“Please?”
She sighs. Her chins wobble. “Leave it with me. I’ll crunch a few numbers and see what I can do.”
“Thank you!”
“It would only be part time mind,” she warns.
‘That’s fine. I’ll take anything.”
“Alright. Come and see me on your way out at the end of the day and I’ll have a contract for you to look over.”
“You’re brilliant. Thanks Francine, you won’t regret it,” I say, beaming as I back out of the room. Her face looks unconvinced.
Maddy
When I walk into the kitchen my mother is sitting cross legged in a yoga pose in front of the French doors facing what she thinks is East but which is actually West. The fact the sun doesn’t rise from that direction should be her first clue. Embarrassingly, it’s not.
Bee has her nose pressed to the window, watching the clouds. She has her headphones on and is flapping her hands, conducting music only she can hear.
“Do you have everything ready for riding today?” I ask, opening the fridge and surveying its meagre contents. Nothing appeals so I nudge the door shut and start making the coffee I need in order to function without ripping anyone’s head off.
“Um, about that,” mum says.
I can tell by her tone I’m not going to like what comes next so I add an extra spoonful of coffee powder.
“First of all, I’ve been thinking maybe we try somewhere different?” she says. “Like that place across town. What’s it called? Greener pastures?”
“No. Bee’s settled. You know how important her routine is.”
I put my coffee down and walk over to my sister. “Have you had breakfast?” I ask her.
She ignores me.
I tap her on the shoulder. “Bee, look at me. Have you had breakfast?” I ask again when she does, signing eating with my fingers to my mouth. She looks over my shoulder.
“Pocahontas,” she says.
“She’s had toast. The thing is,” mum says, “we’re not welcome there anymore. Well, I’m not. They tried to ban me from the premises so I told them where they could stick their riding. We don’t need their charity.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing! Nothing, honestly. Storm in a teacup.”
I pick up my coffee and drink, staring at her, waiting.
“Ok ok, I might have maybe defaced one of the political placards on their front fence.”
I sigh while she carries on quickly in an effort to justify her vandalism.
“They shouldn’t have them there in the first place,” she said. “They’re supposed to be impartial, aren’t they? Government agencies?”
“It’s not a government agency, it’s a privately run charity.”
“Oh. Are you sure? Well anyway, they had that tosser Trevor Ballard’s sign on the fence. That man should eat one of his own carrots. Pest control my foot. His 1080 poison is decimating our native wildlife.”
I close my eyes and take a huge mouthful of coffee. It tastes good. It tastes really good. “Do you think we could keep the Greenpeace speeches till after I’ve finished my coffee. Besides, I don’t care if he sells drugs to pensioners.” I say. “This was about Bee, not you. You couldn’t just stay out of trouble.”
She untangles her legs and comes into the kitchen where she puts a green tea bag in a cup. “Don’t be cross darling,” she pouts. “It’s not like I meant to get banned. What happened to freedom of speech? Not my fault they can’t handle a little passive activism.”
“At least you weren’t arrested this time I guess. We can be grateful for that.”
I finish my coffee. Bee is at the window, cloud watching. She knows she has riding today because I got her jodhpurs out of the wardrobe last night. If she doesn’t go now it will throw her routine out, and the last thing I fancy doing is upsetting my sister.
“Have you at least rung the new place? Booked her in?”
“Of course. I called and spoke to the manager. She said we could pop out and have a look before we commit. Make sure that Bee likes it there.”
“What time are you going?”
“The lady said around ten would be a good time. There’s a class then so we can see what they do.”
I check the clock on the microwave. Eight forty five. “You’re cutting it fine.”
“Well that’s the other thing. Can you take her?”
I stare at her. “I can’t, I have work today, you know that.”
My mother and I sync our rosters at the start of every fortnight so that one of us is always home when Bee is. My mother earns a higher hourly rate than I do though, so if there’s ever a clash she works and I stay home.
“I know. But Sonia asked if I could cover her while she goes to some fortune telling fair up north. I’d need to be at the shop by nine.”
“Since when can Sonia tell fortunes?”
“She can’t, she wants to see what they have to say about the whole Adam situation.”
“Didn’t he run off with her sister?”
“Yes, the bastard. But she thinks maybe it was just because he was feeling neglected.” She drains the last of her green tea and plonks the cup down on the bench, from where she thinks it will magically find its way into the dishwasher.
“Then she doesn’t need to see a fortune teller, she needs to drink a cup of concrete and harden the hell up. Why would she even want him back? She should thank her –” I stop and take a deep breath, counting to ten. It’s one of my biggest pet peeves, weak women who let men give them the run-around and go begging back for more. I’ve been around that behaviour my whole life, courtesy of my mother.
“Whatever.” I pick up her cup and making a point of putting it in the dishwasher. “Fine. You go to work. I’ll call in sick and take her.”
“Thanks sweetheart, you’re a gem.”
I eat a piece of toast and watch the news until my mother leaves for work. I can’t relax when she’s here and I’m pissed off with her. I know she’s not doing it on purpose and that she’ll be feeling pretty rotten about it herself, but it bugs the shit out of me when she does something that screws with Bee’s routine.
“Come on Bee, shower time.”
I wait while she finishes arranging her cassette tapes in a straight line across the dining room floor. She can, and often does, spend entire days arranging her tapes. But today we have things to do, so I tell her again.
“Shower Bee, horse riding.”
“Oh cheese Gromit,” she says. “We need cheese.”
I lead her to the bathroom where I help her take off her pyjamas. As each item is removed she throws it on the floor.
“Washing,” she says.
“Yes Bee, washing.”
We have our shower routine down pat. She refuses to touch soap so I lather it up on my hands and wash her body while she regales me with nursery rhymes. She lifts her face up to the water and licks at it like a cat. Her hair we leave for last. It is wild, unruly hair, courtesy of her Maori father, and it takes me a while to comb the conditioner through. She closes her eyes and pretends to be asleep while I do it, snoring.
Miraculously we are dressed and ready to go in good time. I’m about to start the car when I realise I have no idea where I’m going, so I get out my phone and use a search engine to bring up a map to the stable.
“I don’t suppose you have any idea where we’re going?” I say to Bee conversely while I wait.
“Oh I will never sleep if I don’t have cheese,” she says unhelpfully.
When I turn left out of the driveway instead of the usual right she points and says “Which way.” She’s noticed the change in direction immediately and looks worried, so I reassure her. My sister can’t tell me how she likes her eggs cooked or what day of the week it is, but she knows if you take a wrong turn.
“Horse riding, which way,” she says again.
“Yes Bee, horse riding.”
“Horse riding, which way.”
“Look Bee, fire engi
ne.” I point as we drive past the station in an effort to distract her. It doesn’t work though, as I knew it wouldn’t.
“Horse riding.”
“Yes Bee, horse riding.”
We’re only ten minutes late by the time I pull into the stable parking lot, which is not a bad effort on my part.
“Horse riding.”
“Yes, horse riding.”
I get out of the car and immediately step into a muddy puddle.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
I get the bag of her riding gear out of the boot and open her door, taking her headphones off and placing them on the dashboard.
“Later Bee,” I tell her. She swings her legs around and giggles while I remove her sneakers and leave them in the passenger footwell. Her pink boots obviously got wet the last time she wore them because they have dried stiffly, and it takes some effort on my part to get them on her feet.
“Push,” I say while she giggles and I end up with something on my hands that looks strongly like dried horse manure. I wipe it on my jeans, then put her gloves and hat on.
“Horse riding,” she says.
“Yes, horse riding.”
A gate separates the carpark from the buildings, and a heavy rusted bell hangs beside it. There is also a hand painted sign that says ‘ring for attention’.
I give it an experimental shake and it dongs loudly.
Bee immediately pushes past me to seize it gleefully and gives it a few energetic shakes.
Dong dong dong
“Bee stop.”
Dong dong
She is strong, my sister, and I struggle with her arm while she holds on determinedly.
A whippet thin blond carrying a bucket of horse manure comes out of the stables and glares at us.
“Stop ringing that damn bell before you frighten all the horses,” she snaps.
“Sorry.” I finally manage to wrestle Bee’s arms down to her side. “Where’s the office?”
She looks me up and down disdainfully, which is a bit rich considering she’s the one carrying a bucket of shit, and idly points to the smallest building sitting to our right.
“There,” she says. “Where there’s a sign saying office.”
“Oh right. Thanks.”
“Whatever.” She whirls on one foot with her nose in the air and I flip my middle finger at her back. Someone snorts with laughter behind me and I flinch, hoping it’s not the manager.
It’s not though. Not unless the manager is a young guy with messy blond hair. I give him a wary look.
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s just that you did something I’ve always wanted to do but have never been brave enough.”
I have to think for a minute to realise what he’s talking about.
“You mean give someone the finger?”
“Not just someone, Deborah. She kind of thinks she’s better than the rest of us.”
“Yeah I got that impression.”
He puts down the bucket of water he’s carrying and strides towards me energetically. I take a step back, unnerved by his enthusiasm.
“I’m Albert,” he says, thrusting out a hand.
I smirk.
“I saw that,” he says.
“What?”
“You smirked.”
“Sorry. I’ve never met anyone under the age of seventy named Albert before.”
He sighs. “I know. Although technically it’s Al-bear. My mother wanted it pronounced the French way.”
“You don’t look French.”
“What do you mean I don’t look French? Why, because I’m not wearing a beret and carrying a baguette? That’s stereotyping.”
“You have to admit it’s a bit stupid.”
“What is?”
“Well your mother named you Albert, but wanted it pronounced Al-bear, right?”
“Right?”
“Was she planning on following you around for the rest of your life, correcting everyone?”
He opens his mouth and closes it a few times. Then he sighs. “Yeah she didn’t really think it through.”
“No kidding.”
“That’s why I just say Albert. It’s easier.”
“Why not shorten it to Bert. Easier again.”
“Because I get enough grief as it is without sharing a name with a sesame street character.”
“Fair enough.”
He looks behind me. “Why is she doing that?”
I turn around, expecting anything. As far as things my sister could be doing, it’s relatively tame.
“She’s giving you the finger.”
“Yes I can see that, but why?”
I shrug. “Mimicking my behaviour.”
“Ah. Like a game of Simon Says,” he nods, as if he understands perfectly.
“Not really. Bee, come here.”
She walks to my side and looks out of the side of her eye at Albert.
“Hi,” he greets her, smiling.
I try not to be a judgemental person, as a general rule, but when it comes to how people greet my sister I can’t help it. Some people almost fear her, or pity her, and it shines through in their eyes even if they try to hide it. Some people treat her as if she’s almost an inanimate object, like she’s a pot plant. Some can’t even look her in the eye, as if they’re worried about how she might react.
But then there are the ones, like Albert, who look at her directly and greet her as if she were just like them.
I trust these people.
Bee curls her top lip up in a gummy smile and flashes her teeth at him. “I’m a loudmouth schumck,” she says.
He looks from her to me and back again. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“It’s a line from Looney tunes. She only speaks echolalic.”
“What’s that?”
“She repeats stuff she hears from movies or cartoons etc. It’s her way of trying to join in on the conversation. You get used to it.”
“I see.” Something occurs to him. “Did you just call her Bee?”
“Yes.”
“So that must make you, wait, don’t tell me, let me guess.” He screws his face up playfully. Is he flirting? He’s not bad looking, if you’re into the whole ‘healthy outdoor’ kind of look. “Butterfly? Caterpillar?”
“Close. Maddy.”
“Maddy. Short for…Madison? Madeline?”
“Maddy.”
A door slams behind me and I hear footsteps stomp across the gravel. A tall, very thin lady wearing jodhpurs that have seen better days stops beside Albert and looks at Bee.
“Hello there,” she says cheerfully. “Newbie’s are you? I’m Carolyn.”
“Rubbish,” Bee says.
“Ah.” Carolyn consults her clipboard. “You must be,” she pauses, squints, looks up at me quizzically. “Madonna and Beyonce?”
Albert snorts with laughter.
“Maddy and Bee will do just fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
Albert
I’m not sure if she heard me laugh or not. I did cough afterwards in an attempt to disguise it.
Madonna and Beyonce. And I thought I had it bad.
“This way please,” Carolyn says, leading them off in the direction of the office. “We’ll just go inside and sort out the paperwork. Your mother already filled us in on Bee’s disabilities, so you just need to read over the forms and sign them. After that I can give you a tour and Bee can have a ride. Did you bring her list of medications with you? We need it for insurance purposes.”
“Yes. Got it. Everything is right here.” Maddy pats a green backpack she’s carrying.
“See you around,” I call after her as they walk away.
She flicks me a quick look over her shoulder. “Yeah maybe.”
I do see her a few times throughout the morning. They’ve given her sister a horse called Teddy to ride. He’s a sturdy old fella, white with a black spot on his head and another on his chest that looks like a map of Africa. He plods along, never frisky or lettin
g anything faze him. Of course, when you’re a horse with pretty much nothing to do but eat, shit and let someone sit on your back for brief periods of the day, life’s grand.
“I hear you landed yourself a job,” Matt says when we’re mucking out one of the stalls.
“Yeah. Part time, but it’s a start. It’ll keep the old man off my back anyway.”
“So how many?” he asks.
“Sorry?”
He pauses from turning the hay to wipe his brow and give me a sneaky look. “How many times did you have to screw Fat Francine to get the job?”
“Fuck off.” I throw a spade full of horse shit at him but he ducks out of the way and it splats on the wall behind him.
“You’re cleaning that up,” he says.
“Fine, but mention me and screwing and Francine in the same sentence again and I’ll shove your head up your ass.”
“Ooh struck a sore spot did I?”
‘You’re an idiot Matt, seriously. An actual fucking idiot, you know that?”
‘I’ve been called worse.” He checks to make sure the coast is clear and pulls a cigarette from his pocket which he clenches between his teeth. “Cover for me will you?”
I don’t really want to, partly because of his smart comment but mainly because it’s my first day on the job and I don’t fancy getting fired before I’m even entered into the payroll system.
“Alright. But hurry up. And if anyone sees you you’re on your own.”
“Wimp.”
He slinks like a wraith around the corner and is gone. The hay isn’t going to shovel itself so I set to it. Before long I have sweat dripping down between my shoulder blades and off my forehead. I take off my shirt and use it to wipe my face, then sling it onto a hook by the door.
It’s physical work, this job, but I like it. I like being outside, and the smell of the horses. No one bothers me and I don’t bother anyone. I like the fact then when I finish and bike home at the end of the day, I feel like I’ve done a proper days work. The only downside, apart from being unpaid up till now, is that it gives me time to think.
Normally being alone with my own thoughts wouldn’t bother me. Apart from being a monumental disappointment to my father, I’ve not much to be ungrateful for or unhappy about. But meeting Maddy has reminded me of someone I’ve been trying really hard to forget. I don’t know what it is, because she looks nothing like her apart from maybe a similar dark hair colour. Maybe it was a certain cynicism, or air of I-couldn’t-care-less, but she reminds me a bit of Kate.
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