by Sharon Sant
‘I know you can do it.’ Rosa’s tone softened and he returned it with a tense smile.
If getting on the horse was anything to go by, riding it was going to be a nightmare. Twice Xavier threw himself onto the slippery saddle, only to slide right off again. When he finally managed to clamber on, he held the reins as if he had suddenly grown an unexpected third hand. He clicked at the horse to move off. Nothing happened. He clicked again. The horse dipped its head to chew on some grass.
‘How do you get these things going?’ he asked Rosa. Dire as the situation was, she was half amused by this novel turn of events. Rosa had never seen Xavier unable to do something before
‘I don’t know.’ She tried to cover her mouth as she smirked.
‘It’s not funny!’ Xavier thundered.
‘I know. Just click your heels or something.’
Xavier dug into the horse’s flank a little too forcefully. The horse jumped alarmingly and shot off at a brisk canter, for which Xavier had been completely unprepared. Instead of leading with the reins, he leant down and clung onto the horse’s neck.
‘You’ll get the hang of it in no time,’ Rosa called after him. ‘Just be quick.’
After a while, Xavier felt confident enough to let go of his white knuckled grip on the horse’s mane and worked his way up to a cautious sitting position. Then, pulling and slackening experimentally on the reins, he tried to steer. As he got the hang of it, the horse settled. There was no way Xavier could risk a gallop, though, he was just about managing a canter; his legs chafed and ached as his inexperience made getting a rhythm difficult and every movement painful.
Xavier didn’t really know his way home. He had a vague idea that he could get back to the mill, and then follow their original route back to the cottage where they had stayed before that, going home from there. It was a long ride, though. He could risk taking too long to get home, or he could try taking a direct route away from the river. But that was an unknown shortcut, and he risked getting lost. He had to make a wide circle as it was to get away from the stable without being spotted. Wracked with indecision, he tried to work through the lay of the land in his head and finally took a chance on the second option. To follow their original ramblings would take too long, at least this way, if he pulled it off, he would be much quicker. If he didn’t… he tried to block out the consequences of that.
The dull thud of the horse’s hooves sounded on the soft ground as it trotted along. The musky odour of horse sweat mingled with the damp air of the overgrown countryside. As he became more confident, he dared to go faster. The rain had stopped, though it still threatened, and he began to feel more optimistic about his mission. He reasoned that if he rode at a right angle, directly away from the river, eventually he ought to reach the road from where they first saw the mill. He thought that from there he could find the road to Hunterbourne - and home.
After riding cross country for an hour, Xavier’s whole body ached and he still seemed no nearer to the road. After two long, painful hours, he began to panic. His stomach groaned in protest but there was no way he was going to stop. In fact, it occurred to him, for the first time, that he actually did not know how to stop. He scanned the horizon constantly for road signs or landmarks, but nothing he saw gave him any hope that he was going in the right direction. Another hour of tortuous riding passed and, finally, he saw it: the road they had travelled down weeks before. His heart leapt as he drew closer, though his excitement was tempered by the fact that he could not remember which direction to take. He trotted the horse up and down the same stretch two or three times, undecided, afraid of the time on his journey if he made the wrong choice. Just pick one and go. He turned left and urged the horse on. After a couple of miles Xavier saw an old man on the road walking a dog. He had barely seen any other traffic all day, not that he expected to. Desperate, he trotted alongside to ask for directions.
‘Sorry, I can’t stop, I just –’ he began to call over. The old man looked at him with tired, watery eyes.
‘Young ‘uns today, always so busy…’
‘No,’ Xavier continued, trying his best not to show his impatience, ‘I literally can’t stop. I just need to know, am I going in the right direction for Hunterbourne?’
‘Oh no…’ The old man pondered. ‘You need to go the other way.’
Xavier, cursing under his breath, turned the horse around and sped off as fast as he dared. The old man had looked a bit confused; Xavier just hoped he wasn’t so demented that he was giving him the wrong directions.
‘Don’t thank me then!’ the old man called after him.
Another half an hour down the potholed road and Xavier saw the sign for Hunterbourne. Half an hour further and his heart swelled as the slate rooftops of the little hamlet appeared over the brow of a hill in front of him. This was a place he thought he would never see again. With a strange mixture of excitement and trepidation, he left the main thoroughfare and wound down the muddy, secluded lane where his parents’ neat white house nestled in evergreens, almost hidden from the road. Xavier hadn’t planned to return here but, if he had, this wasn’t the triumphant homecoming he would have imagined. He reached the front gates, his stomach squirming, as he pulled back on the horse’s reins, hoping that the creature would understand he wanted to stop. Either it did, or the horse was just as exhausted as Xavier. Either way, it happily ground to a halt and Xavier slid off, walking stiffly as he left it munching his Dad’s lawn.
Pierre Bettencourt was surrounded by sheaves of paper at his kitchen table while his wife, Isobel, was busy making hot drinks. As their youngest son nervously put his head round the outside door, Isobel squealed and dropped her cup, which crashed onto the stone flags. She ran over to the door, pulled him in, and held him in a crushing embrace.
‘Xavier! Xavier!’
For the next minute all she could do was kiss his face and repeat his name like a mantra, refusing to let go. When she finally loosened her grip, Xavier turned to face his father, who hadn’t moved from his work. Xavier had known he would get a cooler reception here.
‘So…’ Pierre appraised him. ‘Life isn’t as easy as you thought it would be? You want to come home, I suppose?’ Xavier had never ceased to be amazed by the man’s coldness and, even now, though he had had no idea where his son had been, there wasn’t a flicker of unchecked emotion.
‘No.’ Xavier bit back a stronger retort.
‘Pierre! Leave him alone. Just look at the poor thing, he’s skin and bone – your own son! Of course he can come home. He doesn’t have to ask –’
‘Mum,’ Xavier interrupted gently. He didn’t want to hurt his mother, but he wasn’t going to admit a weakness in front of his father. ‘I’m sorry. That’s not why I’m here. I need Dad’s help… but it isn’t for me.’ He turned to Pierre. ‘Dad, my friend needs a doctor, he’s really ill, I mean really. You have to come.’
‘I’m busy. Find another doctor.’
‘Mum?’ Xavier turned to her for support. ‘I think he’s going to die. I wouldn’t ask otherwise. I’m sorry, there isn’t much time. I’ve been riding for hours.’ He glanced through the window to make sure the horse was still there. ‘I need to get the horse back tonight. I sort of… took it.’
‘See.’ Pierre looked at his wife. ‘Stealing horses - probably mixed up with a bad crowd. Pilfering food, no doubt. We never had this trouble with Francois – ’
‘DAD!’ Xavier bellowed. He strained to control his temper. ‘Please, Dad.’
Isobel glared at her husband, arms folded.
‘Very well. I’m only doing this for your mother, though. If she’s still fool enough to be bothered with you, I suppose I don’t have a choice.’ He pushed his chair away from the table with a grunt. ‘I’ll fetch my bag.’
Twelve: The Deal
‘Where have you been living?’ Pierre looked straight ahead as he drove. ‘We did try to find you, as your mother wouldn’t let it drop. Francois didn’t seem too concerned about your disappeara
nce, though.’ He shot a swift, sideways glance at his son. ‘I suppose you were in contact with him.’
Xavier didn’t answer.
‘And you’re missing an awful lot of school. I can’t imagine how you will catch up.’
‘Not going back to school, so it doesn’t matter.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What good is school going to do me? Memorising the details of the 2075 Tokyo Treaty or models of chaos never did me much good so far.’
‘Your mother misses you, God knows why. I take it you’re coming home after all this.’
‘She’s still got Francois.’
‘Don’t be facetious, Xavier.’
As Pierre and Xavier pulled up in the medical jeep, Xavier spotted Rosa a short way from the door of the stable, conversing earnestly with a slight, wispy-haired man.
‘Oh, no,’ Xavier groaned, ‘he owns the horse. What am I going to tell him, Dad?’
Xavier bounded out of the jeep. They had decided not to bring the horse back straight away, as it would have taken too long to lead it behind the jeep, and Xavier’s mother insisted that he was not in any state to ride it back. After minutes of arguing with her, minutes that Xavier felt were the sands of Elijah’s life trickling away, he finally relented and agreed to accompany his dad in the jeep.
Pierre alighted from the driver’s side. ‘Leave it to me.’ He strode towards Rosa and the horse’s owner. Xavier followed, calling Rosa over as Pierre approached the man and spoke to him in the conciliatory tones that came easily from years in his profession. From his pocket, Pierre extracted a leather wallet and handed something over. The man stuffed it into his own pocket before turning in the direction of his house with a handshake and a friendly wave.
‘That was good timing,’ Rosa whispered to Xavier, ‘he was trying to get in the stable.’
The others couldn’t help staring when they saw Pierre. It was just like looking at a slightly wrinklier version of Xavier - same straight nose, same square jaw and dark, heavy-lidded eyes. They even shared the same cropped haircut, though Pierre’s was laced with silvery-grey.
‘Is this him?’ Pierre questioned curtly, indicating Elijah, who now looked so dreadful that there could be no mistaking who the patient was. Xavier nodded whilst the others looked on apprehensively. Pierre knelt down beside Elijah, pulling a stethoscope from his battered leather case. He fired questions at Xavier whilst he examined Elijah, seemingly oblivious to anyone else.
‘What’s your diagnosis?’ he snapped.
‘Well…’ Xavier began uncertainly, ‘Shock?’
‘Correct. So why has he only this flimsy cover? What else?’
‘Infection?’
‘Anything else?’
‘Complex fracture… fibula or tarsus? Lower leg, I guess.’
‘I’m disappointed in you, Xavier,’ Pierre put away his equipment and produced a hypodermic syringe. ‘Your diagnosis is correct. Broken ankle, shock and, probably, judging by the state of his clothes, some sort of waterborne infection. You could have dealt with him better than this.’
Xavier looked at the floor.
‘Is he going to be ok?’ Sky whispered. Pierre looked up at her, seemingly surprised to find someone else present.
‘Now that I’m here, yes.’ He spoke to Xavier again. ‘I suppose he has no means of paying for treatment?’
‘Daaad!’ Xavier groaned.
‘Well, one has to ask. Drugs aren’t cheap, you know. I have a living to make.’
‘Take it out of my inheritance, then,’ Xavier mumbled, digging at the ground savagely with his heel. Pierre chose to ignore the comment.
After administering a first dose of antibiotics, Pierre set about a temporary solution for Elijah’s ankle with a surprisingly gentle manner. He made Elijah as comfortable as he could, and then barked instructions for Xavier to fetch a stretcher.
Rowan went out to help, intrigued by the jeep. ‘Solar panels?’ he questioned.
Xavier nodded. ‘Dad is always complaining about it, though. Says they’re really unreliable. We haven’t really got the best weather for solar power, have we? Best he can get, though; only being a provincial doctor, the government won’t let him have anything else. You can have it adapted to run on other things, biofuel and stuff, which I think Dad is going to do.’
‘I think it’s amazing,’ insisted Rowan, taking a circuit around it. ‘I don’t know anyone who’s got their own car.’
‘That’s because you only know us lot, you clown!’ Xavier laughed.
Under Pierre’s direction, the three boys clumsily hauled Elijah onto the stretcher. Pierre looked sharply at Sky. ‘Anyone else go in that water?’
‘I didn’t like to say anything,’ Sky began, ‘It didn’t seem important with Elijah in such a state but… I have got a very painful ear.’
Pierre nodded. ‘You’ll probably be ok with tablets. If you don’t feel too ill now we can get you back to the house and fix you up.’
‘I went in too, Dad.’
‘I might have known you’d end up in there!’ Pierre tutted at Xavier.
Rosa and Sky exchanged glances while Jimmy and Rowan looked at their feet. ‘This boy,’ he continued, indicating Elijah, ‘should be in hospital.’
‘NO!’ Sky and Rosa shouted together.
Pierre eyed them suspiciously.
‘He really wouldn’t want to be a bother to the hospital, they’re so busy already…’ Sky started a clumsy explanation.
‘Besides,’ Rosa added strengthening their case, ‘he hasn’t got any money.’
Pierre turned to her. ‘So you think I’ve got money to take care of every waif and stray that my son deems to pick up?’
Rosa flushed. ‘No, I – ’
‘Dad,’ Xavier interrupted, ‘what we talked about on the way… if we can look after him at home, I’ll do it, ok?’
Pierre considered for a moment and then seemed satisfied. ‘Get him in the jeep.’
Thirteen: White Lodge
Isobel Bettencourt was preparing vegetables in the kitchen. She had peeled the same carrot three times. The whine of the jeep’s engine brought her to the outside door and she rushed out onto the gravel path.
‘Where’s… oh, Xavier! What on earth have you been doing?’ Stepping back slightly, she surveyed the distressing sight of the weary, dirty and underfed group with horror as they stumbled out from the back of the jeep. ‘You poor children… poor, poor things.’
Xavier approached her, but Pierre called him away. ‘Come on Xavier, get the stretcher in.’
Elijah, fastened onto the stretcher, was pulled from the jeep by Xavier and Jimmy. Only his head was visible from the top of the rough blankets that had been piled on him. His closed eyes were hollow, his skin grey, his cheeks drawn and sunken. Isobel clapped a hand to her mouth, but then she looked closer and saw the minute and erratic rise and fall of his chest. Quickly recovering, she began to display her maternal organisation skills. ‘Xavier’s room is ready. The poorly boy can go in his bed for now. Xavier – Francois says you can share with him.’
Xavier nodded. ‘What about the others, though?’
‘Well, I wasn’t expecting you to bring home a whole expedition.’ Isobel turned a practical eye to the rest of the group. ‘We can’t turn you away in this state…’
Pierre cleared his throat loudly, but Isobel ignored him.
‘What about the summer house?’ Xavier asked, ‘They could bed down in there… if you didn’t mind?’
Isobel nodded her approval. ‘I think that could work, as a temporary solution anyway. Wait here while we get this boy inside and settled.’
Rosa and Rowan spotted a sturdy, rustic wooden bench, onto which they flopped under the spreading branches of a young fir near the outer edge of the rambling garden.
Jimmy and Xavier hauled Elijah’s stretcher into the house. Sky caught up with Pierre as he followed them. ‘Thank you, Dr Bettencourt,’ she half whispered. Whether he heard or not, he did not look
at her but quickened his stride.
Xavier returned a few minutes later with Jimmy and a slightly older looking boy, who could not be mistaken for anyone but his brother, Francois. Just like Xavier and Pierre, Francois was graced with strong features and dark, cropped hair, but he had the gentle quickness of his mother’s eyes, rather than the flashing arrogance of his father’s. Francois nodded in recognition to Rosa as the others ran to meet them, full of questions. His gaze lingered a little longer on Sky, making a hot rash spread up from her neck. Rowan was bursting with questions as Francois and Xavier led them to an octagonal wooden summer house nestled in a far corner of the grounds behind the house.
‘I’ve never met a brother before.’ Rowan jogged to keep up with Francois’ brisk stride. ‘And your place is massive. Your mum and dad must be really rich...’
Rosa cleared her throat in an obvious cough and Rowan stopped, mid-sentence, blushing. ‘Sorry… I didn’t mean...’
Francois grinned. ‘I see you haven’t changed, Rosa.’ He cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘Still as gorgeous as ever!’
It was Rosa’s turn to blush. Xavier looked at his brother sharply and Francois’ grin spread.
Sky nudged Rosa. ‘How do you know him?’ she whispered.
‘Long story,’ Rosa whispered back, ‘I’ll tell you later.’
Francois unlocked the double doors of the summer house and directed them to leave their bags there. The top section of the house was almost entirely glass, with a wooden, sloping roof. As the doors opened, the sharp smell of timber wafted out to greet them, warm and inviting. At the centre of the room stood a small iron stove and padded seats ran round the outer edges.
‘You can come up to the house to get washed, but one at a time, I’m afraid. Don’t make a mess; don’t make a noise and try not to annoy my dad.’ Francois gave them a good natured grin. ‘You don’t want to darken his usual sunny disposition, I’m sure.’
‘I’ll come and have a word with Mum,’ Xavier called as Francois left them. He turned to the others. ‘I’ll bring something to eat as soon as I can.’
