Chances

by Ruth Saberton

  I can’t help it. A tear trickles down my cheek and splashes onto the table. What bad fairy did my parents forget to invite to my christening?

  Kate doesn’t fuss or smother me. Instead she makes a mug of strong tea and places a box of tissues on the table so that I can mop my eyes and blow my nose. I can’t crack now. I have to keep it together.

  “I don’t know why you’re protecting Emily but it’s time to stop all that.” Kate sits opposite, places her mug on the table with a slosh of tea and pins me with a stern look. “I want the truth now, Amber. You know why.”

  I do. This is as serious as it gets. It’s no longer about tripping me up, name calling or even sabotaging my tack. It’s gone way beyond that because Emily’s landed me in trouble with the law and ruined my foster placement too. My exams, already not looking great, are hanging in the balance and I could even end up with a criminal record. Alan’s explained all this to me in grim detail and I feel quite sick. Can you imagine who a court would believe if it came down to deciding between me and Emily?

  I can almost hear the prison door clanging shut.

  “They’ll never let me look after Mum now,” I whisper. “I’ve really let her down.”

  Kate reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.

  “Sara’s got the help she needs right now. Let’s think about you for once, OK? Now tell me what’s really been going on, Amber. The truth please.”

  “OK,” I say. I’ll just tell her about what’s happened with me. I’ll keep Maddy’s secret for now.

  “And don’t even think about leaving bits out,” she adds.

  “Are you psychic or something?”

  Kate laughs. “No, but I’ve been a foster mum for a while now and you don’t last this long without learning a few things about young people. If I’m going to be able to help you then I need to know everything.”

  And this is when something weird happens. Usually when I’m asked to tell somebody what’s happening in my life, Dogood or Alan for instance or all the busybodies at a meeting, I clamp my mouth shut and say nothing. Now, and most unusually, the words are like a torrent and I find myself telling Kate absolutely everything. I don’t edit events either. Even when I see how upset she is when I tell her all about what’s been going on with Maddy, I don’t hold back. Finally I talk myself to a standstill and when I take a sip my tea it’s stone cold.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Maddy before,” I say finally. “I really wanted to but she made me promise because she’s so worried Malcolm will be angry and you’ll lose your job. I know I should have said something. It was stupid of me to keep it a secret.”

  Kate says nothing but there’s an expression on her face that reminds me of Harry when he’s really angry.

  “I did my best to look out for her,” I add. “I promise. I just wish I’d done more.”

  “None of this is your fault, Amber.” Kate’s voice is quiet but it’s throbbing with anger and there’s a glitter in her blue eyes I’ve not seen before. “There’s only one person who’s responsible here and I couldn’t care less who her father is or what he might threaten. She has to be held accountable and I promise you she will be.”

  When I first arrived at Perranview Farm I’d thought Kate was a push over because she was quiet and kind. Now I know these qualities are strengths and that underneath the gentle façade she’s one of the bravest and strongest people I’ve ever met. She’s dealt with the loss of her husband, held her family together and kept the farm going. Kate Crewe is made of steel.

  “But what’s going to happen?” My heart’s still racing with fear. “What about Chances? What about Mum? Where am I going?”

  Kate picks up her phone. “You’re going nowhere, Amber, except out to check on Chances.”

  “But who are you calling?” I can’t disguise the note of panic in my voice. Has she decided I’m too much of a liability?

  “Harry of course,” says Kate. “The farm can wait because we need him here. Then I’m calling the school and after that I’m calling Malcolm. It’s high time he heard a few home truths. This time we’re not holding back and being polite.” She raises her chin and looks me in the eye. “We’ve all been bullied far too long. This stops today.”

  I know better than to even try to argue. Besides, Kate’s right. We’ve all been bullied one way or another and trying to pretend otherwise has only made it worse. Leaving Kate to make her calls, I wander over to the orchard where Chances, Treacle and Minty are cropping the grass, blissfully unware of the unfolding drama. I sit on the fence and watch them for a while and I love them all so much that even thinking about leaving them feels like a punch in my chest.

  “Chances!” I call softly and my horse looks up, dark eyes shining and ears pricking forwards when he sees me. A visit from me always means apples or crusts of bread and with a whinny he comes cantering over, tail held high and mane flowing in the cold wind.

  I dig a horse treat out of my pocket and fling my arms around his neck, burying my face in his unclipped coat and wishing with all my heart that I could just leap onto his warm back and gallop far away. That’s what happens in fairy tales and pony books but we all know real life isn’t like that. Where will I keep my beautiful, magical horse if I’m living in a hostel? And how will I be able to pay for him when I fail all my GCSEs and can’t get a job?

  I choke out all my fears and the Arab’s ears flicker back and forth at the sound of my voice. Chances knows everything; he knows about Mum’s illness, Emily’s bullying and even how confused I am about Drake, who probably now believes the very worst of me and certainly won’t be taking me to a hunt ball. And then there’s Harry who’s given up his college fund for me and been the best friend I’ve ever had.

  I’m going to miss Harry so much.

  I’m going to miss everyone.

  And this is when my tears finally fall thick and fast, soaking into Chances’ warm, chestnut neck. Only my horse sees me cry but I know he’ll never tell a soul. He’s the best keeper of secrets in the whole world and I love him so much it hurts.

  It’s an hour or so later before my face looks less frog like and I finally manage to stop crying. Chances has long since returned to the serious business of grazing and, feeling wrung out and wobbly, I make my way back to the farm. Harry’s truck is outside the back door and beside it a very shiny Range Rover whose number plate bears the legend MAL 3K and which is parked at a wonky angle, suggesting the driver has screeched up and leapt straight out.

  My mouth feels like Perran Beach. Kate must have called Malcolm straight away and told him everything. I can hear voices and the closer I step to the kitchen door the louder they become. I daren’t go inside because this sounds like a full scale row.

  And it’s a row about me.

  I’ve caused this.

  “You don’t know what you’ve started,” Malcolm shouts. “How dare you accuse my daughter of bullying when it’s bloody obvious who the trouble maker is! I’ve just about had enough of you filling my property with your waifs and strays and lowering the tone of this village. I’ve put up with it until now but harbouring a drug addict is one step too far.”

  “Amber’s not a drug addict!” Kate yells back.

  “She was found with a bag of drugs! You told me so yourself!”

  “Emily planted that bag.” This is Harry and although his voice is low it’s filled with anger. “Just like she cut the stitching on the stirrup and then set Amber up as a bully. Your precious Emily’s been playing everyone. You most of all!”

  “Total and utter fantasy. Where’s your evidence?”

  “I don’t need evidence. I believe Amber,” says Harry and I feel warm all over.

  Malcolm snorts. “A girl like that will lie through her teeth. I’m sick and tired of sob stories and excuses, Kate. Why’s she here anyway? Parents in prison? Drug addict mother?”

  I clench my fists.

  “Amber’s mother is in hospital which means she hasn’t anyone else to look after
her,” Kate says quietly. “Amber’s usually her mother’s carer, Mal. She’s not had it easy and little compassion wouldn’t go amiss.”

  “In my opinion charity begins at home,” he snaps. “Look, Kate, I know you mean well but this bleeding heart nonsense has simply got to stop. None us in St Perran have any idea who you’re bringing into our community and exposing our children to and it simply isn’t on. My daughter could have had drugs pushed on her by this girl.”

  “That’s total crap!” Harry explodes. “It’s far more likely to be the other way around! When was the last time you bothered to check what Emily’s up to when you’re away on business or who she invites to her parties? Before you start making accusations maybe you should look a bit closer to home?”

  “Are you accusing my daughter of using drugs?” splutters Malcolm.

  “I’m telling you that she’s not as innocent as you think she is! She’s a bully and a liar and if you can’t see it, then you’re an idiot,” Harry shoots back and I hear Kate gasp.

  Then there’s an abrupt silence.

  “Well, you’ve both made your feelings about me and my daughter very plain,” Malcolm says finally and his voice is tight with anger. “At least we all know where we stand. Don’t bother turning up to work for me again, Harry, because you won’t be needed and Kate? When the lease on this place is up don’t expect to have it renewed.”

  I can’t bear to hear any more of this. What have I done? Because of me the Crewe family are going to lose everything that they love. I can’t let that happen, not after everything they’ve tried to do for me.

  There’s only one thing I can do now; I have to get right away and hope that things will calm down if I’m not here. Kate will make it up with Malcolm and everyone can go on believing that Emily’s innocent and it was me all along who caused all the trouble. They can think the worst of me and I can handle that if it means the people I love are safe.

  Hold on. Do I love the Crewe family?

  There’s a real ache in my chest when I think about never seeing them again and I know I can’t bear for them to be punished because of me so I guess that means I must do. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now, wouldn’t you? The people I love always end up suffering. I’m like some kind of curse. Maybe this is why Dad left? Perhaps he knew that, like Mum, I’m bad news?

  I bite my lip hard. If I still had earrings I’d be digging one into my hand right now because I’m very close to falling apart and that’s a luxury I can’t afford. No, I think it’s best for everyone if I just disappear and to do that I need to keep thinking clearly. This is not the time to have a melt down even if keeping it together is the most difficult thing I’ll ever have to do.

  And if the mere thought of leaving hurts this much, then I’m already afraid of just how painful it’s going to be.

  Chapter 23

  I haven’t a clue where I’m going. All I know is I have to get away because it’s too painful to stay for a second longer. Once Harry and Kate leave the kitchen I fly to my room and stuff as many of my belongings as I can into my ruck sack before calling Scally and heading into the orchard.

  It’s early afternoon but the winter sun’s already doing parkour on the tree tops. My breath hangs in the air and purple shadows are starting to stretch across the grass. In just a couple of hours it’ll be time to catch the horses and bring them in for the night, swapping their light weight sheets for stable blankets and tying up fat hay nets. It’s probably my favourite time of the day and knowing that I’m not going to be here this evening to make Chances his feed and hear him whicker with excitement when he sees me carrying it into the barn, almost breaks my resolve.

  But I know I have to go. Look how much damage I’ve caused already. If I’m out of the way things stand some kind of a chance of returning to normal

  Chances and Treacle are already waiting at the gate. I let my bag slip from my shoulder and climb onto the fence, reaching over to scratch their necks. Greedy Treacle nips my sleeve and I cuff him away but Chances rests his head on my shoulder and I close my eyes for a moment, drinking in his grass sweet breath and the warmth of his glossy coat against my cheek. If only I could bottle this moment and save it for the rest of my life, something to look at and dream about in the days and years ahead. I know I’ll never forget how it felt to touch Chances into a canter, releasing my fingers on the reins and feeling him soar upwards and over every jump. Whenever I close my eyes I’ll see him floating across the paddock or plunging and dancing like a horse from legend, neck crested and hooves flirting with the air. He’s been the magic that makes every day an adventure and paints the world with vivid colour. I haven’t even left yet but I already know that without Chances my life will be a grey and shadowy place. It’ll be a half life.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay and keep you safe,” I whisper, putting my arms around his neck. “I wish we could ride away together and have adventures.”

  That’s what would happen if life was like the tattered pony books I used to buy from charity shops, the ones written in the thirties where majors run pony clubs, children wear baggy breeches and the milkman’s pony turns out to be a champion show jumper. Those stories were about as relevant to my life as books about the moon but I devoured them anyway. If my life was a pony story Chances and I could head into the woods and live happily ever after, or at least until the Major found us and told us we’d been picked for the Olympic team.

  I laugh out loud at myself. I’m sixteen in a few weeks and I’ve been my mother’s carer since I was twelve. Who knows better than me that real life doesn’t work like this?

  “Be good, boy,” I say to Chances, kissing his soft nose. “I’ll miss you so much.”

  I slide off the fence and haul my rucksack onto my shoulder. I call Scally, who’s been chasing rabbits in the long grass, and together we walk through the farm gate and into the lane. I don’t look back.

  I daren’t.

  Hitchhiking in Bristol isn’t difficult. There’s a constant stream of traffic heading through the city, lorries trundle out to the motorways and tourists meander through in camper vans and people carriers. Usually I can find a lift to wherever I need to go and although I know it’s taking a risk when you don’t have any money, and the government doesn’t think young carers deserve bus passes outside of school hours, you don’t have much choice. Anyway, I’ve survived this long without bumping into an axe murderer.

  But the one thing I haven’t factored into my brilliant escape plan is that St Perran isn’t exactly brimming with traffic. We might see one tractor an hour pass by the farm, but that’s usually Harry anyway. The lane down to the village is probably really busy in the summer but in early November it’s deserted. A pair of pheasants fly out of the hedge, squawking in outrage that I’m not a car to run them over, and a couple of farm vehicles rumble past but apart from that these it’s very quiet. Even the village is empty. The lights are on the the grocer’s shop and several cars crawl by but there aren’t the lorries I’m hoping for. Truckers like company, it’s boring driving hundreds of miles along the motorway, and they usually stop. I guess I just have to keep going.

  I walk on through St Perran. Scally’s getting tired so I carry her and my arms scream with the dead weight of dog. Just when I’m starting to lose hope a small van rounds the corner and slows down when I hold out my thumb.

  An orange woman with a mane of blonde hair and glossy French manicured nails is at the wheel. She doesn’t look like an axe murderer, unless axe murders are driving mobile beauty vans these days and chopping up their victims with emery boards.

  “Where are you going, love?”

  This is a good question. To be be honest I haven’t really given it much thought. As far as my feet and the twenty quid in my pocket can take me, is the answer.

  “Bristol?” I offer. It’s as good as anywhere and at least I know a few people who might help. Lynn for one and, if I’m desperate, Dogood for another.

  “I’m going to St Mell
ow to set up a bridal fayre,” the driver says. “Is that any good?”

  St Mellow is our nearest big town. I should be able to find a bus there or hitch another lift.

  “That’s brilliant, thanks!”

  I hop in, Scally jumps onto my lap, and I pull the door shut. The van is warm and smells of perfume and nail varnish. The steering wheel is covered in pink fur, pink fluffy dice swing from the mirror while a collection of stuffed toys in lurid colours cower against the windscreen. It’s nothing like Harry’s truck where dried mud crusts the matts, sweet wrappers line the dash and the cab smells of wet dog.

  I feel a sharp pang of loss.

  The drive to the city passes in an awkward log jam of stop start conversation as the driver attempts to convince me I need a manicure and I do my best not to tell her anything about myself. She complains that Scally smells of dog (what else should she smell of?) and when she deposits us in the high street she looks thrilled to see the back of me. As she drives away I see her brushing Scally’s hairs from the passenger seat and the windows are wide open.

  Give me truckers any day. They don’t give a monkey’s about the state of my cuticles and they usually have lots of sweets too.

  It’s dark now. The lights are shining from shop doors and steamy windowed buses crammed with school children rumble by. I clip Scally’s lead onto her collar and we wander the streets for a bit before heading to the coach station. The temperature has dropped a few degrees and it’s raining too. I’m only wearing a hoody and I shiver. I daren’t think of what it would be like back at the farm, the kettle whistling on the Aga, something delicious cooking in the oven, the horses pulling at their hay nets. No, if I let myself think about all this, I’ll fall apart.

  The shops close, the restaurants fill up and the rain grows heavier. Scally and I are both wet and shivering. I buy a cup of tea for me and a sausage roll to share but I daren’t spend any more money. I only had twenty pounds to start with and I know that it won’t last very long. The bus station is quiet and there’s nothing due to leave for at least two more hours and even then I don’t think I can afford it. I’ll have to hitch again. Maybe if I walk to the big roundabout up by the supermarket I’ll have a bit more luck?