Pony Jumpers 7- Seventh Place

by Kate Lattey

  Declan leaned back against the couch and glared at me as though I’d just ruined his night. In his mind, I probably had.

  “Are you a lesbian?”

  I glared right back at him. “What? No.”

  “Then what’s your problem?” He lunged in towards me for another kiss, but I’d had enough. My anger and fear and confusion all collided with each other, and I retaliated by slapping him across the cheek with as much force as I could muster.

  “My problem,” I told him loudly, “is that you’re an asshole!”

  The music that had been so insistent for the past hour suddenly took a break, letting everyone in the room hear exactly what I’d just said. They all turned and stared at me, and I made a concerted effort to stand up, pushing myself to the edge of the couch and getting to my feet.

  Declan was swearing at me, one hand pressed against his cheek as he called me crazy amongst other things. A few people had gathered around us, but they mostly seemed amused by the fact that Declan had been slapped than by what had upset me.

  My head was spinning, and I was eternally grateful that I had chosen to stick to my own sandals rather than the teetering heels that Callie had tried to talk me into wearing.

  The thumping music was back, and as I stood there, trying to work out just how drunk I was and what I should do next, Callie appeared next to me.

  “Susannah.” She put a hand on my shoulder, and I turned to face her in relief. She’d get me out of the situation. That’s what friends are for, right? But she was looking at me with a disappointed expression. “I think you should go home.”

  I blinked at her in disbelief. “What?”

  “You’ve had too much to drink,” she told me, her own voice slurred slightly. God, what had been in that punch? “It’s probably for the best if you go home and sleep it off. We wouldn’t want you to do anything that you’ll regret.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but she just squeezed my shoulder and then turned away. Declan was still sitting on the couch, leering at me. He’d won that round, and he knew it. My hands were shaking as I reached over and picked up the small bag that I’d been carrying all night, the one that had my cell phone in it. Instinct had dictated that I kept it with me, and I’d never been more grateful for that decision. Declan said something as I leaned towards him, getting one last good look down the front of the red dress as I restrained the urge to beat him around the head with it before I straightened up and walked away with as much dignity as I could muster.

  Outside, the air was cool. I walked across the dimly-lit garden towards the road, stopping at the mailbox and looking up the street. I was a long way from home, and I didn’t have any money to call a taxi. I toyed with the idea of calling one and then getting Dad to pay when he dropped me home, but I already knew how well that’d go down. So I did the one thing that was almost unthinkable, because I was completely out of options.

  The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Finally, just as I was starting to give up hope and think I was going to have to call a taxi anyway, the line clicked.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. It’s me.” Sound sober.

  I could hear the frown in my father’s voice. “Susie? What’s wrong?”

  “Can you come pick me up?”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” As if I was going to tell him. He’d lock me in the house and never let me leave again. Although right now, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea. “I’m just sick of this party, okay?”

  I heard him sigh. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  I hung up the phone, then looked around for somewhere to sit down. There was a large boulder at the front of the Taylors’ driveway, and I sank down onto that. The red dress rode up my thigh, and I tugged at it savagely. The facts slowly sank in as I sat there in the moonlight. My dad was coming to pick me up, and I was dressed like this. For a moment I considered doing nothing, and damn the consequences, but I already knew that I couldn’t afford to make things worse. So I stood up again, and made my way back towards the house.

  I headed for the front door, wanting to avoid the party. From there, it would just be a few steps down the hall, then up the stairs and into Callie’s bedroom, where I could retrieve my own clothes. The desire to get out of this tight, clinging dress was overpowering, and I gripped the front door handle tightly when I got to it and twisted it hard.

  Nothing happened. I tried again, but still nothing. It was locked, I realised belatedly. There was a doorbell right next to it, and after a moment’s hesitation, I pressed it. Within the house, I heard it chime. Callie was right about the rumpus room being soundproof. I could still feel the vibrations thudding through the ground from the heavy bass, but the music itself was muted, barely audible.

  I shifted my weight impatiently, and checked the time on my phone. Almost five minutes had already passed since I’d spoken to my Dad. I rang the doorbell again, holding my finger down for a couple of seconds. Then footsteps finally came towards the door, and it opened.

  A tall blonde woman stared down at me, looking annoyed. “The party’s downstairs,” she said, starting to close the door again.

  “I know. I’m going home early, but first I need to go up to Callie’s room and get my things.”

  She frowned, then huffed out an impatient sigh. “Hurry up then. You’re supposed to stay downstairs,” she repeated as I slipped past her into the hallway. “We told Callie that we didn’t want her friends traipsing through the house at all hours.”

  I just stared at her, trying to find words. “I won’t be a second,” I managed to say. “My dad’s picking me up in a couple of minutes. I just need to get my things.”

  “Hurry up then.”

  I made my way up the stairs and stopped on the landing, looking around. Which room was Callie’s? I knew it looked out towards the ocean, but it was too dark now to tell which way the ocean was, and I was completely disoriented. I walked across the landing and opened the nearest door to find myself staring into what must be her parents’ bedroom. A huge bed in the middle of the room, with floor to ceiling windows on two sides. I shut the door behind me, and went to the next one. That was a bathroom, and I was getting frantic as time ticked by. What if Dad arrived and I wasn’t at the gate? Would he come up and knock on the door? I really didn’t want him getting into a scrap with Callie’s parents, and I flung open the door of the next room in desperation.

  This was it. I recognised the shape of the room, the location of the window, the clothes scattered across the carpet. I reached for the light switch and flipped it on, focusing on the far corner where I knew my clothes lay discarded.

  “What the hell?!”

  I jumped, my heart leaping as I realised the room wasn’t empty. There were two people in the bed, under the covers, glaring at me furiously.

  “Sorry!” I apologised quickly, feeling more awkward than I had all night, which considering how the night had gone so far, was pretty incredible. “I just came to get my things, they’re just over…”

  “Turn the light off and get outta here!” the guy snapped, and as he pulled the covers up higher, I recognised Jack. I wondered if Callie knew that Sabrina was here with him, in her bed. Not that it was any of my business, but gross. I flipped the light back off and stood there for a second, unsure of what to do. Did I go and get my clothes, or leave them and get out of there?

  Jack made the decision for me by telling me to get lost, only he didn’t use those exact words. Defeated, I stepped back out into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind me, wondering what I was supposed to do next. There was an ugly painting of a horse on the wall opposite me, one of those modern art pieces that looked like someone who had only seen a horse once in their life had painted it. The horse was painted a metallic gold, and it was rearing on wonky hind legs, rolling one eye at me. Maybe the artist had been going for a depiction of power or strength, but all I could think as I stared at it was that wit
h hocks like that, the horse wouldn’t have a sound day in its life.

  I shook my head, trying to refocus my thoughts. I wanted to go home and see my ponies. I wanted to go check on Buck, who was now in his new paddock under the trees, within sight of the other two. I’d set it up for him that afternoon, as soon as Lesley had left. I should’ve just stayed home with him. Should never have come to this stupid party. Should’ve known I wouldn’t fit in.

  I stood up straight and headed back towards the stairs, abandoning my clothes to their fate. I had to get back to the gate before Dad arrived. I went down the stairs as fast as I could, feeling more sober by the second as I stepped into the hall and went back to the front door. Callie’s mother had disappeared back into the living room, and I pulled the door open and stepped back out into the evening air.

  I was just in time. Dad pulled up as I reached the end of the driveway, and I hurried over to him and pulled the front door of the Audi open, sliding gratefully onto the cool leather seat. I could feel my father’s eyes on me as I pulled the door shut behind me, and I stared straight ahead at the streetlights, avoiding his glare.

  “What the hell are you wearing?”

  “Can we not do this right now?”

  Dad shifted the car into park, and rested his hands on the steering wheel. “I think now is the perfect time.” He sniffed the air, his frown deepening. “Have you been drinking?”

  I closed my eyes, not trusting myself to speak.

  “I’m talking to you, Susannah.”

  “I know. I can hear you.”

  “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  I took a breath, then let it out again. “Can we just go home? Please?” I heard my voice crack on the last word, and felt the atmosphere in the car recede slightly. My eye were still shut tight, but I heard Dad moving the gear shift, and the car glided into motion.

  “Don’t think this is the end of this conversation.”

  I was under no such illusion. Nothing was ever over until my father had had the last word. But I didn’t want to deal with it right now, so I kept my eyes closed and said nothing.

  When we got home, I went straight to my room and peeled the dress off, then kicked it across the room. It lay slumped in the corner as I changed into pyjama shorts and a t-shirt, feeling at once more comfortable in my own skin. I went into the ensuite and looked at myself in the mirror. No wonder Dad had flipped out when he’d seen me. My eyes were black smudges against my pale skin, and I turned the hot water on and grabbed a flannel, scrubbing at my face and eyes until I’d removed every last trace of makeup. My eyes were bloodshot and stinging, but I felt like myself again.

  There was a rap at my bedroom door, and then I heard Mum’s voice.

  “You in here?”

  I shut off the tap and went back out into my room, trying to appear composed. “I’m here.”

  Mum looked at me curiously. “Your father is very unhappy with you.”

  “I know.”

  I sat down on the end of my bed, bare toes digging into the deep carpet. I waited for Mum to come into my room, to sit down and put an arm around me and ask me what was wrong. Why I’d come home so early. How I could’ve let myself get peer pressured into wearing things I didn’t want to wear, into drinking when I’d promised I wouldn’t.

  But she didn’t. “He’s going to have to let you grow up sometime.”

  I looked up at her, registering slowly that she was dressed for dinner in a floaty blouse and pencil skirt. “Where have you been?”

  “Out with clients.” She didn’t quite meet my eyes as she spoke. “I’ve got some very exciting projects coming up.” She seemed happy, caught up in her own world, oblivious to mine.

  “That’s good.” What else could I say?

  “Your father doesn’t like that either, but he’s going to have to realise that he can’t control us,” Mum said, straightening up and drawing her shoulders back. “We’ve got to take our lives back, Susannah, and not let him push us around anymore.”

  “Are you going to leave him?” The words came out before I could stop them. I supposed I was still slightly drunk.

  Mum flinched, her eyes shooting to the far corner of my room as she denied it. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a rough patch.” She tapped her fingernails against the doorframe, then sighed. “Anyway, it’s late. Time for bed.”

  I stood up. “I’m going to check on Buck.”

  She almost said no, almost put her foot down and told me that it was late, and that I was to do as I was told. Truth be told, I almost wanted her to. The mother that I knew, the mother I’d grown up with, would have.

  But she didn’t.

  “Of course.” She stepped back onto the landing. “Just don’t be too late, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  As I made my way slowly downstairs, the phone rang. I was sitting down and pulling my paddock boots on at the front door when I heard Dad answer it in his office.

  “Hello?” A pause, then a snarky response. “Yes, of course it’s Derrick, who else would it be?”

  Some lucky person was about to bear the brunt of my father’s anger with me. I stood up quickly, and my hand was on the door handle when he spoke again.

  “And there’s no doubt this time? Nothing inconclusive about this result?”

  I froze, the blood pumping frantically through my veins as I realised who he was talking to, and what he was talking about.

  My father’s next words confirmed it. “Well, good. I’ll let Susie know that he’s got the all clear.” Another pause, then two words I never thought I’d hear my father say. “Thanks, Lesley.”

  I no longer cared how mad he was at me, or whether he was going to give me hell. I stuck my head through the half-open door into his office and Dad looked up, his expression softer and more relaxed than it had been in weeks as he hung up the phone.

  “That was the vet.”

  “I heard. It’s not strangles?”

  “Definitively not. Which we knew all along, really,” Dad said, as though we actually had known and hadn’t just hoped. “But it’s now official.”

  I felt as though I could breathe again, like I’d been holding my breath for weeks. I let my face relax into a smile, and my father smiled back at me. I rested my head against the door frame and took a deep breath.

  “That’s awesome.”

  “Lesley’s coming over in the morning to get him started on a course of antibiotics. Since he’s improved with a change of feed and environment, and it hasn’t spread to the others, she thinks it’s allergic. I’ve got that hay steamer ordered.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled at him again. Maybe today wasn’t a complete disaster after all. “I’m gonna go tell Buck the good news.”

  Buck was snoozing, lying down under the big totara in the corner of the paddock. I walked over to him, picking my way across the dry ground in the pale moonlight.

  “Hey buddy.” He lifted his head and pricked his ears, watching me approach. “How you doing?”

  Buck whiffled his nostrils at me as I reached his side, and I gave him the piece of carrot that I’d swiped out of the kitchen on my way down here. He crunched it cheerfully, eyeing me up as I sat down next to him. His breathing was more regular, and I couldn’t hear any wheezing.

  “We’ll get you that hay steamer,” I told him. “Dad’s already ordered it, and a whole new load of hay.” I reached up and ran my fingers through his thick forelock. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll take care of you, okay? I promise.”

  Buck sighed and rested his chin on the ground at my feet, half-closing his eyes. I sat with him, watching his sides move in and out with each slow breath, overcome with relief.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ~ KEEP MOVING FORWARD ~

  Forbes tossed his head as I closed my leg and pushed him into the contact, ignoring the small temper tantrum he was having. Bruce stood in the middle of the arena, watching us carefully as he leaned back against a jump stand. The heat of the m
idday sun baked up off the arena surface, and Forbes’ shoulders were drenched in sweat.

  “Keep your leg there, don’t let him argue,” Bruce coached as I circled the dark bay pony around him. “He’s got to learn that he can’t just toss his toys and refuse to work.”

  Forbes gave in for a few strides and flexed his jaw, lowering his head and releasing his hold against my hand. “That’s better. When he softens to you, you soften a little to him,” Bruce reminded me. “But soften from the elbow, not the hand!”

  I closed my fingers around the reins again as I struggled to break that bad habit. When I’d started taking lessons with Bruce two years ago, he’d told me in no uncertain terms that I had very hard, unforgiving hands and that I needed to learn to give as well as take. He’d sent me to a dressage trainer for a few months to learn the ‘basics’ before he’d coach me over fences. I’d been mortified, but I’d taken his advice, and had made steady progress since under his guidance. But I’d become so self-conscious about my ‘hard hands’ that I now had developed the opposite problem - a tendency to open my hand too much and give away too much contact – and Forbes took full advantage.

  It still amazed me, sometimes, how much I still had to learn about riding – and how little I’d known for so long. I wished I could go back through the years and do things over. I still felt guilty when I thought about the ponies who’d put up with me for so long, and how hard I’d made it for them. There was only so much I could do now to make up for my past mistakes, but I was determined to try.

  “Get that pony moving forward!”

  I nudged Forbes with my leg in an attempt to energise him, but he’d reached his limit of compliance for the day and threw in a big buck, trying to unseat me. I sat tight, lifting my hands to bring his head back up and pushing him forward again as Bruce was telling me to do, although mostly I was reacting by instinct and barely listening to my coach’s shouts. Forbes tried another couple of half-hearted bucks, then gave in and trotted on.