Mum looked puzzled. She could be slow to catch on. ‘But sure I have to go all the way down anyway to get on to the Lisburn Road.’
‘Yeah, well, I want to walk.’ I caught sight of Fliss’s long, dark pony-tail. Even with high heels on – Mad Max was always catching her but she kept on wearing them – she was tiny beside Niamh, who she was walking with. Niamh was tall, like me, but skinnier. ‘Look, there’s Fliss. I have to ask her about the physics homework.’
Fliss was looking at something on Niamh’s phone. They were giggling. No way did I want them to look into the car and see him sitting in the back seat with his nylon blazer and his earring and his wee hard man haircut.
Mum sighed. ‘OK, OK, I can pull in here. I’ll leave you a note on the table if I need you to do any cooking. Don’t forget to check. See you later, love. Got your PE bag?’ She turned round to Declan. ‘You might as well jump out and get in the front. No point in you sitting back there all the way to school.’
‘See ya!’ I leaped out and grabbed Niamh’s arm before The Hood would have the chance to get out and be seen. ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘That your new phone? Oh, you got the pink one. Cool.’
Niamh shot me this weird look. ‘Duh. You saw my phone already. I got it last week.’
‘Yeah, but I never looked at it properly.’
‘Who’s that getting into your car?’ asked Little Miss Observant Fliss.
I sighed. ‘Long story. You don’t want to know.’
‘He’s a bit of all right, though, Vic,’ said Fliss. ‘Your mum got a secret toyboy or something?’
‘Oh, you’re so funny.’
Mum pulled away just then, but it was too late.
‘He’s just someone my mum’s giving a lift to,’ I said.
‘So why’ve you gone all red?’ pestered Niamh. ‘Hey, I wish my mum gave lifts to good-looking boys.’
‘Yeah, I like that dark, dangerous-looking type, don’t you?’ said Fliss.
‘Thought you liked Niall? He’s blond.’ This was a bit mean because Niall was Niamh’s twin and she wasn’t meant to know Fliss had a crush on him.
‘Hey, talking of boys, hope you’ve invited plenty of fit ones to your party,’ I said. Niamh and Niall’s joint birthday parties were legendary and her sixteenth was next week. The phone was an early birthday present.
‘Yeah, is Rory coming?’ Fliss asked, nudging me, getting her own back.
‘Rory Marshall? From my street?’ I tried to sound casual but it was my turn to blush.
‘Yeah, he’s on the rugby team with Niall. He asked Niall if he knew you.’
Wow! As far as I knew, no boy had ever been aware of my existence before. I’d had a crush on Patrick Scott at Pony Club Camp the summer before last but every time I saw him I used to get my reins tangled up and lose my stirrups.
‘Hey, Vicky, you’re going to walk into the gate. Too busy thinking about Rory? Tell your mum to come too and bring her toyboy,’ said Niamh and they both giggled.
The party wasn’t till next Friday, twenty-third of November. Today was only the fourteenth. There was no way he would still be with us.
Chapter 7
DECLAN
All day my guts shiver at the thought of seeing Mum. I want to. Don’t want to. Don’t know what I want. Except for Mum to be better and not drinking. And for Barry never to come near us again. And for me not to have made all this happen. What’s done cannot be undone.
Seaneen Brogan hangs round me again. ‘Is your ma getting home soon?’
‘I dunno. Piss off. You’re a nosy cow.’
Seaneen laughs. She has wee spiky teeth. ‘I know,’ she says. I think you would have to try pretty hard to offend her – not like Princess Vicky. Seaneen doesn’t piss off either. She sneaks out at lunchtime to the chippie – not Fat Frankie’s but the one at the school gates.
‘You coming?’
‘Nah.’
‘God, you’re no fun these days, Declan Kelly,’ she says but she brings me back some chips and a cigarette. I haven’t had a fag for ages. Smoking that cigarette is about the only time I forget about going to see Mum, but when I get out of school there’s Colette in her shiny blue Golf, sitting outside. I can see people giving me funny looks. A few people in our school get picked up in fancy cars – Emmet McCann for one – but not me.
‘Good day?’ she asks when I get in.
I shrug. Half the time I don’t know what to say to her so I end up saying nothing.
She doesn’t give up, though. ‘Homework?’ she says, starting the engine.
‘Nah. Don’t really get homework.’
‘Lucky you. Vicky gets about two hours a night.’
‘There’s no point giving us homework. Nobody would do it.’
This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had. Too soon, though, she’s parking the car in the big hospital car park.
‘D’you want me to give you some time on your own with your mum?’ Colette asks as we get near the ward. My legs get heavier with every step.
‘Don’t mind,’ I say, which is a lie. I need her to stay.
‘Well, I’ll come in with you to say hello, and then we can see what you feel like.’ Colette’s carrying a Marks & Spencer’s bag. I don’t have anything.
Mum’s in a normal ward. She still has a drip and she’s a funny yellow colour but she’s sitting up. I hold back from hugging her. I’m scared I might hurt her and I don’t know if she’s still annoyed. The last time I spoke to her I told her I wished she was dead. The last time I saw her she was unconscious. I keep trying not to replay those minutes before the ambulance came, when I thought she was dead, but sometimes I can’t make them stay on top of the wardrobe where they belong.
‘Well,’ she says. Her voice is flat.
‘Well,’ says Colette.
‘Alright, Mum,’ I say.
Colette hands over the bag – it’s got magazines and a nightie and stuff. Mum says thanks and they start on that boring women-talk, about the food in the hospital and how good the nurses are. I zone out and try not to stare at Mum. She hasn’t met my eye yet.
Then Colette says she’ll leave us on our own for a bit and here we are.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. Two Rs in ‘sorry’, Kelly.
Mum’s eyes fill with tears. I bite the insides of my cheeks hard. Please don’t let her cry. Or me.
‘Och no, love, I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean – I was just a bit depressed. Everything will be OK when I get home.’
‘When?’
‘They won’t tell me. But you’re OK, aren’t you?’ She gives me her pleading look.
‘Yeah, fine.’ I search for my most ‘fine’ voice.
‘Colette feeding you well?’ asks Mum, who half the time doesn’t notice if there’s nothing in the fridge.
‘Yeah.’ This isn’t the whole truth. Colette’s food is OK in a vegetably way but my throat tightens every time I try to swallow.
‘And what about Vicky?’
‘She’s OK.’ This isn’t even a tiny bit true. Vicky is a Class A Bitch. ‘She’s taking me up to see her horse tonight. We’re going to some showjumping thing on Saturday.’
‘Showjumping!’ For the first time her voice loses that flat, dead tone. ‘Where’s that at?’
‘Dunno.’ There’s no point asking me things like that. I never know where anywhere is. Until last week I always thought the Malone Road was about ten miles away. Sometimes Colette used to phone Mum and invite her over to her house, and Mum always used to say the same thing, ‘Aye, it’s OK for her with her fancy car. How could I be trailing away over there?’ So I grew up thinking it was really far. Plus I thought it was all Prods but there’s a big Catholic church and all so it mustn’t be.
‘And what about school?’
‘Haven’t been in any trouble.’ This is the whole truth. I don’t mention Emmet and neither does she.
‘Good,’ she says. Her face is all pulled down with tiredness. I wish Colette would come back. Mum closes h
er eyes and I pick up one of the magazines and read some crap about Victoria Beckham. Mum is as skinny as Victoria Beckham. You can see her bones at the top of her nightie. It’s minging.
At last we’re on our way back to Colette’s. It seems far because we get stuck in loads of traffic jams.
‘She looks a bit better, doesn’t she?’ Colette says when the silence gets too loud.
Better than what? I think but she’s doing her best so I just go, ‘Yeah.’
Colette looks at the clock on the dashboard. ‘God, this traffic’s terrible. Vicky’s supposed to be at the stables for seven. I hope she got my note about putting the chilli in the oven.’
When I think about going to the stables I feel two things. One, that it’s going to be crap having to go somewhere with Princess Vicky; and two, that tonight I’m going to see a horse. For some reason, ever since I saw that photo of Vicky’s horse, I’ve kept on thinking about it. When those memories of last weekend threaten to fall off the top of the wardrobe, I imagine riding the horse. Going faster than anything.
It’s a rush to get out of the house again after the chilli and Vicky moans the whole way there that she doesn’t like riding straight after tea.
‘So, how’s your mum?’ she asks me, but not as if she cares, just as if she wants to know how soon she can get rid of me.
I shrug. Not going to talk to her just because she suddenly decides to talk to me.
It’s about fifteen minutes’ drive to the stables. I don’t see where we’re going because it’s dark but pretty soon we’re on twisty, up-and-down roads with no street lights.
I thought the stables would be big and posh but we drive into quite a small farmyard sort of thing. Horses start neighing when we get out of the car.
‘Flight, baby!’ says Vicky, leaping ahead of us into this big shed thing.
Colette turns to me and smiles. ‘OK?’ she says. ‘D’you like horses?’
‘Dunno,’ I say. I get out and follow her across the yard into the shed.
In real life Flight is even better than in the photo. I’ve hardly ever been near a horse before. Only once but I didn’t get up close because one of the gypsies came out and chased me. It was one time I had a fight with Mum and I took off. After a bit I sort of forgot about the fight and I just wanted to see how far I could run. I left the estate behind and ran on and on. Way up on to the Glen Road – further than I’d ever been. I was only about eleven. And I came to the gypsy camp. It was a real tip, all rubbish and old cars. But there was a horse. It had a rope tied round one of its legs and it was just standing there eating grass. I crossed the road to go and see it. It was a nice horse, black and white with big hairy feet. It looked round at me with a bit of grass hanging out of its mouth and I slowed down in case I scared it. Then I heard someone yell, ‘Oi, you! Clear off, you wee shite!’ I ran back down the hill. That’s the last time I saw a horse.
Vicky’s horse is sleek and shiny. He looks down his nose at me over the stable door. I stretch out my hand to let him sniff me and he curves his neck to reach down into my hand. When he sees it’s empty he sort of loses interest in me, but he lets me stroke his face. His face is like velvet.
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ Vicky says. For the first time she smiles at me.
‘Yeah. He’s …’ I want to say amazing, unbelievable, beautiful. ‘He’s OK.’
Colette and I do a bit of standing about getting in the way while Vicky fusses around Flight, brushing him and putting on his saddle and that. I try to look bored.
A thin woman with short red hair comes up leading a tiny black pony. ‘OK, Vicky?’ she says. ‘Ready in the school in five minutes? I’m just putting Hero in and I’ll be straight down. Warm him up, both reins, while you’re waiting.’ She talks fast but posh. She nods at me and Colette and strides off with the wee pony.
Vicky comes out of the stable, wearing a riding hat, and Colette and I jump sideways to give her space to swing herself up on to Flight’s back. When I see her sitting up there, all easy like a cowboy, I’m so jealous I could kill her.
For a balls-freezing hour Colette and I lean on the gate of a big sandy field thing with spotlights all round it and watch Cam making Vicky and Flight do stuff. Some of it looks easy – just going round in circles – but I guess by the look of concentration on Vicky’s face when she’s doing the smallest circles that it’s harder than it looks. Then Cam puts up some jumps. They look huge to me but Flight clears them all with a flick of his tail. After some of them he kicks up his heels as if he’s enjoying himself.
‘OK, I’ll put these up to a metre,’ Cam shouts. ‘Now watch the stride coming into the gate.’
I’ve only seen horses jumping on TV. Vicky looks nicer when she’s on Flight. Half the time I forget it’s her and just enjoy watching the horse jumping. Then I remember what a bitch she is and that’s when I get so jealous I could run up and pull her off the horse and gallop off on him myself.
Except I haven’t got a clue how to.
Chapter 8
VICKY
After tea on Friday I settled down to give my tack a good clean. Mum and Declan were at the hospital so the house was quiet, making being there on a Friday evening instead of at Dad’s seem even weirder.
As I rubbed soap into my bridle I had snakes in my stomach thinking about putting it on Flight next day at the show. There was something so scary about jumping as part of a team, with everyone relying on you. I saw myself falling off, forgetting the course, having three refusals at the first jump – every disaster you can imagine.
I heard Mum and Declan come in, then him going upstairs – good; I could have some time with Mum.
She looked into the kitchen. ‘Any chance of getting in to make a cup of tea?’
I looked round. Bits of leather were draped over every chair back and the air was sweet with oil and saddle soap. ‘Just need to put my bridle together again and polish my boots.’
‘Give me the boots and I’ll do them for you.’
Mum pretty much kept out of the horsey side of my life but I quite enjoyed chatting to her while we polished and rubbed.
‘Nervous?’ she asked.
I nodded. ‘But Flight was brilliant on Wednesday, wasn’t he? Did you see the way he cleared the gate?’ When I remembered the feeling of Flight and me jumping on Wednesday, like we understood each other for the first time, like we were a team, I had a blast of confidence.
‘Well, it always looks terrifying to me.’
‘Mum, can you take me to the yard really early? Like eight o’clock? Wainwright says we have to plait.’
‘Your hair?’ Mum wrinkled her face in surprise.
I giggled. ‘Flight’s mane.’ I tried not to let the nerves creep into my voice. I’d never plaited Flight before and I didn’t know if he would stand OK. Normally Fiona did all that sort of stuff for me. ‘Will you hate coming to the show tomorrow?’ I asked.
‘Course not! I’m really proud of you. I just get so nervous watching you go over those huge fences. And you know I never know what to say to that horsey crowd. But at least I’ll have company.’
‘What d’you mean?’
She rubbed hard at my black leather boot. ‘Declan, of course.’
The snakes wriggled back into my stomach, only this time they had fangs. ‘Mum! I’m not jumping with him watching.’
‘Don’t be silly’ Mum looked at me in surprise. ‘I can’t just leave him here on his own all day.’
I spat on Flight’s bit and started rubbing a cloth over it hard to shine it. ‘You mean you wouldn’t trust him?’
‘No, I mean it’d be a very rude way to treat a guest.’
I tried a different tack. ‘Well, he’ll hate it. You know how much hanging around there is.’
Mum shook her head. ‘He seemed to enjoy watching you on Wednesday. Anyway, he’s coming and that’s that. Maybe he can help you with Flight. You know I’m useless.’
* * *
‘Stand, you big pig!’ I felt pretty usele
ss myself. I tried to jerk on Flight’s headcollar rope, but my fingers were sweaty with trying to get the tiny rubber bands round the uneven red plaits I had finally managed to coax his thick mane into. He pulled away and laid his ears flat and the last plait sprang out into a useless frizzy pompom. I dropped the plaiting bands.
‘Damn!’ I could have cried. This was just too difficult. I couldn’t manage without Fiona. How was I going to survive the show? The snakes started somersaulting inside me.
‘Having trouble?’
I stuck my head over the half-door of Flight’s stable. It was Sally. ‘I need to plait him for Mossbrook. We’re jumping in the schools’ provincial league,’ I explained. I hoped she would be impressed.
She looked in and laughed. ‘Not with those plaits!’
‘I’ve never done it before,’ I admitted. ‘Fiona’s away and Cam’s busy.’
‘I’ll help.’ She was already in the stable, pulling out my pathetic attempts. Flight looked at her in a long-suffering way. ‘Poor old son,’ she said. ‘It’s a bit boring, isn’t it? Never mind, we’ll soon have you looking gorgeous.’
She made it look easy. Flight had been as jittery as a rabbit with me but with Sally he just stood with his lip drooping and never moved a hoof. I handed her the mane comb and bands when she asked for them.
‘I’ve been riding Joy this week,’ Sally said.
‘Oh yeah. Fiona said.’
I felt a bit guilty thinking about how much I didn’t want her to ride Flight.
‘OK, all done.’ She slapped Flight on the shoulder. He looked amazing. He flexed his neck as if he knew it and Sally gave him a Polo mint.
‘Thanks, Sally, I owe you one,’ I said. I’d ask Mum to get her a bottle of wine.
‘No worries.’ She went off to see to Nudge.
Old Jim came grumbling into the yard pushing a wheelbarrow. ‘You still in that stable?’ he called.
‘Well, it is my stable,’ I pointed out.
‘I need to get the beds finished. Can’t muck out if you’re standing there.’ He frowned at me over his wheelbarrow.
‘You can do it later. I’ll be away pretty soon. I just have to –’
Taking Flight Page 4
