Our first date was three days later. Seth took me to the National Gallery – you know, the big one in Trafalgar Square? What am I thinking? Of course you know! You’re British, after all. Anyway, we talked a lot about the history behind the paintings. I had no clue what he was even on about half the time, but it felt like such a grown-up way to be spending a Sunday afternoon. I barely spoke when we were in there, in case I ended up saying something stupid and putting him off.
Afterwards, we went for a meal at a little pub in Soho, and Seth even ordered a bottle of wine for the table. I had never even tried wine before, and I don’t mind admitting to you now that I thought it was the foulest-tasting thing I had ever put in my mouth – but I couldn’t let on as much to Seth. I wanted him to think that I was sophisticated. Silly, isn’t it? Even writing it down now makes me feel like a prize wally. I want to be honest, though. That’s the whole point of this story, to tell you the truth of how it was, and how I felt – I promised myself when I started this that I would be nothing but truthful, no matter how much it scares me, and so that’s what I will continue to do.
Bonnie paused as her mobile phone vibrated with a message, and put the pen, the end of which she had been furiously chewing, down on the desk.
It was Tui, and Bonnie felt her chest swell with affection as she read her daughter’s cheerful update.
‘Did sit’s trot today mumy. A Geenee helpped me.’
Tui had clearly been watching her Disney Aladdin DVD again. She often became fixated on things, and would watch her favourite films over and over, sometimes for days on end, until she could recite them by heart. It had started when she was very young, and Bonnie had assumed she would grow out of it eventually, but Tui was fourteen now, and still just as hooked on her cartoons.
Bonnie thought for a moment before tapping out a reply.
‘That’s brilliant news! Did the genie come out of a lamp?’
A message came straight back.
‘No a hairplaine mumy.’
Well, that was a new one. Bonnie grinned. Tui could become agitated when she was corrected for making a mistake, but sometimes she made them on purpose to be funny. She must be trying to catch Bonnie out.
‘Silly me! I forgot that all genies come from planes.’
There was no response to this for a while, and then when Tui did reply, instead of words, she sent two rows of pony emojis, three blue hearts, an Easter Island head, a Spanish flag and the dancing lady in the red dress.
Oh, hell, thought Bonnie as her eyes misted over with tears. She missed her little girl so much. This was the first time the two of them had been apart for longer than a weekend, and the absence was beginning to take its toll. She toyed briefly with the idea of calling Kit to check in, but then thought better of it. She hadn’t even been gone a full week yet, and he would have been in touch if there was anything to worry about. And anyway, she reminded herself, her focus was supposed to be on the task in hand. The more distractions she let in, the longer it would take to get this story written.
Bonnie knew the next few weeks were going to be some of the toughest of her life, but at least she could feel comforted by the knowledge that everything back at home was exactly as it should be.
16
There is no sign of Kit or the Koru Stables minibus as I follow Allie and Tui back into the yard. Several horses are tethered to the same wooden post as they were on my first visit, but none of them are tacked up. Instead, they rest quietly with one back hoof tucked up, their tails dancing away the flies and their eyes closed in a half-snooze.
There’s a wheelbarrow propped outside one of the open stable doors, and every few seconds, a forkful of soiled woodchips soars out and lands inside with a thud. The air is ripe with the scent of ammonia, but I breathe it in greedily, allowing my senses to drink in the familiar smell that I have missed so much. The office door is shut, but I can hear sounds of a radio playing inside. It is all so reminiscent of Mill House Stables – there is even a ginger tabby cat, which is now rubbing itself luxuriantly against my bare shins. It feels wrong to be wearing a dress in a yard, and now that I’m here, I wish I’d opted for shorts.
Tui has dismounted using the block, and I watch as she carefully leads her chestnut pony into a loose box, closely followed by Allie. Unsure whether or not to head in after them, I notice a broom resting idly against the wall beside the taps, and quell a strong urge to pick it up and begin sweeping. Instead, I follow my nose into a feed room, opening one barrel lid after another and inhaling the sweet smell of pony nuts, sugar beet and chaff, aware that I must look like a weirdo, but not caring enough to stop.
In the tack room next door, I’m greeted by yet more gloriously familiar scents, this time of saddle soap, brass rub and leather, and I can’t resist running a finger over the patterned brow bands and polished reins. It has been more than a year now since I picked up a bridle or slung a saddle over my folded arm, but I know instinctively that my hands would know what to do, and that my body would know to stand beside the horse’s shoulder, facing forwards with the headpiece gripped in my right hand. I would lift the bridle up over the pony’s firm, teardrop ears, slip my finger into that secret place inside their mouth, and then, when they obediently parted their thick, bristly lips, slide the metal bit under their tongue, fastening first the noseband and then the cheek strap, turning two fingers outwards to check that it was not too tight. Perhaps a few strands of the forelock would have become tangled. I would ease those out with care, combing the coarse hair until it fell neatly from poll to lashes.
Suki had such a full, thick forelock. She used to doze as I ran my fingers through it, the lovely weight of her head against my chest, my beating heart so full of uncomplicated love for her, and for the moment we were sharing. I know I should be grateful for every single one of them, but all I feel is anger that there will never be any more.
‘Genie?’
Letting out a yelp of fright, I leap away from the bridle I was examining so fast that I promptly hit my head on an empty saddle rack.
‘Ow!’ I cry, rubbing the spot. Kit lurched forwards at the same moment I screamed, but he stops short of actually touching me.
‘Sorry,’ he says, looking amused. ‘Didn’t mean to scare ya.’
‘It’s my fault,’ I reply, still rubbing. ‘I shouldn’t have been lurking in here like an ogre.’
‘Nah.’ He grins. ‘I’d say you were more urchin than ogre. You know, small and spiky.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ I drawl, but I’m smiling.
‘If you’re looking for Bonnie,’ he says, ‘she’s still not here.’
‘I wasn’t,’ I hasten, before adding, ‘I was looking for you – and Tui, of course. I thought I might have left my purse here, which I hadn’t, as it turns out. Plus, I didn’t get to see much of the place the other day, so I thought I’d come and take a look – if that’s all right with you?’
‘Free country,’ he replies, still amused. ‘But you’re not going to see much of the Dart River Valley from inside here.’
I’m just about to throw back a witty retort when Allie appears behind him.
‘Oh, there you are,’ she says to me. ‘Tui was asking for you.’
‘She was?’ I feel all at once puffed out with happiness. ‘I’d best go and find her then.’
‘Sweet,’ she replies, then, turning to Kit, ‘Can you help me tack up for the midday trek, please? Tammy didn’t show up again and I’ve got all the other girls mucking out.’
It’s on the tip of my tongue to offer to help them, but I decide it’s probably best that I don’t. Teaching Tui a few basics from the far end of a long lunge rein is one thing, but actually touching the horses is another. I’m not sure what my reaction would be.
Kit steps around me and uses one hand to scoop up two saddles as if they’re feather pillows, before using the other to feed four bridles up on to one of his big shoulders.
Outside, the sun is steadily climbing, but I’m gratified to see that there
are at least a few clouds jostling for position across the sky. The minibus has appeared along with Kit, and is parked in the shade of a large tree not far from the outdoor schooling area. A new group of tourists is lined up behind a makeshift fence, each one looking rather out of place in their brightly coloured leggings and borrowed riding hats. Turning so that the sun is behind me, I spot Tui perched up on the highest step of the mounting block, holding a stick up in the air and bellowing with deep, throaty laughter as Beavis tries unsuccessfully to reach it. When she catches sight of me, however, she leaps down, almost falling in her haste to cross the yard, and throws both her arms around my neck.
‘Gee-nie!’ she croons delightedly into my ear, before bringing up a hand to stroke the side of my face.
Taken aback, I find that I have absolutely no words, settling instead for a smile.
‘Stop groping the guests,’ remarks Kit, who is passing with another two saddles.
Tui removes her hand from my cheek, but she doesn’t stop staring at me.
‘Hello again,’ I say, putting a somewhat rigid hand on her arm. ‘How are you feeling after your ride?’
‘Great,’ she says, then begins to hum quietly.
‘It’s very nice to see you again,’ I add, thinking as I do how much I genuinely mean it. Tui doesn’t say anything, but she nods in agreement, then slides one of her hands into mine. Her skin is as soft as a baby’s and clammy to the touch.
‘Gee-nie,’ she says again, almost in wonderment, and I grasp around for something to say.
‘Do you know the names of all these horses?’ I ask, nodding towards the stalls, and again she nods.
‘Mm-hm.’
‘Will you tell me them?’
Tui considers this for a moment.
‘Maybe later, Genie,’ she says, swinging my arm backwards and forwards with a giggle.
‘I bet they all have nice names,’ I continue, trying another approach.
Tui hums again, but this time I can sense her irritation and worry that I may have pushed her too far. Yet again, it is a nearby Kit who comes to my rescue.
‘Why don’t you give Genie a tour of the yard?’ he suggests, as he tightens the girth of a large bay horse with a white blaze across its face. ‘You can show her all your favourite ponies.’
This seems to do the trick.
‘Jeez, Kit. All right, all right. Jeez,’ Genie complains, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated fashion before dragging me by the hand over to a row of stables.
‘Merlin,’ she calls sweetly over the first half-door, her hand still tightly gripped in mine. ‘Merlin, baby.’
A very small and very fat white pony bustles importantly over from his hay net.
‘Hello, Merlin,’ I say, ignoring the frantic pounding of my heart as I reach out to stroke his hairy chin. This is officially the first pony that I have touched since Anna’s accident.
Beside me, Tui makes a kissing sound, and Merlin promptly curls up his top lip, showing off a neat collection of yellow teeth.
‘Did you teach him that?’ I ask her, and Tui nods through her giggles.
‘No,’ she says.
‘Is he your favourite?’ I ask, as Merlin, realising that neither of us have brought him any food, turns on his nimble little hooves and continues to chomp away at his hay.
‘I don’t think so, no,’ Tui says, thinking for a moment. ‘I’m not sure.’
There’s a smear of something green across her Pokémon T-shirt and her leggings have the beginnings of holes on both knees. Her thick, dark hair, which looks as if it hasn’t been brushed in weeks, is sticking up at the back as if birds have been squabbling in it, and there are felt-tip stains on her hands.
Going to the next door along, Tui makes a clicking sound with her tongue, and the chestnut pony she was riding earlier appears, gently butting her with his head.
‘What’s this handsome boy called?’ I ask, peering into the box and admiring the pony’s stocky legs and neat quarters.
‘Keith.’
‘Keith?’ I splutter in disbelief. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Mm-hm.’ Tui shakes her head from side to side.
‘Keith is a funny name for a pony,’ I say, and Tui bursts out laughing.
I was lucky that Suki came with her perfectly acceptable name already well established, because it’s supposed to be bad luck to change them. It was how we ended up with a Trevor and a Mildred back at Mill House Stables. Now, I don’t have anything against the name Keith, per se, but it’s a decidedly lacklustre choice for such a striking animal.
Tui continues the tour with her trademark buoyancy, and with every horse or pony I encounter, I’m aware of my anxiety beginning to lessen. I always did know how to behave around animals, and I’m relieved to discover that my instincts haven’t abandoned me. I thought that touching another horse would feel like a betrayal – or worse, that it would send me into some sort of catatonic state – but the opposite is true. I am starting to relax.
All the horses are beautiful, but there is one in particular that stands out. Her name is Ekara, and with her glossy walnut coat and tempestuously flared nostrils, she reminds me acutely of Suki. Tui seems more wary of the highly strung mare than any of the other ponies, and tells me solemnly that Ekara once bit her on the bottom when she went into her stable.
‘I had a bruise,’ she explains, and is about to pull down the back of her leggings to show me her bum when a nearby Allie shrieks laughingly at her to stop.
Once the morning riders have been helped on to their mounts and are following Allie out of the yard, Kit strolls over to join us, confirming my immediate query about the name Keith and explaining that they also have a Pete, a Tim and a Bob.
‘No Kits?’ I ask, and he shakes his head.
‘Far too exotic.’
‘It’s a great name,’ I tell him honestly. Then, turning to Tui, ‘But I like your name even more.’
‘Bonnie reckons she named her Tui because she looked so much like a baby bird when she was born,’ explains Kit. ‘All pink and wrinkled, weren’t you, eh?’ he adds, and Tui cackles, as if she can recall the image herself.
‘Mm-hm.’
‘Oh, so Tui is a bird?’ I say, finally understanding.
‘I guess you might not have them in England,’ Kit replies, ruffling Tui’s already ruffled hair. ‘The best thing about a tui is their impersonations – they have two voice boxes, too, a bit like this little chatterbox,’ he adds, and Tui wriggles out of his grasp.
‘Bonnie told me that when Tui was a baby,’ he adds, ‘she would sit her in one of those bouncy chairs by her feet in the indoor school, and teach riding lessons while Tui just chirped away to herself.’
I become aware of a dull ache inside my chest. Anna must have done similar things with me – perhaps even more so, because she gave up her teaching job to raise me full-time, and I know she made a special effort to take me out to interesting places and play exciting games. But it still hurts to know that my birth mother did not deem me worthy of the love and attention she later showered on to her second child. What was it about me that was so hard for her to love?
‘She sounds like a perfect baby,’ I say, my tone thankfully betraying none of the torment that is going on inside my head.
‘Well …’ Kit pauses while Tui chases off ahead of us after Beavis. The little dog has pinched a dandy brush from somewhere and is carrying it proudly between his teeth.
‘I guess so,’ he says. ‘Until it became clear that she wasn’t like all the other kids, anyway.’
‘Why exactly is that, if you don’t mind me asking?’ I say quietly, and Kit stares for a moment into the distance.
‘You’ll have to ask Bonnie to be sure,’ he says. ‘But I know she has mild dyspraxia, some physical disabilities and a communication disorder – and that’s not all,’ he continues. ‘She has a complicated range of learning difficulties, too, you see, but nothing concrete enough for a solid diagnosis. The thing is,’ he adds, still not looking a
t me, ‘Tui is smart in many ways. She can tell you the name of every single flower, plant and bird in New Zealand, but then she can’t be trusted to cross the road by herself.’
‘Right,’ I say, not really understanding.
‘I like to think of her mind as a sponge,’ he explains, cupping his hands together. ‘Most of the knowledge that goes in is absorbed, but there are holes, and so other bits go straight through. Tui was put on a pony before she could walk, but she still can’t remember to keep her heels down, or how to hold her reins properly. But when it comes to directions, she’s better than a satnav. It must be so frustrating for her, but she rarely ever complains. She just gets on with it as best she can, you know?’
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. My feelings towards Tui are far too messy for me to articulate, even to myself. I do feel sympathy towards her, but there is also a trace amount of jealousy there. It’s a hateful thing to admit, but there it is, as solid and undeniable as the mountains I can see beyond the boundaries of the yard.
Kit has stopped talking, too, and the two of us watch on in silence as Tui skips around the mounting block, her cheeks pink with exertion and Beavis yapping at her heels. There’s a thud as somewhere a horse kicks over its water bucket, and from behind the closed door of the office, the telephone begins to ring.
Kit puts a brief hand on my arm.
‘I’d better get that,’ he says. ‘But when I get back, how about you, me and Tui take a walk?’
One Winter Morning Page 9
