by Amy Brown
‘Well, it’s better than I could do,’ Jade said lamely.
‘I suppose he was getting a bit blind when he started the hobby,’ Zoe conceded. ‘Come on, I’ll show you your room.’
Jade, Becca and Zoe had expected to be camping on the floor of Zoe’s bedroom. Instead, they were led upstairs to a cold, dark room with two sets of bunk-beds and a cow skin on the floor.
‘Dump your stuff here, then we can have some lunch,’ Zoe ordered.
Although Jade was hungry, something in the kitchen had smelt slightly rotten. She wondered what her father was doing right now, and whether Mr White would remember to give Pip her tiny feed of chaff and anti-inflammatories each night …
‘I hope you like mashed potato,’ Mr Death said, after they had returned to the kitchen for lunch. ‘You see, Cosima refuses to eat all vegetables but potatoes, and nearly all meats. Although chicken is OK, isn’t it, Cosima?’
Jade turned to see a girl who looked about nine sitting at the table. She was exquisite, with white-blonde plaits and wide, almost violet-coloured eyes. The girl gave Mr Death a long look, but didn’t say a word.
‘We’ll take that as a yes,’ Mr Death said affably. ‘So, mashed potato all round, and feel free to add whatever you like from the selection on the table.’
At that moment, Zoe was busily transporting a jar of gherkins, two packets of sliced meat and a block of cheese from the fridge to the table.
‘Plates and fighting tools are over on the bench there,’ Mr Death told the girls. ‘Help yourselves, then have a seat at the table.’
‘Thank you, Mr Death,’ Laura said, polite but not as gregarious as her usual self. The sight of the taxidermy had taken it out of her a little.
‘Please, call me Roland,’ Mr Death answered, before calling, ‘Bronson? Lunch!’
There was no answer, but a door slammed, and soon there was the sound of a small car with a large motor starting up.
‘Anyone would think my siblings were mutes,’ Zoe laughed. ‘Well, Cosima is,’ she said, more seriously, ‘but Bronson is just a pain.’
‘You don’t talk?’ Laura asked Cosima, shocked.
Cosima looked at Laura as if she’d said something extremely silly.
‘Have you saved some for me?’ Prue Death asked, only now coming in from the stables.
‘Of course, Ma,’ Roland said, handing her a plate piled with white slop.
‘Mm, goodie,’ Prue said, with some sarcasm. ‘Look what you’re making us all eat, child,’ she went on, at Cosima. ‘Could you at least pass me the pickled onions?’
Cosima slowly and daintily slid the jar to her mother.
‘Thank you, sweetness.’
The Deaths and the girls ate in relative quiet for a few minutes, punctuated by requests for additions to their potato to be passed across the table.
The silence was broken by Prue Death. ‘I’ve seen to your ponies and gear this time, girls, but I don’t mean to set a precedent: for the rest of the week, I want you out there and doing everything for yourselves.’
‘Sorry, Mrs Death,’ Becca said quietly. Jade was too embarrassed to speak.
‘Call me Ma — everyone else does. And you mustn’t worry about it. I wanted you all ready to go for a ride straight after lunch.’
The potato sat heavily in Jade’s stomach as they tacked up. Zoe had assured her that it would be ‘a casual cross-country ride, nothing to stress over’, but Jade still had a bad feeling about it. Taniwha shivered as she tightened his girth, and then he whipped his head around to nip her elbow.
‘Please don’t start, Tani. Today, just be good,’ Jade whispered, giving him a quick kiss on his star. In answer, the pony rubbed his face vigorously on his rider’s shoulder. It was both a mischievous and an affectionate gesture.
‘Cut it out,’ Jade said gently, scratching his itchy spot with her fingernails, to save her shoulder.
‘You’re too kind to him, you know,’ Zoe said, leading past her gunmetal-grey gelding, unceremoniously called Bob, or occasionally Robert. ‘What you ought to do,’ she said, holding Bob’s reins in one hand now and grabbing Tani’s with the other, ‘is shout “Stop!”, nice and decisive.’ As she said this, she gave a sharp yank on the reins. Tani jerked his head up and snorted. Now the whites of his eyes were showing.
Jade felt sick. This ride certainly wouldn’t go well. Mounting gingerly, Jade rode Tani over to his friend Dusty. She hoped his company would be some consolation after Zoe’s violence.
‘I hope she’ll be OK,’ Becca said, oblivious to Jade’s worry, and instead watching Laura mounting Mrs Death’s ‘second horse’, Sofia, a thin bay.
‘She’s so high up,’ Laura said, with a huge grin.
‘Only 15.3,’ Mrs Death said, checking Sofia’s girth. ‘She’ll look after you, Laura: just hold on and try not to get frustrated with her sluggishness. Roman nose, no personality, and she’s a nightmare out hunting — terribly lethargic. But Sofia is fine for a weekend ride, particularly if one is hung over. I expect you’re not, though — are you?’
‘No!’ Laura gasped, rather delighted at being asked.
‘Good. I’ll see that Cos and Al are sorted, then jump on Marlon and we’ll be ready to go.’
Al, Cosima’s old pony, was a dark bay with a dished face and very wise, black eyes. His small rider slouched slightly in the saddle, looking entirely at home. Although Cosima’s legs were pushed further forward than Jade considered correct, she sat deep and with her heels down. Jade could well believe that this little girl and her old pony kept up with the adults out hunting.
When Mrs Death mounted her 16.2-hand gelding, Marlon, Jade saw where Cosima had learnt to ride. If anything, Mrs Death’s expensively booted feet were further forward than her daughter’s and her oil-skinned back more hunched. Still, she and the handsome dappled-grey horse appeared to be a formidable pair.
In fact, as the cavalcade moved towards the paddock gate, Jade noticed that she was the only one who seemed at all uncomfortable. Laura was doing a very good impression of the Deaths, copying their insouciant style.
Frustrated at being at the end of the line, Tani pulled at the bit and began his sideways jog, with which Jade was now only too familiar.
‘Quiet, my boy.’ Jade tried to stroke his shoulder, but as she loosened her left rein and reached down, Tani took advantage of the relative freedom and rushed forward, crowding Sofia. The old mare squealed, but fortunately didn’t kick.
‘Jade, don’t!’ Laura yelled, turning around and frowning.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to,’ Jade replied. Laura clearly didn’t understand what it was like to ride Tani.
‘He wouldn’t play up if you weren’t so soft on him,’ Zoe called back. ‘Give him a smack.’
‘It’ll make things worse,’ Jade said quietly.
‘Where’s your whip?’
‘I don’t carry it anymore — it just upsets him.’
Zoe let out a long sigh. ‘Ma, what are we going to do with Jade?’
‘For now, let her ride up front,’ Mrs Death said. ‘Jade, come and ride up alongside me. Marlon will keep your little pony in line.’ She spoke as if Jade were a very small child — which wasn’t far from how she was feeling at that moment.
‘You’re timid, aren’t you, Jade?’ Mrs Death said, neither kindly nor unkindly, when Jade joined her up at the front of the line.
‘I guess,’ Jade agreed. It seemed easiest to agree at that moment, which perhaps proved her timidity.
‘You must be stronger; show more courage. You’ll never make a good hunter unless you’re courageous.’
‘I know.’
‘So, the next time Tani tries to get the better of you, give him a big smack with this.’ Mrs Death leaned down and passed Jade a large riding crop.
‘But it doesn’t help!’ Jade whined almost inaudibly.
‘It wasn’t a question, Jade,’ Mrs Death replied, thin-lipped. ‘OK, let’s stretch your little rat’s legs. Trot on, girls, and, when
I say, canter. Laura, hold the pommel, keep your heels down and enjoy yourself.’
‘OK!’ Laura called back, excited.
‘See — that’s courage,’ Mrs Death said to Jade. ‘The courage of ignorance: Cosima and Laura still have it because they’ve never fallen off. But I know it’s harder for you — you have experience, and perhaps imagination, so are afraid. You need the courage of a beginner.’
Jade wasn’t entirely sure that this was courage; maybe it was more stupidity or good luck — or some combination of the two.
Must be courageous, Jade thought, feeling Tani’s explosive canter beginning underneath her. That awful sensation of losing control had started already. She wanted to saw at his mouth, or turn him in a circle, but that would start a fight Jade could never win. As Tani started to overtake Marlon, Jade took a deep breath and prepared for the worst (with a large handful of mane). However, seeing Jade’s discomfort, Mrs Death effortlessly accelerated and steered Marlon in front of the excited young pony.
‘See, you’re safe with us,’ Mrs Death smiled. ‘Now, give the rat a smack.’
Jade hesitated, but seeing Mrs Death’s tough face staring down at her, she saw little choice. She tapped the whip on Tani’s shoulder.
‘What was that?’ Mrs Death asked. ‘Give it back if you’re not going to use it properly.’
Relieved, Jade handed back the crop; she hated holding it while on Tani’s back. He’d been beaten up more than enough times in his short lifetime.
‘This is how it’s done.’
Jade had no time to see what was happening before Mrs Death brought the crop down hard on Tani’s flank. The frightened pony charged forward into Marlon. Faced with the much larger horse and the woman wielding the crop, Tani did the sensible thing and reversed as quickly as he could.
‘I’m sorry, Tan,’ Jade breathed, leaning forward, ready for the rear.
‘Don’t let him get away with it, Jade.’
Zoe, behind her now, was also wielding a whip. She whacked Tani above the tail before he backed into Bob.
Shooting forward, away from Zoe’s whip, Tani seemed to sense the futility of the situation. Ears back, neck wet with sweat, he fell back into line behind Marlon, finally placid.
‘There, much better,’ Becca said.
Jade glared at her friend. How dare she approve of what they’d done to Tani? If it had been Laura, Jade would have understood; Laura wasn’t a rider. But Becca! Becca should have known better.
Laura, to her credit, was holding her saddle’s pommel and staring grimly at Jade. She loved animals and didn’t like to see them upset, which Tani certainly was.
As they trotted on again Tani behaved well, but Jade could feel his skin prickling. He was terrified. This was at least ten steps backwards — maybe even further back than when Jade had first seen him at the Champs last summer, when petrified of his previous owners.
‘Canter!’ Mrs Death bellowed, her voice making Tani dart sideways. ‘There’s a spar up ahead. Just a baby one — no need to worry, Jade and Laura.’ Jade wondered if Mrs Death was deliberately embarrassing her.
The dip in the fence, with a wooden pole across the wire, was only about 70 centimetres high, and looked quite inviting. Yet Jade was pessimistic, feeling Tani’s terrible mood through the saddle and the reins, seeing it in the position of his ears.
Mrs Death went first, with Marlon barely noticing the tiny obstacle. Now it was Jade’s turn. Seeing Marlon and Mrs Death on the opposite side of the spar, Tani slackened his pace. There was no incentive to cross to the next field, no joy in the jump.
‘C’mon, boy,’ Jade said, her voice wobbling. ‘C’mon, now!’
Predictably, Tani graunched to a halt, refusing the easy jump.
‘Don’t let him do this, Jade,’ Zoe said, sounding exactly like her mother.
‘He’s scared of Marlon and your mum after she hit him!’ Jade finally plucked up the nerve to say what she was thinking.
‘Not as scared as he’ll be of me,’ Zoe said, riding closer and brandishing her whip.
‘Don’t! Just leave him alone!’ Jade yelled.
At her yell, Tani began reversing rapidly. Zoe brought her whip down on his rump, in the same fashion as last time. Losing his patience, Tani went in the only direction that was available to him now: up. The rear was sudden, and Jade, whose legs had weakened with each disappointment of the morning, slid off.
It could have been worse: she could have pulled Tani over backwards with her, his front hooves could have landed on her, or he could have bolted immediately afterwards. As it was, Jade instinctively let go of the reins and rolled away, towards the fence. And, perhaps because he once again felt surrounded, Tani now stood over his dropped rider, his saddle a little askew but otherwise looking ready to be mounted.
There was an unfamiliar sound. The child who wouldn’t speak was laughing as Jade rose to her feet, gently reached for Tani’s reins and remounted. Expecting Mrs Death to reprimand Cosima for laughing at another’s misfortune, Jade was surprised to hear only, ‘Now will you listen to us when we tell you to be stronger with him?’
No one objected when Jade claimed to feel ‘funny’ after her fall and asked to ride back rather than continue with the others. Having already experienced concussion, sprains and broken bones, Jade knew she was actually fine. She just wanted to go home, and for once Tani was also quite happy to leave the other horses.
She had gone only a hundred metres or so when she heard hooves trotting up behind her. It was a relief to see sluggish Sofia, and Laura’s sympathetic face.
‘You’ve had a rough day,’ Laura said, reaching across to pat her friend’s shoulder.
Something Nasty in the Attic
The riders returned late in the afternoon, as the last of the daylight was leaving. Having already made Taniwha as comfortable as possible in his stable, Jade waited at the gate, ready to open it for them.
She had been determined to seem good-humoured after her fall, but eventually lost patience with Becca and the Deaths as during both dinners — the horses’ and the humans’ — the only topic of conversation was the trek that she’d missed.
‘I actually think that’s the best ride I’ve ever been on,’ Becca said for the fourth time. ‘Honestly, Jade, it was amazing. Just as you left, the sun came out. And then we passed this cute little farmhouse that had three kittens playing outside it. And then we turned into some bush. Dusty did a massive shy at something — Zoe reckoned there was a pig in the undergrowth, but I didn’t see it — but I stayed on, though; didn’t even lose a stirrup.’
And after riding through bush for about fifteen minutes, they had come to a hill, at the summit of which was a beautiful little chapel dedicated to St Catherine. A stream ran downhill from the chapel, and along the banks were shiny copper relief sculptures depicting the Passion of Christ. Jade had heard it all before now — from everyone except Cosima, whose silence was welcome rather than weird in this instance.
It did sound like a perfect ride — the right mix of terrain, excellent weather (for winter), and well-behaved horses. But surely they didn’t have to keep talking about it over and over again!
Mr Death seemed to agree. During the first break in the conversation, he put his knife and fork together on his plate and excused himself from the dinner table.
‘No rest for the wicked: I’m going to try and do another couple of hours’ work before bed. I’ll leave the ladder down because I’ll want a cup of tea before long, but no disruptions please. I want peace and solitude.’
‘He works in the attic,’ Zoe explained, answering the girls’ questioning faces.
‘What does he do?’ Laura asked.
‘Something office-y,’ Zoe said. ‘I don’t really know. Lots of typing and phone calls. What does Roland do, Ma?’
‘Ask him yourself,’ Mrs Death said.
‘He just says that he puts bread on the table and clothes on our backs,’ Zoe replied.
‘Well, that’s the main thi
ng, isn’t it?’
‘I guess.’
Jade was surprised that Zoe was so easily satisfied with her dad’s vague responses. In Zoe’s position Jade would have insisted on knowing exactly what her father did. She asked her own dad about work every night at dinner. Maybe it was different because she didn’t have her mum anymore? No, Jade decided, she’d still want to know.
Even though Mr Death wasn’t her dad, Jade was still very curious. After dinner, when they went up to Zoe’s room to look at photos of her old ponies, Jade’s eyes wandered to the ladder in the middle of the hallway. There was a pool of warm light coming from the open attic trapdoor. Jade listened carefully, but all she could hear was a very faint clicking of fingers on a keyboard. Mr Death’s work did indeed sound ‘office-y’.
‘You’re not concussed again, are you?’ Zoe said rather impatiently from the doorway to her room.
‘I don’t think so,’ Jade replied.
‘It’s just that you’re looking odd — standing there, staring at the ceiling.’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Not sulking about the fall?’
‘No!’ Jade was offended.
‘Good. Come and have a look at my photos of Bullet. He really was the best pony — even better than Cos’s Al.’
There was a small shrine to Bullet above Zoe’s chest of drawers. On the wall she’d pinned six photos, one for each year that she’d ridden Bullet, she explained. The earliest one was curling slightly at the corners, and had that dim colour which photos from the past always have (the colour now reminded Jade of her mum and grandma). In it, Bullet was fluffy with a thick, flea-bitten grey winter coat. His mane was clumsily plaited and his rider’s short legs wore a pair of baggy cream jodhpurs.
As the photos became more recent, the rider’s legs gradually grew into the too-big jodhpurs and stretched down Bullet’s sides until in the last photo, of willowy twelve-year-old Zoe sitting on 14-hand Bullet, her legs could nearly meet right around the pony’s middle.
‘This is one of his shoes,’ Zoe said, gently touching a rusted horseshoe that sat under the photos. ‘And a bit of his mane.’ Next to the shoe, a small lock of grubby white hair was bound with a blue ribbon. ‘I was so sad after he died that I went around the yard, trying to find bits of him.’
