Katie

 

The words no rider wants to hear. A tibial plateau fracture. I mean, I’m no fool. I knew it was bad. I knew as soon as I landed, I even heard the crack. It sounded like a twig breaking, the most surreal sound.

And then there’d been pain.

So much pain.

Fear, too. Fear for me, but mainly for Samson.

My poor furry boy.

I was delivered to some posh hospital, courtesy of my father, and for once I didn’t argue about taking something from him. I just wanted to walk again, wanted to ride again one day, and if he was my best shot, then I’d take it gladly.

I was kept in for over a week. The first days were the worst days. Confined to my bed, in agony every time a muscle twitched, every time I shifted in half-sleep. They brought me a wheelchair after three days, but getting in and out of it was an ordeal, all for the reward of Rick, Carl or Mum wheeling me up and down the corridor awhile. One day we made it outdoors, just to the hospital’s twee little garden, but I didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to smell the grass or feel the breeze on my face. Knowing my furry boy was likely shut away inside somewhere, scared and alone, made my gut churn.

I’d dream about him constantly those first few days, picture him every time I closed my eyes. Reliving those horrible moments over and over, wishing I’d have taken more time, wishing I hadn’t been so reckless, so bloody stupid.

I asked so many questions, about where he was, about how he was doing.

Torn tendons, in his right foreleg. Both superficial and deep digital flexor tendons. They were treating him with cold compress therapy, realigning his hoof with support braces. The rest would be rest. Plenty of rest.

It was doubtful I’d ever ride him again.

It ripped my heart into pieces.

They hardly seemed worth it, the wheelchair excursions, nor the visits Rick, Carl and Mum insisted on daily only to find me doped up or morose, but I made myself smile, made myself say thank you, made myself keep going. Dad stopped by, too, with flowers and a big bright get well soon card. But it wouldn’t be soon. Not by a long way.

The surgeon waited for the swelling to go down enough to operate, and then there were pins, screws, and a big jagged scar running down my calf.

I tried not to look at it. Tried not to think about it. Tried not to let the gloom swallow me up.

The regime was intense and the days were long. Physiotherapy on my knee, drugs for the pain, scans and examinations and consultations.

And then finally, after the longest ten days of my life, they allowed me home.

I cried when I saw the effort Carl and Rick had gone to. They wheeled me inside with a ‘tada’ and the dining room was no more, replaced by a downstairs bedroom. They’d moved their bed, our bed, all the way from upstairs and set up a chest of drawers for my things. They’d even put some photos up, me and them, and me and Samson, me and my mum, too.

“To keep your spirits up,” Rick said. “Cool, eh? The Katie recovery suite. There’ll be masseurs, and cocktails… the full luxury experience…”

“You didn’t need to do all this,” I blubbed, but Carl kissed my head.

“We wanted to, Katie, we both wanted to.”

“Don’t think we haven’t missed you, pretty lady,” Rick said. “It’s felt so empty here without you around. Guess you’ve got us pretty hooked.”

I smiled through the tears. “Yeah, well, you’ve got me pretty hooked, too.”

We had to be careful. My position between the guys was no longer tenable, and I was relegated to the outside edge while the two of them slept at a safe distance, their fingers reaching out to touch mine. It was a comfort. They were a comfort.

They became everything in the world to me without even breaking a sweat.

You have no idea how much you take for granted until every little thing is an impossible task. Moving out of bed, getting dressed, taking a pee. Reaching for a drink, showering, grabbing some food.

Any semblance of modesty or personal space I’d ever enjoyed was smashed into oblivion. They bathed me, they dressed me, they wiped my shitty ass. They brought me meals, kept me comfortable, and entertained me.

They made me smile when I didn’t feel like smiling, made me laugh despite the pain. They made me forget my sorry situation when they were around me, when they were loving me just as much as they had before.

And how I loved them for it.

I loved them so much it made me cry at night, when they were asleep, crying for my luck at having them, even though everything else had turned to shit.

I loved them for everything they did, but I loved them most for taking me to see Samson, even though they didn’t think I was ready.

“Where is he?” I said, as the car turned in the opposite direction of the equine hospital. “Is he not in Cirencester anymore?”

Carl shook his head, and he looked wary, shifty.

“What?” I said. “Where is he, Carl?” The panic engulfed me. “They can’t send him back to the yard! It’s being repossessed! There’ll be nobody there! Nobody who can take care of him!”

“He’s not in Woolhope,” Carl said. “He’s not far.”

“Where’s not far?”

Carl looked right at me as he answered. “He’s at your father’s house. They have facilities, Katie.”

I can’t deny my heart pained. “Who’s taking care of him? Who’s going to be there for him?”

“Verity,” he said, just like that. “Verity and a team of equine physiotherapists. He’s doing well, I promise you.”

“Verity?!” I could hardly comprehend it. “Verity is taking care of my Samson?”

He nodded. “You’ll see for yourself.”

 

They wheeled me through the stalls, the ones I’d hated so much when I was a kid, and I could feel my heart pounding, nausea threatening to make me vomit.

Rick and Carl were so quiet, the whole yard was so quiet. A couple of horsey faces peered out to say hello, but none of them were my Samson.

They pulled my chair to a halt at the stall on the end. I held my breath. Hardly daring to look.

And there he was.

He poked his head over the door, and his ears pricked forward, and I could hardly see him through the tears. Relief and guilt and love, all mushed together.

“Help me up,” I said, squirming in my chair, and even though Rick and Carl protested, they helped me stand, held me tall and balanced while I threw my arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” I cried, my face in his mane. “I’m so sorry.”

I leaned over the door to look at him and his forelegs were still bandaged, still swollen and sore and messed up. But he was still him, still happy, still snuffling around for mints.

“He’ll be alright,” Carl said. “He’s doing well.”

“I did this,” I cried. “It was my fault. All my fault.”

“Don’t be daft,” Rick said. “You were amazing, you were both amazing. It was just an accident, that’s all. Just one of those fucking awful things.”

I shook my head. “I wanted to win, it was all I was thinking about. I was stupid, and selfish and reckless.”

“It was a split second,” Carl said. “One split second of bad luck. Everyone on that course wanted to win, Katie. Everyone. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Look at him.” Rick’s voice was so warm. “He’s doing just fine. Snug in his stall with an endless supply of hay and mints. He probably thinks he’s on fucking holiday.”

The thought made me laugh, and it was snotty and wet and no doubt thoroughly unattractive, but those guys held me tight and kissed my hair and made it feel alright.

“You’ll ride him again,” Carl said. “Just give it time. Don’t give up Katie, not on him and not on you, either.”

“I’d never give up on him,” I said.

“Not your dreams, either. Never give up on your dreams.”

“My dream was to event with Samson. And to have Jack’s yard.” I sighed. “Both of those are gone now.”

“For the time being,” Carl said. “But it’s not permanent. It’s not the end.”

“Harrison Gables, the internship, the yard… Samson… it’s all gone.”

They didn’t say a word.

What could they say?

They lowered me back into the chair and I was already tiring, but I didn’t want to leave.

“Can I have a minute?” I asked. “I just want to sit with Samson awhile.”

“Sure,” Carl said, and both of them ruffled my hair, gave me some space.

I spoke to my boy, told him how much I’d missed him, how happy I was he was safe. Told him I’d find him a new home, somewhere nice to recover at pasture, somewhere with other horses and people who could help me take good care of him.

I told him I loved him, how much I’d always loved him, how proud I was that he’d tried so hard for me on the course.

I blushed as I heard footsteps behind me, unable to turn in my seat far enough to see if it was Rick or Carl coming back for me.

“Hi, Katie,” a voice said, and my skin prickled, my heart thumping.

I held my breath as my sister stepped into my eyeline, ready for the big I am to come out and start gloating.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t do anything like that at all.

 

Verity launched right into an explanation of Samson’s current medical state. She told me how they were treating him, what painkillers he was on, and what the plan was for his improvement.

She leaned against his stable door as she spoke, and my furry boy nudged at her like she was someone he cared about, someone he knew.

My mind could hardly compute it.

She rubbed his ears, and smiled at him. “He’s a really good lad,” she said. “He’s so good natured, Katie, and he has such good manners.” She looked at me. “You’ve done so well with him. He’s a testament to a good handler.”

I shook my head. “He’s always been like that.”

She cleared her throat. “You were great out there, on the course. You were doing so well.”

The tears pricked. “No. I wasn’t. I was reckless.”

“Unlucky,” she said. “You were unlucky. That’s all.”

I shrugged, changing the subject. “I can’t believe he’s here, that you’re taking care of him. Thank you.” I met her eyes. “I know we’ve had our differences…”

She laughed. “Yeah, well, you could say that.”

I laughed a little, too. “A few differences.” I paused. “But thank you. He’s so important to me.”

She smiled, and it reached all the way to her eyes. “No problem.” She shifted from one foot to the other, and I was jealous, just wished I could be on my own two feet. “Katie, I just want to say. I need to say I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

She shook her head as though I was crazy. “For everything. I was just a kid… but I was…”

A mega bitch. A psycho from hell. A horrible little cow who ruined every chance I had of getting to know my father.

“…scared,” she said. “I was scared.”

“Scared?” The thought was strange. Alien. She’d never seemed scared. Not once.

She shrugged. “My mother always taught us that attack is the best form of defence. No mercy, go get’ em and all that.” She sighed. “Then there was you, and it was all anyone talked about. All Dad talked about. Katie’s so lovely, Katie’s so pretty, so kind. Play nicely with Katie, look after Katie.”

My blood turned cold.

“And I was scared. Scared he’d like you best. Scared you’d take my things. And you were so lovely and pretty and kind. Everything I wasn’t. I hated it. I hated you.”

“You made that pretty clear,” I said, but it wasn’t hostile.

“I just wanted to say sorry. I mean, at work you were so much better than me… you could have gloated… I wouldn’t have blamed you, wouldn’t have blamed you for humiliating me or rubbing it in… that would have been fair…”

“I wanted to,” I admitted. “Some days.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t. That isn’t who I am.”

She laughed. “I wish I could say the same thing about myself.”

“Maybe you can,” I said. “Every day is a fresh start.”

“That’s what I’d like,” she said. “One day, I mean. A fresh start.” She looked so nervous. “It put things in some perspective for me, seeing you at work. And then with Samson, you rode so well on that course. Really great. I had a horse who carried me through, but you, you really rode… you and him.” She gave him a pat. “I just wanted to say sorry, not that it’ll be worth anything, not after everything, but with Samson being here, and you and Dad making amends, I just thought I’d say it.”

“Thanks.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I really appreciate your help with Samson. I really do.”

“You’ll ride him again,” she said. “Give him some time out.”

“A lot of time out.”

She didn’t argue. “And your leg, it will get better…”

“Eventually.” I was smiling, though, because she was right. It would get better. “It could have been worse. He made it. We’re both still here.”

“And you’ll still do things together, and if you want to ride, when you’re better, I mean, you could always ride one of mine, just until Samson’s…” She took a breath. “I’d like that.”

Too much, too soon, but I kept smiling. My emotions were piling up in my belly, and I felt small again, and weak. But strong, too. I felt it all at once.

I tried to lighten the mood.

“I’m so bummed about Harrison,” I said. “I mean talk about a shitter. You’ll have to take me some photos. I’ll want to know everything.” I laughed. “You’ll have to think of me, hobbling around on my crutches while you’re learning secrets from the best handler that ever existed.” I flipped her the finger, but it was good-humoured, as good-humoured as I could make it. “Lucky cowbag.”

She didn’t seem to think it was funny, and I felt strangely guilty.

“But I…” She cleared her throat. “We cancelled Harrison. I cancelled Harrison. Not permanently, just until you’re better.”

The blood drained from my face, my jaw loose. “You did?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes twinkled. “Not just for you, of course.” She tutted loudly, but it was in fun. “I’m planning on staying on at the office, after the internship. I think I might specialise in marketing. I’m enjoying it.”

I’d forgotten all about the internship. It felt so far away.

“That means a lot,” I said. “About Harrison. I really wanted…”

“I know,” she said. “It’s my dream, too.”

I felt choked up and awkward. “You must be busy, with all that at work and looking after Samson... a lot on your plate…”

“A little, but I have people to help, too. I can’t take all the credit.”

I smiled. “I’ll find him another yard, get out of your hair as soon as I’m back in action enough to sort something out.”

She tickled his nose, but her eyes were on mine. “Won’t exactly have to look hard,” she giggled.

I stared at her. “Sorry?”

She looked at me so strangely, as though I’d taken some kind of knock to the head. “Woolhope…” she said. “Surely he’ll be going back to Woolhope? Eventually, I mean, he can stay here as long as you want.”

I took a breath. Prepared myself to say it. “The yard’s been repossessed. Up for sale.” It still pained. “He won’t be going back there.”

She looked confused, properly, seriously confused. And then a smile crept across her face. “You don’t know, do you? Fucking hell, you genuinely don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“It’s a great place, by the way, loads of potential. I see why you wanted it so much, I see why it was your dream.” She sighed, but she was grinning. “Shit, I really shouldn’t say. I really shouldn’t.”

I shook my head. “Sorry? I don’t…” And then it dawned. Of course it did.

But I daren’t even.

“Carl,” I said, and I was already looking around for him. “Are you telling me Carl bought the yard?” And I knew. Of course he did. Of course he bought the yard. “My God… oh my God…”

I was reeling. Part euphoric, part giddy at the thought, part scared, overwhelmed. Angry that he’d done it.

But so grateful I could hardly take a breath.

I wheeled myself back towards the car, my fingers tingling and my heart pounding, but Verity jumped in front of me. “Wait,” she said. “It wasn’t…”

“What?” I said. “Is it mine, or not? I just don’t…” I took a breath. “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do…”

“Oh, it’s yours,” she said, and her eyes were bright and happy. “Only it wasn’t Carl who bought it for you. It was Dad.”