‘You don’t know that,’ Dad put in. ‘Anyway, it’s put you at the top of the league.’
‘For now.’ I crossed my fingers.
‘Well, there’s only the Ulster final to go now, isn’t there?’ asked Fiona.
‘Yeah, but it’s not for three weeks – the Saturday before Christmas.’
‘Here – don’t let it overflow.’ Dad sloshed the champagne into the glasses. We always seemed to be drinking champagne these days. Not that I was complaining. ‘I hear your chap was the hero of the hour.’
‘Chap? Wise up, Dad!’ I took a glug of champagne and the fizz went up my nose. ‘But yes, he knew exactly what to do,’ I went on, mainly for the pleasure of talking about Rory. I’d been so gutted when he hadn’t turned up to see my two perfect rounds, but when I realised he’d been at the centre of the drama outside, that made it all OK. And he had been in time to see our lap of honour, galloping round the arena with our red rosettes flying, the four of us. Magic. And Rory clapping and smiling from the side, fresh from his heroics. I was so proud of him.
‘And Declan,’ Fiona reminded me, as if she could read my thoughts.
I had to be generous. ‘Yeah, they were both pretty good.’
Rory had told me all about it afterwards. I’d been putting Flight back onto the trailer and he’d come to talk to me. ‘You should have seen that horse, Vicky,’ he said, looking sick at the memory. ‘I thought he was going to flatten Declan. I ducked! But he just grabbed and held on. Honestly, if he hadn’t been so brave, God knows what that horse would have done!’
‘Probably just stood around the car park eating grass,’ I said. ‘Can you pass me that tail bandage?’
‘Um, this?’
‘No, that’s a travelling boot. That blue thing.’
‘Oh.’ He handed it to me. ‘You’re the one who knows about horses. But to me that horse looked pretty het up. He might have run onto the road or anything.’
‘Well, he didn’t.’
As if he’d just noticed, Rory glanced up and down at me. Under my warm, quilted coat I was still wearing my black jacket, white breeches and black leather boots. Despite the cold, damp air I felt my cheeks burn. ‘You look very …’ He paused. ‘I was going to say very sexy but you might think that’s a bit forward.’
I’d never been called sexy before in my life! ‘Thanks,’ I said, and bent down to fix Flight’s boots so he couldn’t see how much I was blushing.
‘So you’re heading back to your dad’s?’
‘Soon as we drop this champion showjumper home.’ I scratched Flight’s damp neck.
‘For the whole weekend?’
‘Yeah. But it’s only at Drumbo.’
‘I’m away next week,’ he said. ‘Got my Cambridge interview. I’ll be back on Thursday. Maybe we could go out on Friday for a pizza or something? I could take you to your dad’s afterwards.’
‘Oh, that’s OK. He could pick me up on Saturday morning.’ My heart thumped.
‘Would you wear those jodhpur things?’ He grinned.
‘Ha ha!’ I threw a dandy brush at him, he grabbed at my coat and next minute he was kissing me. I touched his face. It was damp but his cheeks were warm. Like mine. I never thought my first kiss would be on the ramp of a horsebox in the rain.
Remembering it now made me fizzy inside – it wasn’t just the champagne.
* * *
‘Homework all done?’
‘Mum, you ask me that every Sunday night.’ I shrugged my rucksack off my shoulders.
‘Well, it’s not long until your mocks.’
‘I did Geography coursework all afternoon.’
‘What about the yard? Declan said he didn’t see you.’
‘Well, it was too wet to ride. Not much point.’
‘You used to hang around there for hours in all weathers.’
‘Well, yes, when I was a kid. But you grow out of that stage.’ I remembered myself with fat, short plaits and pink little-girl jodhpurs, buzzing round Cam begging to be allowed to help. That’s the stage Declan’s at, I thought patronisingly. Then I remembered what Cam was always saying. ‘It doesn’t matter how much you ride a horse, you need to build up the relationship on the ground as well.’ I supposed I could have gone up and just groomed him or something. But there was always next week, I thought, rummaging round in my rucksack for my memory stick. ‘Just going to print this out,’ I told Mum. ‘Dad’s printer’s out of ink.’ I bounded upstairs, threw my bag into my room and went next door to the tiny box room where the computer lived.
‘Oh.’ I stopped. No one was ever on the computer. Officially mum and I shared it but it was basically mine. And there was Declan, so intent on what he was doing that he obviously hadn’t heard me come in.
‘Hi.’
‘Oh, hiya.’ He swung round. But not before I’d seen him hit ‘minimise’. ‘Um, do you want on?’
I waved my memory stick. ‘I need to print something.’
‘I’ll just –’ He nodded at the screen and I realised he was waiting for me to leave. This was my house and my computer!
I walked on into the room. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Something for school.’ He looked even more furtive than usual.
Yeah right. I had never seen him do anything for school.
‘So why’ve you minimised it?’ A thought struck me. ‘Are you looking up porn?’
He didn’t miss a beat. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Rory showed me some really good sites. Want to see?’
‘Very funny.’
He hit a few keys too quickly for me to see what he was doing and stood up. ‘All yours.’
I had to step aside to let him out. And as he squeezed past me the sudden sweet whiff of haylage and horse sweat reminded me he’d been at the yard all day. It was true that I hadn’t gone up because of the weather but I knew it was partly because he was there. Another two weeks at the most, I thought, plugging in my memory stick. Then he’ll be gone. Out of this house and out of the yard.
I clicked on my Geography coursework and checked through it before printing. I’ll just check my emails, I thought, going online. The ‘history’ icon seemed to flash at me. Of course! I clicked it. Sites visited today.
That’s when I found out what he’d been up to.
It wasn’t porn.
I wish it had been.
* * *
Becca pulled her History textbook further up to hide her face. A group at the front were doing a presentation about the Nazis and the wet dweeb of a student teacher could only focus on one thing at a time so we were pretty safe as long as we whispered. ‘I can’t see what the problem is,’ she mouthed. ‘So he was looking up courses at agricultural college. Big deal. It’s a free country.’
‘Yes but –’
‘Vic, what odds is it to you if he goes and trains to be a … a groom or whatever it’s called?’
‘Well, it’s …’ I shrugged. I knew it sounded stupid. My thing. My mum. My house. My yard. My horse. ‘Anyway,’ I went on, partly to convince myself. ‘He hasn’t got a mission. He knows nothing. He needn’t think a few days shovelling shit in a small yard is proper experience.’
‘Do they not train you on the course, though?’
‘They don’t just take anyone!’ The teacher raised anxious eyes in our direction and frowned. I sighed and scribbled in the corner of my exercise book: You have to be a competent rider. I remembered finding him riding round the school on Flight like he had a right to.
Becca scrawled back: Tell me at break!
At break we sat on our wall. ‘Vicky, I can’t believe you’re being so unfair,’ Fliss said, unwrapping a Mars bar. ‘You just said this place was miles away. How is it going to have any impact on you?’
‘It’s just – it’s a bit cheeky, isn’t it? Anyway, I told you. He won’t get in. They’ll laugh at him if he even gets as far as applying. I mean, he hasn’t exactly become a competent rider in a week, has he? And,’ I went on before she could answer, ‘you hav
e to have four GCSEs.’
‘Four? Surely anyone could get four GCSEs?’ said Becca.
‘Yeah, Becs, anyone normal, at a normal school. But he goes to a thick school. Half of them don’t get any exams at all. They’re just hoods. Anyway, can we please talk about something else?’
Becca’s round face looked hurt. ‘You’re the one who’s obsessing about this!’
‘Indeed you are, Miss Moore,’ agreed Fliss. ‘And we’re getting fed up with it.’
‘What?’ I felt like something had stung me. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘What I said,’ said Fliss. ‘No, I mean it, Becs,’ as Becca opened her mouth, ‘we agreed we should say something.’
‘You agreed?’
‘It’s just…’ Becca chewed her lip. ‘Every time you talk about Declan you’re so … like, so poisonous. Honestly, Vic – you should listen to yourself.’
‘But I’ve hardly even mentioned him!’
‘But when you do,’ Becca persisted. It was so unlike her to criticise anyone.
I looked at Fliss. ‘So you guys have been talking about me?’
‘We just don’t like to hear you being so bitchy,’ said Fliss. ‘You’ve really changed since he came to your house.’
‘Look, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just annoyed because I wouldn’t let you meet him. You’re not missing much, take my word for it.’ It was like they’d punched me. I wondered when they’d had this little tête-à-tête about me. When I was at the show? The show they said they’d come to? Something struck me. ‘This has nothing to do with Declan. You’re just jealous, aren’t you?’ I jumped off the wall and faced them both.
‘Jealous?’ Becca wrinkled her forehead.
‘Of Rory.’
Fliss sucked in her breath. ‘No, Vic. If you think about it, we’re the ones who helped you get Rory. Getting him to go to your show and everything. You’re the jealous one – not us!’
And they stalked off and left me.
Chapter 23
DECLAN
Mr Dermott sounds fed up already. He must have had a nice week without us lot. ‘Five minutes left. And remember to do the last question properly. At least fifty words.’
There’s a groan. A shuffling and scuffling of papers.
‘Sir, fifty different words?’
‘Sir, what about Cathal? He doesn’t know fifty words.’
‘He can’t count to fifty anyway!’
‘Sir, this is gay.’
‘Four minutes,’ says Mr Dermott. ‘Anyone who can’t manage to finish it now is very welcome to come back at breaktime.’
Louder sighing and groaning and ‘Sir, that’s not fair!’
I look again at the green form. No one said we’d have to do all this. What was the most valuable thing you learned on your work experience? Which of the following best describes the skills you have learned? Tick as many as apply. I sigh. It’s not that I can’t do it. But it spoils it to have to put it all into words and ticks.
In front of me Seaneen Brogan’s curly pony-tail bobs up and down as she covers her green form in her huge, loopy, girly writing.
‘OK, time up. Who’s coming back at break?’ Mr Dermott glances at the green forms as he does the rounds. ‘Natalie – well, maybe we’ll leave it.’ Natalie Doyle is five months pregnant so I suppose Dermott thinks her career is sorted for a while. Natalie smirks and clutches her schoolbag to her swollen middle. Dermott flicks through more forms. ‘Cathal Gurney – see you at break.’ Cathal sniffs. ‘And who’s this without a name? Declan Kelly?’ He sounds surprised.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right. Breaktime in here, then, lads. Off you go.’
Seaneen grabs my arm on the way out of the classroom. I wonder if it feels muscly after all that mucking out. ‘Well, how was it?’
I shrug. ‘OK.’
She glares at me. ‘Is that all you can say?’
‘What is there to say?’
Plenty, as far as Seaneen’s concerned. ‘And I just can’t wait to go to the tech and do childcare,’ she’s still jabbering when we get to Psycho’s classroom. ‘And Sandra – she’s the boss – said she was going to give me a dead good report.’
‘Miss Brogan, Mr Kelly, you are late.’ Psycho blocks the doorway, vicious as ever. She was grumpy about us going on work experience but she’s even grumpier to have us back.
* * *
Mr Dermott looks at my green form. Then at me. Like something doesn’t add up
‘What’s wrong, sir? I filled it in right.’ Not like Cathal Gurney. Mr Dermott had to let him take his form home, though I don’t think anyone in Cathal’s house could do much better.
Mr Dermott runs a hand through his thin ginger hair. ‘Well, yes, technically; I mean, you’ve ticked all the boxes. But it’s not really what I expected.’
‘What d’you mean?’
He takes out a blue form, covered in neat black writing, from a folder on his desk. ‘This came this morning. From Ms Brooke.’
Cam.
‘Ms Brooke has a great deal more to say than you.’ His face breaks into a big dopy smile. ‘Declan, this is one of the best reports I’ve ever seen.’
‘What?’
He shakes out the blue form and makes a big deal out of putting on his glasses. ‘Outstanding. Natural affinity with horses. Valuable member of the team. Eminently suited to this type of work. Trustworthy. Fast learner…’ Close your mouth, Declan. She wouldn’t call you a fast learner if she saw you looking like that.’
I snap it shut, feeling my lips stretch into a grin wider than Mr Dermott’s as I do.
‘So? What do you have to say?’
‘Well, I knew I did OK,’ I begin.
He snorts. ‘OK! This is more than OK. So why,’ he picks up my green form again, ‘do you have so little to say for yourself?’
‘Don’t know sir. Didn’t know what to put.’
‘“Don’t know sir. Didn’t know what to put!”’ He shakes his head, takes off his glasses, and looks at me. ‘What do you intend to do with your life, lad?’
Suddenly I can say it. ‘I want to work with horses.’
‘Great!’ He sounds like he means it. ‘And what will that involve? I’m afraid I don’t know anything about it. We’ve never had anyone –’
‘There’s this thing you can do.’ Suddenly the words are rushing out. ‘A course. At a college in Enniskillen. The whole place is to do with animals and stuff.’
‘Agricultural college.’
‘Yeah, I looked it up on the internet.’
‘Well well. Good for you.’
‘But –’ Then reality kicks in. ‘I don’t know if someone like me – I mean, I probably wouldn’t get in.’
‘I don’t see why not.’ The bell clangs for the end of break but Mr Dermott ignores it. ‘Ms Brooke would obviously give you an excellent reference.’
‘Yeah but – it’s miles away. And you have to have four GCSEs.’
‘So?’ He raises his shoulders as if anyone could get four GCSEs.
‘Sir! I haven’t a hope.’
‘Not with that attitude,’ he agrees. ‘And maybe not on previous form. But if you started applying yourself – well, you’re not stupid. There’s six months before the exams. Who knows what you could do if you tried?’
‘Applying myself?’ It doesn’t sound much like me. I think of something else. Maybe the biggest thing. ‘It says you have to be a competent rider.’
‘But Ms Brooke says, eh, let me see…’ He scans the blue form again. ‘Oh yes. Considering he has never ridden before he has made unusually swift progress. That sounds good. Now it’s only December. Surely you’d have time to get more competent before you applied for the course. Especially as she says she’s happy to offer you weekend employment. So what’s your problem?’
This is all going too fast. Mr Dermott’s acting like all I have to do is want it and I can get it.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on,
lad! This could be your big chance.’ His voice changes. ‘When I think of this time last year …’
‘Sir, don’t.’ People like Payne cast it up all the time, but not old Dermie.
‘Yes.’ Mr Dermott scratches his cheek. ‘I don’t mind telling you, I’ve had my worries about you. But you’ve kept out of trouble, more or less, haven’t you? Parted company with Emmet?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer. Gets suddenly businesslike. ‘Right. Here’s what we’ll do. You need to start knuckling down if you’re going to get those GCSEs. I will get all the information about the course and applying for grants – all that sort of thing. And,’ he adds, ‘I’ll be keeping an eye on you, make sure you’re working. Is that a deal?’
I nod. Speechless. Cam’s words are singing in my ears. Outstanding. Valuable. Walking to Technology my head’s full of plans. Should I start working hard in every subject and hope for the best? Or should I target the ones I might have a chance in and give up on the hard ones? The sludge-coloured school walls melt away into a green path in the farm trail and I’m trotting up it on a chestnut horse. Its ears are pricked and it feels powerful and confident beneath me.
‘Oi, Kelly. Watch where you’re going.’ Emmet McCann shoves me into the wall. For once he’s on his own.
‘Piss off, McCann.’ I shove him back. ‘Oh dear. Is that the best they could do for your nose?’
He sniffs. ‘I can still smell you, anyway. How’s your ma? Still up in the loony bin? Or is it the drying out clinic?’
‘I think it was casualty you ended up in the last time you insulted my ma, McCann?’
I’m only going through the motions. The swelling hatred I felt the day I broke his nose, the red rage that made me thump Vicky – there’s nothing like that now. I just elbow past him, laughing. Emmet McCann can’t spoil this.
* * *
‘So I’ll be home by the weekend,’ Mum says. She pulls her cardigan tighter round her and smiles at me. ‘Don’t look so worried! I thought you’d be pleased.’
Taking Flight Page 13