CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
We drive through town. I am trying to remind myself of calm blue things and ommm and inner peace and all is well. But even with evil Eve vanquished and Dad coming back to cheer Mum on to get a job and Leah doing tennis and netball and general sportsing nightly (and put off alcohol, from what Dad says, for the rest of her life) I feel sick. Sick, sick, sick.
I’ve got to go to school on Monday and deal with everything. People are going to look at me with their eyes burning holes in me and I haven’t even let myself think about the other thing. The thing I’m not mentioning. Well, the boy.
‘I figured you’d probably want to check on Mabel, so we’ll just nip in to the stables first,’ says Dad, flicking the indicator to turn right towards the yard.
I feel a flirrup of nerves in my stomach. I’m worried Mabel might have forgotten me and I’m worried Polly is going to have stopped being nice and decided I’m a neglectful sort of owner who swans off on holiday except I can hear a voice in my head (it’s a sensible sort of voice, and I don’t know where it’s come from, but I like it) reminding me that, no, Grace, you had a major meltdown and you needed a break, and that’s OK. And I take a breath and sit up a bit straighter and I feel as if actually being down at Grandma’s has changed me a little bit. That maybe I’ve realized that it’s not just me that messes up, that nobody really knows what they’re doing. And I feel quite impressed with myself for that.
It won’t last, I’m sure, but it’ll do for now.
And then we pull into the yard and there’s something taped to the wooden doorframe above Mabel’s box. And I get out of the car and step towards it and I pull my glasses off for a moment and rub them on my T-shirt because I’m not sure I can see right.
But when I put them back on it’s there.
Welcome back, Grace, it says on a banner covered in stars.
And there’s a skittering of hooves and a snort and Mabel’s head appears over the stable door and she whinnies at me with her eyes bright and her ears pricked with excitement and she nods her head up and down and I realize that she’s got something plaited in her mane and I get closer and I see it’s blue hair extensions from Clare’s Accessories and I burst out laughing, and –
‘Oh God, you’re not meant to be here yet – I haven’t painted her feet,’ says Anna, who pops out from the tack room with a pot of blue face paint and a brush.
‘Just as bloody well,’ says Polly gruffly, but she’s laughing, and she puts a hand on my shoulder and I turn round to look at her. ‘Thank God you’re back. Your friends have been helping and quite frankly I think they might be insane.’
‘Friends?’ I say, looking at her and frowning.
And Gabe’s head pops up from behind the stable door and his face looks pink and he’s actually blushing.
‘Well, he can stay,’ says Polly. ‘Turns out he can muck out and everything.’ She grins at Gabe, who unfastens the stable door and slips out. Mabel leans her head across his shoulder, whiffling for treats the way she does with me.
‘Hi,’ says Gabe, and he smiles, and I smile right back at him.
‘We missed you,’ says Anna.
And nobody rushes forward and hugs me, and I am glad about that, because it’s more than enough to take in all the stuff that’s happening and all the stuff that’s happened.
‘She’s healing really well,’ says Polly. ‘Come and have a look.’
I step forward towards Mabel’s box and Anna does a little skip of excitement and puts the face paint down (‘I should think so too,’ mutters Polly darkly) and follows us. Gabe steps back out of the way but I pass him close enough to notice he gives me a look that is so kind and lovely that it makes my breath catch in my throat. He’s got a piece of wood shaving stuck in his hair and when I walk into Mabel’s box I realize he’s made it look perfect.
Mabel steps back politely and allows Polly to push her gently on the shoulder so she turns to face the light. I can see that even in a few days the scratches and cuts have healed. The bandage is gone from her foreleg, and her coat is shining. She looks like my horse again.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper to Mabel, lifting her long mane so my breath catches in the soft hairs of her ears.
‘You don’t need to say it,’ says Polly. Gabe and Anna are standing with Dad by the stable door looking out into the yard, laughing and chatting as if they were all the best of friends. They’re waving to someone.
I don’t know what to do with all this.
And Polly continues. ‘We’re human, Grace. Screwing stuff up is what we do best.’
And Dad, who I thought wasn’t listening, turns round to look in at us.
‘It’s the only way we learn.’
There’s a thump as Leah leaps on him from behind, and Mum joins her a moment later, and I watch the three of them hugging, but I don’t feel like I’m left out this time. I feel OK.
I feel so OK that I suggest that we all go out for dinner that evening, me and Anna and Gabe and Leah and Dad and Mum. All of us.
And Dad makes embarrassing dad-jokes, and the waiter offers us the wine menu and Mum suggests he gives it to Leah as she’s the expert. And Anna and Gabe laugh and point out Archie, who flies past the pizza place on the way to the floodlit skate park. Gabe keeps looking at me and blushing slightly when I meet his eyes. And I keep blushing when I catch his eye. And Mum and Dad keep looking at us and grinning.
And when we go up to the salad bar somehow I end up standing there beside Gabe and he looks at me and says, ‘You OK?’ and I say, ‘Yes.’ And I realize that I really am.
We go back to the table with our little bowls of salad and I notice Mum and Dad are holding hands and he keeps smiling at her. When she goes to the loo, he pulls her back for a moment so she lands on his lap and she laughs out loud and kisses him right there at the table, which ought to be embarrassing but actually, weirdly, it isn’t.
And the funny thing I’ve figured out is that sometimes, when it seems like everything is falling apart, it’s not the end – it’s the beginning.