger had come in and everyone was seated, Grace’s eyes kept flicking from Marcus to his father and back. Compared to Roger, who took up a lot of space with his height and his long limbs and expansive gestures, Adrian seemed to contain himself in stillness, leaving most of the conversation to the others. But he accepted a second helping of stuffed peppers, listened, and smiled mildly and spoke when directly addressed. Grace got the impression that Sally and Marcus and Roger knew better than to try too hard to involve him in the talk. She was relieved that Mum seemed to have picked this up too, and didn’t ask a lot of nosy questions the way she sometimes did with Grace’s friends.
Marcus was quiet too – it was as if his father’s presence had a dampening effect – while Sally seemed intent on making Grace the centre of attention. ‘I think it’s quite amazing, Grace – oh, sorry, amazing Grace! I bet you get that all the time – the way you’ve taken to riding so quickly. You must be a natural.’
‘It’s her Russell blood,’ said Roger.
‘Blood is what I’m worried about, after what happened,’ Mum said. ‘You ride too, Marcus, don’t you? Grace said you took charge of Charlie’s horse, and knew what to do.’
‘Only now and then. I mean, I can ride a bit. Jamie taught me when we were just kids. I like horses, but I couldn’t care less about all that poncey stuff, dressage and doing everything according to the rules.’
‘Same here,’ Grace said, thinking of the book Charlie had given her, which was full of strict instructions about everything from clothes to worming powders. ‘Not keen on the proper equitation stuff, I mean. I just like being out with Plum, on my own.’
‘Polly told me you’re going over to Marsh House most days now,’ Sally said, ‘and needing lifts there and back. I was wondering if you could make use of my bike? It’s an old one, not at all smart, but I hardly ever use it. I’m happy to lend it to you for the rest of the time you’re here.’
‘Oh, how kind of you!’ Mum exclaimed. ‘Do you think you could ride a bike, Grace?’
‘I don’t see why not.’ Grace caught Marcus’s eye across the table, and they shared a quick, furtive smile. She thanked Sally, while Mum made a fuss about not doing too much at first, and practising in the yard, and always wearing a helmet. How lovely to be free to come and go as she wished! Her own bike and her own pony to ride! Of course neither was really hers, but almost as good as.
‘That’s fine, then,’ Sally said. ‘I’ll get it out of the shed tomorrow. Poor Charlie must be fed up. She’s so serious about her riding.’
‘Lives for it.’ Roger held out his wine glass for Mum to top up. ‘I don’t know what she’ll do after A levels. Find a place in a training yard and take the horse with her, maybe. She can’t expect her parents to support her indefinitely. It’s all horribly expensive. Ian and Gail spend a fortune on that horse, and they’re lucky – they’ve got the stable and paddock at home. I hate to think what livery would cost. But there’s still vet’s bills and shoeing, and now competition entries, and Ian’s bought a trailer. It’s more than they can really afford.’
‘I hope Charlie’s grateful,’ Sally said.
Grace rather imagined that Charlie took it all as her right. She couldn’t help but be saddened by the talk of expense, bringing her own dreams of independence down with a bump. She knew it would be impossible to continue riding when she went back to Hackney. There were riding schools close to London, even in London, but she couldn’t expect Mum to pay for lessons. And she wasn’t even sure she wanted them. Going to a riding school wouldn’t be a bit the same as having Plum to herself.
Mum served the dessert – she’d bought a big apricot tart to serve with cream rather than making something, so that was safe – and the conversation turned to the special event Roger was planning for the Armistice weekend, the hundredth anniversary of the end of the war. Mum was helping with the plans, making a brochure and getting ready for the publicity launch. Local drama groups would be involved, and there would be readings and artwork and displays.
‘But events like this will be going on everywhere,’ Roger said. ‘We want ours to be different, about the local people, so I’m asking around for stories and photos and suchlike. Maybe, Adrian, your family’s got something? Old letters, photographs?’
Adrian looked blank, as if Roger was talking about ancient history. Roger went on, undeterred, ‘I’ve got a whole boxful of stuff of Fergus’s that was in the attic at Marsh House. I’ll go through it this weekend.’
‘Fergus?’ Sally asked.
‘My great-grandfather. The one who was in the Royal Flying Corps.’
‘That should be interesting. Adrian, your great-grandfather was in the Army, wasn’t he? Invalided out?’ Sally looked at him for a response. ‘Your Wright great-grandfather, I mean.’
Roger jumped at this. ‘Yes! That’s Richard Wright, isn’t it?’
‘Christina’s second husband?’ said Grace’s mother. ‘The farming one?’
‘Yes, whose grave we saw the other evening. If you could find out anything, Adrian, that’d be great.’
Adrian shrugged. ‘I’ll ask, if you want.’
Grace reviewed her mental family tree as she helped her mother clear the plates. Marcus and his father were part of it, in their own direct line, even if they weren’t blood relations. Everything seemed to lead back to Christina. Decisions made by Christina nearly a hundred years ago had led to them all sitting here now. As in the churchyard, it made her feel a little dizzy.
While her mother put the kettle on, Grace became aware of a change in the atmosphere, centred on Adrian. Roger and Sally were talking to each other but Adrian had withdrawn, his attention no longer in the room; he wore the same mild smile, but his eyes were staring at nothing, as if focused inside his head. He seemed there and not there. Grace could see that Marcus had noticed; so had Sally, who continued chatting brightly to Roger to cover it up, with frequent darting looks at her husband. Marcus was silent, as if his father’s mood had a magnetic pull he couldn’t resist. His features were set in the closed, troubled expression she’d seen at first. His face – like his father’s – seemed made for brooding, his eyes dark under the thick brows, his mouth stern; it was hard now to recall how it was transformed by his rare smiles. Grace tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t look up.
‘Coffee?’ Mum asked everyone.
Adrian stirred himself enough to shake his head. Marcus also said no thanks, and asked Grace’s mother if she’d mind if he left now, to give Flash a run before dark.
‘No, that’s fine. You go.’
‘Want to come, Grace?’
She returned his glance and nodded, glad to escape from the tension around the table. Somehow Adrian’s silence made everything else see
m like empty chatter, background noise to his immersion in whatever absorbed him. Marcus thanked Grace’s mother for the meal and Grace followed him downstairs and outside.
In the stable yard, the air was still warm, the sky pearly-pale, streaked with low cloud. Grace heard the shrill overhead cries of swifts; looking up she saw them, dark arrows soaring through the dusk. Before knowing Jamie, she’d have taken them for swallows.
Marcus said nothing as they headed round to the yard behind the Hayloft. Then, as they reached the cottage, he turned to Grace and said flatly, ‘This was a good day.’
She took a moment to grasp what he meant. ‘For your dad?’
He nodded. A scrabbling was heard behind the front door; Marcus turned the key, and Flash burst out as if uncorked. At once Marcus’s expression softened as he crouched to fondle the wildly wriggling dog. ‘Come on, you! You’ve had a long wait. Let’s go.’
The cottage door opened straight into a sitting room, giving Grace her first glimpse of Marcus’s home; she saw a saggy sofa with bright cushions, an overloaded bookshelf, a posy of garden flowers on the sideboard: more homely and cluttered than the tidy Hayloft. Marcus locked up and they headed out past the barn.
‘Couldn’t your dad have counselling or something?’ Grace tried, feeling that what he’d said was too personal to be ignored, almost an admission. ‘Therapy?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘Yes, he could. Ought to. But he won’t. We’ve tried, Mum and me. He won’t admit there’s anything wrong. It’s like he goes somewhere we can’t reach him, he doesn’t even see or hear us. And he drags us with him, that’s the worst thing. I think of things to tell him, from school – funny things, daft things – but before I even open my mouth it all turns pointless.’
The Key to Flambards Page 10
