by Kate Lattey
I picked up the reins, and nudged Whisper back into a walk, wondering how it was that I felt like I’d lost that conversation. Then Hayley turned back around and called to me.
“Hey Jonty!”
I looked over at her warily. “What?”
“If you change your mind about selling him, let me know. I can think of a couple of people who’d be interested, and they’d pay good money for a horse like that.” She rubbed her fingertips together with a smile. “Really good money.”
“He’s not for sale,” I repeated, with slightly less conviction.
She shrugged. “Think about it. Let me know.”
I did my best to ignore Hayley’s words, but I couldn’t quite push them out of my head. For the rest of the day, her voice ran through my mind on a loop. They’d pay good money for a horse like that. Really good money.
But it wasn’t about the money. Never had been, never would be. It was about proving myself, and proving that I could take a difficult horse and make him into something worthwhile. It was about proving it to Ken, and to Frankie, and to the wider equestrian community. And proving it to myself, proving that I could succeed where everyone thought I would fail, if I was just given a chance. I still thought often about Bonfire, and had never quite let go of the lingering resentment I held against Ken for giving up on that horse without giving me the opportunity to help him. That wouldn’t be Whisper’s fate, at least, but simply training him at home wasn’t enough. I had to take him out in public, and show the world what we could do.
Frankie and I went to the Chinese takeaway after work, sitting at our usual table and engaging in light banter as we worked our way through dishes of stir-fry chicken and fried rice. A few guys from school came in, giving us sideways looks and a wide berth, but I didn’t care. I was still lost in my daydream of jumping Whisper at a show, and I carefully filled out the official registration forms under flickering fluorescent lights.
“Done.” I wiped a smudge of grease off the edge of the form, and looked at it.
“Let’s see,” Frankie said, and I handed it over to him. He scanned the page quickly, then frowned as he reached the bottom. “That’s weird.”
I’d just shovelled another forkful of lukewarm noodles into my mouth, and I wiped sauce off my chin with the side of my hand. “What?”
“I don’t remember your dad being here two minutes ago, but he’s somehow managed to sign this form.”
I shrugged, loading my fork up with more noodles. I’d never got the hang of chopsticks.
“You must’ve missed him.”
“Uh huh.” Frankie folded the paper in half, and then in half again, before handing it back to me. “You know forgery is illegal, right?”
“It just seemed easier this way.”
“Hmm.”
“What d’you care anyway?”
Frankie sighed, and pushed his chair back from the table. “Exactly what I keep asking myself. You ready to go?”
I waved to Frankie as he drove off, and walked up the front path to the cottage. I whistled to Taniwha as I walked past him, and he swished his tail in vague greeting. The plastic bag of leftover Chinese food swung from my fingertips as I jumped up onto the front step, then hooked my heel over the edge and prised my boots off one at a time. Dad’s car wasn’t parked outside, meaning that he wasn’t home yet. These days, that was a relief. I nudged the front door open with my elbow, and it swung back on creaking hinges to reveal my mother, sitting on the couch with her head in her hands.
“Hey Mum.” I crossed the room and set the food down on the coffee table, then sat down next to her, realising that her shoulders were shaking. “What’s wrong?”
She sniffed, wiping her eyes. “Nothing. What’s that you’ve brought home? It smells amazing.”
“Just a few leftovers for you.”
“I’ll save them for the girls to have in the morning,” she said, still wiping at her damp eyelashes. “That’ll be a real treat for their breakfast.”
I pulled the plastic container out of the bag and set it on her lap. “Why don’t you eat it? They’re in bed, they’ll never know.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t.”
“C’mon Mum. Treat yourself.”
I fished a plastic fork out of the bag and pushed it into her hand. She took it reluctantly, but once I’d prised the lid off the container and the smell of it filled the small living room, she couldn’t help herself.
“I’ll just have a little bit. A taste,” she decided.
I leaned back against the couch cushions and watched as she slowly worked her way through the food. It wasn’t until she was finished, and had set the empty container down on the coffee table with a guilty expression, that I decided to ask.
“Why were you crying?”
“I told you, it was nothing. I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day.” She smiled as she got to her feet, and patted my shoulder. “Thanks for the food, love. I’m heading off to bed.”
I sat on the couch and watched her go, then stood up and cleared away the evidence of her meal. I didn’t want any of my sisters to see it in the morning, or they’d be whinging about how they’d missed out. I took it outside to throw in the old oil drum that we used for a rubbish bin, and had just lifted the lid to toss it in when I noticed a stack of unopened envelopes sitting on top of the pile of rubbish. I pulled them out curiously and squinted at them in the darkness. I tossed out the plastic takeaway container, then went back inside with the envelopes in my hand. Sitting down at the kitchen table, I flipped through them, scanning the return addresses, then stuck my finger under the flap and tore the top one open. It was an overdue power bill. I kept going, opening every envelope, figuring that I could ignore the fact they weren’t addressed to me if my parents were going to ignore the fact that they existed at all. An overdue water bill. A letter from the IRD, declining a tax rebate, and one from Work & Income, rejecting my father’s application for a sickness benefit. No surprise there, since he wasn’t actually sick. Another overdue power bill, with FINAL WARNING stamped across the bottom.
I looked over my shoulder at the closed bedroom door, contemplating going in there and confronting my mother. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Slowly, I returned all of the letters to their envelopes, and slid them in the kitchen drawer under the cutlery tray.
I was undressing for bed when a folded square of paper fell out of my jacket pocket, and I picked it up and unfolded it, running my eyes one more time over the words I’d printed so carefully on each page. Jonty Fisher. Whispering Jack. Full Membership.
Yeah, well. So much for all that. I went back outside, tearing the sheets of paper into pieces before throwing them in the bin and closing the lid on another impossible dream.
SOLD OUT
I was kicking a large stone up Ken’s driveway a few days later, thinking up jumping exercises I could work on with Whisper, when a large silver car sped around the corner, almost knocking me into the hedge. I was reminded of the first time I’d met Frankie, only this driver didn’t stop to apologise, just gave an irritated blast of the horn as he carried on past me. A young woman in a polo shirt was sitting in the passenger seat, her eyes glued to the phone in her hand. The car reached the end of the driveway and turned onto the road as I made a surreptitious rude gesture at their departing vehicle, then walked around the corner to see my horse tied in the middle of the yard, saddled and coated in a layer of dried sweat.
Ken was unbuckling his girth, and I watched as he dragged the saddle off Whisper’s back and slung it over the hitching rail. The sweat-soaked saddle blanket fell to the ground, and the girth buckles scraped across the unswept concrete.
“What the hell’s going on here?”
Ken jumped at the sound of my voice.
“What’re you doing here? Aren’t you meant to be at school?”
“I got bored, and left.” His irritation with me was like an alarm bell. He’d never cared when I wagged school before, and often encouraged me not to go at all.
“What’s going on? Who’s been riding my horse?”
Ken snorted. “Your horse, is he?”
I felt the hair on my arms stand up as my whole body shifted onto full alert.
“Yeah, he is. You know he is.”
A movement caught my eye, and I saw Frankie in the doorway of the tack room. He looked intensely guilty, as though he’d just been caught doing something terrible, and my sense of foreboding increased still further.
“Which one of us paid for him?” Ken demanded. “Who’s got their name on the bill of sale? Sure as hell ain’t you. So tell me again, whose horse is he?”
There was a clear air of triumph in his tone, and I opened my mouth, then closed it again. For once in my life, I had been left completely speechless as I realised what was going on. I looked over at Frankie, but he’d disappeared back into the tack room. Whisper turned his head in my direction and flurried his nostrils in greeting. Dark sweat lay thickly along his neck and over his back, creasing his coat into ridges.
“He’s my horse,” I said again.
“No he’s not,” Ken repeated, turning away from me and unbuckling Whisper’s bridle. “And you’re wasting your breath arguing, because he’s not my horse any more either.” Whisper dropped the bit willingly out of his mouth, and Ken turned back to look at me. “But don’t worry. He’s going to a good home.”
The bastard had the nerve to smile at me as he slung the bridle over top of the saddle, and I felt my fingernails dig into my palms as I struggled to contain my anger.
“You had no right to do that.”
“I had every right to do that. He’s my horse. And…”
But he never got a chance to finish that sentence, because I couldn’t hold back any longer. I stepped up close to him, drew a fist back, and punched him right in the nose. I felt the cartilage crunch beneath my knuckles, and he staggered backwards, blood pouring down his chin.
“You little shit!” he sputtered furiously. “I’ll have you arrested for that! Now get the hell off my property, and don’t you ever dare come back!”
I turned around and untied Whisper’s lead rope. “Fine by me! I wouldn’t want to. I can’t believe I stuck around this long!”
I started walking, Whisper jogging nervously at my side, upset by the yelling and the smell of blood. I could hear Ken shouting at me, but I kept going, refusing to look back. We reached the end of the driveway and Whisper stopped, planting his feet and lifting his head. He didn’t know what was going on, but his instincts were telling him not to leave the place he’d come to regard as his home. I wanted to tell him that he was going to have to leave soon anyway, and better that it was with me than those people in the silver car. I’d been planning to sell him anyway, but on my own terms, to someone I chose, and not because I wanted to, but because I desperately needed the money. I stood and looked at the tall grey horse, and my heart lurched inside my chest as I second-guessed myself. How could I sell him? He was the best horse I would ever have. Surely there was some other way…
“Jonty!”
I tried to ignore Frankie as he jogged down the driveway towards me, but Whisper dug his heels in, still refusing to move. I clicked my tongue to the horse and tugged at the lead rope, but he remained stubbornly where he was.
“Are you really going to let him do this?” I demanded of Frankie as he came closer.
“He’s a heartless bastard,” Frankie agreed, stopping in front of me, still wearing the same guilty expression. “He really is. And I’m sorry, mate. But that horse belongs to him.”
“He belongs to me!” I reminded him.
“Got a piece of paper to prove it? One that’ll hold up in court? Because he will take you to court, if he has to. And he’ll win. It’s his word against yours.”
“What about your word?” I demanded. “You’d back me up, right?”
Frankie sighed. “I wasn’t there, remember? I’ve only got your word for it. I’m sorry,” he said again. “But if you take that horse away from here, he’s stolen property. And Ken’ll have the cops after you before you make it halfway home. I think I’ve talked him out of pressing assault charges, but you can’t take the horse anywhere.”
I closed my eyes and stepped in closer to Whisper, resting my forehead against his sweat-encrusted neck. More than anything, I just wanted to climb onto his back and gallop away, but I knew I couldn’t. Frankie was right – there was nothing to prove that he belonged to me. Even if I knew in my heart that he was my horse, there was no evidence to back me up. Why hadn’t I demanded it in writing when I first took the horse on, when he was lame and skinny and I was the only one who’d wanted him?
“It’s not fair.”
“I know.”
I opened my eyes and looked back up the drive, remembering the day I’d seen Bonfire careening down it towards me, and had made the split-second decision to step into his path. If only I’d kept walking. If only I’d been there a few minutes earlier, or later, and had never met that horse. Had never met Ken, had never known Frankie, had never lost my heart to a horse that wasn’t mine.
“I’ll talk to him,” Frankie said. “Make sure you get something out of it. Ten per cent of the sale price, at least.”
I shook my head. It wasn’t about the money any more. “I’m not taking anything from that bastard.”
“You should.”
“What I should do is walk out of here, and never come back.” I turned towards Frankie, my back still pressed against Whisper’s shoulder. “And so should you. Why do you keep coming back here? You’re better than this, Frankie. You deserve better.” Frankie shrugged, looking at the ground, and I ran out of patience with him. “You’ve got crap taste in men, you know that?”
“It’s been said.” Frankie scuffed the gravel with his toe, then looked at me. “Don’t give up, Jonty. You’ve worked too hard for that. I can put in a good word for you, help you find you another job, anywhere you like. Ever been to Aussie?” His eyes lit up with excitement as he spoke, as though what he was saying was even possible. “Forget school, forget Ken. You’ve got a future in this industry, if you want it.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I told him, watching the light go from his eyes. “I can’t go to Australia.”
“Why not? I’ll help you with the airfare, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s the least I can do.”
“I can’t just leave,” I told him. “I’ve got responsibilities here.”
“Like what?”
“Taniwha, for one. My family, for another.”
His jaw tightened. “Your family is your old man’s responsibility, not yours.”
I just scoffed at him. “Shame nobody ever told him that. I can’t walk away from them, Frankie. They need me. And I’ve been selfish for months, living in this stupid daydream. I should’ve walked out when Ken refused to pay me. Should never have taken a horse as payment. Mum was relying on the money I was bringing in, and I let her down.”
Frankie stepped in closer to me, and put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re just a kid. You’re doing your best.”
I squirmed away from his touch and his lies. “Don’t touch me.”
“Jonty, c’mon.”
I looked down at the lead rope in my hand, then held it out to him. “Here, take him. Make sure he gets a good home. I’m done.” Frankie took the rope reluctantly as I turned and ran my hand down Whisper’s long face one last time. “Take care of yourself,” I told him. “Don’t let anyone push you around.”
Whisper bunted my shoulder with his head, then rested his chin on my shoulder and huffed out a heavy sigh. I lifted one hand and gently stroked his cheek, fighting back tears.
“See you round, then.”
Frankie mumbled something in reply, but I wasn’t listening. It took everything I had to turn around and walk away, without looking back.
PART VI
-
TOMORROW
Bottom line is, even if you see them coming,
you’re not ready for th
e big moments.
No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does.
The big moments are going to come, you can’t help that.
It’s what you do afterwards that counts.
That’s when you find out who you really are.
- Buffy the Vampire Slayer
AWAKENING
Whisper’s hooves drummed a staccato beat through my head, the one-two-three of his canter stride thudding at the edge of my consciousness. I felt the surge of muscle as he twisted his body sideways in a wild spook, and as I had so many times before, I felt my own muscles relax and move with him, melding my body into his.
One two three.
One two three.
One…two…
I closed my eyes tighter, clinging to the dream as something else nudged the edge of my consciousness, drawing me slowly but inexorably into wakefulness. I opened my eyes and stared into the dimly lit room, the sunlight muted by the tattered curtains that were drawn across the window. I was no longer astride the big, powerful horse, but was lying on my back on a sagging couch, a scratchy blanket across my bare legs.
I sighed heavily, gazing up at the fly-speckled ceiling. Since I’d walked out of Ken’s for the last time two months ago, I’d held firm to my resolution never to return. But without the hard slog of the days I’d spent there, I felt as though I’d been cast adrift, and was floating pointlessly out to sea. I missed it – all of it. I missed the endless mucking out, the challenge of riding half-broke horses, the thrill of finding that place of perfect balance, however fleeting, between horse and rider when both worked in absolute unity with each other. I missed Whisper, and wondered how he was getting on at his new home. I hoped he was okay, and that they understood him. I missed Frankie, missed his laugh and his teasing and his terrible taste in music. I missed being tired at the end of the day, and the satisfaction I got from a job well done.
I missed it all, but I wouldn’t go back. I couldn’t. All I had left was my pride, and I knew I’d done the right thing by walking away. I wasn’t going to be like Frankie, unable to make it stick, perpetually going back for more mistreatment. I worried about the horses, but as long as Frankie was there, they would be okay.
