‘And Folly’s really OK?’
‘She’s fine. Look, I have to go.’
I curl up on the sofa, ignoring the sweaty smell of myself, and try not to let myself imagine the yard. I close my eyes and think of Folly, her warm smell, her soft white coat. I want to run my hands down her neck, soothe the trembling in her. I want her to be gentle and happy and brave, like other horses. An awful dread creeps through me that that’s never going to happen. I should be there with her. I shouldn’t be lying around here; there’s nothing wrong with me, only a bit of a headache.
‘Declan!’ Mum drags the Tesco’s bags into the living room and plonks them on the ground. ‘Are you feeling better, love?’
‘Yeah, fine.’
She stares at me. ‘Sure? You look a bit … Is it just your concussion or is there something else? Because I’m not stupid, Declan, and I’m your mum.’
For years I could have had my leg falling off and Mum would have been too drunk too notice.
‘I’m just bored. I might go back to work tomorrow.’
‘No, you will not. A week, that doctor said. Now, I’ll just put these away and then I’ll make us a nice wee cup of tea.’
I could offer to help put the messages away to stop her fussing round me like this, but I might as well make the most of not being expected to do anything.
When Mum comes back with the tea she’s not alone. ‘Look who I found at the back door! Stacey must have heard the kettle boil.’
Stacey gives me an uncertain smile. She’s changed her hair colour to a kind of red, a bit like Cian’s. Could be her natural colour. Getting off the sofa and going upstairs to my nice peaceful bedroom is suddenly a very attractive option, but Mum stops me when she sees me starting to make a move. ‘Och, love, stay where you are.’
‘No, I’ll leave youse to it.’
‘Don’t let me chase you away, Declan. I could do with your advice, anyway,’ Stacey says, sitting down at the other end of the sofa.
‘My advice?’
‘About my Cian.’
I sigh. ‘I’m not really the best …’
Stacey leans over towards me and I draw away in case she can smell me. I need to go and lie in the bath for hours. Her lipstick’s come off on the rim of her cup and when she takes her cigarette out of her mouth it’s ringed in red too. ‘That bloody school,’ she says. ‘He’s suspended for a day already. First week.’
Impressive. ‘What for?’
‘Oh.’ She waves her fag around and I cough. ‘Telling some teacher to fuck off.’
I shrug. ‘I never liked that school.’
Mum rushes in. ‘Och, Declan, that’s not true! Sure you did so well.’ She turns to Stacey. ‘He did awful well in the end.’
I got five GCSEs: two Bs and three Cs. Not exactly a high achiever. But I know I’m not going to escape from Mum and Stacey, and I suppose talking about Cian’s easier than thinking about Folly or Cam or Seaneen.
‘Whose tutor group’s he in?’
Stacey looks blank. ‘He doesn’t say much. He’s in the bottom class. He’s not stupid,’ she adds quickly. ‘He just doesn’t bother.’
‘Aye, sure that was you, Declan, wasn’t it?’ Mum says, lighting up.
I cough. ‘I suppose.’
‘But what made you change? Because if I could get my Cian to –’
‘The horses. I needed to get the grades to get to college. And people helped me.’ I don’t look at Mum. The best way she helped me was by going away to dry out and leaving me with Colette. If it hadn’t been for that, God knows where I’d be now.
Stacey sighs. ‘You see, he’s got you, Theresa. Cian’s only got me.’ And she looks at Mum like Mum might know how to help her, like Mum’s somebody useful, like Colette or Cam or somebody.
‘See, if he had a hobby, Stacey,’ Mum says. ‘Once our Declan got into the horses I never saw him.’
‘I never see Cian as it is,’ Stacey says. ‘But you’re right, if he had a hobby…’
And off they go, same old things they’ve been saying for weeks. I want to tell her that her kid’s in real trouble, that he’s seriously out of control, that he needs more than a hobby.
Then Stacey’s voice goes all soppy and she seems to forget about Cian. ‘Och, Theresa!’ she gushes and picks up the blue knitting. ‘That’s so cute. Blue. Does that mean …?’
‘It’s a boy,’ Mum says. ‘Seaneen had a scan the other day. A wee grandson.’
I swallow. A boy. ‘Mum… about the baby…’
She fixes me with a surprisingly tough look. ‘Oh, I know,’ she says. ‘Seaneen told me the other day; I met her in the street. But I turned round and I said to her, doesn’t matter what you and Declan do, that wee boy’s still my grandson.’
The need to get away is so urgent it’s like suddenly needing the toilet.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Going to go and have a bath. See you.’
But I don’t make it as far as the bath. I close my bedroom curtains and lie in the half-dark, listening to the rise and fall of their voices through the floor and wondering why I feel so sad.
5.
Every night I say, I’ll go back to work tomorrow. Every morning I wake up late after a crap night – dreaming of babies and Seaneen and Folly all mixed up in one sweaty, choking nightmare – and think it’s not worth it, and my headache’s still not properly gone, and I’m tired and I don’t feel like moving, and anyway my bike’s still up there so how would I get there? It’s too far to walk, it’s an awkward journey by bus and a taxi would cost too much. If Cam really needed me back she’d bring me my bike. If there was anything wrong with Folly she’d have let me know.
Then one afternoon I get a text from Vicky.
When am I gonna meet your new horse? Fiona tells me she’s been causing a bit of mayhem! Mind you, haven’t we all wanted to bite Lara?
I stare at the screen. What’s she on about? Lara wouldn’t be anywhere near Folly. Then I feel ashamed. How would I know? I haven’t been there. Anything could have happened. I haven’t much credit but I don’t trust this to a text, so I press call. ‘What did you mean about Folly and Lara?’ I ask as soon as Vicky answers.
‘Thanks very much, Declan, I had a lovely time, thanks for asking.’
‘Sorry, yeah, good. But what did you mean about Folly?’
She sounds surprised. ‘Well, just about her attacking Lara. I know I shouldn’t laugh but …’
Oh my God. I knew Cam was keeping something from me. ‘Vicky – d’you really want to come and see her? Folly, I mean?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I can’t tell if she means it or not. But she has a car.
‘Can you pick me up now? I’m at home.’
She sighs. ‘I didn’t mean now, Declan. I meant sometime before I go to Durham.’
‘Please?’ I hate asking her.
‘I’m never very sure of how to get to get to your house.’
‘Thought you had satnav?’
‘I was going to… Oh, OK.’ She gives in. ‘I suppose it’d be nice to see Cam.’
I wait at the window so when the white Fiat swings round the corner I can make a quick getaway before Mum starts asking Vicky about her holiday and all. They can’t stand each other but they always pretend they’re mates and it’d make you puke to listen to them. I let myself into the car. Vicky’s very brown, showing off her tan in a pink vest top even though it’s not summer any more. Vicky’s a big girl, taller than me and broad, but I can’t help looking at her flat stomach. No bump for Vicky. ‘OK?’ I say and start doing up the seat belt before she has a chance to take the key out of the ignition.
‘I heard you got a bang on the head.’ She does a seven-point turn in an area where there’s space to turn a bus. ‘Did it knock any sense into you?’
‘Probably not.’ I suppose she knows about the baby. Not that it matters now. But she and Colette are weird; they tell each other everything, so I suppose Colette’s put her in the picture. She doesn’t mention it, though. I ask her
about her holiday and she jabbers on about Thailand and beaches and temples all the way out of the estate, but all the time keeping a careful look out for whatever she thinks is going to jump out of the hedge and attack her. Only when West Belfast turns into the arse-end of South Belfast and we start climbing the hilly country roads towards the yard does she relax.
‘So what are you planning to do with your horse?’ she asks as we pass mares and foals in fields and a herd of miniature Shetlands.
I squash down the memory of how bad things had got with Folly. The need to impress Vicky rushes to the front of my head. ‘I want to jump her. I hoped she’d be ready for some of the winter leagues, but … Well, maybe not, but next year …’ Then I change the subject. ‘My mum said you’re not going to Cambridge?’
‘Didn’t get the grades.’
‘But you got all As!’
‘Needed A stars.’
‘That’s mad. How can four As not be enough?’
She shrugs. ‘I’m going to Durham and it’s gorgeous, so it’s fine.’
‘So what about you and Rory?’
She shrugs a brown shoulder. ‘I’ll have my car. And we’ve survived two years of being in separate countries.’
‘And I suppose if you split up it’ll be easier not living in the same place.’ Instead of having Seaneen in the next street.
‘Thanks Declan, always so positive.’ Vicky turns into Cam’s road.
The yard looks the same as usual, except I notice it needs brushed. It’s Saturday so there’s a fair amount of bustle. Jim, walking past with a bale of shavings on his shoulder, grunts at Vicky – he’s never liked her – but nods at me and says, ‘Is that you back, son?’
‘Um, yeah, I suppose. Came up to see Folly anyway.’
He says something that might be ‘huh’ but might just be a clearing of the throat.
Some of the crap Saturday riders, Casper and Bella and some I don’t know, hanging around gossiping after their lesson, flock round Vicky and ask her about her travels. Next minute she gets her iPad out and starts going through a million photos of white beaches and Rory in shorts. I leave them to it and break away. I grab Folly’s headcollar from the hook outside my stable door, registering that Willow’s stable is empty and the plaque that said Willow has been unscrewed. Has Lara left? My heart pounds as I skirt past the school on my way to the fields. What has Folly done?
At first I don’t see her in the bottom field, just the Welshies grazing in a clump, and panic surges through me. She’s gone. Then I see her white tail whisking the air. She’s only hidden behind Mungo.
I let myself into the field, my hands suddenly slippery on the gate catch. ‘Folly!’ She lifts her head at the sound of my voice and so do the ponies, but then they all start grazing again. I walk up to the little group, noticing that the field needs poo-picked.
‘Wait for me, Declan! Thought you wanted me to see this new horse?’
Vicky strides up, blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders, and Folly darts sideways in alarm just before I can put a hand on her.
‘Sorry!’ she says. I stifle a sigh of irritation. After all, she did give me a lift here, and it’s not her fault Folly’s nervous.
‘Folly!’ I will her to look at me, to nicker a welcome, to walk straight up to me, to show Vicky that she’s my horse and that she likes being my horse.
By now Folly’s spied the headcollar in my hand and she turns her arse to me with a double-barrelled flick of her heels.
‘Friendly.’ Vicky flinches away.
‘Sorry. She’s a bit … oversensitive. She doesn’t usually do that.’
‘Apparently she took a lump out of Lara’s arm.’
‘Well, Lara shouldn’t have been anywhere near her. She must have done something on her. Lara’s never liked her anyway.’
‘Chill out, Declan! God! I’m only telling you. Folly isn’t the only oversensitive one. Lara’s got her new horse anyway. It cost seven thousand pounds.’
‘That’s only seven thousand pounds more than my horse.’
I inch closer to Folly, rustling in my pocket even though there isn’t a treat there. She’s not fooled, though, and trots away again, her head in the air. I decide not to catch her after all. I need to get my bike home before dark. I drop the headcollar on the ground and eventually Folly lets me stroke her, though she feels poised for flight at any second, and even the usually puppyfriendly Welshies have picked up on her vibes and are eyeing us with long-lashed suspicion. Vicky keeps her distance, and a cautious eye on Folly’s back legs.
‘See you, Folly,’ I say in a casual voice. ‘Back to normal tomorrow. You can start doing some work again.’ For a moment there’s the tingle of remembering and fear but as always it’s gone before I can reach for it.
‘Declan, remember when you first got into horses? And I was really jealous, because you seemed to have this bond with Flight?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Cam said you were good with horses because you didn’t have any expectations about them. You just saw them as horses. As themselves. Not as showjumpers or whatever.’
I shrug. ‘That’s cause I didn’t know anything back then.’
‘OK.’ She frowns, as if making up her mind about something. ‘But I always remembered that. And – well, maybe you knew more then than you do now.’
I throw the headcollar over my shoulder and try to look as if none of this matters a damn to me. ‘Look,’ I say, ‘She’s fine. It’s not like I just went out and bought her for thousands of pounds, you know. Not like Lara with her bloody seven thousand.’
Vicky leans across to me and touches my shoulder. ‘Does that hurt?’
‘What?’
‘That chip on your shoulder.’
‘Ha ha.’
‘Declan?’ She keeps her hand on my shoulder and swings me round to look at her. Her blue eyes are quite kind. ‘It doesn’t matter what other people think. If she’s the horse for you, that’s fine.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ I start walking back up the field.
‘Well, she is.’
* * *
You wouldn’t think a few days off could make you so unfit, but my bike feels about a ton heavier as I slog up the hills, and home has never seemed so far from the yard, not even on winter evenings, struggling through slush in the dark. By the time I turn into the estate all I can think about is a hot bath and bed – especially as I’ve promised to go back to work tomorrow which means getting up early and doing it all again.
A silver jeep sitting sideways across the waste ground outside the Spar, abandoned rather than parked, forces me to swerve, and when I look up there’s Seaneen talking to Emmet McCann. I see her in profile. She has to tilt her head to look up at him and the swell of her bump sticks out.
What the hell is Emmet McCann doing near Seaneen? He’d better not be harassing her. She’s got a Spar bag in one hand and she looks more pregnant than the last time I saw her. Except that’s stupid; it hasn’t been long enough. It’s just the shock of suddenly seeing her.
Emmet McCann’s put on weight too. He’s as square as a fridge and his scalp shows through his shaved hair. His belly, not much smaller than Seaneen’s, pushes against his football top and the part of me that isn’t busy looking at Seaneen thinks he’s even more like his da than ever. Even his voice, loud and annoyed, used to getting its own way, is like Barry’s. But neither of their voices has the power to scare me these days. If he’s hassling Seaneen he’ll have me to worry about. I slow my bike. I’m close enough to hear what they’re saying.
‘Well, if you do see him, tell him,’ he finishes. ‘I mean it.’
‘Whatever,’ Seaneen says, and I can imagine the upwards flicker of her eyes even if I can’t see it. I’m reassured by the fact that she’s not scared of him. Or attracted to him.
McCann gets into the jeep and roars off through the gap, nearly knocking me off my bike. I have to grapple for control of the pedals and wreck my balls on the crossbar.
‘Bastard.’<
br />
Seaneen stands right in front of me. She’s wearing a pink jumper I never saw before that skims her bump. Her cheeks are pink as if she’s been flustered by talking to McCann.
‘All right, Dec?’ Her voice is tight.
I jerk my head in the direction of the retreating car. ‘What did he want?’
‘You don’t want to know.’ She sounds tired and fed up and keeps her eyes from making contact with mine. A ringlet falls across her face in the way that always drives her mad. She pushes it away but it springs back. ‘Wee Cian,’ she says. ‘He’s after him.’
I don’t tell her I already know. ‘Why’s Emmet asking you?’
‘He’s just asking random people who live near Cian. He was in the shop asking Cathal Gurney.’ My hand itches to reach out and push that ringlet out of her eye. ‘So if you see Cian,’ she says, ‘will you warn him? I mean, you of all people …’
‘I know.’ I was never that scared of Emmet McCann. But then he wasn’t a drug dealer when I knew him, just a bully. But I was scared of his da all right. I remember that crushing helplessness. Of every street being full of shadows. Of Barry McCann’s voice being enough to shrivel me inside. ‘I will, yeah.’
‘OK, so … see you.’
She walks away. From the back she doesn’t look pregnant.
As I’m going to bed I get a text. It was really hard seeing you. I don’t want to keep bumping into you when the baby’s born. I hope you do find a job somewhere away from here. You know it’s what you want. It’s only worth it if you go and follow your dream.
I know what she means. If Lara had bought Flight and kept him at Cam’s it would have killed me a lot more than him going to Wexford. But I don’t know how to reply. In the end I don’t, and I delete her number from my phone. Even though I know it off by heart.
6.
As soon as I walk into the barn the next morning a new head looks out over Willow’s old stable door with a friendly, curious nicker. It’s a shiny black with a diamond-shaped star under a silky forelock and huge purplish eyes fringed in long black lashes.
‘Hello,’ I say. I stroke its velvety nose and it nuzzles against my palm, licking it the way Flight used to. ‘Hey, you’re gorgeous, aren’t you?’ I unbolt the stable door and go in. It’s a mare. She steps back politely at my entrance and lips again at my hand, not like she wants to bite, just in the confident expectation that a human visitor means something nice might be going to happen. Her coat shines with health and grooming. She is far, far too good for Lara.
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