Taking Flight (12 page)

Chapter 20

VICKY

‘Don't forget I'm out tonight, Vic,' Mum said, coming into my room with some clean laundry on Thursday afternoon.

I turned round from my desk. ‘Oh yeah. Poetry reading, isn't it?' At least she wasn't trying to drag me along.

‘Yes, I won't be late. Be –'

‘Were you going to say
be good
?'

She laughed but kind of seriously. ‘I suppose I'm a bit anxious after Friday. I don't want to leave you together if there's a bad atmosphere.'

‘There isn't.'

‘Sure?'

I sighed and clicked the top of my pen. ‘Mum, we might just manage to spend an evening in the same house without violence.'

‘Hmm,' she said, as if she wasn't so sure. ‘You were very quiet last night. You didn't fall out again, did you?'

I sighed. ‘I was just tired after my lesson.'

‘Cam said Declan was doing amazingly well,' Mum
went on. ‘She couldn't believe he'd had nothing to do with horses before. Says he's a natural.'

‘Mum, I need to get this English done.'

‘Stop changing the subject, Vic. You don't … you don't
mind
him being at the yard, do you?'

‘No.'

‘Because it would be very selfish of you.'

‘I
don't
mind. I'm even letting him come to watch me jump on Saturday.'

‘With Rory?'

‘Yeah, Fliss and Becca
said
they would come but they're not. I think it was just a trick to get Rory along.'

When she left I doodled in the margin of my
Macbeth
and when she called me down for tea I still hadn't finished. I decided to work in the living-room when she went out – see if a change of scene would help me concentrate.

Declan was there, watching
Top Gear
. He was just out of the shower. Every day he came home filthy and stinking of horse piss. I never got like that at the yard, but then I only ever rode and went home.

I pulled books out of my bag and piled them round me on the sofa. ‘Mum hates me doing homework in here,' I said. ‘She's got this thing about working
in
your room,
at
your desk. Is yours like that?'

He looked up as if he was surprised to hear me talking to him. ‘Nah,' he said. ‘She's not bothered.'

‘Lucky you.' I sighed and started twisting a bit of hair to look for split ends. I really wasn't in the mood for homework.

‘D'you want me to turn the TV off?' He waved the remote.

I glanced up from my book. ‘What? Oh no, you're
OK. I quite like background noise. Of course
Mum
says you can't concentrate that way. Year Twelve's crap, isn't it? We just get all the teachers stressing at us all the time. Are yours like that?'

He shrugged. I'd thought
I
was a good shrugger until Declan came to stay.

I tried to imagine his school. I supposed it must be pretty rough. Maybe they didn't really bother about exams and things. He certainly never did any homework. Not like Rory: I knew he wanted to go to Cambridge to study medicine like his dad. I wanted to do law like
my
dad. Maybe that's what everyone ended up doing. Declan's dad was killed in a car crash, only there was some mystery about it – like it was a stolen car or something. Because when Gran died I remembered the neighbours whispering at the wake.
Poor Kathleen … it was the shock done it … the police at the door … she couldn't go through it again
. Declan must have heard them too.

I looked at him now, watching
Top Gear
, his dark hair damp from the shower. It had grown a bit, so he didn't look quite so much of a wee hard man. I wondered what he would say if I suddenly asked him about Gran. I would kind of like to know what he thought – did
he
blame himself for Gran's heart attack? It
was
the day after he was caught joyriding. Then my tongue slid across the roughness inside my lip, and I knew I would never dare ask.

I looked down at
Macbeth
again. ‘Like our English teacher, Mrs Brennan – she gave us a test yesterday
and
we've got these stupid questions to do tonight. Lady Macbeth. She's sleepwalking. She's mad as a rat and we're meant to analyse all this meaningless rambling.'

‘It's
not
meaningless.' It took me a second to realise he
had spoken. ‘She's only mad with guilt. And bottling it up.
What's done cannot be undone
.'

I felt my mouth drop open so far that he could probably see the red mark where he thumped me. ‘
You
do
Macbeth
?'

‘Yeah. Why not? Cause I'm at a thick school?' His dark eyes narrowed.

I bit my pencil. ‘No, of course not.' I bent over the book again, letting a curtain of hair hide my burning face. I tried to think of something to say to change the subject. Because he was right – I never imagined people at that sort of school doing the same as us. Not
Shakespeare
. I thought of Mum being so desperate for me to be nice to him, so I said, ‘How's your mum?' before I realised how that must sound – like, ‘Oh yes, talking of people who are mad as rats, how's your mum?'

He looked at me closely. ‘D'you
really
want to know?'

Did I? ‘If you want to tell me.'

Another shrug. ‘Colette says up and down, but I think it's more like just down.' His voice was uncertain. ‘Friday night,' he bit his lip, ‘she was really, like, angry. Nasty. Then on Tuesday she just cried.'

‘She phoned my mum last night. Did she tell you? That's why we were late for my lesson.' Mum hadn't told me what Theresa had said but she'd talked to her for ages even though she knew I needed to get to the yard.

‘Yeah. She wants to go home.'

‘Oh. I suppose that's – well, natural.'

Suddenly he said, ‘Is your mum away out with a man?'

‘Of course not!' I snapped. Suddenly I didn't feel so sympathetic. ‘She's at a poetry reading. What on
earth
made you think she was on a date?'

I saw his lips twitch at the word ‘date'. ‘Well, I dunno, just – does she not have boyfriends?'

‘
No
.'

‘What, never?'

‘Never. Unless,' I tried to make a joke of it, ‘unless she has a secret life when I'm at Dad's. Why, does yours?'

‘Have a secret life?'

‘Boyfriends?' I sucked the end of a strand of hair.

‘Sometimes.'

‘God, I'm
so
glad mine doesn't. My friend Fliss – her mum's had a few. Do you not hate it?'

‘Depends. She's sort of happier when she has a man. Trouble is, she has crap taste.'

‘Oh.' I wrinkled my nose. ‘You mean they're prats?'

‘
Prats
? No, I could handle prats. It's psychopaths I don't like.' He was obviously trying to impress me.

‘I'd hate Mum to have a boyfriend,' I admitted. ‘I know Dad has Fiona and that's fine. I mean, she's lovely. But it's different with Mum. Does that sound really selfish?'

‘Well … I dunno.'

It did. But I didn't know how to feel any other way about it.

Chapter 21

DECLAN

‘OK to trot here?' Cam half turns in Flight's saddle.

‘Yep.' I gather up the reins. Out here on the farm trail, surrounded by open country, Kizzy feels a lot livelier. Her black ears are pricked. The rising thing is easy now; I don't have to think about it.

In front of me Flight's ginger bum swings powerfully, muscles rippling like an athlete's. I push Kizzy up beside him. ‘Does Vicky mind you riding Flight?' I ask.

‘She wants him kept fit for jumping. She can't have it both ways. I don't have time to lunge him today.'

‘Does riding not take longer, but?'

She laughs. ‘Ah, this isn't
work
. This is me thanking you for working so hard all week. A treat for your last day, if you like.'

Your last day
. I push the thought away and look round at the fields instead. Riding in the school is great – yesterday I got a whole hour's lesson when someone didn't turn up – but being out here is magic. It's a clear day with just a few wisps of cloud. Cold air itches my hands and
the leaves crunch under the horses' hooves, even though it's December tomorrow.

My legs ache with trotting but Kizzy feels like she could go on for ever. When Cam asks, ‘Are your legs not getting tired?' I just go, ‘No,' and grit my teeth, but she looks at me and laughs. ‘I keep forgetting you've only been on a few times. Come on, we'll walk.'

As Kizzy slows to a swinging walk I look round. Fields as far as you can see. Mostly empty, some with jumps in them – solid-looking things made out of logs and bits of hedge, way more scary than the brightly-coloured poles in the school or at Mossbrook. More like something you would see on the racing on the TV. The trail goes round the edges of the fields and then up through a wood.

‘Is this
all
yours?'

‘Yes. It used to be my parents' farm. I'm sure Jim's told you.'

Despite the cold my cheeks burn. Jim
did
tell me. I feel crap for forgetting and worse for mentioning it. ‘Oh. Um, yeah.'

Please don't let her say any more, I think, but she goes on, as if it's a normal thing to talk about. ‘I wanted to keep the land, but I didn't want to farm.' I wish I hadn't asked. ‘I sold half the land to finance the stables and the farm trail,' she goes on. ‘I always wanted to work with horses and I'd just finished training when it happened. Anyway, I've been running the yard ever since.'

‘It's hard work, isn't it?'

For some reason it's easier to talk to someone when you're riding along side by side. Maybe because you can't see their face.

She laughs. ‘It would have been a jolly sight harder this week without you.'

Happiness floods me like hot tea. I try to sound casual. ‘Well, I still don't know
much
.'

‘True,' she says and the tea cools a bit. ‘Oh, don't look like that! I mean you know hardly anything compared to everything there is to know. Gosh,
I
know hardly anything. But you've certainly picked up the basics really quickly.'

‘Jim says my beds are still crap,' I admit.

‘You'd need to be mucking out for fifty years before you would please Jim.'

‘I wish –'

I wish I could stay.

I wish this was my real life.

But I don't say it. All week I've dreaded this ending. I just didn't think it would be this
bad
. I twirl a piece of Kizzy's springy black mane. I twist it until my finger throbs. Bloody horses. Why did I ever go near them in the first place?

Ask her. She can only say no. But weekends – Vicky at the yard, hanging about, giving orders and dirty looks. Remember Wednesday night? She was nice to me all week at home, and then as soon as she got to the yard on Wednesday she was back to being a snotty bitch.

‘When does Tony get back?' is what I finally ask.

Cam gives a huge sigh and Flight jumps sideways in alarm, skittering leaves with his dancing hooves. Cam doesn't even move in the saddle. ‘Not for ages,' she says. ‘I went to see him last night. He's got a pin in his leg.'

‘Yuck.'

‘Yes. It'll be spring at the earliest. You see – dangerous old brutes, horses. You stay away from them if you want to stay in one piece.' She strokes Flight's neck.

Ask her
. ‘Could I keep coming? At weekends I mean?'

‘Yes, if you like.' She sounds like it's no big deal. ‘Always glad of the help. Though I have to warn you, it won't be like this.'

‘Like what?'

‘No sloping off in the middle of the day for a jolly round the farm trail. I've lessons nearly all day on Saturdays. You going to want to lead kids round the school for hours?'

‘I don't mind.' It'd be the horses I'd be leading, not the kids, I think.

She laughs. ‘Even Casper?'

‘Well –'

‘Look, you're
great
with the horses. But you'll have to work on your people skills.'

‘OK.' If a teacher said this I'd be raging.

‘So you'll be up tomorrow?'

‘Oh!' I suddenly realise. ‘I told Vicky I'd go and watch her jumping at Mossbrook.' I look at Flight jingling his bit, arching his neck and dancing on the spot. I really,
really
want to see him jump tomorrow.

‘That's OK. We'll give you a day off for good behaviour. Come on Sunday. There'll be plenty of tack cleaning. Something else you could improve on. Now,' her tone changes, ‘what about your first canter?'

‘Seriously?'

‘I don't see why not.' She looks me up and down. ‘You've got fantastic balance and you're not nervous, are you?'

‘No.'

‘OK, then. See that hill? We'll canter up it. Just relax. Lean forward a bit; grab her mane if you need to. The main thing is – enjoy it!'

I start to say ‘OK' but Flight takes off like a bullet and
Kizzy plunges after him. For a moment the earth tilts, then I settle down into the power and speed. It's the best thing ever. Fast cars, motorbikes – nothing could beat this rush of trees past me and the drum of hooves up the hill. The wind whips tears from my eyes and Flight's hooves in front of me catapult tiny stinging stones into my hands and face.

It seems only seconds before Kizzy slows into a raggedy trot, then a walk. At the top of the hill both horses are huffing, nostrils flaring like Grand National winners. I try to speak and find I'm out of breath too.

‘OK?' says Cam. ‘Your face is all muddy!'

‘That was –' I search for a word but nothing's good enough. I shake my head. ‘I didn't think it'd be so fast!'

She laughs. ‘It wasn't meant to be. This guy's just a bit full of himself and Kizzy didn't want to get left behind. But you stuck on brilliantly.'

We head back at a walk. Even Flight is tired, steam rising off his red shoulders. My legs are like chewed string and my cheeks smart and sting, but even so, the back of a horse feels like the best place in the world to be.

* * *

‘Declan! Rory's here! Don't forget your gloves.'

I grab the gloves Colette dug out for me last night after seeing how raw my hands were, and the fleece I've been wearing to the yard all week. It smells of horses.

‘Have a good time, love,' Colette says.

I get in and fasten the seatbelt. The car's small but very clean. I bet Rory's the kind of guy who's always cleaning his car. The radio's on, not a blaring techno beat like Emmet would have had; sounds like the sports news. I
wonder what we're going to talk about the whole way to Mossbrook.

Nothing, at first. It takes a while to get out of the city and on to the motorway. Rory's driving is careful but confident. I feel safe with him. The only other guy I've been driven by was Emmet – and you never felt safe with Emmet. But Rory's the total opposite. I know he's eighteen but he seems older in some ways. Buying his own car and that. But in other ways he's younger than the guys round my way. Like, still being at school at eighteen. He's a big guy, around six feet tall and pretty broad. His brown hair's still damp. He must really fancy Vicky to be driving all this way to see her.

‘Did you win your match?' Vicky told me he was playing rugby this morning. I don't know anyone who plays rugby.

‘Yes, 15–3. Which was brilliant, because Mansfield usually beat us.'

‘Great,' I say and there's another silence.

‘D'you play?'

‘Rugby? Nah. Football. Bit of Gaelic.'

‘I've never tried Gaelic.'

Is he a Catholic or a Prod? Nobody seems to bother much round their way. Rory indicates and pulls out to pass a horsebox. I wonder if it's going to Mossbrook. I wonder if Flight went into the horsebox OK today.

‘Have you been to this place before?' Rory asks.

‘Two weeks ago. Don't ask me how to get there, though.'

‘It's OK. I've got directions from Vicky. She said it's about an hour away. Good for the car to get a proper run. An old man had it before me. I don't think it's ever done more than thirty miles an hour in its life.'

‘You must have saved for a long time. I'm a terrible saver.'

‘Well, I've always wanted a car. I suppose if you want something badly enough you make sure you get it somehow.'

Yeah, I thought, in your world, mate.

We turn off the motorway and the little car swishes through puddly, bendy roads. We get stuck behind a tractor and trailer. Rory keeps cool – Emmet would have been tearing past it, honking like mad, not that there were ever any tractors round our way – but after a few minutes he starts to look a bit agitated. ‘No chance of getting past on this road,' he says.

‘Well, it'll have to turn off some time.'

‘It's just …' He glances at the dashboard clock. ‘Vicky texted to say her team was jumping at two. It's after half one now. I wouldn't want to come all this way and miss her.'

Christ, I think, he really likes her! But then I don't want to miss Flight either.

‘They jump two rounds,' I say, feeling like an expert. ‘So even if you miss the first one –'

Just then the tractor indicates right and lumbers into a field. We're going to make it after all.

The car park is just like last time – all mud and neighs and shouts – but parking a Clio is a lot easier than parking a horsebox.

Rory looks round. ‘So where d'you think Vicky will be?'

‘Well, if they're jumping at two she's probably outside the ring, waiting to go in.' I love this feeling of knowing more about it than Rory.

‘So where's that?' He pulls a woolly hat down over his hair and frowns into the rain.

‘Inside. Look, you go past the practice arena and down that path. See?'

The practice arena is deserted apart from a black horse cantering down the far end towards a big fence. I recognise Patrick Scott and Dan. They're flying. I slow down beside the open gate to watch them for a second.

What happens next is so fast that I hardly know it's happened until it's over. The horse skids before the jump; there's a splintering crack of wood, then he's on the ground, all mixed up with bits of pole and Patrick. He struggles up with a grunt and charges away from the carnage, leaving Patrick under the broken bits of fence.

‘Bloody hell!' I don't know if it's me or Rory who says it.

Then Dan hurtles towards us, reins and stirrups flying. No time for fear. I throw myself into the gateway, blocking his path. For a second I think he's going to mow me down but his hot breath fans my face, a stirrup bangs my shoulder and next thing I know I've grabbed his reins and he judders to a halt.

When I look up I see Rory in the arena, bending down beside Patrick. His voice travels through the rain. ‘Don't try to move, mate. No, just keep still. That's right.' He turns and shouts over to me, ‘Go and get someone quick! We need an ambulance!'

* * *

‘So we missed Vicky jumping after all.' Rory slides into the driver's seat and hands me a packet of chips. A friendly smell of vinegar fills the car. We're parked outside a chip shop in some wee village in the arse-end of nowhere.

‘It was all for a good cause.'

Rory opens his chips. ‘I don't know how you just jumped in front of that mad horse. I thought he was going to run you over.'

‘So did I,' I admit. ‘He wasn't mad, but. Just scared.'

‘I couldn't have done it for a million pounds. Anyway, the main thing is the guy's going to be OK. I thought he was a goner. You should have seen the hoof prints all over his back.' Rory shudders. ‘And I thought rugby was rough.'

‘Yeah.'

‘Lucky we were there.'

Turned out the first aid volunteers were in the indoor arena getting a cup of tea.
And
there was some rule saying you weren't allowed to ride in the practice arena without someone in attendance. So a few people were going to be in trouble. Not me and Rory, though – we were heroes.

‘So how come you knew exactly what to do? Not letting him move and all?'

Rory shrugs. ‘I've done first aid. I'm going to be a doctor.'

‘I suppose your da's a doctor, is he?

He looks surprised. ‘He is, actually. I've got an interview at Cambridge next week.' He wrinkles his face as if that's a scary thought.

‘Well, tell them what you just did and they'll let you in, no bother.'

‘I wish!' He mops up some tomato ketchup and looks thoughtful. ‘So what about you?'

‘What about me?'

‘You going to work with horses?'

‘Nah.'

He looks surprised. ‘Didn't you just do your work experience at the stables? What was that about if you don't want to work with horses?'

‘Just something to do for a week.' I don't want to tell him I'm staying on at weekends. He might tell Vicky and I don't want her to know. Not yet.