by K. M. Peyton
‘Funny old sport, this,’ Ian commented. ‘I’m not surprised they don’t do it on television.’
‘It’s more interesting than snooker,’ Sandy snapped.
Eventually, by the time Leo was as exhausted as the mare, they managed to converge on the pen. Tony had got there shortly before them, and as Empress of China, reunited with her friends again, passed through the gateway, Julia slipped the rail back into place. By the time she had remounted, Polly was away over the rail and off up the next field, followed by the three others.
Sandy breathed a sigh of relief. The worst was over, she hoped. They were heading for home now and, hopefully, tiring.
Over the next stretch it was Faithful who got left behind, the big horses shooting past, but at the next ditch but one, Tony fell off. King of the Fireworks jumped very big, a stride before Tony was expecting, and Tony was dumped in the water. Polly caught Fireworks who – typically, and unlike Charlie or the Empress – thought it good manners to wait for a fallen rider, and Tony scrambled aboard again. By this time, Faithful had caught up and they rode very respectably, all together like a proper team, round the bottom of the course and over another ditch and rail. Nobody fell off and nobody was now bolting. Only the long uphill to the finish was left, with one easy fence on the way.
Here King of the Fireworks came into his own, striding powerfully round the bottom bend and pulling hard as he came up the hill. He took the fence in his stride and showed no signs of tiring – nor of stopping either. Charlie’s Flying chased him hard, Polly driving him on, grinning like a monkey, and behind them brilliant little Faithful was coming as fast as her lack of inches allowed. Leo, on the Empress, knowing that their score was decided by the first three horses home, eased up and came up the hill at a mere trot. The chestnut mare was covered in lather and breathing hard, but there was a heady light in her eyes. Leo, slumped exhausted over her neck, cried out to Sandy, ‘Oh, she was marvellous! She loved it! It was wonderful!’
‘You could have fooled me,’ Ian said.
Leo slithered to the ground. She could hardly stand up. Sandy ran and took the reins of the excited mare.
‘It was great! You all made it! Good old Empress!’ She patted the dripping neck, infected now with Leo’s euphoria. They had all got round, for better or for worse, and now it was over there was a heady sense of achievement. Polly rode back, grinning all over her face.
‘King of the Fireworks hasn’t stopped yet. He went through the gate and looks set to go round again. Poor old Tony!’
They all trailed up the hill back to the horse-boxes. Julia came behind on Faithful who was still as fresh as paint. She had done a faultless round. Julia’s mother was waiting for her.
‘That pony’s not bad – if you got together with a decent bunch, you could be up with the winners.’
‘I like this bunch,’ Julia said.
Her mother rolled her eyes. ‘They—’
‘Oh, shut up,’ said Julia.
The Marsdens were incredibly rude to each other, Sandy thought. But Mrs Marsden didn’t take it amiss.
‘We’ll get you a bigger animal. She’s too small. She must be worth a bit, now you’ve got her jumping ironed out.’
‘She’s mine. I’m not selling her. I’m small too, or haven’t you noticed?’
While this bickering was going on, Tony’s mother was waiting for them, fluffed up with concern like a broody bantam.
‘Is he all right? Surely this is all very dangerous? Where is he?’
‘He likes it so much he’s doing it again,’ Polly said.
She wasn’t too concerned: King of the Fireworks was such a Christian beast that she did not think Tony would come to any harm, even when he was out of control. What a horse! And yet Tony, knowing no other, took him completely for granted. Polly had paid a mere five hundred pounds for Charlie’s Flying because no-one else could ride him (and live), yet Tony had been given a horse worth ten thousand pounds at least and didn’t have an inkling of what a treasure he possessed. King of the Fireworks was king of far more than fireworks, and had a sweet and noble nature to go with his fabulous talent. If Polly had had an envious nature she would not have been able to cope with her feelings but, as it was, getting Charlie’s Flying round and merely coming home in one piece gave her the same wild elation that Leo had revealed.
‘It was fabulous! Fantastic!’
Tony could be seen homing in on the horsebox from the far countryside.
‘The old fool wanted to go round again!’ he complained. But the common elation was evident beneath his soaked and muddy person. His blue eyes positively glowed.
‘We did brilliantly!’ Polly cried. ‘You were all marvellous!’
‘If that was brilliant,’ Ian murmured to Sandy, ‘what happens when everything goes wrong?’
‘It feels brilliant, she means.’
‘Because it’s over?’
‘Oh, shut up.’
They all had their hands full, unsaddling and cleaning up the horses. The team-chase was scored by time only, and their time on the board was about four times longer than the fastest, but they had completed.
‘We got round!’ Tony was carolling. ‘Were you watching, Auntie?’ he shouted to the heavens.
‘Turning in her grave, I should imagine,’ Ian said.
‘Next time—’ said Polly.
‘Oh no!’ Leo cried. ‘Not again!’
They laughed and gabbled, still on a high. Sandy, helping, felt cut off. She could only guess how Leo felt now that it was over, having seen how terrified she had been. Did she really envy her? Sandy was confused, not knowing, but very much aware of her isolation. She had a sudden, hopeless dream of doing this competition on a perfect horse, her own horse, riding for her life and meeting jump after jump fluent and footsure, and riding up the hill with all the sky to meet her and the sun shining. The perfect horse – Queen Moon! But she knew it was never going to happen.
She was quiet as they drove home, but none of the others noticed. They were all screaming and laughing and recapping on the horrors of the day. Ian had departed on his mountain bike, declining a lift, and the two mothers had been left fraternizing, an unlikely pair, by the jacket-potato van.
When they got home, Sandy left them all to it. They had had the fun; they could do the work.
She had never been aware of this sort of envy before, not even sure if that was what it was. But suddenly it seemed, in face of that elated cohesion she had sensed in the others as they straggled back to the horsebox, that she had no share in what really mattered at all. She knew it was a passing depression in the direct aftermath of all the excitement, but in essence it was all part of the great confusion she felt wrapped up in. Who did you trust? Where were you going? What was it all about? Didn’t any of the others feel like this sometimes?
Of course, most of the time, she didn’t . . . just sometimes, when everyone else seemed to get it right and she was left on the sidelines.
She wanted to be on her own. She walked down the track out of the yard to the field gate where she could see Queen Moon grazing with Blackie and the yearling. The wind had dropped and the late sun was slanting down through the woods behind her, turning the high tide to a shimmering rose highway. The gulls dipped and squawked across the wall, and six shelduck were idling in the bottom field. Queen Moon set off the idyllic scene, her long shadow following her as she cropped the new grass.
Sandy called her and she came up obediently. She pushed her soft muzzle into Sandy’s hand, although there was nothing in it, and stood quietly – possibly affectionately. It was hard to tell with a horse. She had the most beautiful head Sandy had ever seen in any horse – and that included King of the Fireworks; her eyes were huge and soft like an Arab’s, and the outline of her nostrils made a bold and elegant curve. Her ears were long and forever attentive.
‘I do love you!’ Sandy whispered.
And Jonas too, but Jonas was gone. He would need money, and come back to sell Queen Moon. He h
ad made her such a schooled ride that she was worth a good deal now. He would find her a good home without any trouble. Possibly someone might buy her and keep her at Drakesend. Perhaps Julia? Sandy wondered if she could persuade her.
Her summer coat was coming through, a deeper grey than the winter coat. Although she had been considered too small to race, she was not in any way spindly; she had a deep girth and was very compact. Since she had been at Drakesend she had filled out and looked much better. The freedom and the good grass agreed with her. Soon she would get too fat.
‘When it gets hot you can come in during the day,’ Sandy promised her. She would get the best. Graze in the cool of the night under her namesake, the summer moon. Nothing was too good for her.
Sandy walked back to the stable, comforted. Polly and Julia had gone. Only Tony was still there, about to depart in the impressive horsebox. He had a stupid grin on his face and seemed to be in a trance.
‘I really enjoyed that,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know – I’ve never—’ Words seemed to fail him. ‘I mean, I can see now that I – I’m not good enough for him.’
Sandy wished she had a tape recorder to immortalize these incredible words. Without it, Polly and Leo would never believe he had uttered them. Contact with a great horse had improved him out of all measure. Would his devoted mummy notice the change?
‘You are! At least you will be, now you see what it’s all about. Now you realize—’
‘It must take years to learn to ride like that – like Polly.’
‘Yes. But you’ve got such a super horse. He’s not difficult like Charlie. He will do it for you as long as you don’t interfere with him.’
‘I fell off, and he didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘But it was the first time – you’ll get the hang of it.’
‘It must be fantastic – racing – jumping—’
They all had their dreams. Tony climbed up into the cab and then remembered his leather jacket.
‘I’ll go and get it,’ Sandy said, ‘while you turn round.’
She went back to the tackroom, smiling at Tony’s turn-around. It was hardly six months since he had arrived, so brash and revolting.
But the jacket had vanished.
‘GO HOME, TONY. I know where it is. It’ll be here tomorrow, I promise.’
What else could she say? She was committed now. It all had to be brought out into the open, whatever her mother thought.
Tony drove off, slightly puzzled but still more occupied with his momentous afternoon than with his material possessions, and Sandy waited for Ian. Her parents were out; she didn’t know where.
‘Oh, come on, come on!’ she moaned, hopping from one foot to the other. All her moody thoughts were now swamped by this new horror. If this was solved, she would be brilliantly happy. Nothing else mattered at all. Her conversation with Ian earlier was now going to prove useful: he was clued up and was going to help her. She didn’t think she could cope with it on her own any more.
She felt she had waited for an hour by the time he came down the drive, although in fact it was only ten minutes. She threw the news at him as soon as he was in earshot.
‘What shall we do?’
To her great relief, he did not shrug it off or try to belittle it.
‘That’s terrible!’
They tried to think that it might be someone else, but in their hearts they thought it highly unlikely. Sandy made a thorough search of the tackroom, under the rugs and in the cupboards, but the jacket did not come to light.
‘Let’s go over there,’ Ian said suddenly. ‘Talk to Josie. Before Mum and Dad come home.’
‘Oh yes!’
Anything to have it in the open, the miserable business solved. Sandy had a bike too, an ancient machine no-one would ever want to steal, which lived at the back of the haybarn. The quickest way to the Elizabethan tower was along the ancient driveway across the water-meadows. Grazed almost bare, it was flat and direct and perfect for bicycling. They set off purposefully, not saying anything. The sun had now disappeared behind the woody ridge above them and the only sound was of the rooks settling down in their rackety nests, ink blots against the orange sky. In half an hour it would be dark.
As they approached the tower, they saw the greenish light of a pressure lamp starring the kitchen window. Glynn’s Land Rover was parked in its usual place on the driveway that led up to the road. Sandy had been hoping Josie would be alone.
Ian said softly, ‘Let’s look in the Land Rover. If he took it and doesn’t want Josie to know, it might still be in there.’
Feeling like thieves themselves, they laid their bikes in the hedge and padded across the lawn to the Land Rover. There was nothing on the front seat. Ian climbed in the back, which was cluttered with tools, sacks, bits of timber and old diesel cans, and rooted around. Sandy couldn’t see in the dusk, but could hear her heart thumping uneasily as she waited. Without proof on their part, Glynn could talk himself out of it, after all. Perhaps it was all wrong, what they were doing.
‘Ian—’ she started.
‘Hush!’
He was backing out. He turned and lifted his legs over the tail-gate.
‘Here.’
He threw something heavy and smooth into her arms. It was the leather jacket.
‘It was under some sacks.’
It was a great relief, in spite of confirming her fears. Sandy could see that Ian felt the same, his chin lifting, his eyes sparking.
‘We’ll get him now.’
The satisfaction was momentary. Opening the door, going in with the leather jacket over Sandy’s arm, was dreadful.
Josie did not know the significance of it, but turned, smiling with surprise and welcome.
‘Why, Ian! Sandy! How lovely! What’s this in aid of?’
They hadn’t visited often, after all, and never together that Sandy could remember. Josie was sitting at the table, spooning boiled egg into Selina’s mouth which was poised, open, like a baby sparrow’s beak, as Josie spoke. Glynn was just pouring out two cups of tea from the teapot. The newly lit lamp hissed on the end of the table and the fraint fragrance of woodsmoke hung in the room. It was a happy domestic scene.
Neither Ian nor Sandy found they could say anything. Sandy found herself making a weak gesture with the jacket. She saw instantly that Glynn knew what was up, but Josie said cheerfully, ‘You’ve timed it well. Get another couple of mugs. There’s plenty of tea in the pot. How did the competition go, Sandy? Mum was telling me all about it. I hope you won!’
‘No fear,’ said Sandy blankly.
‘What’s wrong? No accidents, I hope?’
‘Oh, no. They all got round. It was OK.’
Josie looked blank suddenly, her welcome freezing.
‘What’s happened? Mum and Dad—?’
‘They’re OK. Fine.’
‘Look, Glynn. This is Anthony Speerwell’s.’
Ian took the jacket off Sandy and held it out.
‘He missed it. We came to look, and there – well, we thought it might be . . . in your Land Rover.’
‘Oh, God!’ said Josie.
Glynn grinned. ‘I didn’t think he’d miss it, the gear he’s got.’
‘Glynn! The saddles!’ Sandy cried out. ‘Polly and Henry – they couldn’t afford it!’
‘And Gertie’s savings!’ Ian said.
‘I borrowed Gertie’s savings,’ Glynn said. ‘I’m going to pay Gertie back, I swear I will! The others – well, the insurance pays—’
They all stood looking at each other, very tense.
‘You said you wouldn’t, ever again – you said, Glynn!’ Josie cried out in an agonized voice. ‘You promised!’
‘People leave things lying around—’
‘You came for Ian’s bike in the middle of the night, and unlocked the door. That’s not things lying about!’ Sandy shouted at him.
‘Oh, he didn’t!’ Josie said faintly. ‘You didn’t do that, Glynn?’
‘Well . . .
look, we can talk about this,’ Glynn said. ‘Let’s sit down and talk about it.’
‘You’re not going to the police? You haven’t told them?’ Josie whispered.
‘No, we haven’t told anybody, not even Mum and Dad,’ Ian said.
‘But Mum knows, I’m sure of it.’ Sandy wanted Glynn to know – she hated him, standing there smiling, as if it were a joke.
‘She asked me,’ Josie said.
‘And what did you say to her?’ Glynn asked roughly. ‘You told her it was true, I suppose?’
‘I didn’t! I never knew, did I? I never guessed – well, I didn’t want to believe – perhaps—’
Sandy could see now that there was another side to Glynn, his natural exuberance tipping over into a bullying anger. He was a very large man, and Sandy had only seen him apparently gentle and smiling before. He now appeared extremely threatening.
The baby, Selina, sensing the atmosphere, started to cry. Josie lifted her out of her high chair and hugged her, hiding her face against the baby’s soft body. She turned away and went and stood by the window, looking out into the dusk. Glynn watched her, and seemed to visibly soften, anxiety and distress smothering the anger. He looked at Ian and shrugged.
‘Well, what are you going to do about it? Give him back his jacket – you can tell him where you found it. I don’t care.’
Ian didn’t know what to say. Sandy could see that there were no answers, in fact. She felt agonized for Josie, to whom it was more than just a few missing goods. It was Josie’s life, linked to this man.
She sat down at the table. It was awful.
Ian whispered to her, ‘I think we ought to go.
