I really hope somebody’s looking after her now.
Anyway, Kate’s promised to sort me out with a uniform although there’s no point since I won’t be sticking around. She’s written me a note to excuse my leggings and trainers so that I don’t, in her words, get told off. That tells you everything you ever needed to know about just how clueless Kate Crewe is. She actually thinks my having a note will stop the teachers having a go which would be sweet really if it wasn’t so naïve. She really has no idea that they yell first and read notes afterwards…
I open my mouth to say that I have a note but, surprise surprise, he’s got in first because he looks me up and down and than says,
“Or maybe you’ve come in fancy dress today? Not as Batman though. More like Superman in those tights. Tell me, Amber, which part of today’s outfit did you think was appropriate for school? Or anywhere decent?”
The way he says this makes it sounds as though I’ve rocked up dressed like a Playboy Bunny rather than in leggings, boots and a hoodie. My face starts to grow warm as the other kids snigger.
“I’ve got a note,” I begin but he’s lost interest now and returns his attention to the register.
“We’ll talk about this over a break time detention.”
I’ve lost my break already?
“But I’ve got a note!”
“It’s not up for discussion. The uniform rule isn’t negotiable. Now go and sit down. You can take that nose stud out too.”
I pointedly ignore this instruction and glance around the room. Now I’m no mathematical genius but even I can see that thirty students and thirty chairs means there’s no room for me.
“Where shall I sit?”
The teacher frowns as he realises too late that there’s no extra seat for me.
“Sit on the floor for now and we’ll sort something out for later.”
The floor? Is he kidding? It’s covered in old gum, spit pellets and goodness knows what. No way.
“I’m not sitting on the –” I start to protest but my objection pushes my new tutor over the edge.
“Who do you think you are? How dare you refuse to follow my instructions?” he roars. “It’s bad enough waltzing in late looking as though you’ve come straight from the Oxfam shop! This is not a good start to your time here! Get out and wait in the corridor. The Head of Year can deal with you.”
His Oxfam shop comment feels like a punch into my stomach. Charity shops are exactly where Mum buy most of our clothes. I hear Emily laughing and my throat is tight again because how can I explain the truth when he won’t listen or even read my note? It doesn’t matter what school I’m in; it’s always the same story. This is why I always have to get in first with teachers.
I don’t wait to be asked twice to get out. Try keeping me in there anyway. Before he can say anything else I’m out of that room and running through the corridors, twisting and turning until at last I spot some fire doors and shove my way outside. Then I’m tearing across the playground and through the gates, my breath coming in painful gasps and a stitch stabbing my side. I don’t stop though. I’m getting as far away from this dump as I can.
I’m not sure where I’m going. I don’t even know where I am. Kate drove me here and I didn’t pay much attention to her route. I slow down, with my heart slamming against my ribs, and bend over to try and gasp some air back into my lungs. I was in such a rush to get out of school I hadn’t even noticed that it’s raining and not a light drizzle either but a driving downpour which slices through me. I’m absolutely drenched, my hair is plastered against my cheeks and I’m shivering like Mum when she … when she…
Anyway. I’m cold. I’m wet. And I haven’t got a clue where I am. There’s probably one bus a week in this place and even if one comes past I don’t know where I’m going. St Perran is the nearest village but Kate’s farm was miles past there. I suppose I’d better start walking.
I set off, my head bowed against the rain and my hands shoved into my hoody pockets, and soon I’m so cold that I don’t even feel them. A sign tells me St Perran is seven miles away so I guess I’ve got a long walk ahead of me to get back to the farm. If I make it back without catching pneumonia/being run over by a tractor/drowned I’ll tell Kate I’m not setting foot in that school again and she can call Dogood and send me home. Stuff Harry and stuff our deal. I’m out of here.
I’m so deep in thought that I’ve not noticed the muddy Land Rover drawing alongside me in the wet lane.
“Are you OK? You’re drenched!”
The window hisses down and I jump when I realise the driver is calling to me.
“Hey! It’s you! The girl from the woods! Don’t just stand there getting wet! Hop on in!” calls none other than Drake Owen.
Chapter 5
“It’s OK, I’m not some weirdo who picks up drenched girls,” Drake says. “We met yesterday when you were looking at the horses, remember? My name’s Drake and you liked my horse, Monty.”
“Yeah, I remember. Your girlfriend tried to flatten me.”
“Ah, don’t take that to heart - it’s just Emily’s way.”
“Seriously? What kind of a psycho is she?”
“One whose father pays my wages,” he grins. “And, FYI, I’m her trainer not her boyfriend. If you get in the car before you freeze to death you’ll be perfectly safe from her, I promise.”
I’m not convinced. Drake may not be Emily’s boyfriend but I’m sure she’s got him lined up for the job and in my experience girls like her usually get what they want.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I like walking.”
“In the pouring rain and without a coat?” He shakes his head. “I doubt that. It’s dangerous too – visibility’s shocking in these lanes and you’ll probably be run over. What kind of guy would I be if I let that happen? Please, let’s not argue. Just get in.”
He reaches across and opens the passenger door. A blast of warm air hits me and I’m lost. Fine I’ll take my chances with Emily Lacey if it means I get to ride back to Kate’s in dry car. As Drake shoves a pile of Horse and Hound magazines out the way and orders two Jack Russells to get onto the back seat, I hop in. He pulls away and I settle onto a patched heavy weight rug, shake the rain back from my hair and fasten my seat belt.
“I’ll turn the heating up,” Drake is saying, fiddling with the air conditioning vents which cough out hair and dust as well as warmth. The Land Rover smells of horses and feed and damp rugs and I inhale deeply because these scents send me right back to a lost time. “There, that should warm you up a bit. Sorry about about the dog hair, Luke and Leila are terrors for shedding.”
I would reply but my teeth are chattering too much and besides being this close to one of my all time idols is robbing me of any coherent though. This is the Drake Owen who won Badminton on his eighteenth birthday. He’s already legend in the equine world and I can’t believe I’ve met him. The girls I used to have riding lessons with would pop if they knew.
Then a thought occurs: Drake’s also the person Harry blames for his father’s death. If Harry finds out I’m fraternizing with the enemy I’ll be even more unpopular, something I would have said was impossible…
I push this idea aside. I’ll be leaving here soon anyway so what does it matter what Harry thinks?
Drake passes me a wad of tissue. “Your makeup’s run a bit. You might want to fix it?”
I pull down the passenger sun visor and peer in the vanity mirror. With my white face, mascara smeared cheeks and black hair plastered against my head I look like the undead so I dab at my eyes and do my best to repair it. By the time I’ve finished I actually feel ten times worse. Ginger eyelashes aren’t a good look and without foundation my freckles stand out like bruises.
“So, you know who I am,” Drake continues as the car splashes along the lane, “but I don’t still know your name. Shall I guess? How about Rumplestiltskin?”
“That’s amazing. How on earth did you know?” I deadpan.
He taps his nos
e. “I’m afraid my sources are classified. Besides, you look like a Rumplestiltskin. It suits you.”
“It so does not!”
“It does. You are a bit rumpled. Yep, I’d say it’s definitely you. Look, you’d better tell me your real name or I’ll be calling you Rumple for the rest of the journey,” he warns.
I can’t help it; I laugh. Oh dear. It appears that it’s hard to be sullen with him around.
“I’m Amber.”
“Nice to meet you, Amber,” Drake says, changing gear as we drop into a deep valley. “So, where are you going in such a hurry that you couldn’t wait for the rain to stop?”
Thank goodness I’m not wearing uniform. That would be a dead giveaway that I’m doing a runner. I don’t know Drake Owen and he can’t be much more than nineteen but there’s something rather old fashioned about him that makes me suspect he’d turn the car around and drive me back to school if he knew I was truanting. Luckily years of dealing with Dogood and co have made me an expert in evading tricky questions.
“Perranview Farm.” I look sideways at him just in case there’s a reaction at this but not so much as one of his dark eyelashes flicker. Interesting.
“The Crewes’ place? That’s just along from where I’m headed. I work at Rectory Stables. I’m just on my way back there actually. I’ll drop you off.” He glances across at me thoughtfully. “Are you staying with them?”
He’s pigeon holing me as one of Kate’s charity cases and instantly I’m on the defensive.
“What’s this? An interrogation?”
“Nope. Just making conversation,” he says evenly. “I won’t bother if it upsets you though.”
Drake switches on the radio and music fills the awkward silence that has fallen. That’s my specialty, making people feel uncomfortable, but it’s a bit of an own goal this time because I would have liked to have asked him about his horses and how it feels to ride some of the world’s most challenging cross country courses. Is there the same swoop of nerves mingled with exhilaration when you turn towards the Cottesmore Leap that I used to feel kicking on towards a jump in the school? Does he also live for those moments sailing through the air?
I suppose I’ll never know now.
I fold my arms and stare ahead. The windscreen wipers swipe backwards and forwards and we sit in silence. The rain is easing and as the car climbs again I spot the sea in between a dip in the hills and St Perran clustered around it. Far on the horizon a slice of sunshine peeps out from behind the cloud and spills gold across the water. It’s pretty I suppose, in a miles from anywhere kind of way.
Drake is humming along to the radio. He doesn’t seem at all bothered by me and I feel a twinge of guilt for being ungrateful. Mum would tell me off for that. He was only trying to help. The trouble is that being defensive has become a bit of a habit. If I get in first I’m left in peace and generally it’s a successful strategy. The only problem is that this is a bit rubbish when you realise you’d actually quite like to talk to the person you’ve been rude to.
I’m just searching for a way to put things right when a big lorry comes around the corner and forces Drake to pull in tightly against the hedge. The cab has HORSES written above it in huge white letters and as it crawls past I crick my neck to try and get a glimpse of what might be inside. It’s a childhood habit I can never shake off. And whenever I see a trailer or a lorry I play a guessing game. Is it a dressage horse? A show jumper? Somebody’s much loved pony?
Drake frowns. “Damn. They’re early.”
“That lorry’s for you? Is it a new horse? An eventer?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Now who’s doing the interrogating?”
I flush and share down at my hands, curled into fists in my lap.
“But since you ask, yes it is a new horse,” Drake says, taking pity on me. “It’s not for me. This one’s a potential eventer for Emily and from the same bloodlines as a couple of Grand Slam winners. If she puts the work in I think he could be something really special. He’s tricky, though, which is why I’ve managed to pick him up fairly cheaply. Horses as talented as Chances don’t come up for sale very often otherwise.”
I take all this in. I don’t know Emily but I have a feeling that she and hard work aren’t particularly well acquainted. Still, I should imagine she’ll get Drake to do the graft and then pop on and claim the glory. Isn’t that what her dad’s paying him for?
Drake looks at his watch.
“I’m supposed to be there taking delivery. Are you OK if I drop you off at the Rectory? It’s only a short walk to the farm and the sun look’s like it’s coming out. You can dry out in the tack room and grab a cup of tea first, of course.”
“Can I see the horses?” These words are out of my mouth before I can even register them. Oh great, Amber. You sound about twelve. Lennie was cooler when he asked George if he could tend the rabbits.
But Drake doesn’t sneer at me in the slightest.
“Absolutely. Be my guest,” he agrees, somehow managing to do a three point turn without wedging us in the lane. “Watch out though. If you stick around too long I’ll be getting you to muck out.”
“It’s been a while since I last mucked out.”
“You know about horses?”
“A bit.”
“Well, then you’re my new best friend,” Drake says. “Especially if you can clean tack too.”
It’s been years since I cleaned any tack but I haven’t forgotten soaping the leather and sponging clean cheek pieces and nosebands before piecing the bridle back together like a puzzle. I used to spend ages up at the yard helping with the chores and I loved every minute. Dad would leave me there all day and the hours just flew.
It feels like another life.
The lorry trundles ahead. Even from inside the car I can hear the hooves slamming against the partition and the shrill whinnies. I feel a tug of sympathy; this horse is about as happy to be coming here as I was.
“I hope he hasn’t been doing that all the way from Sussex,” Drake says, grimacing.
The horse kicks again but then the lorry swings left through a pair of huge gates and the shift in balance stops him. We follow it along a sweeping drive, hemmed with post and rail paddocks filled with horses. The Rectory is at the farthest end but the drives forks just before the lawn and leads around to a picture perfect stable yard complete with hanging baskets and a cockerel weather vane. Several inquisitive heads peer out over loose box doors and the new horse shouts again before giving the side of the lorry another hefty kick as it pulls up.
Drake winces. “He’ll injure himself at this rate – if he hasn’t already.”
He parks alongside the lorry and moments later is out of the car and lowering the ramp. I follow him and watch as he ducks inside.
“Rather him than me,” says the driver conversationally. “That thing’s been going mental since Exeter.”
There’s more whinnying and kicking from inside the lorry and I can hear Drake doing his best to sooth the horse. There’s another hefty kick, a shout as the lead rope is snatched through Drake’s hands followed by a loud slamming against the partitions. Then a chestnut Arabian explodes down the ramp, hooves stamping, ear piercing snorts splitting the air and with his mane flying upwards like flames. The weak sun turns his coat to fire and I gasp because I’ve never seen such a stunning horse in my life. Even trailing a lead rope behind him and with travel boots sliding from his legs, this horse moves with the fluid grace of a ballerina. Just several strides carry him across the yard before he leaps the corner of the Land Rover’s bonnet and skids over to one of the stabled horses, spinning on his hocks and sending gravel flying upwards when she lunges at him with bared teeth..
I don’t think twice; I’m after him and catching hold of the lead rope before Drake is even on his feet and out of the lorry.
“It’s OK, boy,” I whisper, placing my hand on his hot neck and scratching it down towards his withers. His veins are tight cords beneath his satin coat and I feel
him quivering beneath my finger tips. He’s terrified and the more terrified he becomes the more he’ll lash out.
Trust me on this one. I know how these things go.
“Sssh,” I say. “Steady, now. It’s going to all be fine, Chances. You’ll see.”
The horse snorts again and pulls away sharply, his eyes still rolling. Instinctively, I loosen my hold on the lead rope to take the pressure off and carry on speaking gently until he lowers his head and huffs at me curiously. Still talking, I raise my hand back to the hot neck and scratch some more while liquid eyes regard me warily and oat sweet breath flutes against my cheeks.
“That’s the way. Good boy.” I run my hand down his neck and feel the tension slide away from him. Like a coiled spring, this horse has been wound up so tightly that all he can do is ping. Anger and shouting and getting upset won’t help him now; only calmness can bring anyone this upset back from the brink.
“I wish I had a piece of carrot or a Polo,” I tell him. “Maybe that would help you see that hanging out with humans isn’t all bad.”
“It will be if he knocks me flying like that again,” Drake says grimly, rejoining me and rubbing at his arm.
“He was frightened.” I’m running my hand down Chances’ jaw now, still scratching gently and rubbing the groove under his chin until he starts to lick and chew just like the riding school ponies always did. “Imagine how he must feel, taken away from everything he knows, shoved in a lorry and moved here. That’s no fun. It’s hardly surprising you’re upset, is it boy?”
Chances Page 4
