Taking Flight

by Sheena Wilkinson

  ‘Oh my God!’ My insides did a backflip. ‘Are we in with a chance?’

  Katie laughed. ‘Keep up those lessons and we might be!’

  I was at the door of my classroom now so I had to go. I told Fliss and Becca in History. Even though they thought it was weird to like horses, they still thought it would be cool to go to Dublin.

  ‘So, what do you have to do?’ Fliss asked. We were whispering behind our books. We had the student teacher on Mondays and she was really wet.

  ‘Finish first or second. There’s two more shows to go. We’re second at the minute. But some of the others are really good.’

  ‘Better than Flight?’

  ‘Better than me,’ I said honestly.

  Three sentences about horses was about Fliss’s limit. ‘Are you all set for Niamh and Niall’s party?’

  ‘Yeah, you?’

  She frowned. ‘We’re meant to be going to Donegal.’

  ‘Oh, Fliss, no way!’

  ‘I know. I’m trying to persuade Mum to wait and go on Saturday.’

  ‘Niall’s on the rugby team this year,’ I reminded her slyly. ‘Just think of all those lovely rugby players!’

  ‘Yeah, like Rory Marshall, you mean?’

  ‘Victoria and Felicity. Pay attention please.’ The student was wet but she wasn’t deaf.

  ‘Sorry, miss,’ we chanted.

  The three of us got together at break on our special bit of wall. Fliss handed round a mini tub of Pringles.

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Becca. ‘Got a new top for Niamh’s party but at the minute I can’t actually get all the buttons done. I’m not going to eat all week.’

  Fliss could eat anything and stay thin as a pencil so she just shrugged and passed the tub to me. ‘Come on, Vicky. You have to keep your strength up for this showjumping stuff,’ she said, shaking the tub at me.

  I took one and licked the salt off. ‘Fliss, you have to tell your mum to wait until Saturday,’ said Becca. ‘I mean, it’s not just any party. It’s Niamh’s.’

  Fliss sighed. ‘I know. But Mum won’t see it like that. She’s invited this new man of hers up to Donegal with us.’

  My insides squirmed. I could never understand how Fliss could cope with her Mum having boyfriends.

  ‘What’s this one like?’ asked Becca.

  Fliss ran her finger round the salty scrapings in the bottom of the Pringles tub and sighed. ‘Psychiatrist.’

  ‘Weird!’

  ‘He’ll be analysing you all the time!’

  ‘He’s OK,’ Fliss admitted. ‘But what’s the point in making an effort? She’ll probably dump him next month.’

  ‘Come on, girls. The bell has gone. Rebecca O’Reilly, is that nail varnish?’

  Mrs Maxwell, head of Year Twelve and total fascist, loomed up behind us. We slid down from the wall, grabbed our bags and grumbled off to German. But it might as well have been Greek because all I could think about – through German, Physics, PE, everything – was Dublin.

  Still, there was a lot to do first, I reminded myself as I walked home. Mustn’t tempt fate, as Katie had said. Two more shows and I couldn’t afford to make a mistake at either of them. At least I should have Dad and Fiona at the next one – and no Declan, of course. Last weekend – Mum getting involved in that side of my life – was a total one-off.

  But walking up Sandringham Park, with all the houses cosy and solid behind thick hedges and lovely gardens, pictures of Declan’s street kept barging into my head. That horrible estate with graffiti everywhere and old cars and some of the houses boarded up. No wonder Mum couldn’t wait to get out of the place. No wonder she hardly ever went back. How weird that Theresa and Gerard liked it. Did Declan?

  Mum was in the kitchen putting moussaka in the oven. The air was warm and garlicky. ‘Hi love. I thought you might be Declan. He was getting the bus for the first time. I hope he managed it OK.’

  ‘Mum! He’s nearly sixteen. I’m sure he can get the bus to school on his own.’ How ridiculous! He was supposed to be the streetwise one, and there was Mum worrying about him getting a couple of local buses.

  It was lovely having Mum to myself. I told her about Dublin. ‘So you see how important it is that I have regular lessons.’

  ‘Yes, love.’ She smiled. ‘And you’ll let Declan have a wee go on Flight on Wednesday?’

  She never missed a trick! The thought of anyone riding Flight made my chest hurt – the thought of letting him anywhere near him –

  ‘Mum! You’re trying to get round me when I’m in a good mood!’

  ‘Isn’t that what you always do to me?’

  ‘I suppose. Well, I might. But just a wee walk round the school. I mean, Flight’s an inter-provincial showjumper in training.’

  She took off her oven gloves. ‘Potentially. Don’t tempt fate.’

  Chapter 13

  DECLAN

  ‘Vicky says she’ll give you a go on Flight this evening,’ Colette says.

  I shrug. ‘OK.’

  She looks up from peeling potatoes. ‘Declan? Is anything wrong? Apart from your mum?’

  I shake my head.

  She doesn’t give up, though. ‘I know Theresa wasn’t in great form last night.’

  ‘Hmm.’ What’s the good of shoving things on top of a wardrobe when Colette keeps dragging them down?

  ‘Maybe it would be easier if you go on your own next time?’

  This would be a million times worse but right now all I want is for her to shut up so I just go, ‘Maybe,’ and it works.

  I go up to the room I sleep in – Colette is always so careful to say ‘your room’ but it isn’t – to change out of my uniform. For the first time what Colette said sinks in. Vicky says she’ll give you a wee go on Flight. Christ! Do I want to? Part of me does, more than anything. Another part is shitting myself.

  The stable yard is starting to look familiar now but something’s different. There’s a lot of rushing about and neighing and when Cam comes round the corner at the sound of Colette’s car her short red hair is standing on end and she looks hassled. ‘Oh gosh, Vicky, I forgot! I should have cancelled you.’

  ‘What? Is something wrong with Flight?’ Her voice is high-pitched.

  ‘He’s fine. But the young horse bucked Tony off this afternoon and he’s pretty smashed up. I’m only back from the hospital and nothing’s been done.’

  Vicky gasps. ‘Is Tony OK?’

  ‘He’s got concussion and a broken leg. I had to wait with him until we could get hold of his mum.’

  ‘Oh, poor Tony. Well, I can help you now. I’m early.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can fit in – well, OK. You help for half an hour and then I’ll give you a quick lesson if we get everything sorted out.’

  She seems to see me for the first time. She looks me up and down like I’m a horse. ‘You going to help?’

  ‘Uh, OK.’

  ‘He doesn’t know anything about horses,’ Vicky puts in.

  ‘I’m sure he can stuff a few hay nets. Right, Vicky, the feeds are set out in the feed room. Now you, come with me. What’s your name?’

  ‘Declan.’

  ‘You’re Vicky’s cousin, right?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer but leads me into a big, cold shed behind the stables. In one corner there’s a huge round pile of hay stuff with all these string bag things heaped round it. ‘Ever stuffed a hay net?’

  I shake my head. ‘I never even touched a horse till last week.’

  She laughs. ‘Well, it’s not hard. Look, see the bale of haylage?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I can hardly miss it; it’s nearly as big as me.

  ‘Well, you want to put the haylage into the nets. Stuff it in as tight as you can. And when you can’t stuff in another bit, pull the string tight – see, here, at the top of the net?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘There’s twelve nets. You probably won’t get them all done, but do your best.’

  ‘OK.’

  She strides off and there’s only me
and the haylage and the nets. I pull off a big swathe of haylage with a pitchfork the way Cam showed me. It’s harder than it looks. The haylage is rough and damp and it smells funny – sweet and a bit sickly. I stuff and stuff and stuff until my hands sting. The nets are slippy to handle until they start to plump up with haylage. I get into a sort of rhythm. Vaguely I hear Cam and Vicky shouting across the yard to each other and the horses stamping their feet and neighing for their dinners, but it’s quiet in the shed. I like the way the pile of fat hay nets is growing.

  When Cam comes back I’m so involved in what I’m doing that I jump.

  ‘Only one left? Good for you. We’ve done the feeds. Vicky’s gone to tack up Flight. Look, you wouldn’t mind doing something else for me, would you?’

  ‘OK.’

  She gives me a sort of plastic laundry basket thing and rubber gloves and tells me to go and lift the shit out of all the stables. ‘You’re happy enough about going into the stables? The horses won’t touch you.’

  ‘OK.’

  Lifting shit is easier than stuffing hay nets. Horse shit isn’t that bad, not like dog’s dirt or anything. From behind the stables I hear Cam shouting instructions. ‘Once more on that rein. Good. Now you need to put in a short one here.’ It sounds like a foreign language.

  The horses are all eating their dinners and most don’t even look up when I open their doors. I suppose they’re used to people. Some of them are huge but they have these gentle, interested faces. Not scary. One of them has a bandage on its leg. It leaves its bucket of food – looks like that muesli stuff Colette eats – and sniffs around me. It’s brown. I talk nonsense to it and stroke its nose and it seems happy, biffing my chest with its head.

  ‘Oh, that’s our pet!’

  I look up. Once again I haven’t heard Cam and I feel stupid to be caught talking to the horse. She doesn’t seem to think it’s weird, though.

  ‘She’s been on box rest for three months. She cut her leg really badly on barbed wire. She may never be ridden again. She’s a dote, isn’t she?’ She gives the brown horse a soft pat on the neck.

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Nudge.’

  ‘That’s a funny name.’

  ‘I think it’s because she loves to nudge people – see what I mean? So, how did you get on with the skipping out?’

  ‘Just a couple left.’

  ‘Good for you. You’ve done a great job. Vicky says you’re going to have a ride on Flight.’

  My stomach takes a nosedive. ‘Um, OK. I’ll just –’ I wave my hand at the shit basket.

  ‘Leave it. I’ll finish up. Go on ahead – Vicky’s in the school.’

  I know now that she means the sandy field thing. Funny names, horsey things have. I don’t know how I feel about riding Flight. Terrified of making a fool of myself in front of Princess Vicky. But when I see Flight walking round the edge of the school, foam flecking his mouth and his neck all curved, the floodlights gleaming on his shining red coat, I forget all that crap.

  Vicky rides over to the gate and jumps off. She gives a sort of half smile. ‘Here, my hat will have to do you,’ she says. She pulls off her hat and her long blonde hair flies round her face.

  ‘Do I have to?’ The hat’s dead gay.

  ‘Number one rule. No hat, no riding. But if you don’t want to –’

  I hold out my hand for the hat and put it on. It feels funny, heavy and snug.

  ‘OK, now put your left foot in the stirrup – here, I’ll hold it for you. And then spring up.’ She rattles off a list of instructions. I don’t know about springing but next minute I’m sitting on Flight. I have to look down to find the other stirrup and the ground tilts at a strange angle. It’s a long way down. Vicky puts the reins in my hands and manhandles them a bit until she says I’m holding them right. She pushes my leg into what she says is the right position. It’s weird to have Vicky touching my leg.

  ‘Look up,’ she says. ‘Yeah, that’s it. Now squeeze with your heels – don’t kick – and he’ll walk on. I won’t lead you if you don’t want me to but I’ll walk beside him. He should be pretty quiet – he’s tired after jumping.’

  ‘OK.’

  And then we’re off. You wouldn’t think a horse just walking would feel fast but it does. Powerful. I feel every step Flight takes. Every time his shoulder comes back I shift a bit in the saddle. I don’t know if that’s right or if you’re meant to keep dead still. Vicky walks beside me for a bit, then she says, ‘You’re not nervous, are you?’ She sounds surprised. ‘I’ll go and stand at the gate and you can go round on your own. Don’t let him drift into the middle. Use your inside leg – this one – and sort of nudge him out with it. And your outside rein. Don’t pull or kick, just a bit of pressure.’

  I haven’t a clue what all this means; I just try to keep going round the outside of the school. It’s even better when Vicky isn’t walking beside me. A bit scary but in a good way. Like driving – no, not like driving. Like nothing I’ve ever done before. This power, this strength – it’s alive. Imagine having your own horse and being able to do this any time you wanted. Imagine being able to jump those jumps set up in the middle of the school. Flight’s neck in front of my hands gleams with sweat. I take one hand off the reins and pat it – it’s warm and damp.

  ‘OK, better get off now,’ says Vicky. ‘Mum’ll be back any minute.’

  She comes over and shows me how to get off. Easier than getting on, but my legs buckle when they hit the ground. Vicky laughs – not nastily, I don’t think. ‘You’ll be sore tomorrow,’ she says. ‘Riding uses muscles most people don’t know they have.’

  She does something to the stirrups, then takes hold of the reins and the three of us walk back up to the yard where she ties Flight up outside his stable and takes off his saddle. Steam clouds up from his back. ‘Damn,’ she says. ‘I thought he’d have cooled down, walking round like that. I’ll go and get his sweat rug. Keep an eye on him, would you?’ She dashes off and I stroke Flight’s nose and he nudges me, looking for food I suppose.

  ‘You did a good job tonight.’

  I look up. It’s Cam. I shrug.

  ‘Here.’ She hands me a tenner.

  I shake my head and step back. ‘Sure I had to hang round anyway. It was better having something to do.’

  ‘But you earned it.’

  I rub Flight’s nose and look at the ground.

  ‘Look, I appreciate your help. We’re seriously short-handed now. Tony works full time.’ She pushes the tenner into my pocket. ‘Take it.’

  That’s when I get the idea. But I can’t say it out loud. I hate asking for things and if Cam knows anything about me then she won’t want me on her yard. But the horses –

  I make up my mind.

  ‘I have to do work experience next week. I haven’t sorted anything.’ My voice sounds funny, like I’ve been practising the words. The next bit comes out in a rush. ‘I could come here. If … if you wanted.’

  ‘Work experience? For school?’

  I nod. She looks uncertain. Shit. Should have just taken the bloody tenner and kept my mouth shut.

  ‘I don’t normally take people on work experience – but as you’re Vicky’s cousin…’ She sounds like she’s thinking out loud. I’m holding my breath, which is so stupid. As if it matters. It would just get Dermott off my back. She suddenly smiles and I realise she’s not that old – like, twenty-five or something. ‘Yes, Declan, OK. As long as you can get here.’

  ‘Oh.’ I hadn’t thought of that. ‘Is there a bus?’

  ‘Not the whole way. But if you don’t mind a bit of a walk you can get a bus to the end of the next road and – look, here’s Colette. Why don’t we go and have a word with her?’

  ‘Next week?’ Colette looks at me like I’m not wise. ‘What on earth would you have done if Cam hadn’t been good enough to take you?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Well,’ says Cam, ‘looks like this will suit everyone. Give your teacher my number.
Oh, hi Vicky. Meet my new stable hand.’

  ‘Your what?’ Vicky’s arms are full of saddle and bridle. Luckily; she looks like she’d punch me if she’d a free hand.

  Chapter 14

  VICKY

  I folded myself into the back of the car – Mum said we had to take turns in the front – and stared out at the dark road.

  ‘So if you get off the bus here,’ Mum was saying, ‘and then walk up the main road a bit – look, just to that bungalow – and then –’

  I tried to blank out her voice but it was no good. She was going on about bus timetables and packed lunches until I could have screamed. I stared at the dark, close-cropped back of Declan’s head and hated him more than I ever had.

  ‘So how come you do work experience in Year Twelve?’ I asked.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘We don’t do it until lower sixth.’

  ‘We don’t have a sixth form.’

  ‘How strange.’

  ‘Vicky.’ Mum’s voice came sharply from the front.

  ‘What?’

  But I knew I was being a cow. Every time I let Nasty Me out it was harder to keep her in. I slunk down in the seat and took out my phone. It had been on silent while I was riding but now I saw there was a text from Fliss: HOORAY, NO DONEGAL TIL SAT. WANNA SHOP 2MORO NITE? I thought about the party. I so needed a new top. Maybe I could get round Mum.

  I tried when we got home.

  She looked up from emptying the dishwasher. ‘Vicky, you get fifteen pounds a week. And whatever your dad gives you. If you’ve no money left it’s not my fault. What have you spent your pocket money on?’

  ‘I had to buy that book, The Complete Young Rider. Katie recommended it. It’s brilliant.’

  ‘Is that the book that’s been lying round the downstairs cloakroom all week?’

  ‘I’m consulting it when I go to the loo.’

  ‘Looks a bit expensive to be lying around.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, you’re just trying to change the subject. It’s only a book. But I’ve nothing to wear.’

  ‘Oh come on, you’re being silly. Do you want some supper?’

  ‘No.’ I stomped off to my room, pushing past Declan in the doorway.