“You can’t come out yet. What about Customs?” Dad asked.
We’d left our baggage in the plane and with it Angus’s case of documents. We tore back to the runway. Some of the brood mares had been unloaded and were standing peacefully in the morning light like seasoned travellers waiting to be collected. Our luggage had been removed already, so we rushed back to Mum and Dad and I thought how marvellous it was to be with them again and how we needn’t worry any more. Dad disappeared and came back with everything fixed up.
“You’re coming with us,” he said. “I’ve heard you were marvellous on the plane, as cool as cucumbers. But I think you’ve suffered enough for one night. Mr Price can load Phantom, there are plenty of people around to help and anyway he’s still very docile after his tranquilliser. He shouldn’t cause any more trouble.”
Dad had bought a car. It looked very small and I couldn’t imagine the Millers sitting in it. The motorway was full of traffic and it felt much smaller than I remembered.
Later I found I had forgotten how high the hedges were, how small the cottages, how green the grass. I felt as though I was seeing England properly for the first time, but Angus fell asleep with his mouth open. Henley was full of traffic.
“It all looks so dreadfully old,” I said.
The trees were magnificent: large and thick with leaves and somehow typically English. And all the time I still couldn’t believe that we were really home, that somehow we had made it and that the night was over.
“The Millers are coming in July,” I said. “They were super. Mr Miller and Wendy saw us off. They arranged everything. I don’t know how we will ever repay them.”
“There’s no one nicer than a nice American,” Dad said, “and Charlie always was a decent chap.”
I knew every turn of the road; there was the corner where I had fallen off Mermaid for the first time, the rectory where I had been to the annual Christmas party, the farm where we bought our hay and then the twisty stretch of road with high hedges and trees on each side which led home.
I couldn’t sit still any longer. I wanted to walk the final bit, but Dad wouldn’t stop the car. My heart started to pound against my ribs. Nothing had changed. The fields were as green as when we had left. There were birds singing in the trees, cow-parsley on the grass verges and low-branched apple trees in orchards. Then Dad turned into the familiar drive and I saw that Mermaid and Moonlight were home, grazing in the orchard.
“We thought Phantom might like to have a little company so we begged them back,” Mum said with a smile.
“We don’t want any more night chases,” Dad added.
The tulips were out and the rose climbing round the porch. It was all fantastically beautiful in a completely different way from the valley we had left. I wondered what the Millers would think of it when they came. Angus was awake now, climbing out of the car.
“What’s the time?” he cried. “Can we ride before lunch?”
We ran together to the orchard and looked at Mermaid and Moonlight. “They’re tiny!” Angus said. “Much too small for us. I must have grown a mile since we were last here.” He suddenly looked tired and disheartened. “I can’t ride Moonlight any more. It would be cruelty to animals,” he said.
Suddenly I felt sick again. I felt I had everything and it wasn’t fair. “Can’t we share Phantom? It was only luck that I found him. It might easily have been you,” I answered.
Angus shook his head. He had his arms round Moonlight’s neck. “He’s yours. He always has been. I think he likes you best. It’s just one of those things. He and I would never get on. We are both too stubborn,” he said.
“Perhaps Dad will buy you a new horse,” I suggested.
“Not likely. It cost a fortune bringing Phantom over, and he’s just bought a car. Oh, it doesn’t matter,” he finished, turning towards the house. But I knew it did matter by the way he walked, and suddenly everything was spoiled.
10
The next two months were busy. Phantom settled down. Angus and I attended the new comprehensive school, catching the bus each morning at the crossroads. I rode guiltily while Angus thought about his exams and tried not to mind. At weekends I schooled Phantom in the small paddock behind the house and Angus made a mock ring for me out of pieces of rope and string. We put peculiar things inside: old coats on sticks; an ancient pram with a heap of rags inside; a pile of stones.
One Saturday Angus dressed up and pretended to be a judge. He rang an ancient cowbell from Zermatt and shouted, “Will entries for Class Eight, Novice Jumping for Lunatics and the Infirm, please come into the ring.”
Phantom hesitated for a moment and then walked in, only stopping to peer at the pram.
“Ride him round,” shouted Angus, “and then give him a reward.” Phantom cantered round the ring like a dressage horse, or so I told myself. Then I jumped off and gave him three lumps of sugar and a whole crust of bread. I tied him up and made a few jumps – poles perched on dented oil drums, a wall out of the old scullery door, frightful crossbars out of bean poles which were far too fragile for a decent jump. Angus found a mackintosh and put it on the poles, then he brought out two chairs and tied some string between them and attached Mum’s tea-towels to it with clothes-pegs.
“I’m not very happy about jumping the chairs. I know they are only the kitchen ones, but all the same …” I said.
“You need only jump it once,” Angus replied. “He never hits anything anyway.”
He started telling me how to jump the course while I untied Phantom and mounted. The sky was full of fluffy clouds and there was a breeze which fanned my face.
Phantom cleared the pole in the air easily. He hesitated for a moment at the scullery door and then we were over that too. He looked at the mackintosh and jumped very big and then we cantered on towards the chairs. I could feel him eyeing the tea towels. They were rather gaudy, one had an elephant on it, another flowers, the third a pepper-pot and carving knife and fork. He tried to run out, but I managed to straighten him and even now I don’t know exactly what went wrong. Angus said afterwards that he turned as he jumped. I was nervous and I’ve always felt he knew it. Anyway, one of his hoofs caught in a chair and there was the sound of cracking wood and Angus started to shout, “Stop him, you fool. Get off.”
I threw myself on to the ground but it was too late, for the chair was already a heap of broken wood on the grass.
“I told you we shouldn’t use them,” I cried. “I knew something awful would happen.”
“You didn’t ride him properly,” shouted Angus, picking up the tea towels which were covered with hoof marks.
“We should have touched wood,” I replied. “Whatever will Mum say?”
I turned Phantom into the orchard and rushed indoors with the tea towels. I started to wash them at the sink and Mum appeared.
“Whatever are you doing that for?” she asked. “They were clean ten minutes ago. And where are two of the kitchen chairs? I’ve been looking everywhere for them. I’ve just had a call from the Millers; they are coming at the end of the month. We’ll need the chairs then, because there aren’t enough for us all in the dining-room.”
“We’ve broken one of them. We were using them for jumps,” Angus explained. “I’ll buy you a new one. I’ve got some money in my building society account.”
“They were forty pounds each,” Mum cried, running towards the paddock.
She came back slowly with the pieces of wood in one hand, the good chair in the other. I felt awful. Angus kept saying, “I’ll buy you another. I’ll go into Oxford or Reading on the bus. I’ll get you something super from an antique shop.”
“It’s not as though you’re only nine or ten,” Mum said. “You should know better. Why don’t you take Phantom to the riding school? I’m sure Miss Mackintosh will let you jump her jumps.”
I had learned to ride at the riding school. Miss Mackintosh was small and weatherbeaten. She had worn her hair the same way for twenty years and she was quite
old now and it didn’t suit her any more. But she was kind, one of the kindest people I had ever met.
“What a great idea. I’ll go after lunch,” I said.
“And there’s a show coming up. You can take the Millers,” Mum continued. “I’ve rung up for a schedule.”
“Oh, you’re wonderful,” I cried. “The most wonderful mother in the world! I shall take Phantom. I shall make him go in the ring and win Mr Miller’s bet.” I was dancing about with excitement now. I rushed outside with the tea towels and hung them on the line. Phantom was standing under the trees with Moonlight and Mermaid. I caught him and groomed him for forty minutes, and oiled his hoofs. It was lunchtime after that and Angus and I washed up afterwards because Mum was tired and we still felt guilty about the chairs. Then I tacked up Phantom and rode down the road towards the riding school, wondering whether the pound had gone up or down recently and how many dollars made a pound.
Miss Mackintosh was tacking up horses for the afternoon ride. She squinted up at me before she cried, “But it’s Jean. You are back, and who are you riding? He’s lovely.”
She stood back as horsey people do when they want to look at a horse properly, and she said, “He carries himself beautifully, and he’s got a wonderful shoulder. Where did you find him?”
“I brought him back with me,” I said, and started to tell his story.
“I can’t hear it all now,” she said after a minute. “I’ve got a class in ten minutes; but knowing you, you want to jump.”
“Please. Are you sure? I mean, it seems an awful cheek,” I began.
“This way,” said Miss Mackintosh, walking towards the five-barred gate which led to the jumping field.
“I’ll put them at three foot to start with. Has he jumped that high? Or would you rather start with the cavaletti?”
“Three foot will be fine.” I rode Phantom in a circle. He had never jumped proper painted showjumps before, for the ones in Virginia were plain, permanent, solid fences to test hunters across country.
“Ready?” called Miss Mackintosh.
I tightened Phantom’s girth and called back, “Yes.”
The jumps were arranged in a figure of eight. The first one was a Sussex gate. Phantom took it in his stride; the wall came next and he cleared that too. I turned right for the red and white crossbars and he increased his speed and suddenly we were tearing round the course, one jump following another, his tail streaming behind him like a pennant and Miss Mackintosh jumping about in the middle, shouting, “Not so fast. They’re nothing to him. I’ll put them up a foot.”
“But that will make them four foot,” I said, drawing rein.
“So what?” she said. “If you want to jump him in classes he’ll have to clear four foot. You had better register him: you’ve got a winner there.” Her face was lit up with excitement. And I was filled with gratitude.
“There’s a show in three weeks’ time. You can come with me. I’m only taking two in the box,” she said.
I trusted Miss Mackintosh completely. Anything and everything seemed possible as I rode round the course again. Phantom didn’t let me down. I sat on top and he took me round, jumping every fence perfectly, turning the corners like a polo pony.
“He’s worth three thousand without a doubt,” said Miss Mackintosh, when I had dismounted and she was stuffing Phantom with oats from her pockets. “You are a very lucky girl. Ring up the show secretary tonight and see if they are taking any more entries, then ring me and let me know. There’s a schedule pinned to the wall in the saddle room.”
The yard was full of waiting pupils when I reached it. I put Phantom in a box and helped adjust their stirrups. Miss Mackintosh’s words still rang in my ears. “He’s worth three thousand without a doubt.”
I went round the stables with a skip and filled up the water buckets, remembering how I had haunted the stables once, and feeling immensely grateful for what Miss Mackintosh had taught me in the past.
Then, after finding a piece of paper in the saddle room and writing down the show secretary’s telephone number, I rode home along the grass verges. Cars slowed down for Phantom and an enormous lorry stopped completely and then eased itself past us at five miles an hour, while Phantom stood like a statue eyeing it. I’m winning that battle too: he’s getting used to traffic, I thought, cantering along the verge, jumping ditches and singing, imagining the Millers arriving and loving everything.
The next day was spent turning out the cottage in preparation for the arrival of the Millers. Dad bought a gallon of white emulsion paint and three big brushes. We spread paper on everything and Angus and I helped paint walls and ceilings. When we had finished we had paint in our hair and on our faces. Mum was painting the doors in the kitchen with a blue gloss paint. “There won’t be much for lunch,” she said. “Open a tin of corned beef and there’s some lettuces in the garden. We’ll have a proper dinner tonight.”
“I can’t think why we have to bother so much about the Millers,” Angus said. “Wendy always calls England a crabby little island, so they won’t be expecting much, will they?”
I wandered into the garden and found the lettuces our tenants had obligingly planted some time back in the spring. Next week we would start exams, and we weren’t prepared for them. If I fail them all I shall take up riding, I thought. I’ll school horses and sell them. I’ll tour the shows and sleep in the other half of a trailer on a camp-bed. I shall never pass the history exam, nor the geography for that matter.
On my way back I brushed against the door Mum had been painting and my shirt had blue all down one side. Then Angus tripped over the emulsion paint and we spent nearly an hour mopping it up with newspaper and rags, and we all had nerves about the Millers’ impending visit.
“We’ll never be able to amuse them,” Angus said. “We haven’t any mountains round the corner, nor half a dozen horses to spare, and you can’t ask Phil and Pete to play games.”
“I don’t see why not,” answered Mum. “Anyway, there’s the show. They’ll enjoy that.”
“Will they?” replied Angus. “I don’t think they will. They’ll think English horses are tiny.”
“And I shall fall off or run away and then I shall have to pay Mr Miller five hundred dollars and I haven’t got that much money in the world,” I cried and suddenly everything seemed against me again: the exams, Phantom, the painting and clearing up. “I don’t believe we’ll ever be ready for them. Where are they going to sleep?” I asked.
“Charlie and Ann can have our room,” Mum said. “Dad and I will have the spare room, Wendy can share your room, Jean, and the boys can have Angus’s room and Angus, you can sleep in the summerhouse.”
“But it leaks!” Angus complained. “Haven’t you noticed? The deckchairs are all wet.”
“I’ll have to patch it up then,” replied Mum. “And what about food, Mum?” I asked. “You’ve no idea how much they eat. They’ll eat us out of house and home!”
I wanted to see them again; but the preparations were spoiling everything. Mum insisted that all the chair covers had to be washed as well as the bed covers. Angus and I shampooed the carpets; then we polished the brass, and I hardly schooled Phantom at all.
I failed the geometry exam completely. I got twenty out of a hundred for maths, and forty for French. The weather changed and there were days of endless rain and I imagined the Millers, wrapped up in mackintoshes, saying, “Your crabby English weather!” Finally we both had a chemistry exam. I could only answer three questions out of twenty-two, but Angus managed eight.
Dad raged about our exam results and threatened us with extra lessons, and Angus said that since he had only passed in English and Geography, he wasn’t going to get very far in life. So Dad hired someone to coach us in the holidays and I imagined the Millers peering over our shoulders while a bearded teacher talked to us in French.
Angus was very bad-tempered. He said there was no point in living if we were going to be coached all through the summer holidays, and t
hat he was going to commit suicide while the Millers were staying so that everyone in the world would know what awful lives English children lived. “It’s nothing but education from the cradle till middle age,” he shouted.
The orchard was soaking wet and so was the paddock and there was hardly any time to ride. Dad saw the headmaster and we were given extra homework for the holidays. And still it rained. I wondered what I could sell to pay Mr Miller when Phantom refused to enter the ring. I had two cups which I had won on Moonlight, but neither was silver so they were not worth much. I had some books and an opal necklace my godmother had left me, but I decided not to sell that, even though I didn’t wear it.
We knew that the Millers would soon be on their way, and Angus started to complain about the sheets. “They have super ones, different colours for each room,” he said.
“And gallons of ice cream,” I said. “They can’t live without ice cream, Mum, and saying, ‘Hi, what about a Coke?’ And they don’t like orange squash, only orange juice,” I added.
Mum was as nervous as we were. She ordered a turkey and a whole leg of ham and she found tins of cold iced tea in the supermarket, with everything in it but the ice.
The last few days passed far too fast. We started to count blankets and sheets. Then Mermaid developed laminitis and would not move at all, and for an awful three hours until the vet came we thought she had something else and would have to be put down. After that Angus spent every spare moment walking her up and down and she had to be kept in the stable and mucked out every morning before school.
Then Dad suggested that we could take the Millers to play tennis on the village courts so we rushed into Henley and bought three more racquets, because mine had decayed while we were in Virginia. And then all too soon it was the day before the Millers’ arrival, and we moved Angus’s bed into the summerhouse and tried in vain to patch the roof.
The car had been washed and serviced by this time and Dad had bought vast quantities of whisky, vermouth and Coca-Cola. The house looked spotless – more like a hotel, I thought, than a house where people actually lived. Term had ended but the thought of our tutor hovering over us during lovely summer mornings saying, “How can E equal C, when D doesn’t equal B?” hung over us like a huge, black shadow.
Phantom Horse 2: Phantom Horse Comes Home Page 8
