I shrank in my seat, wishing I could vanish.
Mrs Davis stood. ‘You’ve done your best, Harry. I know you meant well. Don’t fuss so.’
He switched his anger to me. ‘Well, what are you doing sitting about? You’re just as bad. What do I pay you for?’ His breath exploded in my face.
Just then, Kenny slipped through the back door, whistling a tune to himself. He saw Mr Mac and stopped dead.
‘And where the hell have you been?’ our boss bellowed.
Relieved his wrath had passed to Kenny, I slipped further down in my seat.
‘Well?’ Mr Mac turned back to Mrs Davis.
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t say. Jack has done all the chores since he arrived.’
‘Skiving again!’ He strode over to Kenny, grabbed his collar, and yanked him towards the door. Kenny’s eyes were enormous in his pale face. ‘There’s work to do. By crikey, I’ll show you boys work!’
I stared after them, trembling in my seat.
‘Quickly, Jack,’ whispered Mrs Davis. ‘You’d better go.’
Mr Mac was true to his word. Not only did we have double the work to do at the stables — polishing tack until it gleamed, scrubbing the stable troughs and rails — but he volunteered us for work down at the track, too. Fixing fences, scrubbing out stalls, and even clearing a blocked drain. Mrs Davis was ordered to give us extra chores in between. And when I could think straight, I wondered what had triggered it all in the first place. Sure, Mr Mac had been rotten drunk, but it was something about making up for things. Making up for what? Something to do with William? After a week or so, it slipped from my mind. Sleep was the only relief.
Kenny cursed and grumbled through each day. For some reason he blamed me for everything.
One afternoon he cornered me in the feed room. ‘Things were fine before you came.’
I spun around to face him, his face only inches from mine. ‘How? I’m the only one who does any work.’
‘I’ve had enough of this place,’ said Kenny. ‘I’ve got contacts. I’m going to get a better job, at bigger stables, with more pay.’ He stepped back. ‘Mac’s a slave-driver and the old lady thinks you’re just wonderful.’ He pulled a face. ‘Goody-goody-two-shoes-Jack.’ Kenny minced around the feed room.
‘Shut up, Kenny.’
‘Goody-goody-two-shoes, Goody-good—.’
He didn’t duck quickly enough, and my swing hit him smack in the eye. Staggering backwards, he clutched at a rail and regained his balance. He charged, head down, and caught me off-guard, slamming me into the wall. Buckets toppled off a shelf, crashing on the floor at our feet.
Winded, I could do nothing as he slogged me in the belly. Before I could suck air back into my burning lungs, Mr Mac appeared at the door. ‘What’s going on?’
He took one look at me clutching my stomach, gasping for air, and roared at Kenny. ‘You! You’re more trouble than you’re worth. Get out of my sight. Go and help at the house.’
‘But—’ Kenny pointed at me.
‘NOW!’
Kenny bolted.
Mr Mac gently guided me down onto a feed sack. ‘Take deep breaths. You’ll be right in a sec, son.’ I gazed up at him, astonished at his sudden kindness. He stood quickly, turning away. ‘Then clean up this mess,’ he muttered, leaving me staring after him.
While I tidied up, Kenny’s words echoed in my head. Did he mean it? Would he really leave? I’d written a short note home since my first letter, but I still hadn’t told them the truth. With Kenny gone, Mr Mac would have to let me ride and I could finally tell my family what it was like to be an apprentice jockey.
Birds twittering outside my window woke me from my Sunday sleep-in. I lay there wondering what it’d be like to catch a train home and surprise them all one Sunday. But I knew once the surprise wore off, the questions would begin. I shook my head. Then they’d be raving about Robert’s latest rugby score or milking tally, and I knew I couldn’t stand it without a few stories of my own to tell.
Mr Mac wasn’t around when I got up, and Kenny didn’t utter a word through breakfast. His eye had turned yellow after different stages of black and purple over the past week, and I couldn’t help smiling to myself every time I saw it.
When I caught him sneering at me across the table, I glared back with a sinking feeling. I’d learnt what that look meant. And it wasn’t good. He pushed his chair back and left the table. As he passed Marmite perched on the back of a chair, he nudged the cat hard with his elbow. Marmite’s claws scratched at thin air, scrambling to keep his balance. Spitting and hissing, he fled up the hall. I won’t be the only one pleased to see Kenny leave, I thought.
But Mrs Davis never saw a thing. ‘Marmite! Whatever’s the matter?’ she said.
After breakfast I started mucking out on my own. I was used to it. If Mr Mac wasn’t around, neither was Kenny. After the last time, he always appeared just in time to avoid being roared at.
Mr Mac had given instructions the day before to muck right out, replacing all the straw in each stall. It always took longer than usual, so I got stuck in.
Just as I finished Captain’s box, Kenny appeared in the doorway with a bucket of water, full to the brim. ‘Here’s Captain’s water,’ he said, placing it at his feet.
‘I’ve already done that,’ I muttered.
‘Well, you won’t need this then,’ said Kenny. As I looked up he put his boot against the brim of the bucket and pushed, spilling water across the freshly changed straw.
‘What are you doing!’
‘Farewell present.’ Kenny laughed, kicking the base of the bucket and sending it flying across the box. ‘Told you I’d leave this dump. See ya, farm boy.’
Blood boiling, I raced out after him. He sprinted down the dirt drive to the road and out of sight.
Forgetting Captain’s box, I ran back to the house. ‘Mrs Davis! Mrs Davis!’ I yelled through the back door.
She bustled out into the kitchen. ‘Jack? What’s the matter, dear?’
‘Is it true? Has Kenny gone … for good?’ I held my breath, willing it to be so.
‘Yes, he has,’ she said solemnly. ‘Mr MacKenzie is like a hungry dog who’s lost his bone this morning. I’d steer clear if I was you.’ She glanced around, then gave me a tiny smile. ‘Marmite will be so pleased.’
Even though she’d warned me that Mr Mac was grumpier than usual, I couldn’t wait to ask when I could finally ride Captain. Maybe even the next day? No more bike! I laughed out loud, raking the wet straw from Captain’s box. It felt like years since I’d been on a horse, and the huge gelding would be a grand way to get started again. Once I was doing all the track work, I’d be able to begin my racing training — which meant I’d soon get to ride in a race. Then I’d finally have something worth writing home about. Something to make them proud.
Chapter 8
For the first time since I began my apprenticeship, I was up before Mr Mac. When he appeared in the kitchen, I slid a mug of tea across the table to him. ‘No tiddly teacups,’ I said with a smile.
‘What are you so pleased about?’ he grumbled.
His hangover wasn’t going to spoil my day. I’d got the best night’s sleep in ages, after moving to Kenny’s side of the room and finding his earplugs. He must have forgotten them in his rush to leave. A wash in warm, soapy water and they were good enough for me.
I grinned across the top of my mug at my boss, wondering which horse he’d give me to ride to the track. I’d listened to his instructions to Kenny enough times to know what to do. We’d start with Dazzle, then it would be Captain’s turn. My grin grew wider at the thought of flying around the track on the sleek black horse.
‘Things’ll be a bit different without Kenny around,’ I said.
Mr Mac frowned into his cup. ‘Good riddance,’ he mumbled.
‘Where’s he gone?’
‘To another stables. More fool them.’ He took a sip of tea. ‘I’d heard him talk about leaving, so it was no surprise.
Why do you think I took you on?’
‘To be a jockey?’
He nodded. ‘It’ll be fine. You’ve been handling the stables on your own anyway. Track work’s next.’
If I’d grinned any harder my face would have split down the middle. We marched over to the stables in the dark. Mr Mac lit the lamps in each box, while I did the same in the feed room and prepared the horses’ breakfast.
It felt like a whole new beginning without Kenny around dropping smart cracks. I whistled as I worked, no longer feeling on edge.
Breakfast with Mrs Davis was just as relaxed. There was no scramble for the last slice of toast or scoop of porridge in the pot. Kenny had always claimed them for himself.
I put my plate on the bench and gave Marmite a stroke on the way out. ‘See you next door,’ I said to Mr Mac. ‘I’ll get everything ready for the track.’
‘No need, boy.’
‘It won’t take me long,’ I said, buttoning up my jacket. ‘I can—’
‘No need, boy. We’re not going.’
I stopped in the doorway. ‘Oh.’ After a moment I risked questioning him. ‘Why not?’
He didn’t look up. ‘After you’ve mucked out and dressed them you can have the rest of the day off,’ he said quietly.
‘We’ll be back at the track tomorrow.’
Normally, time off would be like Christmas, especially after the hard slog of the past month or so. But not now!
‘Shut the door, boy. You’re letting the cold in.’ I did as he asked and leaned against the door.
‘If you can’t think of anything to do, I’ll find work to fill your afternoon,’ said Mr Mac. ‘Mrs Davis. Do you have—’
I yanked open the door and escaped outside. I never saw hide nor hair of my boss all day, but he turned up again at tea time, completely sober for a change. Despite an uneasy feeling I’d carried around all day, I went to bed and dreamed of pounding down the racetrack on Captain, winning a race by three whole lengths. It wasn’t until the next morning that I found out what Mr Mac had been up to.
Again, I got up early and made a cuppa for my boss. This time, after breakfast, he sent me out to prepare the horses for the track. I sprinted over to the stables and saddled up both horses in a jiffy. Finally I’d get to ride, instead of getting them ready for the others.
‘What are you grinning at?’ grumbled Mr Mac when he strolled over. But I saw the smile flick across his lips. ‘Come on then, give us a leg-up.’
Then it was my turn. I’d watched Kenny do it dozens of times. I stood beside Captain, reached up and took a handful of mane with my left hand, the reins in my right, and swung up — into the saddle. ‘I did it!’
A slight nod was Mr Mac’s only reply as he pulled Dazzle away and along the drive to the road. That’d do me.
High in Captain’s saddle, I felt like a king. I could hardly believe it. By the time we rode through the gates of the racecourse, my face ached from smiling.
When people sang out ‘Morning!', they returned my grin. I hurried to prepare the horses, ready to take my instructions for each horse’s work for the day. Stroking Dazzle’s neck, I was itching for Mr Mac’s return after he’d gone to talk to someone across the stalls.
Percy and Eddie slipped over to me while Mr Mac’s back was turned.
‘Bet you don’t miss the bike,’ Eddie laughed, thumping me on the back. ‘Now’s your chance eh, with Kenny off to his new job?’
‘Been planning it for a while, he has,’ said Percy. He looked over his shoulder. ‘He’s gone off to — Heck! Here comes old Mac!’ They scampered back to their stalls.
Mr Mac strode up to me with a red-haired boy alongside. ‘Jack, this is Alec.’ We acknowledged each other. ‘Alec is doing the track work. Is Dazzle ready?’
It was as if someone had punched me in my stomach. Twice as hard as Kenny ever had. My mouth dropped open. ‘Pardon?’ I managed to squeeze out of my tightening throat.
‘Hell’s bells, boy! Are the horses ready? Alec’s got more horses after Captain and Dazzle.’
‘But—’
Alec looked away, shuffling his feet. He’d seen the look on my face. Mr Mac snatched Dazzle’s reins. ‘Here, Alec. Dazzle’s first up, half-pace, three times round.’ I could do nothing but watch them head out to the track. I clamped my jaw shut, swallowing hard at the sudden bitter taste in my mouth, and after a few deep breaths my insides stopped swaying.
I spun around to face Mr Mac to demand why. But he was gone, striding away around the end of the stalls.
The morning dragged slower than Mrs Davis’s rainy-day chores. I didn’t speak a word to anyone.
When we got back to our stables, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I tied Captain’s rein to a rail and stepped in front of my boss. ‘Why is Alec doing the track work? Why can’t I do it?’
‘Jack—’
‘It’s not fair. Today is the first day I get to ride to the track after three whole months! I’m supposed to be training as a jockey, not a stable-hand. I thought things were going to be different. I thought I’d be doing the track work, now that Kenny’s gone. Why is this Alec doing it?’
Mr Mac threw his hands in the air. ‘I know, I know. I’m sorry, boy. I know you can ride or you wouldn’t be here, but you’ve done no track work. You’re not ready. I should’ve got onto it earlier, but …’ His face fell. ‘I thought there was plenty of time. I never thought Kenny would really leave.’ His shoulders slumped as he turned away. The look on Mr Mac’s face silenced me. I would have preferred his anger. At least I was used to that.
‘Bide your time, Jack, and I’ll see you right. A week or so, that’s all.’ He trudged off to the house, leaving me full of guilt that I’d asked at all.
‘Bide your time, Jack.’ The words went around and around in my head as days passed without any sign of change. I soon discovered that Alec was an OK sort. I learnt he’d been riding for a couple of years and worked in a stables close by. One morning at the track, when Mr Mac was out of earshot, he whispered, ‘Look, Jack. I know you want to ride. I’m just doing what I’m told. My boss owes MacKenzie a favour or two, so until they say otherwise, I’m it.’
Things returned to how it was before Kenny left. A cuppa with Mr Mac. The horses’ breakfast. Our breakfast. Track. Home. Dressing the horses. Mucking out. Dinner. Helping Mrs Davis, or, if Mr Mac wasn’t around, just talking.
As the days rolled into weeks, any dreams of track work slipped from my mind. I fell into my bed at seven o’clock and hauled myself up at five.
On a rare afternoon off, I was sitting in the kitchen with Mrs Davis when Marmite leapt up on my knee.
The quiet was smashed with a thunderous howl and crash at the back door. Marmite sank his claws into my leg, then took off down the hall. He never stuck around when Mr Mac came inside.
I wanted to disappear with him, but instead cringed, waiting for my boss to stumble in. I peeked at Mrs Davis, who smiled back. She placed her teacup gently in its saucer, stood slowly and went to the back door. It always amazed me how she could stay so calm when he was like that, and this time he sounded even more drunk than usual.
Mr Mac’s glowering face appeared at the door, and he leaned heavily on the doorframe.
‘Come in for a cup of tea,’ said Mrs Davis. ‘The newspaper is there for the reading.’ I pushed the Herald Tribune towards him, remembering the one day I’d picked it up before he’d seen it. I’d ended up spending my whole Sunday off cleaning and polishing tack.
He slouched across the table and snatched up the paper, the familiar smell of stale beer wafting over me. Ruffling through the pages, he muttered under his breath, looking for something.
‘Ah, here it is.’ His face lightened a little. I knew what he must have been looking at, because I was dying to read it myself. ‘Phar Lap wins!’ he shouted.
‘Hooray!’ I cheered. ‘I knew he’d win. Good on you, Phar Lap. You beauty!’ The ‘Wonder Horse’ had been the talk of the track for ages. It had kept things inter
esting while I stood around waiting for Alec to come in with Dazzle or Captain.
Mrs Davis clapped. ‘Isn’t that wonderful, Harry? Just as you said he would.’
‘What else does it say?’ I asked, straining to see.
Mr Mac looked at me with the closest thing to a smile I’d seen in weeks. He read out loud: ‘Phar Lap wins Melbourne Cup. The weather was showery for the races. There was a large attendance, including several New Zealanders.’ He looked up at me again. ‘I’d have given my eye teeth to have seen that race.’ I nodded in agreement.
Mr Mac continued. ‘Fifteen starters. Temptation took the lead at the start and led past the stand. At the mile, Temptation was out four lengths. At the six furlongs, Temptation only had a two lengths lead. Temptation was in charge at the turn and was first into the straight; Muratti, Caradale and Phar Lap following. The latter took the lead at the two furlongs and won, running away with three lengths to the good.’
I leaned back in my chair gazing at the ceiling. ‘Gosh, that would’ve been corker to see.’ Sitting back up, I asked, ‘Is it true about the stakes? I heard it was—’
‘Ten thousand sovereigns, it says here,’ said Mr Mac. ‘Oh, for stakes like that, or a horse like that to win it with.’
His expression darkened again. ‘The only way that’ll happen is with hard work.’ He glared across the table at me. ‘And plenty of it.’
If I had a sovereign for every time he’d said that, I’d be as rich as Phar Lap’s owner. I wondered whether Mr Mac had been drinking to celebrate Phar Lap’s win, or to drown his sorrows about his own stable’s poor fortunes. I wasn’t sticking around to figure it out. Once he got started … I stood up from the table. ‘I’ll just go and check the horses.’
Just Jack Page 4
