‘God, it’s lovely round here, isn’t it? Bit quiet, though. I think I’d get bored. Jesus, would you look at the size of that!’ She stares up every driveway we pass.
‘How come you’re not at school?’ It’s only three o’clock.
‘Community service – visiting the sick. Got out of netball to come here. Dermie gave me a note.’
Hope that’s not how she really thinks of me – ‘the sick’. I try not to let her see that I’m knackered before we get to the end of the street. I can’t think of anything to say but Seaneen looks in the windows of some posh shops and seems happy enough.
And then when we’re sitting in Starbucks looking at each other across two mugs of hot chocolate, it’s easy.
‘So, how did your mocks go?’ I ask, trying not to end up with a moustache of cream.
‘Brilliant! Two Bs, three Cs. But I got an F in Maths. I’m crap at Maths.’
‘Me too.’
She looks surprised. ‘No, you’re not. You got a C. I know because I had to count up your marks with you not being there and I found this one he’d left out – I mean, some Maths teacher, he can’t even count – and it brought your mark up to a C. And you could see the old bastard was raging, like he didn’t want you to pass.’
Can’t believe that morning in Payne’s office was less than a week ago. ‘Yeah, well, I’m going to get dead good at Maths just to sicken him. It’s one of the ones you have to get for Tech.’
‘Tech?’ She looks like she’s going to ask me a question but all she says is, ‘Maybe you could help me?’
‘I didn’t exactly get an A star, Seaneen.’
‘You got fifty three per cent. I got twenty nine. That’s twenty four per cent better.’
‘See? You can do Maths.’
She laughs. Her hands are cupped round her mug. The nails are long and painted pink but one nail, on her wee finger, is short and raggy. I wonder if that’s the one she was biting when she was waiting for me at Colette’s. I look down at my own hand and it doesn’t seem to be attached to my brain when it slides across the table and touches hers.
Her eyes widen and she looks straight at me, then uncurls one hand from her cup and places it over mine.
‘Thanks for coming,’ I say.
‘Thanks for the drink.’ Her cheeks are sort of pink.
‘D’you want another one?’ I want to keep her here as long as I can.
‘OK, but I’ll go and get it. You?’
‘Nah, it’s OK.’ I try to give her the money – there’s enough for one more drink, but not two – but she won’t take it. While she’s up at the counter I try to look at her without her noticing. Even though she’s small, her legs look dead long in her short skirt and black boots. The way she leans in to give the guy her order you can see the shape of her arse. In a nice way.
‘God, you could buy a quare feed in Fat Frankie’s for the price of a drink in here,’ she says, putting her cup down. Then instead of sitting back down on the chair opposite, she slides into the space beside me on the bench thing. I can smell her perfume and the chocolate on her breath. She acts dead casual. Neither of us mentions that she’s changed her seat. She just starts yakking away – school gossip, estate gossip – but all the time she’s half-turned towards me and she’s stroking my hand. Her other hand is on my leg and it’s getting pretty obvious that when I said I didn’t fancy Seaneen I was wrong.
Finally she says, ‘So, when are you coming home?’
I bite my lip. ‘It’ll be a while. You know my mum’s –’
She squeezes my hand. ‘I know; she phoned my mum yesterday. Look, it’ll be different this time.’
‘Maybe.’
‘And you know Barry’s away back to Siobhan? More fool her for taking him in. He’s probably shitting himself in case you try and do him for assault.’
I heave a huge sigh and the girls at the next table turn round. I look down into my empty cup. So Barry’s back with Emmet’s ma. That’ll probably keep Emmet off my back too.
‘And Declan?’ Her voice isn’t as sure as usual. ‘I’ll be there. I mean, if you … if you want –’
Her hand tightens on my leg and she leans closer. I push her hair back. It’s heavy and light at the same time, springy and soft, and my fingers get tangled. Then my mouth finds hers. She tastes of chocolate and chewing-gum and lip gloss and spit. It’s not a quick kiss like the last one. It’s slow and soft and pretty soon her tongue flickers into my mouth and licks along my top gum, which is the sexiest thing I’ve ever felt, so sexy it makes me ache and it’s just as well we’re in public because I could nearly explode with wanting more but at the same time this is enough for now.
I pull away first, but I keep my hand on the back of her neck so she knows I’m not really pulling away. ‘I do want.’
‘Took you long enough.’ She sounds cross but she’s smiling. ‘Come on.’ She stands up. ‘That guy’s giving us dirty looks.’ She holds out her hand and I take it.
* * *
Seaneen and Vicky eye each other up across the kitchen like two dogs not sure whether or not to be friends. Seaneen doesn’t hesitate when Colette invites her to stay for her tea. ‘I’ll give you a lift home afterwards,’ she says. ‘I’m going to Brian’s and I can drop you on the way.’
The women do all the talking. Seaneen gets Colette to tell her some of the stuff Mairéad used to get up to.
‘No way! My mum had pink hair? But she says I’m not allowed to dye mine.’
‘But yours is a lovely colour,’ says Vicky.
‘I’d like blonde highlights. Is yours totally natural?’
‘Yeah.’
‘God, you’re so lucky.’
They’re all doing that girly thing, talking about nothing. I can imagine Seaneen round at our house saying, ‘Go on, Theresa. Tell us about the time you and my ma mitched off school and Sykes caught you.’ Seaneen looks dead pretty when she laughs. She’s telling Colette something about her dad and my dad trying to start up a band years ago. I’m listening but then Vicky catches my arm.
‘Look, Declan, tonight Rory and I are going up to the yard. I want you to come too.’
I swallow. ‘I don’t know, I never…’
‘Declan,’ she says, ‘you have to, sometime. You’re going to be staying with us for at least six weeks. What are you going to do, avoid it for ever?’
I look down at my plate.
‘I gave Cam your note,’ says Vicky.
‘My note?’
‘I found it with mine. Was that OK?’
My voice comes out thick. ‘What did she say?’
‘I haven’t seen her since. But you’ll know tonight, won’t you?’
* * *
The yard always seemed really far away but tonight we seem to be there in a couple of minutes. I zone out from Rory and Vicky’s conversation and let all the landmarks I used to count march past me – bus stop; Orange Hall; crossroads.
Then we’re there.
The sweep of headlights picks out a new gate across the farm trail. I don’t think I can get out of the car. You need to start facing up to things, says Mr Dermott’s voice in my head. I faced up to Barry, I tell him, and look where that got me.
Ah, says Mr Dermott in that you-can’t-argue-I’m-a-teacher-and-I’m-right voice, but it didn’t just get you a cracked head, did it? Look at you – you’ve got Colette back, Vicky’s forgiven you, your mum’s getting sorted out, and what’s this about you and Seaneen?
But this, now, seems the biggest thing. I lean against the car while Rory locks it. My legs feel shakier than they did on the way up to Barry’s flat and I feel sicker than when I downed the bottle of vodka. Vicky turns to me as if she can guess. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve seen him.’
I swallow hard and follow them. Rory’s holding Vicky’s hand but when she notices I’m lagging behind she reaches back and takes mine in her other one.
Everything is the same. The stack of brushes against the far
wall of the barn; the big round bale of haylage; the horses blinking in the sudden glare of the electric light. Above all, the smell – haylage, shavings and dung.
He’s at the back of his stable, pulling at his hay net. Every time I’ve seen him in my head for the last month he’s been struggling, bleeding, sweating, dying on the road. And now here he is, standing, eating, snuggled up in a yellow tartan stable rug. He turns to look at us and blows out through his nostrils.
‘He’s still resting his leg, isn’t he?’ Rory says, appearing at the door.
Vicky suddenly gives a whoop that makes Flight goggle his eyes and back away with a snort. ‘Oh my God, Rory! That’s his good leg. That means his bad leg’s feeling better. Oh Flight, you clever boy!’ And she throws her arms round Flight’s neck.
I reach out and touch his shoulder. It’s softer and fluffier than it was before Christmas. ‘Can I … can I see?’ Part of me doesn’t want to, but I know I have to.
Vicky nods. ‘It’s under his rug. Pull the back end up – look, over there. It’s nearly healed over.’
Maybe, but it’s still a huge, ugly gash of imperfection on this lovely animal. I touch the skin around the closing wound very, very gently, like Seaneen touched the cut on my head earlier. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper. I don’t know if I’m talking to Flight or Vicky, but Vicky puts her hand on Flight too, over mine, and says, ‘I know. Me too.’
We stay there for a bit until Vicky pulls her hand away and straightens the rug. ‘It’s going to take time,’ she says, ‘and patience. The vet says he needs to be walked in hand every day to stop his leg stiffening up. And then if he ever gets back to work we’ll have to take him really slowly.’ She twists a strand of his mane round her fingers as if she’s making up her mind about something, then she blurts out, ‘You can help if you want.’
‘Cam won’t want me …’
Vicky shrugs. ‘If you want to speak to Cam she’s probably in the tack room.’ She raises her voice. ‘Rory! Could you bring me one of those apples?’
My feet force me across the cobbled yard to the tack room. I can see her through the window, bent over a pile of saddlecloths, her red hair glinting in the light, the same colour as Flight’s coat. She jumps when she sees me.
‘Well,’ she says. Her voice is very cool. Not giving anything away.
I swallow. ‘I came to say… I … em… I just wanted…’ The words are out of reach. I shake my head and try again. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I got your letter.’ She goes on checking the stitching of a green saddlecloth that I remember is Kizzy’s. The tack room walls are harsh white under the bare light bulb.
‘Also, thank you. For everything you taught me.’
‘You’re welcome.’
The leather smell from the neat racks of saddles is delicious and unbearable. Even the sweaty smell of dirty saddlecloths. I stretch out a hand and finger a soft leather bridle on its hook.
‘Is that all?’ asks Cam. Her voice is a wee bit warmer.
‘No.’ I can’t believe I’m going to ask. ‘I know I’ve no right to ask you this. But is there any way you’d … No …’ I know it’s hopeless. ‘It’s OK, forget it. I’d better head on.’
‘No,’ she says. ‘Ask me.’ She puts down the saddlecloths and comes over to me. Her green eyes are challenging. Does she want to hear me ask to give her the satisfaction of telling me to piss off? I wouldn’t blame her. But if she does I haven’t lost anything.
‘Can I come back and work here?’
She doesn’t answer. I twist the reins I’m holding. I realise I should have said please but it’s too late now.
‘Declan, I trusted you. You let me down.’
‘I know.’
‘I gave you a chance in a yard full of valuable animals when most people wouldn’t have had you near the place. Oh yes – I knew about the joyriding. I’ve known from the start.’
‘So how come you…?’
‘It doesn’t matter. The fact is I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.’
‘I swear you can.’
‘I didn’t think you’d ask me to my face,’ she says. ‘I didn’t think you were brave enough.’ Her face relaxes. ‘OK, if I give you a month’s trial – no wages, all the dirty jobs and no riding until I think you’ve earned it – could you stick it?’
I square my shoulders, trying not to wince. ‘Yes.’
‘I mean it about the dirty jobs – you’re going to be lifting more horse shit and cleaning more tack than you ever imagined.’ She looks me up and down. ‘When are you going to be fit to start? You’re pretty crocked up, aren’t you? Not much use to me like that.’
‘Couple of weeks?’
‘That’ll do. Now scram. I have horses to get ready. Oh, and Declan?’ For the first time she smiles. ‘Welcome back.’
And I head back to the shed where Vicky and Rory are waiting for me and the horses are chewing their haylage like they have all the time in the world.
Taking Flight Page 25
