CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Who pissed in your cornflakes?’
I’ve crashed down the water buckets from Mabel’s stable beside the taps, just as Polly appears out of nowhere.
‘Nobody.’
‘Why’re you banging stuff around like you’re in a major strop, then?’
I look up at Polly. She’s got a hay net over one shoulder and the spikes of her bleached blonde hair have flopped a bit because of the drizzly rain, but she still manages to look good somehow. She’s got her ears pierced about ten times and a silver hoop through her eyebrow, which is amazing and something I’d love to do except for a) unimaginable pain and b) I would be grounded for all eternity.
I shrug. And I don’t know why, because usually I’d just say nothing, but my mouth forms the words and they fall out.
‘My family is being weird.’
Polly gives a sort of upward nod of acknowledgement. ‘Yeah, they do that.’
And I pull an awkward face, which I hope says sorry, because I remember that Polly doesn’t speak to her parents any more. She lives with her girlfriend, Melanie, in a flat above the Spar, because when she told her parents she was gay they threw her out, like something from the 1980s when everyone was homophobic and ignorant.
Anyway, it’s probably not fair to moan about Mum being weird when Polly doesn’t see her mum at all, so I shut up and change the subject.
‘Are you working tomorrow?’
Polly laughs as Bruce, the huge black thoroughbred who lives in the stable by the taps, reaches over her head and starts hoovering up strands of hay from the net. ‘Oi, fatso, that’s not for you.’
Bruce, who was rescued from the knackers yard and is an ex-racehorse, is the most athletic thing you’ve ever seen. He’s huge, and spare, and his whole frame ripples with muscles. He moves his big head out of the way and heaves a dramatic sigh.
‘Yeah, I’m working all weekend.’ Polly gives me a look. ‘You about?’
I shake my head.
‘Ohhh. It’s The Big Party, isn’t it?’
I’m not quite sure how she manages to give it capital letters, or how Polly even remembers me telling her about it the other week when we were raking up leaves, but –
‘Yes.’
I always get weirdly formal when I have to ask someone a favour. It’s like I lose the power of speech.
‘I was wondering if you could possibly look after Mabel for me?’
‘No chance.’ Polly gives a flat shake of her head, her mouth a straight line.
I feel a swoop of sick panic. Mum said she’s going out with Eve, so there’s no way she’ll be up for getting covered in horsehair and hay. I need someone to check Mabel at teatime and Anna’s supposed to be getting ready at mine and there’s no way I can be in two places at once and –
‘Course I will.’ Polly grins. ‘I was teasing, silly.’
I shake my head and put on a smile. I like Polly, because she’s cool and interesting and nice. And she knows everything there is to know about horses. Although sometimes she makes me feel a bit on edge, because I never quite know if she’s joking or not. But I’m getting better at guessing.
‘She’s looking good,’ Polly calls, climbing on to the gate by the outdoor school. It’s a bit later and I’m circling Mabel round, cantering her so slowly that it’s like sitting on a rocking horse.
‘Give a little bit with that outside rein, and push on with the inside leg a bit, get her reaching underneath a bit more.’
I do what Polly says and suddenly it’s as if we’ve been powered up and we’re soaring, seahorses on waves, and it’s amazing. I circle her again and then let Mabel fly round the long side of the school, letting her reach out, her mane floating in the air, before gathering her to a halt in front of the gate. All the stress I felt earlier has disappeared. If I could live here at the stables, I’d be quite happy.
Polly reaches out and smoothes Mabel’s forelock. I can see Melanie making her way down the track. She’s still wearing her officey work clothes and skirting the puddles in sensible-looking shoes, which look weird when I’m used to seeing her in her roller-derby team T-shirts, and shorts with stripy tights. She puts a finger to her lips, and so I don’t say a word as Polly reaches into her pocket, finding a mint for Mabel to eat as a reward for working hard. Mabel gives a chuntering little noise of happiness as she crunches, shaking her head up and down so that the clinking noise of her bridle disguises Melanie’s footsteps.
‘Gotcha.’
Polly gives a squeak of delight as her girlfriend grabs her round the waist from behind and squishes her hello. She turns grinning.
‘Thought you were going straight to training?’
‘Nah.’ Melanie takes the mints from Polly’s hand and helps herself to one, offering me up the packet. I shake my head.
‘Jamie said I could get off a bit early,’ Melanie says through a mouthful of mint, ‘so I thought I’d see if you wanted to come along and do penalty timing for scrimmage?’
Polly screws up her face, looking down at her filthy jodhpurs.
‘Like this?’
Melanie laughs. ‘It’s derby, Poll.’
When I’m eighteen, I’m going to do roller derby. Anna and I went to watch Melanie in a bout once and it was the most amazing thing. Everyone was so nice and friendly and they’ve got cool clothes and it’s like being in the best gang ever, as far as I can see. Plus roller skates – and tattoos and blue hair and –
‘I need to check the stables. There isn’t time.’
Polly looks like she’d like to go. It occurs to me then that I could offer.
‘I’ll do it, if you like?’
Polly and Melanie both beam at me, and I feel a sense of getting it right wash over me like a lovely wave. It’s hard to explain. Learning this stuff – what makes people happy – it’s like dealing with Mum. I’ve already worked out that if I act all charming and lovely with her, and don’t argue back, I can pretty much do what I like. Sometimes I think people are weird. Most of the time I think people are weird. Or maybe they just know this stuff instinctively. I feel like I’m putting the world together in pieces.
‘Grace, you’re a star.’ Polly jumps down from the gate. ‘Just make sure everyone’s got hay and water, and I’ll do Mabel for you tomorrow night.’
‘Oh yeah,’ says Melanie. ‘Hot date?’
I can feel myself going scarlet-cheeked and I look down at Mabel’s neck, flipping over a stray piece of her mane from one side to the other.
‘Big party,’ Polly says.
‘Ah,’ says Melanie, as if those two words explain everything.
Polly gives Mabel a last rub on the forehead and looks up at me for a moment. ‘Just don’t stress about it, OK? You’re cool, Grace.’
‘God,’ says Melanie, rolling her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t be fifteen again if you paid me.’
I’ve checked the horses and made sure all the stable doors are bolted shut. OK, I’ve triple checked, because I was a bit stressed about someone getting out in the middle of the night and Polly getting into trouble for leaving me to lock up. And Mabel is in her stable on a bed of snowy-white wood shavings, which smell so delicious that I’d quite like to lie there for the night and not go home. Her stable and all her stuff are always immaculate. Mum always comments that if I could keep my bedroom like that, blah blah blah, but – I shudder for a second, remembering that back home she is probably still there.
Eve.
Making the kitchen feel all weird and unsettling, and Mum doing that fake-sounding laugh and acting like someone else.
It’s supposed to be my safe place, but I don’t want to go home.