Riding on Air

by Maggie Gilbert

  I was going to really feel it in my knuckles a few hours from now, but I didn’t care. It was worth it. My throat squeezed tight with the sheer wonder of it, the magic of that brief moment of perfect self-carriage and impulsion from Jinx. A moment of perfect unity between us. I wanted to laugh and scream and cry, all at once.

  “Fantastic effort, Melissa, well done. He’s a very nice horse, this one. Very nice. Are you entering the Novice championships at Goulburn next month?”

  “I think so,” I managed to choke out, mind spinning. ‘A very nice horse’ was the highest praise from Petra Hein, or so I’d heard.

  “Good, good. I think you’ll do very well. I look forward to seeing you there,” she said.

  “Me too,” I said. “Thank you so much, that was an awesome lesson.”

  She grinned. “A pleasure, you are a good student. You’ve done enough, now, so you can go back if you like. Get your horse out of the sun so he can cool down, rest.”

  Then she turned away, clapping her hands together, calling out for the next rider and leaving my head almost exploding at the unexpected praise. Or maybe it was just the usual helmet-induced baked-skull headache.

  As I pointed Jinx towards the gate, I was kind of surprised to realise just how much I’d improved in the last two years since I’d been going to pony club and having other occasional lessons when I could earn enough extra pocket money. That’s tricky when your hands sometimes aren’t much use. You can’t just volunteer for most of the usual household chores even when you’re after more cash.

  I slid my feet free from my stirrups and dropped the buckle of the reins on Jinx’s sweat-darkened neck. I held my hands up and flexed my fingers cautiously, but the painkiller was obviously still doing the job. I had a dull sort of ache in the bones of my fingers and my knuckles were a bit warm, the skin stretched tight over the swollen bulges, but that was as good as it got during a flare like this. My shirt stuck to my back and my face was so hot and sweaty I was sure it was beyond red, probably as purple as a beetroot. But I didn’t care about that, either. I was so happy I felt like I was walking—no, make that riding—on air.

  I rode Jinx right up to our horse float, slid off and swapped his bridle for a halter, tying him to string so if he got a fright and pulled back he wouldn’t injure himself. I unsaddled him, thrilled all over again to be able to do it with so much ease and so little pain. I felt like I normally did when the arthritis wasn’t active in a flare; still swollen and stiff and kind of wrong in my joints, but basically functional. Almost ordinary. I even managed the buckle of my helmet and dumped it inside the float, closed the door and locked it, then untied Jinx.

  “A nice cool shower for you, my star,” I told him, offering a carrot I’d grabbed from the bag inside the float. Jinx bit the end off, gigantic teeth gleaming, and crunched noisily, dribbling little orange flecks over me as he nudged with his muzzle for more. I gave him the rest and then led him towards the wash bays; concrete slabs surrounded by pipe railings where we could hose the sweat off our horses.

  Both bays were empty, although there’d be horses queued up all the way back to the floats as soon as everyone else finished their sessions. If I was quick I could be done and have Jinx back in his yard before anyone else showed up. Jinx followed me onto the concrete where I tied him up and untangled the hose. I took hold of the tap and went to turn it on. But nothing happened.

  Bugger. Whoever had turned it off last had done it really tight. I dropped the hose and tried with both hands, but still nothing. Leaning over the bar in between the two bays, I tried the tap on the other side, but it too had been turned off by someone with superpowers.

  Trying the tap on my side again, I was rewarded with zip, apart from an ominous warning stab deep in the knuckles of my right hand. Emergency extra pill or not, I’d lived with JRA long enough to know not to push when I got a pain signal like that. I closed my mouth on a very bad word, conscious of the trickle of horses and riders and camp helpers beginning to go past. I was going to have to ask someone to undo the tap for me. If I waited too long there’d be people impatiently queuing to hose down their horses and I didn’t like to do things in a rush as I tended to bang up my hands.

  “Hey.” As if I’d conjured his presence, William’s voice came from behind me. “Want some help?”

  “Yes please,” I blurted. I was happy to see him at any time, but right then it felt like he was heaven-sent.

  “Tap too tight?”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “They drip.”

  “What?”

  “The taps drip, the seals are gone. That’s why people turn them off so hard.” William handed me the hose, then turned on the tap with one effortless twist. As usual envy and admiration twisted through me. I’d never be able to do that, no matter how many extra pills I swallowed.

  “Oh, right.” I wondered, did I sound like as much of a moron as I suspected? I probably didn’t want to know the answer to that.

  William grabbed the metal scraper that hung over the rail—a gadget that looks like a gigantic saw blade but is actually used to remove water from a horse’s coat. If you hose a hot horse and leave the water sitting on them, the horse stays hot because the water acts like a big insulating blanket. But remove the water and you remove the heat, cooling the horse. I just love stuff like that. I mean, how did someone ever figure that out? It’s not like it’s obvious or anything.

  “You hose and I’ll scrape,” William offered.

  “Deal,” I said and aimed the cold spray onto Jinx’s neck.

  I soaked Jinx thoroughly with the hose, using my free hand (still working almost like normal, amazingly) to carefully scrub at the sweaty scuff marks left by his tack. William followed me around the horse, scraping off all the warmed water from Jinx’s coat. I managed to get a fair bit of water on myself, as usual, not that I minded in this heat. It was crazy hot for autumn.

  Using the back of my wrist to carefully push my sweaty hair out of my eyes, I snuck a glance at William over Jinx’s wet back. Guilt and anxiety twined a knot in my stomach—here was William coming to my rescue again and I’d never even thanked him for last time.

  I ran more water over Jinx, mentally trying out a bunch of different things I could say, but no matter how much I turned the words around in my mind, it all sounded lame, or fake, or flat out desperate. Way too desperate, actually. Keep it simple, stupid.

  “Hey, thanks,” I eventually squeaked, instantly slaughtering any attempt at seeming ultra-casual. I let my hair fall over my burning face and paid very close attention to hosing Jinx’s shoulder and neck.

  “What for?”

  “Helping with Jinx.”

  “I’m not exactly doing much.”

  I glanced at him, accidentally intercepting his dark blue eyes staring straight back at me, and hurriedly returned my attention to wetting Jinx’s mane. With my eyes fixed intently on what I was doing, I swallowed the anxious lump in my throat and made myself speak again.

  “I mean for yesterday, too. Putting Jinx away. I really, uh, appreciate it.”

  William didn’t say anything for so long I risked another peek at him.

  “You can owe me a favour,” he said, grinning and I stared at him again, my heart giving a startled jump. I wondered what he meant, or if he meant anything at all.

  William laughed and flicked water off the end of the scraper at me. “Don’t look so worried. I was just joking,” he said. “But seriously, Melissa, any time. Just say the word.”

  “OK. Um, thanks.”

  “Like I said, no big deal.”

  After that I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so we finished hosing Jinx down in silence. I wished I was one of those cute, flirty girls so I could threaten to spray William with the hose, but I was way too chicken. The only times I got him with any spray it was an accident.

  When I was done, William turned the tap off and then he bent to Jinx’s near foreleg, cupping his hands around it and sliding them downw
ards, squeezing away the excess water. Watching William go around Jinx and repeat the manoeuvre on each leg, I was impressed again with how good he was with my horse. Perfect boyfriend material.

  I immediately gave myself a huge mental smack. Don’t even go there, moron.

  “Done,” William said, coiling the hose neatly back on the rack. I knew the next person would leave it in the snarled state I’d found it in, but I didn’t say so. Even though I’d (sneakily) paid plenty of attention to what William was up to over the last few years, I’d somehow missed noticing how much attention he paid to things. But I liked how tidy he was. Compared to the trail of boots and tools, empty beer bottles and dirty coffee cups my stepbrothers left around our house, it was a real novelty.

  “You’re like a good fairy, the way you turn up when I need help,” I said, reaching for Jinx’s lead.

  “I’m no fairy,” William replied and there was something in his voice when he said it. I looked up, suddenly aware of how close he was to me, his hand resting on the railing right next to Jinx’s lead, inches from my own. William gazed down at me, his eyes looking right into mine. And of course all thoughts just fell right out of my brain.

  “I, ah. No. Of course not,” I stammered. I broke eye contact, turning my gaze to Jinx’s lead and tugged at the slip knot.

  “It’s too wet, hang on.” William reached for the knot and I snatched my hand away, the protective instinct operating like an automatic trigger. Even if I could have willed my hand to stay there, I don’t know if I would have. The thought of our fingers touching kind of freaked me out. Only now of course he’d be insulted and think I thought he was horrible or something, that I didn’t want him to touch me. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  Only, as he led Jinx off the concrete to clear the way for the next person who’d arrived with their horse, he didn’t look upset or angry at all. When I stopped beside him, he handed the lead over and smiled at me. God he was gorgeous. My stomach plummeted and then curled in on itself, as tight and prickly as a startled echidna.

  “It’s not just the lead that’s wet, look at you.”

  Automatically I glanced down at myself. Yeah, I was soaked.

  “One way to cool d—,” I started, but then I remembered.

  “Crap,” I hissed, gingerly digging in my jodhpurs pocket for the wad of tissue I’d wrapped my emergency pill in. If I’d got it wet it would be buggered.

  In my haste, my swollen fingers fumbled it and the damp tissue disintegrated, spilling the pill onto the hard-packed earth.

  William bent and picked it up, holding it between thumb and forefinger.

  “What’s this?” he said.

  “A very good question, indeed,” said a woman’s voice right beside us and this time my stomach leapt up into the back of my throat. I turned reluctantly, knowing I probably looked as sick as I felt.

  It was Stacey, the first aid officer, either just passing by or come to find me in particular to make sure I was OK. Whatever the reason, here she was at the worst possible time and I could tell by the frozen look on her face that she knew exactly what William held.

  I was so busted.

  Chapter 4

  I craned my neck around, straining against the seat belt as I ducked my head awkwardly, anxious for a glimpse of Jinx’s broad face through the window in the front of the horse float. Dad glanced at me, then back at the road.

  Packed up and sent home from camp early. Not exactly how I’d imagined things panning out after such a great session with Petra Hein. I peered at Jinx again.

  “He’s fine, Melissa. Just like he was the last twenty times you looked.” Dad took a quick look of his own in the rear-view mirror, as if reassuring himself. If he needed to double-check, I didn’t see why he thought it was so weird that I wanted to keep checking. Not that I was going to say that, of course. I figured I was in enough trouble.

  “Just checking,” I said instead, turning back to face the front. I did tend to habitually check on how Jinx was travelling in the float, but just now fixating on Jinx was better than talking to Dad. I mean, I knew a talk was coming, but I wasn’t in any hurry to get into it.

  The stink Stacey had kicked up you’d think I was dealing ecstasy or something. I gather, in fact, that this was exactly what she’d first thought—although she wasn’t sure who’d been doing the buying and who the selling. I don’t know who was more shocked at the accusation, me or William, who I’d never seen with anything stronger than a lemonade or, since he turned eighteen, a beer.

  Even once I’d told her what it was—and she’d plucked the soggy pill out of William’s hand to see for herself—she was still all fired up. She’d dismissed William and hauled me up to the part of the main building acting as the head marshal’s office and told me off in no uncertain terms. She hadn’t wanted to hear any of my explanations, which had anyway taken a dive into babbling once she mentioned the words ‘call’, ‘your’ and ‘parents’ all in the same sentence. The only break I caught was that Dad’s number was listed as the primary contact, not Mum’s. At least it had seemed like a break at the time; taking a peek at Dad’s unsmiling profile now I wasn’t so sure.

  “Talk to me,” he said, as if sensing my eyes on him. He hadn’t even glanced away from the road that time; parents are so freaky that way.

  “You didn’t want to hear what I had to say before you packed me and Jinx up to go home.”

  “Oh no you don’t. I gave you a chance to tell your side back there and you didn’t take it.”

  My face burned. He had me there. By the time Dad walked into the office at the grounds I was so tangled in anger and stress and utter humiliation (William must think I was a total loser) I was way too wound up to speak. I was afraid if I opened my mouth I’d burst into tears. I knew that sitting there all hunched in on myself with my hands cradled in the pouch of my hoodie and my lips zipped tight made me look like a sulky brat but I couldn’t help that. Better than someone (William, Eleni, Tash for starters) seeing me bawling like a three year old.

  “I couldn’t,” I mumbled, knowing it was pathetic as far as explanations went. But there was some chance Dad would get it. Mum, not so much. Mum. My brain skittered away from that like a spooked horse. Even after I got through the lecture from Dad, there was still Mum to contend with. If I got lucky that would be just a phone call, but I wasn’t counting on that, not the way my luck was running lately.

  “Choked up?” Dad offered.

  “Something like that.”

  Dad was silent for a bit, but it wasn’t a scary silence. More like an ‘I’m concentrating on my driving right now’ one. We waited at a busy T-intersection for a big enough gap for Dad to pull out into without startling Jinx and when he swung the car and float smoothly out on the highway I again craned my neck to make sure Jinx stayed on his feet. Most ex-racers are good travellers but Jinx had been terrible in the float when we first got him, scrambling madly until sometimes he actually fell down. He’d originally been bought for polocrosse by my oldest stepbrother Gary, who had taken him everywhere in the truck until he decided he and Jinx just weren’t working. I’d seen the fantastic way Jinx moved when he trotted around in the paddock and I was pretty quick to ask if I could try him.

  Reassured that Jinx was still standing quietly, shifting his weight automatically to accommodate the movement of the float, I settled back down in my seat and sighed. I had been lucky in so many ways to get Jinx. Lucky he’d never clicked with Gary and that he’d sucked so badly at polocrosse my next stepbrother Brendan—a genius with horses—hadn’t been interested in taking him on. And most of all I was lucky this had all happened a few years back when my hands were still pretty good. I doubt I’d be allowed to hop on such a green horse these days.

  “I gather you think it’s unfair that I’ve brought you home from camp.”

  “Well, yeah,” I said.

  “Why do you think I’ve done that?”

  Oh, I hate that. Why can’t they just tell you what’s on the
ir mind without all those teaching-you-something guessing games? So annoying.

  “To punish me?” I ventured

  “Do you think you deserve to be punished?”

  “No. It’s not like I did anything wrong.”

  “Stealing and lying isn’t wrong?”

  “What?” I exclaimed, skin heating up. “I didn’t do that!”

  “You took something you weren’t supposed to have and you pretended you didn’t have it. Sounds like stealing and lying to me.”

  I sank in my seat, momentarily speechless, my cheeks burning.

  “Melissa, I know that seems harsh, but we’ve given you such a high level of trust for so long that it’s a big deal to think you might have been betraying it. The medications you have access to—they’re serious.”

  “I know that,” I said, finding my tongue again. “I’ve never done anything like that, I swear, and I don’t see what’s so bad about it. They’re prescription. They’re my pills. I don’t see how that’s such a big deal, let alone stealing.” An image of my safety-net pill bottle stashed in among all the jars of hoof ointment and equine fly-repellent out in the tack room flitted through my mind. That was completely different I told myself firmly, booting the idea right out of my head.

  “They have rules at camp for a reason. You have to follow those rules whether you agree with them or not and you should have been honest with Stacey. I think that’s why she was so angry. She felt you’d lied to her and tricked her, not just broken the rules.”

  “No wonder she decided to send me home.”

  “She didn’t,” Dad said, with an automatic glance in his mirror as a ute moved past us in the other lane. “I did.”

  I stared at him, amazed, thoughts of the gymkhana and the presentation I’d be missing tomorrow—and the dance tonight that William might have been at—galloping through my head. “But why?”