by Kate Lattey
“Yeah, that’s right,” I reply with some hesitation. My stomach clenches at the thought of selling Finn, even though I know I don’t have a choice. Gran has already told me that she’s not paying to ship my pony all the way to England.
“Alec was just telling us about her. He seems to think she’s got Grand Prix potential.”
I nod, recalling suddenly the deal I’d made with Tegan in the grandstand back at the Easter show. Maybe Finn will make it to Grand Prix after all if she goes to an experienced home like the Trents.
“Yeah, I do,” I tell her honestly. “She’s an awesome jumper. Abby Brooks thinks really highly of her too,” I add, name-dropping as Alec had suggested.
Geraldine is nodding along. “Yes, he mentioned that too. I’ll certainly give Abby a call and talk to her about the pony,” she adds as Claudia and Alec ride over to us. Claudia is looking at her mother expectantly.
“Did you ask her?” Geraldine nods and Claudia turns to me with a smile. “Oh good. So can we take her home today?”
I’m reeling slightly at the notion of having my pony whipped right out from underneath me like that, but nobody else seems to think it’s a bit sudden, and I realise with a sigh that I am leaving in four days, after all.
“Do you have an asking price?” Geraldine asks, and I pluck up my courage.
“Eight thousand.” I haven’t quite convinced myself that she’s worth so much, and it sounds like a lie coming out of my mouth. Geraldine raises her eyebrows in sharp shock.
“That’s a lot of money for an unproven pony,” she tells me dubiously.
“Abby Brooks said she was worth it easily,” Tegan butts in, somehow having managed to stay quiet up until now. “You can ask her.”
“Well. For that price I’d like to have her on trial for a couple of weeks and see how she goes,” Geraldine says.
I look at Alec, who nods. They’re his friends, so I should be able to trust them. I nod in slow agreement.
“Yeah, okay.”
Geraldine seems pleased, and Claudia grins widely.
“Oh good. I really like the look of her, and if she can jump half as well as Alec says, she’ll be the pony for me.” She grins at Alec, flirting unashamedly, and Tegan pokes me in the back to make me aware of her disgust.
“We’ll get Pickles loaded, then bring our truck around and pick her up,” Geraldine says briskly. “Come on then Claud, let’s go. Get off that pony’s back and give him a rest, he’s been jumping all day and he’s no spring chicken.”
They head off in the opposite direction, and Tegan runs ahead to tell Finn the supposedly ‘good’ news. I walk next to Alec as we head back to the truck. He nudges me with his foot, stirring me out of my melancholy state.
“You okay?”
I look up at him and smile thinly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
He kicks his feet out of his stirrups and slides off Lucky’s back, walking next to me and leading his sweaty pony. “They’ll give her a good home,” he assures me.
I sigh. “I know.”
“Plus, eight grand. You’ll be rolling in it! I knew I should’ve bought that pony,” he muses. “Think of all the things you could do with that money. Hey, maybe you can buy a pony when you get to England.”
A smile breaks across my face. “You know what? Maybe I can.”
We reach the truck, where Tegan is babbling excitedly to Finn. My pony looks bored, her ears flopping out to the side, resting one hind leg. I call out to her and she lifts her head and turns to look at me. My heart breaks. I run my hand down her strong glossy neck and then wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her mane.
“You’re going to a better place,” I whisper to my pony. I don’t know where the Trents live, but I’m sure their place is flasher than Alec’s. “And you can make friends with Pickles, and Claudia will take you to lots of shows, and maybe one day she’ll take you in some Grand Prix classes, and even the Horse of the Year show. I’ll keep in touch with her,” I assure Finn. “I’ll make sure she tells me how you’re getting on. And you’ll see Alec out at the shows, and Tegan…” My breath is coming in sobs now and I take a shaky breath. “And you’ll see Lucky and Dolly and Trixie and Nugs, and you’ll forget that you used to be a scraggly pony in a manky old paddock. You’ll be a flash show jumping pony soon. And Abby will still admire you and be keeping an eye on your progress, and help Claudia when she needs it...”
I sniff loudly and Finn raises her head, tired of having me hanging around her neck. I release her and wipe away my tears, then take a few moments to absorb every detail of my pony and give a final good scratch to all her favourite itchy spots.
“They’re here,” Tabby says at my shoulder and I turn to see a big red horse truck stopping near us. Claudia bounces out of the cab and comes over to us.
“Is she ready to go?” She sees my face and her excitement softens. “I’ll take good care of her,” she assures me.
I nod. “I know.”
I untie Finn and rub her head for the last time, stroking her ears and running my fingers through her soft forelock. Claudia’s father has dropped their ramp down, and I can see Pickles standing in the truck, looking out at us and wondering what’s going on. He’s a sweet pony, and I hope Finn will make friends with him. Tabby is talking to Geraldine as she writes out a cheque and the thought of handing over my pony in exchange for a slip of paper makes my stomach churn.
“You can load her up if you want,” Claudia tells me. I nod, unable to speak, and lead my pony towards the truck. She hesitates, unwilling to leave her friends.
“Come on pony,” I murmur to her, and she walks trustingly beside me and up the ramp. The truck is clean and tidy, without the layers of dust, dirt and rust that the Harrisons’ has. Pickles is wearing a travelling sheet that matches his halter and boots, and he looks very smart. I clip Finn’s halter to the shank on the wall and scratch her ears.
“Goodbye Finn. I’m gonna miss you.” I take a ragged breath. “Be good.” I drop my head down and kiss her just above her left nostril. Her skin is soft and warm and I whisper the words that come from the bottom of my heart. “I’d never have survived living here if it wasn’t for you. You were awesome.” I start crying as I scratch her ears and she dips her nose to nuzzle my hip. “Thank you,” I whisper as I slowly back away and let Claudia’s dad swing the partition closed.
I walk down the ramp and stand back as they raise it up, staring at the fit, glossy pony standing in the truck. Her neck is strong and muscled, her coat healthy, her mane neatly pulled and her eyes bright and alert. She’s come a long way since the day I bought her. I feel an arm across my shoulders and turn to bury my head in Alec’s shoulder as the others call goodbye and I hear the Trents’ truck rumble away.
Alec pats my shoulder. “It’s okay.” I sniffle and pull back, trying to control myself.
“Sorry. I always seem to be crying on you,” I comment, and he grins crookedly at me.
“My turn,” Tegan butts in, throwing her arms around me in a vice-like hug.
Once I manage to extricate myself from her affection, Tabby hands me a cheque for one thousand dollars.
“Just a deposit,” she says with a grin at my startled expression. “A sign of goodwill. They might still not want her,” she cautions me. “It depends how she behaves.”
I look up the road at the truck disappearing from sight. “She’s a good girl,” I tell her. “She’ll do fine.”
Alec and Tegan do their best to distract me on the way home, teasing each other and bickering constantly all the way. All of our arguments seem forgotten, but every time I look over at the ponies dozing and swaying in the back of the truck, all I see the empty space where Finn used to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Before I know it, it’s Friday and my last night in New Zealand. Dad knocks on my door and I tell him to come in. I’m sitting on the floor surrounded by clothes, trying to work out what I’ll need immediately and what can wait to be sent on later. He sits down o
n the bed and watches me awkwardly for a moment.
“Jay, I—” he breaks off and I stop folding clothes and look up at him. He’s staring down at his hands, his fingers twitching nervously. He takes in a deep breath and looks at me, an odd expression on his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you and your mum.”
I stare at him, absolutely floored. I have no idea where this is coming from, but it’s making me uneasy.
He keeps going, dropping his eyes to the floor again. “I wish I could turn back time, do things differently, but I can’t. I have to live with the decisions I’ve made. But…well, I’m sorry you’ve been so miserable here. I kept thinking that you seemed happy. You had friends, were doing okay in school, and you seemed to love that pony.”
He looks at me and I nod mutely. I do love her. He goes on, seemingly on a roll.
“I probably should’ve tried harder. I’m just not much good at this, being a parent. I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about you. I just want you to be happy. That’s why I left in the first place, because your mum and I kept fighting and we didn’t want you to have to grow up listening to that. We did try to make it work, but I couldn’t live there and she wouldn’t come here. I thought you might love it here too, but...”
His words dry up as he sits there staring at his hands. I can’t think of anything to say, completely flummoxed by this sudden outpouring, and I wonder how long he’s been trying to tell me all that. Any time he’s tried to talk to me about the past, I’ve run away, thinking he was going to quiz me about how I’m coping, or how I’m feeling. It never occurred to me that he was trying to tell me how he felt. He stands up and pats me on the head, then walks out of the room. I sit on the floor for ages after that, thinking over his words. He’s right, I realise. We can’t turn back time, much as we wish we could. I can’t undo the words I’ve said, or the things I’ve done, but there is one thing left that I can do before I go.
I walk into the living room where he’s sitting on the couch, watching some boring forensic drama. I take a seat next to him, trying to find the right words, but my throat is all choked up and I can’t say anything. He’s looking at me warily, and I hate myself for having been so over-sensitive and stupid these past few months. I feel the tears welling up and I squeak out the words I need to say before I start crying again.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so awful—”
“Hey,” Dad wraps an arm around me and pats my shoulder reassuringly. “I know. It’s okay.”
“And I don’t hate you. I just don’t feel like I belong here, and when Gran said I could come back I thought…” I take a deep breath and tell him what I’ve never said before. “I didn’t think you’d care one way or the other.”
Dad is shocked. “Why would you think that?”
“You…” I’m spluttering through tears now, struggling to get the words out. “You never asked me to stay.”
Something inside of me slips right then, and I start crying, bawling like a baby. I’ve been crying a lot lately, but this is intense. I haven’t cried like this since the night my Mum died, when I’d gone home with my Gran and laid on my bed and sobbed and sobbed for hours. I thought that I’d cried all my tears that night, that I was done with grieving, but the floodgates are well and truly open now, and I’m howling like there’s no tomorrow. Dad hugs me tight and strokes my hair as I sob relentlessly, pouring out all of my pent-up grief and anger and frustration in one giant emotional waterfall.
When I go to bed, I sleep dreamlessly through the night for the first time in ages.
* * *
The next day we drive to the airport through misty rain, with Chewy panting and slobbering over my suitcases in the back, but this time I don’t mind. Clearwater Bay is hazy and the sea is a churning grey as we leave it, quite the opposite from the blazing sunshine on the day I first arrived. It seems like so long ago, and yet at the same time I feel as though I only just left England.
Dad and I don’t talk much as we drive to Auckland airport, but we are more relaxed in each other’s company than we’ve ever been before, after that clearing of the air last night. He gives me a tight hug before I head through the gate, and tells me to come back to visit any time I want. The flight is long and tiring and the food typically awful, soggy and tasteless. I spend most of the eighteen hours watching movies and trying to sleep. I manage to doze off about twenty minutes before we start our descent into Dubai, but by the time I get on the next plane, I’m so tired that I fall asleep almost before it takes off.
I finally wake up to sunshine coming in the plane windows, and look out to see patchwork fields, clusters of houses in small villages, everything neat and orderly, the way it has been for many years and will be for years to come. I feel a smile break across my face. It’s good to be home.
It takes forever to get through airport security and then another twenty minutes of tedious monotony while I wait for my bags on the carousel, but finally I make it out of the gate where I see my grandparents waiting for me. I rush towards them, dropping my backpack at Gran’s feet and flinging my arms around her thin body.
“I missed you! It’s so good to see you,” I exclaim loudly.
She pats my back gently for a moment, then nudges me away. “Nice to see you too, dear. Don’t make a scene.”
I’m too excited to listen to her and continue chattering a mile a minute. Gran seems exhausted just listening to me. Grandpa never talks much, just nods and smiles. He’s half deaf anyway. As we wheel my bags back through Heathrow, I find myself realising the immensity of the airport. There are so many people of all shapes and sizes around, everyone with very focused, busy expressions. I can’t imagine bringing Alec and Tegan over here. Alec hates crowds, and Tegan would be hyper excited and running all over the place, completely out of control.
We get in the car and drive out to Newton Abbot. It’s a few hours away and despite my attempt to soak up the familiar scenery, it takes forever to get out of London, and I fall asleep again as we pass row upon row of identical brick housing estates.
When I wake up two hours later, we’re still stuck in traffic. Gran is muttering angrily to herself and has some form of concert radio pouring out of the speakers in an attempt to calm herself down. She always says that classical music is calming, but she only plays it when she feels tense, so it just makes me uneasy. We finally get out onto the M5 and traffic starts to flow better as I lean back against the clean leather upholstery and watch my world pass by.
My grandparents live in a semi-detached bungalow with a small cluttered garden. Most of the plants are in bloom and there are bright colours and pretty flowers everywhere. Grandpa spends most of his time pottering around in his garden. Gran shows me into the spare bedroom, and memories come flooding back to me as I walk in, from the roses on the carpet to the ruffled lace bedspreads. Mum and I always slept in this room when we stayed over.
“Make yourself at home,” Gran tells me. “But please don’t put any posters on the wall, we just redid the wallpaper. It cost us an arm and a leg, and took forever for us to find someone who would make a decent job of it. Nobody takes any pride in their work anymore.” I say nothing as I dump my bags down and sit on the soft comfy bed. “Now I hope you’re hungry, I’m putting a leg of lamb in the oven for dinner.”
I grin widely and thank her profusely. There’s nothing like my Gran’s roast dinners. When she’s gone, I flop onto my back and stare at the room around me. I’m suddenly reminded of Tegan’s house, with its over-the-top décor. Gran’s home is similarly overdressed, and flooded with flowers, frills and delicate china knick-knacks that look far too breakable to be safe with me around. I pull out my cellphone and send Tegan a text message.
Made it. Flight sucked, I’m soooo tired. My room here looks like Lizzies, all flowers and ruffles. Yuck. Hugs 2 u + Nugs.
I’m surprised at how much I’m already missing her, already thinking about what she would think of or say about certain things, the way you do when you�
��ve spent a lot of time in someone’s company. That’s in the past, I tell myself. I’m the other me now, the original Jay Evans, back where she belongs. I put my phone away and go to take a shower.
It’s divine. The carpet is thick and warm, the bathroom spotless and white and the shower is hot and pressurised. I stand under the scalding flow for an age, washing my hair twice and lathering my body with sweet smelling soaps.
When I’m dried off, I go back to my room and pick up my phone again, this time to text Becky.
I’m baaaack!!!
The reply comes almost immediately.
Wooooooooooooohooooooooo!!!!
* * *
Next morning I wake at half past three, still suffering the effects of jetlag. I stay in bed until half five, when I’m too restless to lie still any longer. I get up and wander around the empty house for a while before sitting in the lounge with a cup of tea and the central heating turned up, reading a murder mystery that I’d bought at the airport. Gran emerges at seven and after telling me off for having the heating up too high, makes me pancakes for breakfast.
I’m chewing through my second pancake, loving the good cooking and the attention, when Gran puts a stack of brochures in front of me.
“I’d like you to have a look through these today, and put together a shortlist. Some of them might not take students halfway through the year, so we’ll have to see what’s available, but I’d like to find out your preferences. You’ll have to try for a scholarship, so the sooner you start studying the better. I hope you brought some schoolwork back with you. I’m off to bowls, I’ll be back before lunch.”
She walks off, dressed in a blindingly white bowling outfit, and I turn my attention to the top of the pile. St Agatha’s Diocesan School for Girls. My heart sinks, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course she’s sending me to boarding school. She’d always tried to convince my mother that it was the best place for me, but Mum had let me stay at home like I’d wanted to. I’d been gearing up towards this conversation with Gran, ready to try and talk her out of it, but sitting here in her spotless kitchen I feel decidedly in the way. Maybe it won’t be so bad, I tell myself, and spread out the stack of brochures, quickly sorting them into Possibles (has an equestrian programme) versus Definitely Nots (no chance to ride).
