Phantom Horse 2: Phantom Horse Comes Home

by Christine Pullein-Thompson

  “I would like to murder those men who left the field gate open,” my brother said.

  Mum made tea while I sat with my head in my hands. “I can’t leave him behind,” I said.

  “If he gets tetanus they’ll put him down. There isn’t a cure,” Mum said. “Not a permanent one.”

  “Why not?” I cried. “People aren’t put down when they get it.”

  “Dr Beecher says horses tend to get brainstorms afterwards and that can be very dangerous if you’re riding them. He says it might be different if Phantom was a mare, because then you could raise a foal.”

  “I’m going to nurse him anyway,” I cried. “I’m not going home till he can come too.” Mum pushed a mug of hot tea towards me. She looked very tired. I saw that the packing cases had gone from the hall. Everything left in the house – besides ourselves and our clothes and a couple of cases – belonged to the Millers.

  “You can’t stay on,” Mum said. “I won’t let you. Anything could happen to you here on your own.”

  “Such as?” I asked.

  But Mum was looking out of the window now. “Dad’s home. He’s looking at Phantom,” she said.

  I rushed outside. Dad was coming towards the back door. “For goodness sake, what’s happened to that horse now?” he asked. He was carrying a dispatch case and had taken off his tie. He took a clean white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and mopped his face. “Why’s he so lame?” he asked. “He doesn’t know which leg to stand on,”.

  “Come inside,” replied Mum. “There’s been another disaster.”

  “Not another!” exclaimed Dad. “I can’t stand much more.”

  I followed them in. Angus looked grave. We went into the sitting room, which seemed set for disaster with all our bits and pieces missing, dust collecting and the floor dirty, waiting for a final wash before we left. We all sat down, watching the midges outside, and I wondered why everything always seemed so still when the day was hottest.

  “Did you have the vet? What did he say?” Dad asked, sipping the tea Mum had poured for him.

  “He’s coming again tomorrow.”

  “I shall have to put off the flight. He can’t travel like that. He’ll have to stay here. I’m sorry Jean, but that’s life.” Dad stood up, spilling tea, while I felt despair and a sick sort of rage growing inside me until I was forced to cry, “I’m not going home then. I’m not going without Phantom.”

  I don’t know when I started to cry but when the tears came they were a relief, like the fall of rain after a hot, humid day. “I’m not going, I refuse absolutely,” I cried. “I’m going to stay here and nurse him. I refuse to leave. I refuse.” I don’t know how many times I shouted “I refuse.”

  Finally Dad said, “Go to bed and stay there, you obstinate child.”

  I stumbled upstairs through blinding tears to my small bedroom which looked out on the stable at the back. I couldn’t see Phantom. I supposed he was lying down. I sat on my bed and contemplated my future and there seemed no way out of anything, just endless frustration and disappointment. I could hear my parents still talking downstairs. My room smelled empty already and I saw that my few books had gone, the drawers in my chest of drawers were almost devoid of clothes, the lampshade I had chosen one sunny day in Washington had been replaced by the tasselled one which had been there when we arrived.

  There must be some way out I thought. Life can’t be as awful as this. There must be a horse hospital somewhere where they could nurse Phantom and then send him home afterwards. He might not load, but there must be some way of loading difficult horses. Perhaps they are drugged and loaded by crane.

  I went to the bathroom and washed my face. Then I walked softly downstairs and saw that my parents were drinking sherry in the garden.

  “There must be a horse hospital somewhere,” I said, walking towards them. “Couldn’t Phantom go there and then be sent home?”

  “At a hundred pounds a week or more,” replied Dad bitterly. “We haven’t that sort of money, can’t you understand? We’re not rich Americans,” he added. “I wouldn’t keep Phantom here week after week either, even if I had the money, which I haven’t.”

  I looked at him and I knew that he was trapped too. We were all trapped by circumstances we could not escape.

  “We feel awful too,” Mum said.

  It was very hot now; it was going to be hot all night. It was the sort of evening when you long for a swimming pool of your own.

  I went round to the stable and looked at Phantom. He was lying down, looking drowsy, with his forelegs bent neatly under him. I had rarely seen him lying down in the stable before. Then I saw that Frances was missing from the paddock. Oh no, I thought, not another catastrophe! I rushed to the tack room and her tack had gone too. She’s been taken by Angus, I thought, but why on earth? And why not the bay mare? I rushed to the front of the house crying, “Have you see Angus? Frances has gone,” and then I could have bitten my tongue off for speaking at all.

  “Oh no,” shouted Dad. “He hasn’t gone too? This is the end, the absolute end.”

  “He must have gone to the Millers,” Mum answered. “I told him not to telephone. I didn’t want them bothered, so rather than defy me, he’s gone by horse.”

  “But why?” I cried. “Why did he go?” And then suddenly I knew. He had gone to seek their help. They would be home by now after their day in Washington.

  “We can’t let them help,” said Dad, coming to the same conclusion. “We can’t possibly accept any more help from them, we are too much in their debt already.”

  6

  We waited a long time for Angus’s return, but he came at last, riding through the dusk leading Pelican like a traveller of long ago coming home. “I hope you weren’t worried,” he called.

  Frances was tired. Her ears flopped dully backwards and forwards as she trotted and I could see her eyes looked sullen.

  Dad was lying upstairs on his bed. Supper was over. Angus dismounted. “I’ve brought Pelican, and the Millers will have us to stay,” he said, looking at Mum. “Everything is fixed up. You can go home without us and we’ll follow later with Phantom.” His face looked firm set in the gathering darkness. He suddenly seemed older as he led Frances towards the stables.

  “But that will mean another cancellation,” Mum said slowly. “We are spending a fortune on cancellations. Dad’s just cancelled Phantom’s booking. Besides, who will see you off? And will you be all right travelling on your own?”

  “Of course!” I replied. “Don’t fuss, Mum. We are quite grown up now.”

  I imagined the Millers seeing us off, New York growing smaller, and then hours later England, small and green at the other side of the Atlantic. “I shall miss you terribly,” I told Mum. “I always do, but I can’t leave Phantom behind.”

  Angus had joined us now. “They were marvellous,” he said. “They really are true friends. Wendy is actually looking forward to having us. The only problem is school – we’ll have left. What are we going to do?”

  “Stay away,” I replied.

  “We will have to discuss it with Dad,” Mum replied, “Everything has been changed so often that I feel as though I’m in the maze at Hampton Court. I don’t know how we can go home without you. As for school, you’re probably going to the new comprehensive school; it’s very modern, and I don’t think a few days away will make much difference as to what subjects you study.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us before?” I asked. “I thought we were going back to our dreary boarding schools.”

  “It was only decided a few days ago,” Mum replied. “Do come inside now; it’s terribly late, and I’ve got to clean the house tomorrow.”

  “We’ll help,” Angus said. “I’m great at washing floors.”

  “I’ll polish the furniture and clean all the windows,” I added, wondering what the new comprehensive school would be like; whether I would quarrel with Wendy; where I would sleep.

  “We’ll see you off,” Angu
s told Mum, “then we’ll catch the bus back here; it stops at the corner. I’ve discussed everything with Wendy.” He was lit up with excitement, he couldn’t stop talking; even when he was in bed he kept shouting from across the passage. “What do you think Dad will say?” he asked, and then, “You’re not to quarrel with Wendy and we’ve both got to help; make our beds; you know what I mean.”

  “I always do make my bed,” I answered. “It’s you who doesn’t.”

  “Phantom’s going to have the best box. They are sending the truck for him as soon as he’s better.”

  “When he’s better we are going home,” I replied. “By the first available plane.”

  I was almost asleep, but Angus’s voice went on and on. Occasionally he called, “Are you listening?” and I managed a sleepy “Yes” but I wasn’t; I was seeing myself entering a classroom with plate glass windows, smiling at the other pupils, trying to be interested in English history again. Then my mind switched to the journey home. Would we both be allowed to travel on the plane with Phantom? The future seemed full of frightful difficulties. Downstairs the clock in the hall struck twelve and then mercifully I slept.

  The next morning dawned heavy with the promise of thunder. Phantom was standing up in his box, his forelegs swollen to the elbow. With shaking heart I looked for symptoms of tetanus but he could move his head easily and his neck wasn’t stiff.

  “I don’t think he’s got it,” I cried, charging into the kitchen. “His legs are awful but he isn’t stiff otherwise – and he’s eating.”

  Dad was spooning marmalade on to toast in a very English manner. “So you plan to stay with the Millers now?” he asked. “You’re not coming with us?”

  “I can’t think of anything else to do,” I replied.

  “I wash my hands of you then,” Dad said. “If that darned horse matters more than returning with us, stay here as long as you like.”

  I knew he was tired. I didn’t know what to say and then, without warning, he started to laugh. “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” he cried. “It will give your mother and me a chance to have a few days alone together.” And I started to laugh as well with a sense of relief.

  Angus and I spent the morning washing the floors and helping our parents pack. They were leaving next day late in the afternoon, handing the car to a dealer in Washington and taking a taxi to the airport. I didn’t want them to go now.

  I had stayed with the Millers before when Angus fell in the mountains and went to hospital. Annie did all the cooking and much else besides, and breakfast was a formal cooked meal eaten in the dining room.

  At two o’clock Dr Beecher called again. “How is he?” he asked. “No tetanus?”

  We shook our heads and took him to the stable. He knelt in the straw. “They’re darned swelled, aren’t they?” he said, feeling Phantom’s legs. “Will he move?”

  “Not much,” I said.

  “He’ll be okay in a week, I guess,” Dr Beecher told us. “Try not to worry. He’ll be marked, but he’ll be sound and you can take him back home and hunt him. I’ll come and check him again in a couple of days.”

  “He won’t be here after tomorrow,” I said. “We’re moving him to the Millers’ place.”

  “Okay, I’ll call there the day after tomorrow then to cut off the dressings.” He got into his car and drove away.

  “That’s another sixty dollars gone west,” my brother said.

  “Are you sure it’s as much as that?”

  “I expect so. Even an injection of penicillin costs more than twenty dollars,” he replied.

  I started to groom Phantom. His coat shone like pale gold, his skin rippled under the body brush. It was three o’clock already and soon our parents would be gone. Phantom walked round his box slowly and painfully, like an old man on sticks. I filled his water bucket and a haynet.

  “We had better go inside and help some more. Mum is getting into one of her panics,” Angus said.

  We ate a high tea in the kitchen. Our parents were dressed ready for their plane. “Aren’t you going to change?” Mum asked, looking at our jeans.

  “We’re good enough for the Greyhound bus,” Angus replied.

  “But not for the taxi,” Mum insisted.

  I put on a cotton skirt, checked blouse and moccasins. Angus put on shorts and a sweatshirt. Our clothes were packed ready to be dropped at the Millers’ when we picked up Wendy in half an hour’s time. I was feeling sick with apprehension. Supposing Mum and Dad crash? I thought. Who will we live with then? It was too awful to contemplate – even Phantom was not worth such catastrophe.

  Our parents were both in suits. Mum wore a linen one with a frilly blouse underneath. She looked beautiful. Suddenly it was as though I was seeing her for the first time, as an ordinary person, instead of as my mother. We helped carry the cases to the car. Dad locked up Mountain Farm. He walked towards the car without looking back.

  Mum said, “It was nice while it lasted. I’m glad we came, anyway.”

  Wendy kept us waiting. She appeared at last out of the front door in a dress with buckles at the shoulders.

  It was very hot all the way to Washington. I spent the time wishing Wendy had not come. There were lots of things I wanted to say to Mum but not in front of Wendy and I felt angry with Angus for asking her. Mum and Dad talked about shopping on their way home from Heathrow airport. It made me feel homesick. I imagined them walking into English shops, buying English food, English greens, cauliflowers, new potatoes. Wendy and Angus made jokes. Time was passing quickly.

  Mum started to tell us what not to do. “Don’t ride without hats,” she said. “Don’t ride alone. Don’t take lifts from strange men. Help with the washing-up. Make your beds. Be polite …”

  We were over the Potomac river now. We could see the Pentagon laid out like a model city. “This is where we leave the car,” said Dad a moment later.

  I wasn’t going to cry, not in front of Wendy. Angus was still laughing.

  Dad gave Angus and me most of the money in his wallet. “That’s to last you till you get home, so don’t spend it all at once,” he said, hailing a cab.

  “Where to?” asked the driver.

  “To the airport,” Dad answered.

  “Give us a ring when Mr Miller has booked your flight home,” Mum told us as we sped through Washington. “We’ll send a horse box to meet you. I expect it will be Mr Price’s.”

  I nodded. It seemed impossible that we would ever reach England with Phantom.

  The airport was full of people carrying bags. Dad went to check the departures and came back saying, “Our flight is delayed an hour. There’s no point in your staying. Let’s go and find a cab for you three.”

  “It only means prolonging the agony,” Mum agreed, kissing me quickly on the cheek before turning to do the same to Angus.

  Dad found us a cab. None of us felt like speaking now, though Wendy tried a few jokes in an effort to cheer us. “Be good,” Mum said as we climbed into the taxi.

  “To the Greyhound station,” Dad told the driver. “Be seeing you.”

  They stood waving, looking heart-breakingly familiar and for one awful moment I thought, even Phantom isn’t worth this. Then Wendy slapped my shoulder. “Don’t look so darned sad,” she cried. “You’ll be seeing them again in no time.”

  “If they don’t crash into the Atlantic,” I replied.

  “You’re nuts,” Wendy replied. “Planes are going backwards and forwards all day long. Didn’t you know? Folks wouldn’t fly in them if they crashed into the sea.”

  We had a half-hour wait at the bus station. We sat on a bench watching people leaving for far-away places.

  “I wonder if I shall ever see Miami,” Angus sighed. “Or Los Angeles, or San Francisco.”

  “Or the Rockies,” I added, imagining myself riding Phantom through a mountain pass.

  Wendy made friends with a boy wearing trainers, shorts and a white sweatshirt with the name of a club on it. She said he was cute, and they exchan
ged addresses, sitting with their heads very close together, while I sat wondering whether Phantom had emptied his water bucket yet.

  When the bus arrived, we bagged a seat in the front. Wendy was still talking about the boy she had met, and Angus had become gloomy and rather cross.

  “This bus should have left five minutes ago,” he said. “Why are they always late?” But eventually we reached Virginia, which was full of the smell of boxwood and new-mown hay and lit by the evening sun.

  We climbed out of the bus at the top of the Millers’ drive. I turned left towards Mountain Farm, while Angus and Wendy started to walk down the drive towards the Millers’ house, grumbling because there was no one to meet them.

  I was pleased to be walking on my own across the valley. It gave me time to contemplate the future. Phantom greeted me with a whinny. He still had food and water and, miraculously, his forelegs had started to go down. I kept my eyes averted from the house. I mucked him out and fed him, tacked up Frances and rode away across the valley and suddenly I wasn’t missing my parents at all. I was filled instead with a great sense of happiness. This is life, I thought. I’m living. I’m five thousand miles from home and in a few days I shall be flying with Phantom and Angus, miles and miles above the sea. Suddenly all my dreams seemed possible. My future seemed as boundless as the universe.

  7

  The Millers were waiting for me. I turned Frances into the orchard beyond the stable yard, where their dogs greeted me, running round in circles and yapping. I found Annie dishing up in the kitchen.

  “Do you like ice cream?” she asked. “Mrs Miller says I make it real good, so I made it especially for you.”

  “I love it. Thank you very much,” I replied. “Am I terribly late?”

  She shook her head. “Dinner’s just going in now,” she answered.

  We ate in the large dining room, the table decorated with silver candlesticks with candles which weren’t lit. Angus had washed his hands and combed his hair. He sat opposite Wendy, cracking jokes, making everyone laugh. I wished that Pete was with us. Mr Miller asked me about Phantom and I told him how he had improved already. The evening sun shone through the Georgian windows and suddenly everything seemed dated and old-fashioned, as though we had moved into some earlier age.