CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Mabel takes a step backwards, the metal of her shoes scraping on the ancient cobbles of her stable floor. I pull the door towards me, and slip inside, bolting it behind me. I bury my hands underneath her mane and place my cheek against the solid warmth of her neck, soaking up the sweetness of her scent. She feels like home. And the house doesn’t feel like that any more, so coming here makes me feel like I belong to something.
I take the soft brush and slip my hand through the strap that holds it in place, and I start grooming her in the quietness of the empty morning. I want her to look her absolute best. I spray her mane and tail with detangler and comb them through until they are silkily perfect. I clean her hooves and apply shiny black hoof oil to each one so they glisten.
By the time I’m finished, she’s immaculate and I’m soaked with sweat, strands of my hair plastered to my forehead and my hoody thrown to one side of the stable. I slip a day rug over Mabel in case she decides to do her usual trick of lying down in something disgusting when she’s left to her own devices, and tie her up a net of hay to eat. She’s not impressed. She wants out, but that will have to wait.
Beth, Polly’s weekend cover, is mucking out the stables in the barn. I give her a wave as I fill a bucket of water for Mabel and haul it back over to her box.
The yard is coming to life now, the weekend riders arriving in their cars. During the week it’s quiet most of the time, but when the weekends come this place becomes a hubbub with the radio playing and the jumping ponies being taken off to local competitions. I don’t do any of that stuff because competing makes me feel sick with nerves, but I like watching. Sometimes I go along and help out. Freezing-cold fingers in huge, echoey indoor arenas, and the excitement of the jump-offs, and the bad burgers and the coffee in Styrofoam cups – it’s amazing to be part of it but only on the sidelines. I like my horse stuff here at home. That’s enough for me.
‘All right, Grace? You riding today?’ Beth pops a head through the door when she sees me sitting.
I’ve put the kettle on for coffee. I’m cleaning Mabel’s bridle because I want it to look perfect for later, rubbing saddle soap in and shining the buckles and the metal of her bit. I’ve got her saddle balanced across my knees, ready to be done next.
‘Later. I’m keeping her in this morning, though.’
Beth raises her eyebrows. ‘You sure?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, fastening the reins back together.
I know what Mabel’s like when the wind is blowing, but I like it. She’s like a kite on legs, darting and skipping unpredictably. But I can read her mind, and we fly together.
I go back to her stable, and she spins on her heels as she hears me approach and arches her head out of the stable door, nostrils flaring with excitement. Is it time? she asks me, her ears pricked forward, questing.
‘Not yet, beautiful,’ I tell her, placing a hand on her neck. ‘Soon.’
She harrumphs a snort of disgust and turns back to her haynet.
I get back on my bike to go home – via Gabe’s house.
I leave my bike balanced on the hedge outside and creep through the gate, holding my breath. There’s a second where the metal hinges seem as if they’re about to squeal in protest, but I manage to edge through, sideways, so they quiet down again and I tiptoe up the path. I don’t want to be caught in the act.
I bend down and a fluffy white cat appears out of nowhere and swirls its tail around my nose. I open the letter box and carefully, silently, post the envelope through the door.
Later, when Gabe gets up, he’ll find a retro Doctor Who DVD from me, and Marek will discover that I’ve found him a little blue TARDIS key ring of his own. I run on tiptoes down the path and back to the bike and cycle away, crossing my fingers that they haven’t spotted me.
It’s weird the way it feels when I’m excited about something. It’s like I’m whirring with energy that comes from nowhere. The lights are brighter and sparklier, the world seems sharper. I’m cycling, but it feels like no effort at all, and even the little hill that sometimes wears me out feels like nothing. My legs are full of power. Today I feel like I could do anything, be anyone. I’m flying like Mabel. We’re connected. Today is going to be a good day. The stars have aligned.
‘Hello, darling,’ says Mum, opening the door as I clatter on to the front steps, leaving my bike lying across them, the wheel still spinning. ‘You can’t leave that there.’
‘I’m just going back out once I’ve had a shower and something to eat,’ I explain, darting past her.
‘Not with that lying there,’ she says, catching my arm and pulling me back, half laughing as she does so, and pushing me from behind out on to the step. ‘At least put it round the side. If you break the postie’s ankles, I’ll be the one getting sued.’
‘Fair enough,’ I say, and wheel it round the side.
Inside, the house smells of freshly baked something. Leah’s in the kitchen with oven gloves on, doing crocodile impressions to an unamused Withnail, whose tail is twitching in irritation. There’s no sign of Eve. This pleases me. My mood is good and I don’t want the sight of her face ruining it.
‘I made pain au chocolat,’ says Leah, waving her still-gloved hands with a flourish at the kitchen worktop. ‘Well, I assembled them from a can, but you know what I mean.’
‘Ooh, yum.’ I reach forward to get one but she smacks my hand away.
‘Too hot. Hands off the merchandise.’
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Don’t eat them all before I get out of the shower.’
‘What are you up to today?’ Leah says, and her voice is weirdly loud, as if she wants to be overheard.
I frown at her. ‘Nothing much.’ I don’t want to tell anyone my idea. If I do, it might break the spell.
‘Right,’ says Leah, still in the same foghorn voice. ‘I’m going out with Malia later.’
‘Not Megan?’
‘No, I’m having a sleepover at Malia’s house.’
‘Why are you yelling?’
‘I was just going to ask the same question,’ says Mum, coming into the room and picking up a pain au chocolat and biting into it before Leah can protest. ‘So you’re having a sleepover at Malia’s?’
‘Yep.’ Leah nods.
‘I’ll give you a lift over.’ Mum’s talking through a mouthful of burning hot pastry so her voice is all muffled. ‘I’m going out to the cinema with Eve.’
Leah shoots me a one-second glance. ‘’S fine,’ she says, wiping the worktop with a cloth. ‘Malia’s mum said she’d collect me on the way back from the shops later. Save you the worry.’
Mum swallows and gives Leah a smile. ‘You are an angel.’
I run upstairs two at a time. Some days feel like they should have a soundtrack. I’m humming as I turn on the shower and head for the bedroom to get my stuff.
‘Grace, will you NOT leave the shower running when you’re not in it,’ I hear the voice of doom yelling from the hall.
‘Sorry,’ I shout back.
I’m not really sorry. I like the bathroom when it’s all full of steam and smoggy and thick so you go in and it’s like being in the jungle. I hate getting in when it’s cold and you freeze for ages before our not-working-properly boiler finally deigns to let you have some hot water.
I stand under the hot needles of the shower for ages, letting them burn into my scalp, washing and conditioning my hair and scrubbing my face until it feels squeaky smooth.
I emerge as Grace 2.0, the shiny, perfect edition.
I’m putting on make-up, but not too much because if I put on loads there will be ‘where are you going?’ comments, and I don’t want comments. Or questions. So I paint on some eyeliner, and when my wings are perfect first time, I give up a little prayer of thanks to the gods of make-up. When your eyeliner goes right, you just know you’re going to have a good day.
I smooth some defuzzing stuff through my hair (which is pointless because it’s going to be under a hat and also because, let’s face it, fuzz is what my hair does best, and even industrial-strength defuzzer is no match for it) and put on some red-tinted lip-balm stuff.
I’m not going to wear jodhpurs. I put on my black jeans and my Doctor Who T-shirt and my black fuzzy cardigan. When I go downstairs, I wait until there’s nobody in the kitchen and shove a box of matches and as much food as I can manage into my rucksack. I sneak into the garage and stuff the chocolate and marshmallows and biscuits into my bag too. It feels a bit like I’m on a Famous Five adventure.
I’m ready.