Just Jack

by Adele Broadbent

  ‘It’s your first day and you don’t know the horses that well yet.’

  Not again! I gritted my teeth and waited for the ‘watch and learn’ lecture.

  ‘But by all accounts,’ he continued, ‘you’re a good rider. The best way to get to know a horse is to ride one, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘Let’s see how you go,’ he said. ‘These are valuable animals and I want no chances taken.’ ‘No, Laddie.’

  I couldn’t help grinning as he led Copper out of her stall, then legged me into the saddle. ‘She’s a little skittery at first, but settles down quickly. Ease her into it, then try a lap at a canter and see how you go.’

  I beamed down at him, feeling like Christmas had come early. As I walked Copper out in the direction of the track, I wanted to cry out, ‘Look at me! I’m an apprentice jockey!’ I bit my lip to stop myself.

  I could see the track opening ahead. Right, this was it. One at a time, I wiped my palms down my trousers and adjusted my feet in the stirrups. I watched how other jockeys moved safely out onto the training track across the course proper. I leaned down over Copper’s neck and whispered, ‘Come on, girl, let’s show them, eh?’

  True to Laddie’s warning, she danced around a bit to start with until another horse flew by. As if she needed reminding of where she was, she tucked her head in and responded to my heels.

  Everything came back to me, as if I’d been riding every day. Copper whinnied her delight, echoing my feelings at the sound of her hooves hammering out a beat beneath me; her breath heavy and even with each stride. My dream had finally begun. I was on a racehorse, pounding down a racetrack. I leaned closer to her warm skin and relished the cool morning air rushing down my neck. Laddie waved me in after two lightning laps.

  Back at the stall, he frowned down at me. ‘I said one lap, Jack. A jockey must learn to follow instructions.’ He ignored Kenny’s snigger behind me. ‘But I can understand your enthusiasm and reckoned on that. Copper needed a good run. However,’ he said, ‘don’t let it happen again.’

  ‘No, sir,’ I squeaked, clutching the reins so tightly that my fingernails dug into my palms.

  ‘Kenny,’ Laddie ordered, ‘rub down Copper. I want to see Jack on Satin.’

  Kenny’s mouth fell open as Laddie gave me a leg-up. I did my best to keep a straight face and avoid Kenny’s gaze. But on the way back out, I couldn’t resist a glimpse. Kenny’s face was as black as Jet’s. I’d seen that look before, and knew what usually came afterwards.

  Chapter 13

  ‘I’m starving.’ I gulped down another spoonful of porridge. Baldy raised his eyebrows.

  ‘The routine’s a bit different from what I’m used to,’ I said. ‘We always had breakfast before the track. Even the horses.’

  Baldy frowned at the idea. ‘You’ll be used to it soon enough. We dress the horses after breakfast, so eat up.’

  ‘Then,’ piped Kenny, ‘we get fresh grass.’

  I nodded.

  ‘You enjoy finding new grass, don’t you, Kenny?’ Baldy said with a smirk.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Or more like, finding new lasses to talk to.’ Baldy rapped Kenny’s knuckles with his spoon. ‘Especially that lass with the blonde hair, around the corner.’ Laddie laughed along with Baldy at Kenny’s sheepish grin, but I caught the hurt look on Isobel’s face. She took a sip of her tea and stared at the crumbs on her plate.

  After using only worn-out equipment at Mr Mac’s, Laddie’s tools were a dream. I think the horses enjoyed the dressing as much as I enjoyed doing it. Baldy stuck his head around the door a couple of times, then left me to it. Copper and Satin were still wary, but responded to my quiet chat as I stroked and brushed them.

  When I led them out to their yards, Baldy flicked his gaze over the horses. He gave me a nod. I was happy with that. It seemed impossible to think I’d been at Mr Mac’s only the day before.

  Once the stable paths and feed and tack rooms were swept out, we folded the horses’ towels and checked over the gear in the tack room. Although I’d always be wary of Kenny, he seemed different here — happy even. It was grand to have Baldy and even Kenny to work with after being on my own for so long.

  The morning flew by. Baldy went home after dinner, and Kenny took off somewhere on a bicycle.

  I strolled down to the yards to talk to the horses. Kenny’s horses, Jet and Coal, seemed much like him, shifty and jumpy. I was sitting astride Satin’s fence when something caught my eye.

  Isobel was sitting on a wooden seat tucked amongst trees lining the drive. Her dark hair fell across her face as she bent over something on her lap. A book? I climbed higher on the rails and stretched up, trying to see.

  Suddenly she looked up, straight at me. She snatched up the book and scurried back down the drive. Strange.

  It didn’t take me long to adjust to the new routine, and I hardly gave home a second thought. Track work was my favourite part of each day, especially as it got lighter and warmer in the mornings as summer approached.

  I savoured every moment flying around the course on Satin or Copper, and after a couple of weeks Laddie pulled me aside. ‘You’re doing well, Jack. I like the way you handle the horses. Your uncle was right about you.’ He gave me a wink.

  The grin didn’t leave my face for the rest of the day. Uncle Onslow was right about Laddie and his job, too.

  A few days later, Baldy handed me a pair of brand-new boots. I took a deep sniff of the thick, brown leather.

  ‘Better wear them in first, or you’ll cop a decent blister,’ said Baldy. ‘Wear them wet. That’ll do the trick.’

  ‘Thanks, Baldy.’ I did just that, wearing them around the yards that afternoon. I marched up and down the driveway, working the stiffness out of the leather.

  Mrs O’Brien gave me a salute between the huge, white sheets she had hung on the washing line. ‘Afternoon, sir,’ she said with a chuckle. By the time I escaped her chatter and strode back up the drive again, my boots had nearly dried out.

  Again I spied Isobel amongst the trees. She sat, her head bent at a funny angle. What was she doing? I knew she’d run off if she saw me, so I took my boots off and tiptoed closer.

  From behind a tree a few feet away, I peered over her shoulder. She had a book on her lap and was scribbling something. Was it a diary? I frowned. Maybe she was writing about Kenny? When she looked up, I followed her gaze. She was watching Nugget.

  I moved silently around the tree and leaned closer. A soft, flowery scent floated over to me. I bent closer. Nugget’s proud, strong head leapt off the paper. Every tiny detail was sketched in line and shadow, just like a photograph. ‘Gosh! That’s marvellous!’

  Isobel squealed, jumping from the seat. Her book fell to the ground, loose pages fluttering everywhere. She spun around, brown eyes huge in her pale face. ‘Oh, Jack! You’re horrid! Why did you sneak up on me like that?’ She choked back a sob.

  ‘I’m sorry, Isobel. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ I shot around the seat and gathered up the pages scattered at our feet. ‘I just wanted to see your drawing.’

  She snatched the pages from my hands. ‘It’s none of your business! I shall tell Father.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Isobel. I didn’t mean to. Honest.’ I pleaded. Her eyes blazed over red cheeks. With her drawings tucked tightly under her arm, she stormed off up the drive.

  To my relief Laddie never mentioned Isobel’s upset, and in my bedroom that night I remembered her sketch. It was terrific the way she’d captured that special look in Nugget’s eye. I’d never seen anyone draw like that. Especially a girl. But something was strange. Why did Isobel draw under cover of the trees and bushes? Why didn’t she put a chair right next to the yards?

  On the way to the track the next day, Kenny trotted up beside me. ‘Why don’t you come with me after dinner today? Your wages must be burning a hole in your pocket.’

  I looked at him sideways. ‘Where to?’

  ‘The billiard saloo
n in Taradale. Lots of jockeys hang about there.’ He leaned closer. ‘It’s a great way to get to know your competition.’

  ‘And lose all your money,’ grumbled Baldy from behind us.

  Later on, Kenny nudged me at the track. ‘Don’t mind Grouchy Gordon. What does he know? Come and have a look for yourself, instead of hanging round the stables all day with the women.’

  I soon found out why he’d asked me along.

  After dinner we rode off on the stable’s bicycles. Baldy shook his head as we rode past him on the footpath, Kenny hooting and waving. I planned to keep track of the way to the saloon, in case Kenny pulled one of his tricks and left me somewhere, but most of the journey was down a long, straight road, past a tall concrete clock, then down a line of shops.

  ‘This is Taradale,’ said Kenny, slowing to ride next to me. ‘Watch out for Mrs O’Brien after dinnertime each day. She’ll ask you to fetch groceries for her. And there goes your afternoon.’ He pulled a face. ‘Down here,’ he said, veering around a corner.

  Outside a grocer’s shop he leapt off his bike. He shoved it into a rusty bike-stand on the footpath. ‘Come on, slowpoke!’ he yelled from the grocery steps.

  ‘I thought we were—’

  He pushed open a door and disappeared.

  The pungent smell of cabbage, silverbeet, and ripe apples filled my nose when I entered the shop. Crates of vegetables were stacked against the left wall, and a wide counter ran along the right, topped with giant glass jars filled with sweets. Kenny chatted to a couple of lads near the back of the shop, then waved me over. ‘This is Jack, the new kid I was telling you about,’ he said to his mates.

  ‘G’day, Jack,’ one said, shaking my hand. The other gave me a nod. Kenny grinned and approached the counter. ‘One cue, please.’

  ‘One and six, Kenny,’ said the shopkeeper. ‘You know the drill.’

  Kenny turned to me with a hang-dog look. ‘Got any money, Jack? I’m skint.’

  So that’s why he’d invited me. I reluctantly pulled a couple of shillings from my pocket. The other boy paid, and we were passed a cue each from a rack behind the counter. Kenny snatched mine and scooted down to the end of the shop, his mates close behind. One by one, they disappeared through a thick, brown curtain.

  It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the small windowless room, smelling of sweat and tobacco and layered in a smoky haze. Four green billiard tables, marked with greasy stains and cigarette burns, were lit by low-hanging lights. The dark-green tasselled light shades added a tinge of eerie colour to those who stood close to them.

  Half a dozen men leaned against the walls waiting for their turn, while others moved around tables, shooting balls. Kenny ambled back over to us after talking to an older boy. ‘Billy says we can join his table.’ More introductions were made. ‘Billy, George, this is Jack.’

  George concentrated on his next shot while Billy shook my hand. ‘You’re up next, eh, Jack?’ he said with a grin. ‘You being new and all.’

  I ignored the smirks and stepped up to the table. Each time I sank a ball, Kenny’s eyebrows shot up. Little did he know that I’d played every night on our own billiard table at home. I’d even kept Robert on his toes.

  Billy took his turn. ‘Not bad, Jack.’ I shrugged and leaned on my cue. While I waited for my turn, I watched the other games. I noticed an old man crouched on a stool in a shadowy corner. His wiry grey beard hadn’t seen scissors in a long while. I wondered if he might set it alight with the cigarette dangling from his lips. I elbowed Kenny. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Just Old Frank.’ Kenny leaned closer. ‘He’s always here, perched on his stool. We reckon he’s supposed to watch out for trouble. But that’s all he ever does — watch.’ He turned back to the game.

  When the cracked, yellowed clock on the wall said two-thirty, we passed our cues to Kenny’s mates. ‘We’re off,’ Kenny said.

  On the way home, I could still taste smoke on my tongue and my clothes stunk. But even though I’d had to pay for the billiard games and a couple of bottles of creaming soda, I’d enjoyed it. Next time I’d make sure Kenny had some wages left before we went.

  After the horses’ afternoon walk, Baldy sent me up to Mrs O’Brien for more towels. Isobel was kneeling on the ground near the back door, her sketchpad in her lap. She was drawing a stripy ginger cat stretched out in the sun.

  ‘I didn’t sneak up on you this time,’ I said in defence before she could speak.

  ‘So you admit you did last time?’ She kept her eye on the cat.

  ‘Yeah.’ I scuffed my boot in the dirt. ‘Sorry about that. I just wanted to see what you were doing. I’d seen you there lots of times.’

  ‘No one else has ever wanted to see,’ she mumbled. ‘Not even Kenny.’

  ‘So, what’s the big deal about him?’ I said.

  She glared up at me.

  ‘You didn’t tell Laddie, then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You should show him your drawings. Especially the horses. I wish I could draw like that.’ I leaned over her shoulder, casting a shadow across her page. ‘Why don’t you show everyone at tea?’ I asked.

  She scrambled to her feet, dropping her pencil. ‘No!’ She swooped down for it, slamming her pad shut. She quickly brushed herself down. ‘I can’t,’ she said, her voice trembling. She glanced around at the house. ‘You won’t tell?’

  At the shake of my head she scurried inside, startling the ginger cat from its sunny sleep. The cat and I stared after her. ‘What was that all about, puss?’

  It was a month since I’d arrived at Laddie’s and one hot afternoon Kenny asked Baldy if we could take the horses down to the river. We were soon saddled up and ready. Along the way I thought how different everything was from Mr Mac’s. I’d got to know Kenny’s mates, who were apprentices like us, and even made some friends of my own.

  Each time Kenny and I went to the billiard saloon, Billy and I ended up with our own table after outplaying everyone else. While we played we talked.

  Billy told me all about the vineyard he worked in, and I talked about the track and how I was trying to improve my times each day. One afternoon I found myself talking about home. Not about Robert and Grandfather, but about working with Uncle Onslow at his stables and what Ormondville was like. When I was sure no one else was listening, I even admitted that I missed Mum and Annie a little.

  Billy was quiet for a minute, leaning on his cue. He leaned over for his shot and I nearly missed what he said. ‘My mother died when I was eight, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters.’

  ‘Oh.’ I instantly wondered about his dad, but Billy sank the last ball and left soon after.

  Another new mate was Old Frank. Kenny was right: Frank never left his stool in the corner. Gradually, though, I’d got to know the old man, and Kenny and his mates ribbed me about it, but his messy beard reminded me a little of Uncle Onslow.

  I’d learnt that Frank was once a jockey himself. ‘But it was a lot tougher back then, Jack,’ he told me. ‘A lot dirtier,’ he said through yellowing teeth. ‘When I hit that rail and fell under my horse, I thought I was a goner.’ He tapped his leg. ‘A jockey’s no good with a gammy leg, Jack.’

  The river offered a cool break from the heat, but, by the time we turned the last corner home, sweat ran down our backs again.

  ‘Don’t put the horses in their boxes,’ said Baldy. ‘It’s too stuffy. Jack, take Jet and Satin to their yards. Kenny, you can give me a hand. I want to take a look at Nugget’s foot. She’s favouring it.’ We dismounted at the stables and followed Baldy’s instructions.

  I didn’t see Isobel until I was only a few yards from her garden seat. She was curled up, fast asleep. I couldn’t help staring, she looked so peaceful; pretty even.

  Not wanting to wake her, I gently tugged the reins of the horses. Jet, hot and bothered and bad-tempered as usual, yanked on his reins and let out a shrill whinny.

  Isobel’s eyes flew open. The colour drained from her face
and she scrunched up into a ball in the corner of her seat.

  ‘Isobel? Are you all right?’ I reached out but she flinched, scrunching up even tighter. She was petrified! I pulled on the reins. ‘Come on, Jet. Hop to it, Satin.’

  With the horses in their yards, I sprinted back to Isobel, who was still cowering in the corner of the seat. Tears streamed down her face.

  ‘Isobel! Are you all right? Was it the horses?’ She nodded ever so slightly, her eyes squeezed shut.

  I slowly lowered myself onto her seat. ‘It’s OK,’ I soothed. ‘They’ve gone. I put them in their yards.’ I touched her shoulder. She opened her eyes, gazing at me through her tears, then glanced towards the yards. Bit by bit, she uncurled herself.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said gently. ‘I don’t understand. Why were you so frightened?’

  It seemed ages before she spoke.

  ‘My mother was killed by a horse.’

  ‘What!’ I regretted it the moment I said it.

  ‘My mother was killed by a horse,’ she repeated. She unwrapped her arms from her sides and clasped her hands in her lap, her knuckles as white as her face.

  ‘I didn’t know, Isobel.’ I avoided looking at her tears. ‘I’m sorry.’ My own mother’s smiling face came to me.

  Isobel sniffed. ‘I’m not allowed near the horses. Father forbids it. That’s why I draw them from over here in my shady spot. Sometimes I wish he’d leave me be and stop fussing so. I’m thirteen and he treats me like a baby.’ She gazed off into space. ‘I want to get closer, but then I see how big they are …’ Her lower lip trembled.

  Gently, I touched her hand. ‘It’s OK. They are big. And they’re a little scary at first, until you get to know them. They’re all different — just like people, really.’

  Isobel dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and looked at me. Colour had come back into her cheeks.

  ‘Did she fall?’ I felt terrible asking, but wanted to know. ‘Your mother?’