As Steve saw Tiffany out, she said, ‘Should show up in the account by tomorrow – if not, let me know.’
That night Jessica went to bed with a heart so heavy she thought she might never be able to get out of bed again. But her conscience was relatively clear. Steve had filled her in on some of the details from Tiffany: both horses had gone to a wonderful stable – horse people Jessica had a lot of respect for. She knew that hearing about them doing well, or not, would wrench at her, but for now this was good news in bleak circumstances. She wasn’t sure why, but she was pleased Sharon Parks wasn’t Prince and Beau’s new owner.
Jessica pushed through her tiredness and broken heart to again make love with Steve. The whole time she felt hollow, not comforted at all despite enjoying the feel of them entwined. But she kept her mind on the prize: planting the seed for a baby, a distraction, a new life. She hated herself for her dishonesty and almost wept when Steve went out to get them a glass of water. But she had to toughen up; the last thing she needed was to bring Steve down as well.
Chapter Twelve
The week passed slowly for Jessica. Gradually she and Steve were settling into a new routine: she inside the house amusing herself and doing whatever chore she could manage, and Steve doing everything else. At least now he was free to concentrate on running the farm again without the added burden of the horses.
Jessica spent most of the days trying not to look out the window at the paddocks where Prince and Beau had grazed, nor across at the purpose-built stable, feed and tack shed that housed the horse float. Steve quite often used the float for moving stock, so it would stay on the property as a constant reminder. She knew she’d have to face sorting through all the remaining rugs and grooming gear – a veritable mountain accumulated and inherited over her and her parents’ lifetimes – and do some culling one day. Folding up her breeches from the dressage competition and adding them to her drawer of riding clothes had nearly done her in. She’d said she’d keep all her gear, but she hadn’t really meant it. She had just wanted to appease everyone – have a bit of an each-way bet. If only Tiffany was the same size, she could have had it easily dealt with. Tiffany had helped by taking the feed for her own horses, so that was one less thing to think about.
She really had to start bucking up. But not today – today she was going into town with Steve and, while he pushed the grocery trolley up and down the supermarket aisles, she was going to pop into the haberdashery shop that sold wool and knitting supplies. She’d seen all the DVDs she wanted to, completed enough jigsaws to last a lifetime, and couldn’t seem to concentrate on reading for long. She’d decided knitting might be the answer to staving off the boredom that threatened with each new morning. She’d marked the day she was due to get her plaster off on the calendar and each night she put a cross through the day just finished. Only twenty-six sleeps to go. Only! It seemed like a lifetime away. Meanwhile she would try knitting – not baby things, just some simple projects to learn and practise with. She’d decided on a scarf for Steve, and then one for her – she might have them done by the time winter came around again in eight months.
They had just parked and got out and were ready to go their separate ways when Jessica heard her name called. She turned around to find one of her pupils coming towards them.
‘Jessica, wait up,’ the girl said, waving her arm.
‘Hi, Molly.’
‘Sorry to hear about your accident. How’s the leg?’
‘Thanks. Getting there. How’s school?’
‘School’s school,’ Molly said with a loose shrug. ‘Hey, when can I start having lessons again? Tiny’s been doing great.’
‘That’s good to hear, but sorry, Molly, I won’t be able to instruct you anymore.’
‘Oh. But why? It’s only a broken ankle, right? I heard you’d sold Prince and Beau, but that won’t stop you instructing – why would it?’
‘I’ve given up riding altogether.’
‘But instructing isn’t riding – well, it doesn’t have to be.’
Lost for anything more to say – what was there to say? – Jessica just shook her head and frowned.
‘But you’re the best instructor I’ve ever had,’ Molly wailed.
‘I’m sorry. And it’s lovely of you to say, but I’m sure …’ Jessica wanted the ground to swallow her up. This girl with her open face marred by confusion and disappointment, standing there in the street, on the verge of tears was heart-wrenching.
‘What about not giving up when it gets a bit hard?’ Molly pleaded. ‘That’s what you’re always saying.’
‘I know. And I’m sorry, Molly, I really am.’
‘Why? That’s what I don’t understand,’ Molly said, her bottom lip quivering. She turned and fled down the street, leaving Jessica feeling helpless and very guilty, on the verge of tears herself. She wondered why too. Damn being so emotionally fragile! Steve put his arm around her and she leant in, grateful for his comforting embrace. They broke apart and turned when Jessica’s name was called again.
‘Jessica! I hope you’re happy – you’ve broken my little girl’s heart.’ Big, burly Tom Baines, Molly’s father, strode towards them.
Oh shit. People in the street stopped talking and turned to stare in their direction. Jessica felt her face and neck flush.
‘Dad, don’t,’ Molly pleaded quietly, blushing a bright shade of beetroot. She hung her head and stared at her feet as she twisted them back and forth, the stance every embarrassed teenage girl had down pat.
‘I’m sorry, Tom,’ Jessica said.
‘Not sorry enough to continue instructing her, though, are you? You know she’s been in tears all week? Hope you’re happy.’
‘Dad.’
Jessica looked down at her own feet.
‘No, thought not. Selfish, that’s what you are,’ he said, pointing an angry finger at her.
‘Hey, now come on, mate,’ Steve said, stepping in front of the man, who practically dwarfed him. ‘That’s not fair. Jessica’s going through a really tough time.’
‘It’s all right, Steve,’ Jessica said, putting her hand on his arm.
‘Come on, Dad, let’s just go, pleeeease,’ Molly said, tugging at her father’s arm.
‘One day when you have kids, maybe you’ll understand,’ Tom said over his shoulder as he let Molly pull him down the street.
Jessica nearly crumbled at the look Molly shot her: a cross between white-hot hatred and sympathy. Thankfully everyone else in the street had returned to their business.
‘Wow,’ Steve said. ‘I didn’t see that coming.’
‘No,’ was all Jessica could say. She was shaking so much she had to lean on the bull bar of their four-wheel drive for extra support.
‘Are you okay?’
She nodded, and was just opening her mouth to speak when another voice cut in, this one old and scratchy.
‘I never thought I’d hear about the daughter of Jeff Collins giving up so easily. Unbelievable. And gutless. Thought you were made of sterner stuff, my girl.’
Jessica closed her mouth and stared, stunned, at the old man as he drove past on his motorised scooter. He was one of the old pony club stalwarts she’d known since she was a toddler. He and her father had butted heads many times.
‘Good to see you too, Bill,’ she finally managed, but he was long gone.
‘Jesus,’ Steve said, running a hand through his hair. ‘Sorry, I was a bit useless, but I was too shocked to speak. What is wrong with people?’
‘Nothing you could have done. So, shall we get on?’
‘If you’re still up to it.’
‘Absolutely,’ Jessica said, a lot more enthusiastically than she felt. She needed to stay true to her form of putting on a strong façade, regardless of how she actually felt.
The woman in the haberdashery store, which Jessica had never set foot in before, seemed very excited when Jessica told her she’d like some advice on knitting when she had the time – the store was surprisingly busy. Jess
ica was happy to wait and take some minutes to try to pull herself together; she was still feeling shaken. How embarrassing to have been accosted like that in the street with the whole town watching! Her mother would have had kittens. At least she was too shocked for any tears to form. Really, what business was it of anyone’s how she lived her life? She did feel kind of guilty about letting Molly down, but it wasn’t like the kid had been with her long term – she’d only had around a dozen lessons. And she was easy enough to work with – she’d find another instructor she liked. Maybe even one day it might be Jessica, but not right now. She felt terrible about letting anyone down, but when it came to her students it couldn’t be helped. She needed to have a new, totally different focus now. Well, that’s what she was telling herself.
Gradually the shop emptied. Each person had nodded and smiled hello and she’d replied in the same fashion. She particularly liked that not one of them spoke to her. Finally it was Jessica’s turn to be served. She put the knitting needles and yarn she’d chosen on the counter and chatted with the woman ringing up her purchase about her plans for the scarf. The woman showed Jessica how to cast on and knit a few stitches, though Jessica didn’t really think she had the hang of it. She’d go to the YouTube tutorials she’d found when she got home and watch them again, though she promised the saleswoman she’d come back for advice if she ran into trouble. She felt quite good about being at least a little informed.
She handed over her debit card for processing, barely taking in the rather large total of her purchases. Gosh, no wonder everyone buys acrylic, made-in-China jumpers. But she didn’t really care about the cost, she just wanted to get home before anyone else bailed her up.
*
Following lunch, Jessica settled in with her knitting, only having to tell the dogs twice not to touch her wool after she’d caught them looking playfully at the ball that had dropped from her lap and run a short distance across the floor. For dogs that didn’t play games like fetch and didn’t even own tennis balls, they were showing far too much interest in chasing her wool. After being told, ‘No. Sit. Leave it,’ the well-trained dogs had lain either side of the ball with their heads on their paws, eyeing it, clearly waiting for the object to move.
Jessica took pity on them and brought the ball of wool back up to her lap.
Now that she was actually knitting, she wasn’t sure it was the distraction she’d been looking for. She’d got the hang of the plain stitch – sticking the needle in the right spot, pushing it through, wrapping the yarn around it, and slipping the loop over the end of the other needle, and doing it all again – she didn’t have to concentrate too much and her mind was beginning to wander … to her students. She’d enjoyed instructing, would really miss them and seeing their improvement week after week. Her thoughts drifted on, settling on Prince and Beau and how they were faring. Hopefully they were coping better with it all than she was. Far too often her stomach would clench and a ball of sadness would engulf her, tears threatening. While she knew she was putting on a good front, the truth was she felt like she was dying inside. Not unlike losing her parents all over again, but at the one time.
She couldn’t tell Steve; all she could do was keep up with her façade and hope she’d soon start to get over it. If she opened up about her feelings, he’d track down the horses and get them back. And now they’d used a big chunk of the money – which had come through as promised – for stockpiling feed, that option was gone. And she’d never be able to choose Prince over Beau if it came to that. Anyway, it wouldn’t be fair on the new buyer, and she’d be putting her reputation as a fair person to deal with in jeopardy. Not that that really mattered now she was no longer in the horse world.
Suck it up, Princess, she told herself, wishing she really could just snap out of it.
Jessica’s mind moved to the future, when she was out of her cast and off her crutches. What would she do with her time then? This sitting around knitting and being housebound was fine while she had the excuse of her ankle, but then what? She would have all those hours she’d spent with the horses to fill in. She tried to push the thoughts aside. Tiffany would say to just let the universe deal with it; that the right answer would turn up at the right time.
Perhaps she should resume her instructing – increase the number of pupils even. She could do that while pregnant. And she certainly had all the facilities. Well, except she’d probably need a horse or two to keep her hand in and give the odd demonstration on. And acquiring new horses would completely defeat the purpose of her having gone through all this grief, and prove to everyone that she had acted too hastily. She wasn’t ready to admit to that just yet, and she wasn’t totally convinced she had done the wrong thing. But she was terribly sad about not seeing Prince and Beau move slowly around the paddock, and not being able go out and stroke their lovely long faces and look into their deep brown eyes.
She sighed heavily and forced herself back to her knitting, holding it up when she got to the end of the row. She’d done about two centimetres. It was satisfying to see her scarf growing – far too slowly for her liking, but growing nonetheless. Only around one hundred and eighty centimetres left!
‘How’s the knitting going?’ Steve asked as he took his boots and then his coat off near the front door. ‘It’s getting longer,’ he said, nodding with approval.
‘Hmm. Very slowly. I’m not sure I have the patience for this.’
‘This was in the letterbox.’ Steve pulled out a white envelope and handed it to her. She frowned slightly at the Eventing South Australia logo on it. She hadn’t withdrawn her membership; was just going to not renew when it came up next year. This must be something about her accident.
She prised the envelope open, slid out the crisp, folded letter, and smoothed it flat. Her mouth dropped open – she’d been included in the South Australian state team and was required to be at a training session at Naracoorte in five months. What? How could this be? She’d bombed out of one of the major selection events. Her heart began racing. Her brain fought to understand.
‘What is it?’ Steve asked.
Jessica ignored him. She knew the committee did selections throughout the year based on results. The availability of team members and their mounts would have to play a big part as well. Horses and riders were always getting injured and sick and then recovering. Perhaps she’d been selected on her previous scores, or through someone else’s misfortune. How or why didn’t really matter now.
She let out a deep sigh and handed the paper to Steve, who was now perched beside her and looking very worried. One of her dreams had come true. This was what she’d been working towards for years. She should be leaping up and down and demanding that they open champagne to celebrate. But all she felt was sick. And angry and disappointed in herself. Why couldn’t they have informed her a few weeks ago? Before she’d quit the sport and sold her horses.
‘Shit,’ Steve said, quietly as he read. ‘So what do we do?’ He laid the paper gently on the coffee table.
‘Reply “thanks, but no thanks”, and include an explanation, I guess,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders. She looked composed, almost nonchalant, but it was an act that drew on all of her strength of will and acting skills. If she could have run, she would have – to the bathroom to throw up. Acid rose from deep in her stomach, biting painfully.
‘But it’s what you’ve been dreaming of for so long.’
‘Well, it’s over now. It’s too late.’
‘No, surely not. Can’t you …?’ His voice trailed off but he was clearly becoming frustrated.
‘No, Steve,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s over. I’ll write to them and explain.’ A mere formality, since everyone in South Australian eventing would already know the truth.
‘Sometimes I don’t think I know you at all,’ Steve said with a heavy sigh, shaking his head slowly.
‘You can’t be more disappointed than I am.’ In myself.
‘So bloody do something about it!’
‘Like
what? I can’t exactly phone up the new owners and say I’ve changed my mind, can I?’
She could see that was exactly what Steve was thinking, and his pause before speaking again confirmed it.
‘No, I suppose you can’t.’
‘And the reason I sold them is still there anyway. Being selected for the team really doesn’t change anything. I’ve still lost my nerve, remember? And don’t suggest counselling. We’ve been over that.’
‘Okay,’ Steve said with a deep, resigned sigh. ‘I’ll get you a cup of tea.’ He got up slowly. Jessica knew he wanted to fix this; it’s what Steve was good at. But there was nothing to be fixed – there was no longer an eventing combination of Jessica Harrington and Collins Park Prince, no Jessica Harrington in the world of eventing, full stop. She knew it sounded melodramatic, but she really did feel like a big part of her had died.
She returned to her knitting, taking much more time and care with each stitch than she needed to, determined to show Steve she was fine.
‘I guess I should at least be celebrating that I made the team,’ she called.
‘Yes, it’s a huge achievement. You should be very proud of yourself. I’m very proud of you.’
‘Thanks,’ Jessica said to both his comment and the arrival of the steaming mug in front of her. But there was no talk of getting a bottle of something bubbly from the fridge. They always had a bottle of sparkling wine on hand; it was an unspoken pact they seemed to have made early on in their relationship – to keep something on hand for celebrating or commiserating, because life was too short to not drink good wine. Anyway, her selection was as much down to her father as herself, and without him being here …
It’s the way it’s meant to be, she told herself. But it didn’t make her feel any better. She’d totally let him and herself down by not placing Prince correctly and causing the fall, and not having the guts to face her fear and get back in the saddle when her leg healed.
Leap of Faith Page 11
