‘Ah, you’ve met our new arrival?’
‘Oh, hi Cam.’ I feel stupidly shy meeting Cam. Last time she saw me I was acting like a nutter. Having the new horse to focus on makes the first few minutes easier, before the busy routine can swallow us up.
‘Where’d this come from?’
‘Scott’s. Lara had her on a week’s trial. Passed the vet on Friday. Hasn’t put a foot wrong. Jumps everything you put her at; forward-going but sensible; a lamb in the stable; nine years old. Done a few Grand Prixs.’
‘Too good for Lara.’
‘Now, now. Lara’s livery bill pays your wages. Patrick was here with his dad to deliver the horse. He said you should give him a ring if you want a bit of help with Folly.’
‘So where’s the lovely Willow? McCluskey’s?’ I ask to change the subject. I can joke about this because wherever Willow is, it’s not the cat-food factory.
‘Scott took him. Some boy up in Derry’s trying him out.’
‘And what’s this one called?’
‘Aisling’s Promise. Promise for short. OK, we can’t stand around admiring horses all day long. There’s a bit of a backlog. And I’ve a lesson at ten.’
‘Have I time to just go and check on Folly before I start?’ I’m a bit nervous about mentioning Folly. Cam hasn’t said anything about her biting Lara yet, but it can only be a matter of time.
‘Of course.’
Seeing Promise reminds me that all the horses will be coming in soon. I can’t imagine Folly in the stable most of the time, turned out for a few hours during the day, but Cam brings everything in for the winter to let the fields rest. I decide not to think about that yet.
Folly’s grazing with the ponies. She looks up when I call her, then trots off in the other direction, snatching tufts of grass as she goes in a way that would be cute if it was someone else’s horse.
Stupid to feel so rejected; it’s not like I was even planning to catch her. And it’s not personal; she just doesn’t want anybody to interfere with her nice quiet life of eating and dozing. Who could blame her?
Cam wasn’t joking about a backlog. Even though most of the horses are still out, so there’s only Promise’s bed to do, I don’t stop all day. Nobody’s poo-picked or cleaned tack in my absence. Every time I finish one boring, menial job, Cam shouts over with another.
‘The lorry needs swept out.’
‘The school needs poo-picked.’
‘The yard needs brushed.’
I’d nearly think it was some kind of punishment except I haven’t done anything wrong, and all these things do need done. But it’s hard not to feel resentful, pushing the fourth wheelbarrow of dung up the ramp to the muck heap and watching Cam and Lara return from a hack round the farm trail, the sun glinting off their horses’ shining flanks, their easy laughter floating up to me. Under saddle Promise looks magical, moving lightly over the ground, relaxed and easy in her new life.
And for the first time in ages I can’t stop the thought: what would I be doing right this minute if I’d gone to Hilgenberg’s?
Except I suppose German showjumpers shit too.
I don’t get a chance to bring Folly in until evening. It’s noticeably darker than it was a week ago at this time. This time it’s hard to believe it’s not personal. She turns her arse on me the minute she spies the headcollar in my hand and I have to flinch from her flying hooves.
‘Come on, girl, stop taking the piss.’ I make my voice gentle. I make my voice stern. Every time I get within grabbing distance she trots off. Eventually I get her, but she snaps her teeth at me every few seconds. Then she lifts up her head and lets out a high-pitched indignant squeal and next minute we’re surrounded by the ponies in a flurry of flying manes and tails and little hooves. I have to hold really tight to stop Folly cantering off after them, and she spins round me, the rope burning into my palm. For a second I’m tempted to say, what the hell, and just let her go, and pretend to myself I didn’t really want to bring her in, but I can’t give in to her.
I can see Jim standing at the top of the lane, having a smoke and watching with interest. By the time I get to him I’m sweating and Folly’s fussing and pulling.
‘Aye,’ he says, coughing. ‘You’ve your work cut out there.’
At the sound of his cough Folly skitters sideways. When I get her to the stable, she flicks back her ears, digs her feet in and won’t go forward. Jim comes up and chases her from behind, which forces her in OK, but she stands in the corner, flanks heaving, neck dark with sweat, eyes rolling.
‘Could do with a bullet, that thing,’ Jim says, leaning over the stable door. ‘Why don’t you get yourself something you can have a bit of fun on?’
I ignore him. I ignore the fact that he’s worked with horses for over forty years. I ignore the fantasy of starting again with a different horse, a normal horse. What would I do with Folly? I’d be like Stacey, having more brats even though she couldn’t cope with the one she had. I push past Jim to get Folly a bucket of feed, which she attacks with her usual enthusiasm, but without taking her eyes off me.
‘Aye. I’m too old for the likes of that,’ Jim says with a sideways spit.
‘Well, you don’t have to go near her,’ I say, going for my brushes. ‘Silly girl,’ I tell her as she stretches out a suspicious nose to sniff the soft body brush. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ She doesn’t look like she believes me. For a while I groom her quietly, and eventually she starts to relax, but tenses again when a shadow falls across the door and I hear Lara’s voice.
‘Oh, you’re back,’ she says. ‘Did you hear what your brute did to me?’
I think it’s wisest to act innocent.
‘No, what?’ I straighten up and lean over the door with the brush in my hand. I rub it against the top of the door and dust flies out of it, making Lara cough.
Lara rolls up her sleeve and shows me a blackish bruise just above her elbow. ‘You’re lucky I was wearing my coat or she’d have broken the skin. All I did was go and check on her because Cam was too busy.’
I don’t know what to say. ‘You must have scared her.’
‘Scared her!’ Lara makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a snort. ‘She was always a nutter but now she’s actually vicious. Just as well you’re back because nobody’ll go near her now.’
‘Well, keep away from her.’ For a moment I like the idea of a one-man horse. In my mind I smile at Princess Anne while she hands us our Olympic gold medal. Folly bends her head to let Princess Anne put the winner’s sash round her neck. ‘And does one understand that nobody else can do anything with her?’ Princess Anne asks.
Then I remember that I can’t do much with her myself.
‘Look, do you want something?’ I ask. ‘Because I’m busy here and my horse clearly doesn’t like you.’
Lara stalks off with her nose in the air but a minute later Cam takes her place. ‘Can you not be so rude to my customers, please?’ she says. ‘I’ve just had a complaint from Lara.’
‘She asked for it.’
‘You should have apologised to her. That was a nasty bite.’
‘I didn’t bite her.’
‘Don’t be so childish. Folly’s your responsibility.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t have asked Lara to go and check on her. Folly doesn’t like Lara. Probably heard all the nasty things she’s said about her. “That horse’s only fit for the knackers’” and all that crap.’
‘Declan, you haven’t showed up for ten days. I don’t think you realise the kind of pressure that put me under.’
‘It wasn’t my fault I had concussion.’
Cam gives me one of her very straight looks that makes you feel as if she’s peeling off a layer of your skin. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘I don’t remember,’ I mutter.
‘Come with me,’ she says. I don’t know what she wants but you don’t argue with Cam when she’s in this mood so I trail after her. She leads me to the school. In one corner there’
s a bit of fence that’s obviously just been repaired. ‘This was broken,’ she says, and before I can say anything she marches over to the tack room, where she takes down Joy’s saddle. A deep gash and some smaller scrapes spoil the shiny black leather. Cam looks at me and raises her eyebrows. ‘You wouldn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes,’ she says.
‘Oh my God.’ My hand flies up to my mouth. ‘I must have borrowed it.’ My voice comes out in a guilty whisper. ‘I’ll pay for it,’ I say with more confidence.
‘What with? Those saddles cost £1,500.’
‘Why are you being so nasty?’ I sound like a sulky kid, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
‘Why are you being so childish?’ she snaps back. ‘You’ve got a horse, Declan, not a toy! God, out of everybody I know, I never thought I’d have to have this conversation with you.’
‘You never wanted me to get her.’
‘I was cautious. A horse with that kind of background was always going to need patience and special handling. Maybe more than you’re capable of.’
‘But you said – you said time. You said they all settle.’
‘If you let them.’ Cam sighs. ‘And I don’t know what you’ve been doing with her but she’s getting worse, not better.’
I rub my hand over my face.
‘Look, I’m sorry if I sound hard on you. Fences and saddles can be fixed – I don’t want you getting hurt.’
‘Is Fiona raging?’
‘Fiona lost the baby. Last night. She’s in hospital. So the saddle’s not the foremost of her worries.’
‘Oh.’ Why can’t Seaneen have that and then we can get back to normal, I think before I can stop myself, and then I think no wonder bad things happen to me when I go round having thoughts like that.
‘Anyway, Declan, I want you to promise me you won’t try to work Folly unless I’m in the yard.’
‘Cam, I’m not stupid.’
‘I wouldn’t necessarily agree with that.’ She indicates the damaged saddle. ‘Seriously, Declan. That horse is potentially dangerous. Either you promise or … or I won’t have her in the yard. I mean it, I can’t take the risk.’ She gives me her most determined look. ‘I have customers to think about. Some of them are children.’
‘But nobody needs to go near her but me!’ I almost sob it out.
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘I’m not some beginner, you know. What did I go to coll –’
‘When it comes to a complicated animal like that you are. Look, I have to go, Declan.’ She sounds fed up with the conversation. ‘Pippa and I are going to her mum’s for dinner. Can I trust you to lock up?’
‘Of course you can.’
Cam’s usually right about horses. But not this time.
Their words chase me home. I won’t have her in the yard … Could do with a bullet, that thing …
7.
Mum stands in front of the mirror above the fireplace, getting ready to go out. She turns round and smiles at me. ‘OK, love? First day back go all right? I’m going to the cinema with Margaret. We might go for a coffee after. I’ll be back about ten.’
She has all these new friends from her support groups. They’re not all ex-alchies. Margaret is something to do with some women’s group.
I flop down on the sofa and grab the remote. My legs twitch with exhaustion. ‘Is there any tea?’
‘Heat yourself up a pizza,’ she says.
She rummages in her make-up bag and takes out a big brush. She dabs it over her face. ‘Oh,’ she says, as if she’s about to tell me something important. ‘Stacey’s got a big night tonight.’
‘Uh?’ I flick through the channels but keep the sound down.
‘Aye. Her and Darren’s meeting up. He texted her and said he missed her. She went out and got herself a new dress and all. Isn’t that good?’
‘I dunno. Is he not a bit of a thug?’
‘Darren? No! He’s a computer programmer.’
‘I thought Cian …’ Then I remember that Cian never said Darren laid a finger on him; it was me who assumed he had.
‘Och, Cian.’ Mum sniffs. ‘He did his best to wreck it as usual. But he’s babysitting his wee sisters tonight. Well, he’s grounded for getting suspended, so he has to watch them at the same time. I said to Stacey, you need to be tougher on him.’
Neither grounded nor babysitting sound like Cian. Too normal. I wonder if his ma knows he’s hiding from the local drug dealer. But it’s not my business.
‘God love her,’ Mum says. ‘Sure all she wants is a wee bit of happiness.’ She blots her lipstick and turns round and smiles at me. ‘Right, will I do?’
‘You on the pull, Mum?’
‘Och, Declan!’ She looks quite pleased but then she goes serious. ‘I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship just yet. I still have some self-esteem issues to work through.’
I never know what to say when she goes all Californian on me.
‘Do you want me to record Midsomer Murders?’
‘Thanks, love.’
When she’s gone I mooch into the kitchen and stick a pizza in the oven. The whole time I was off work I never felt like eating, but now, after slaving in the open air all day, I’m starving. I eat at the kitchen table, flicking through the new Horse and Hound. There’s hardly any jobs. One of them says ‘own horse welcome’ so I read it more carefully. It’s in Suffolk. I don’t know exactly where that is but it says ‘miles of coastal hacking’ and I imagine me and Folly cantering along a beach under a huge sky. Imagine her stepping smartly off a horse lorry in a blue rug, looking round her new yard with bright, confident eyes, happy to accept whatever’s in store, knowing from experience it’ll be OK. But I realise I’ve turned her into Promise or Spirit or Flight – a normal horse – and catch myself on.
I take the magazine back into the living room and read a feature about some town in Yorkshire with loads of racing yards. Middleham, it’s called. I know nothing about racing, though we had a visit to a racing yard at college and some people specialised in racehorse management, but I bet I could just turn up there and go round the yards until somebody took me on. They have loads of staff in racing yards. I’m wiry and light and brave – I could exercise the horses. It’d get me over the winter anyway. I know I promised Cam I’d stay but there’d be nothing she could actually do if I just went.
And it’s not just selfishness. Seaneen wants me to go.
I don’t know where Folly fits into this fantasy.
For the first time it occurs to me that horses, like babies, are a lot easier to get than they are to get rid of. Not that I want rid of Folly. I want …
But I don’t know what I want.
I must doze off because next minute there’s this awful banging at the door and somebody shouting. Not Cian again! But the voice is crying, ‘Theresa! Theresa!’ and it’s a girl.
It’s Stacey’s wee girls. They’re both gurning their lamps out and shrieking and it takes me a few seconds to see that the wee one’s neck above her soaking wet pink vest top is bright red.
‘Jesus!’ I say. ‘What’s happened you?’
She roars louder than ever and the bigger one says, ‘Madison pulled the kettle over! We were going to have hot chocolate but it wasn’t my fault.’
I drag them in although I haven’t a clue what to do with them. ‘Is Theresa not there?’ the bigger one says.
‘No.’
The wee one sits down hard on the bottom stair and starts to whimper, which is less annoying than the shrieking but also a bit scary, like she’s really hurt. I know about horse first aid, but nothing about scalds. Horses aren’t normally near boiling water. The only person I know who could cope with these kids is Seaneen. But I get the first bit of luck I’ve had in days when Mum pushes through the open door and says, ‘Courtney! Madison! What’s happened you?’
Courtney dives at her. ‘Madison’s all burnt! But it wasn’t my fault.’
Mum looks at me and I shrug. ‘Don’t ask me. They just appea
red.’
‘Well, have you phoned an ambulance?’
‘It’s only a wee burn.’
But when Mum gets the smaller kid to show her, it’s not just her neck, it’s all the way down her chest.
‘Declan! For God’s sake, phone – OK, not an ambulance, but phone a taxi and say it’s urgent. And then phone Stacey.’ She thrusts her phone at me, and then bends down to Madison. ‘Come on, darling, you’re OK. Theresa’ll take you to the hospital and the doctor’ll make you better.’ She drags the kids off into the kitchen, but the door’s open wide enough for me to hear them still howling.
I phone the taxi first and then scroll through Mum’s contacts for Stacey’s number. It goes straight to voicemail. I leave a message saying what’s happened and that Mum’s going to take the kid to the hospital, and then open the front door to look out for the taxi. The sooner it comes the sooner I can get rid of these shrieking kids who make me feel so stupid and unsure of what to do.
But when Mum rushes out, carrying Madison, she says to me, ‘You’d better take Courtney home and look after her in her own house. She’ll be happier there. And keep trying Stacey.’
‘I already left a message. I haven’t got her number.’
‘I’ll text you it. Shh, Madison, good brave girl. OK, Courtney, love, you go with Declan.’
She gets into the taxi like somebody who knows exactly what she’s doing, leaving behind a still-blubbering Courtney and me. And I haven’t a clue.
‘Is Madison going to die?’ Courtney sobs. ‘Is my mummy going to be cross with me?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I mean – no, of course she’s not going to die. The doctors and nurses will make her better. Come on; we’ll go back to your house.’
Grounded Page 17
