Pony Jumpers 7- Seventh Place

by Kate Lattey

  I took a step towards him and he widened his eyes and snorted nervously. I stopped, then went back to my sleeping bag and crawled back into it, screwing my eyes shut and trying to fall back asleep. Maybe when I woke up, this would all turn out to be a bad dream.

  When I did finally get up, I retrieved Buck’s discarded cover as well as my sleeping bag and carried everything onto the back porch. I dumped it by the door and went into the kitchen, my stomach rumbling as I left a trail of damp grass-flecked footprints across the cold tiles.

  Mum was up already, sipping coffee and flicking through emails on her laptop as she stood at the kitchen counter.

  “Morning.”

  Her eyes scanned my appearance with displeasure. “Have you been sleeping in the barn?”

  “No. On the back lawn.” I pulled an almost-empty box of muesli out of the pantry and put it on the table. “Buck’s not any better, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

  Mum shot me a look, but didn’t say anything. She set her coffee down on the bench and started typing rapidly, staring at the laptop screen with rapt attention. I made my breakfast and sat down to eat it, wondering whether I should ring Lesley and see what she thought, or just wait for Dad to call someone else out.

  Mum’s typing paused, and I thought of something I’d been meaning to ask her.

  “Why did you ring me last night?”

  “What?” Mum looked confused. “Because I thought you’d want to know.”

  “I did, but that’s not what I meant.” I stirred the muesli in my bowl, fishing for words. “Why didn’t you ring Dad?”

  Mum pursed her lips. “He’s your pony, isn’t he?”

  No, not technically, I wanted to say. He belongs to you and Dad. But I knew that wasn’t what she wanted to hear, so I just shrugged.

  “Would you rather I hadn’t?” Mum sounded annoyed now, and I tried to placate her.

  “No. I’m glad you rang me. I just thought it was weird, that’s all.”

  The weirdest part was that it hadn’t actually occurred to me that it was strange until I’d burst into our truck last night and told Dad the news. He’d just stared at me for a moment, then looked down at his own phone, as though checking for a missed call. He hadn’t hesitated for long, understanding the urgency of the situation, and he’d got straight on the phone with Mum while we packed up the truck, but I could tell it was bothering him the whole way home from Taihape.

  “I thought I had a better chance of reaching you,” Mum said. “I know what you’re like with that phone, joined at the hip.”

  I pretended to accept that excuse. I pretended that it wasn’t about her and Dad, about the fact that they barely talked to each other anymore, about the way she’d thrown herself so much into her work lately that she hardly seemed to notice me. For years, I’d been the centre of her universe. I hadn’t always appreciated that, and part of me was grateful for the breathing space she’d been giving me lately, but this recent disinterest was something else entirely, and I didn’t know what to make of it.

  I ate another mouthful of muesli, resisting the urge to ask her how often she’d checked on Buck yesterday, and how long he’d been distressed for.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted answers to those questions.

  She set down her coffee cup on the bench with a thunk. “I’m heading out. I’ve got clients to visit all day.”

  “Okay.” I picked up the muesli box on the kitchen table and rattled the dregs at her. “There’s not much left. Can you get some more?”

  “I’m not your slave,” she snapped. I stared at her, taken aback, and her face softened. “I don’t have time, darling. But I think supermarkets deliver these days, don’t they? Why don’t you see if you can set that up for us? Order whatever we need. Put it on your father’s credit card.” She picked up her handbag and slung it over her shoulder. The expensive Italian leather bumped against her hip as she gathered her laptop bag and a huge book of fabric samples. “Have a nice day. I’ll see you later.”

  I looked at the puddle of greyish milk that lay at the bottom of my bowl, listening to my mother leave the house. I should be happy for her that she was finally taking charge of her own life, and not letting Dad push her around anymore. I’d resented her for that, so why was I mad at her for doing the opposite?

  I didn’t have the answers to those questions. I didn’t have any answers right now, but it was time to track down someone who might.

  * * *

  “He’s not looking much better, is he?”

  Lesley was observing Buck critically as I held him on the back lawn. His sides were tucked up and his breathing was still laboured.

  “No.” I was direct with her. The sun beat down on our heads as she opened her veterinary kit and pulled out a bright pink stethoscope. I was glad Dad wasn’t here to see it. I didn’t think he’d be impressed.

  “So how is the old man?”

  I blinked, confused. “My dad?”

  Lesley raised her eyebrows. “I meant the pony.”

  “Oh.” I felt my face flush, and I spoke quickly to try and avoid further embarrassment. “Lethargic. Not as interested in food as he is usually, although he ate his bran mash this morning.”

  “Pooping normally?”

  I nodded. “Not as much as usual, but yeah, otherwise.”

  “Has he been drinking?” She slipped the stethoscope buds into her ears, then turned back to me with a grin. “And I’m still asking about the pony.”

  I couldn’t help a slight smile at that one. “Yes, a little.” I’d topped his water bucket up that morning, but he hadn’t exactly drained it overnight.

  “Okay.” She nudged Buck’s left foreleg forward a little, then positioned the end of the stethoscope just behind his elbow. I stood quietly, waiting, as she listened, counting off the seconds on her wristwatch as she did. I watched Buck’s sides heave in and out as he breathed, occasionally swatting flies listlessly with his tail.

  “Forty-eight beats per minute,” she said, removing the stethoscope from her ears and stepping back from my pony.

  “That’s high,” I replied with a frown. “And his respiration rate is twenty four, which is high too.”

  Lesley looked surprised. “Were you counting?”

  I nodded. “I was watching his sides move, and counted while you did. Fifteen seconds, right? Then multiply by four.”

  “Correct.” She seemed impressed, but I was too worried about Buck to care. “Don’t panic too much, okay? It’s not ideal, but we expected the heart and respiration to be up, considering his condition. And I’ve seen worse.”

  I wasn’t sure that was too comforting, but I nodded. She placed the stethoscope higher, listening carefully to his lungs for a few seconds at a time.

  “Bit of wheezing going on, but that’s expected too, given what we can see from the outside.” She laid a hand over Buck’s side, watching the expansion and contraction of his ribcage. “I’ll give him an injection to try and settle things down. Looks like a respiratory infection, which is treatable, although it might limit his future endeavours.”

  “I don’t care about that,” I told her. “I just want him to feel better.”

  “Good to know.” Lesley moved to Buck’s hind end and prepared to take his temperature again. “He’s a show jumper, is he?”

  I nodded. “One of the best.”

  She smiled. “He’s certainly very well looked after.” She inserted the thermometer and looked around the garden, one arm resting casually on Buck’s rump. “Nice place you’ve got here. What are those, petunias?”

  I followed her gaze instinctively, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I think they are. My mother’s mad keen on gardening,” Lesley confessed. “Every time I go round there she’s dragging me out to admire her garden. Not much a gardener myself, I’m afraid. Too busy to have time to look after it. Only thing I can grow is weeds.” The thermometer beeped, and she pulled it out and looked at it. “Thirty nine point two. Gone down a bit fr
om yesterday then.”

  “That’s still high.”

  “It is.”

  “But you’ve seen worse, right?”

  Lesley smiled at me. “That I have. Now, what’ve I got in here to make you feel better, eh old man?”

  She rummaged around in her kit while I stroked Buck’s face gently. He lowered his head to lean against me, and half-closed his eyes. I could feel the effort of his breathing as it reverberated through his whole body, and I fought back tears. I just wanted him to be okay again. I ran my hand across his cheek and over his throat, which was still swollen.

  “You said yesterday that it might be st…strangles,” I said, choking on the word.

  Lesley looked up from her kit, sympathy in her eyes. “I said worst case scenario, and he’s not presenting many symptoms of it. That swelling around his throat could just be grass glands, so let’s not jump to any conclusions. I’ll get the swab test results back in a few days. In the meantime,” she continued, standing up and drawing a clear liquid into a small syringe as she spoke, “we’ll give him something to make him feel better.”

  Lesley pulled out a flap of Buck’s skin, then slid the needle into his neck. Buck hardly flinched as she slowly depressed the plunger of the needle until all of the liquid had disappeared, then carefully withdrew the needle.

  “Keep a close eye on him for the rest of the day, and ring me if anything changes,” she said. “If it doesn’t help, there are a few other things we can try. Some of them get a bit pricey though.”

  “That’s not an issue for us,” I assured her, and she nodded.

  “Didn’t think it would be,” she replied as she packed up her kit. “You’ve got my number, haven’t you? Stay in touch.” She straightened up and gave Buck a gentle pat on the neck. “Feel better, old boy.”

  Buck shook his head and turned to look at her, as though he was saying thank you for helping him. “How long until the drugs take effect?”

  “You should see an improvement within a couple of hours, but it might not last,” Lesley warned me. “So keep a close eye on him. Are you back at school tomorrow?”

  I pulled a face, and nodded.

  “You have my sympathies,” she said with a slight smile. “Well, as long as there’s someone around during the day to keep an eye on him.”

  “Dad’s planning on working from home tomorrow. That’s why he’s at the office today,” I told her, and she nodded approval.

  “Good for him. Try not to panic, okay? Whatever it is, it’s unlikely to kill him.”

  She scooped up her kit and walked off across the lawn. I wished her words made me feel better.

  * * *

  “Susannah?”

  “Here,” I mumbled reflexively.

  Voices giggled around me, and I looked up at Miss Rutherford, who was scowling at me from behind her desk.

  “I’ve already called the roll,” she reminded me. “I’m calling you now about this.”

  She raised her hand, waving a yellow slip of paper in my direction. My classmates started whispering, and a few heads turned to look at me as I stood up, cursing whoever’s idea it had been to colour-code those slips. Blue slips came from the office, pink slips from the Dean, and yellow slips from the guidance counsellor. I still hadn’t responded to Ms Bryant’s more subtle requests for a meeting with me this term, but it didn’t look like she’d given up on me. Just on the subtlety.

  I plucked the yellow slip out of Miss Rutherford’s talons and scrunched it in my hand as I walked back to my desk, the hot flush in my cheeks betraying my embarrassment to the rest of the room.

  Callie shot me a sympathetic look as I sat back down and shoved the slip into my bag without reading it.

  “Can’t she take a hint?” I muttered. “If I wanted to talk to her, I’d have done it already.”

  “You should go to the guidance office and complain about being harassed. By her,” Callie told me.

  “I actually should. Or I could just keep ignoring her.”

  “That’s a better plan. It’s not like there aren’t enough screwed-up people in this school to keep her busy. Why does she want to talk to the normal ones?”

  I shrugged, pleased that Callie considered me to be normal. I wasn’t sure that I did, but I wasn’t about to disagree with her.

  “So how’d your party go?” I asked her. “Sorry I missed it.”

  “You didn’t,” she told me. “I had to postpone. My great-grandma had a stroke on Friday night, and my parents thought it was inappropriate to hold a party.”

  “Oh my gosh, that’s awful! Is she okay?”

  Callie nodded. “Yeah. Well, as good as she can be. She’s had a few strokes now, and every time the doctors say that the next one will be the last, but she keeps battling on.” She frowned, her perfect eyebrows flexing inwards. “Sometimes I think she’d be better off if she didn’t. I know that sounds callous, but she can’t even eat on her own any more. I wouldn’t want that kind of life.”

  “Me either. That’s terrible though, I’m sorry.”

  “The doctors were the worst,” Callie said bitterly. “They had my parents really wound up, saying that it was touch and go and to say our final goodbyes. And the next morning she was breathing on her own and had perked right up. But enough of that, it’s too depressing to talk about. The good news is that I get to have my party this weekend instead. So you’ll be able to come!”

  “I…”

  “You’re not going horse showing again, are you?” Callie asked, seeming astonished that I would consider competing two weeks in a row.

  “Well, no,” I admitted.

  Even if Buck hadn’t been sick, we’d planned to have the weekend off. What was supposed to be a quiet weekend to prepare for Horse of the Year had turned into an enforced segregation. Until the strangles test came back negative, we couldn’t take any of the ponies off the property. And if it didn’t come back negative…well, I didn’t even want to think about that possibility.

  “Perfect!” Callie beamed. “So you’ll come to my party.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “One of my ponies is really sick, and I don’t like leaving him.”

  Callie looked surprised. “Oh, poor you. But you leave him to go to school,” she pointed out.

  “Only because I have to.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be better by then,” she said confidently. “He’s not dying, is he?”

  I pushed down the fear that bubbled inside me at the thought. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “He’ll be fine,” she assured me. “And you have to come to the party. It’s going to be amazing. I think it was actually a good thing that I’ve had to delay it, I mean, not because of what happened to my Grammy because obviously that was terrible but now I’ve got more time to plan and invite people. And there’s a couple of guys that you have to meet. I actually can’t wait to introduce you. Now, what’re you going to wear?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  ~ WORTH FIGHTING FOR ~

  I knocked on the open door, and Ms Bryant looked up.

  “There you are, Susannah. Come on in, and shut the door behind you.”

  The small room was stiflingly warm. A slight breeze coming through the window provided little relief as I dropped my bag and my feet and sat down in the chair opposite my school’s guidance counsellor.

  “I’m glad you’ve managed to come and see me,” she smiled, sounding genuine. “I’ve been wanting to catch up with you since the beginning of term.”

  I crossed one leg over the other and said nothing. She knew as well as I did that I was only here because I’d received my third summons in as many days, and had finally caved in to her demands just to get her off my back. I’d been to see her last year, had talked through some things and ended up telling her far more than I’d ever intended to about my family situation. At the time, it had seemed helpful, but now I found the fact that she knew so much about me unnerving, and I wasn’t in a hurry to divulge any new information.

  �
�So how are things going so far this year? Are you getting along okay in your classes?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, fine.”

  “No problems with your teachers, or other students?” she pressed, watching closely as I shook my head. “Coursework all making sense so far?”

  “Yep.” I folded my arms across my chest, then unfolded them again. I didn’t want to appear defensive, even though I knew that was already how I sounded.

  Ms Bryant leaned back in her chair and continued smiling at me. “That’s great to hear. And how are those lovely ponies of yours? Did you have a successful summer?”

  Smart woman. She knew that talking about my ponies was one way to break the ice – it’s how she’d got me talking before. I hesitated, but I couldn’t resist.

  “It was okay. Skip’s good. Forbes has his good days and his bad ones.” I paused, then pushed on. “Buck’s not so good. He picked up a cold at Nationals and seems to have developed a respiratory infection.” I still couldn’t say the word strangles.

  “Oh no! That doesn’t sound good,” Ms Bryant said. She sounded genuinely concerned, much more interested than Callie had been. But then, it was her job to pretend to be interested in other people’s problems.

  I shrugged, trying to bite my tongue, but I needed to talk about this. So much for playing things close to the chest. “We’ve had the vet out a couple of times, but she’s still not quite sure what’s going on. He gets better with medication, but then he goes downhill again once it’s worn off. We don’t know what’s causing it, and it’s just really hard to watch him struggling to breathe.”