‘Get a move on, Kate.’ Her mother came behind her.
‘Where?’
‘To the horseboxes for God’s sake.’ Her mother gave her a dig, ‘Where else?’
‘I might…’ Kate looked in the other direction, to the pointed roofs of the tents, the stripy orange and black one in the middle, all set up for tonight. Kate couldn’t wait for the fireworks.
‘You might what?’
Her mother was so suspicious.
‘I might get us a good spot in the stand while you tack up. You know I’m useless with Slay—with Prince Francis. And I hate the prancing round.’
‘Dressage,’ her mother said. ‘It’s an art form, Kate? Like ballet for horses.’
‘Sure.’
Her mother put her hands on her hips. ‘Mind you go straight to the stand, so.’ Her knitted skirt was the same colour as Elaine’s jodhpurs, and Kate wondered if she’d worn it on purpose. ‘Get the front row right by the steps. Stay at the edge and tell anyone who asks you to move that you’ve an invalid with you and it isn’t safe for them to be in a crowd.’
‘But, Mammy,’ she said. ‘They’ll know I’m lying.’
‘And you’d better not get cold,’ her mother said. ‘You should have your fleece on. I don’t trust that sky.’
‘This jacket is fine,’ said Kate.
‘And get water.’ Her mother set off on the path. ‘Two bottles of sparkling. And no candyfloss!’
Kate waved goodbye and headed off through the long grass towards the tents. She hadn’t even thought about candyfloss. Her mother was a genius.
At the food stalls beside the arena, Kate was halfway through a massive wad of candyfloss when she suddenly felt guilty at the sight of her sticky, glistening fingers. While her sister was out in the fresh air, riding her horse, she was here, stuffing her face and it wasn’t even noon. Her mother was right—she was some class of deviant. She gave a soft, sugary burp and tossed the rest of the wad into a rusted cylinder bin.
‘Nice shot,’ a boy called out.
She turned to see Conor Doyle by the burger van, giving a dig to a shorter boy she didn’t recognize.
‘Straight in the hole!’ The boy clapped.
Conor shook his head and smiled. He threw his hands in the air.
Laughing, Kate was about to walk over when she heard her mother’s voice in the ether. The lack of a visual was disconcerting, like a recording inside her head. She stopped, looked all around her, even up at the useless sun. Conor pointed to the fences beyond the ring, where she could see now her mother and Elaine, waving. Or rather her mother was waving two hands for both of them. Kate mouthed a thank you to Conor and walked slowly off in their direction, fighting the urge to run. She was not a dog. She would be seventeen in three months’ time and her mother couldn’t just call her to heel in front of actual human boys. One of them whistled behind her back and she blushed at what it might mean. She wished she had better legs. Thunder thighs, Ray had called her once in the heat of a fight. He’d never said it again but it had stayed in her head.
It was breezy by the fences, a smell of dry grass and manure.
‘Where have you been?’ her mother said.
‘Nowhere,’ said Kate.
‘Who’s that with Conor?’ Elaine pulled at the tie of her helmet. ‘This thing is too tight.’
‘Leave it alone,’ her mother said. ‘You’ll ruin your hair.’
Her sister’s ponytail was no more, replaced by a rigid plait.
Kate and Elaine rolled their eyes at each other at exactly the same time.
‘I can barely breathe.’ Elaine tugged again.
‘Stop your dramatics.’ Turning towards the arena, her mother raised her hand to block the sun. ‘Oh,’ she said, grinning. ‘Oh, look, look—the judge from Clonmel is over there. It’s the same lady! Isn’t it?’
‘Mammy,’ said Elaine. ‘Don’t make a fuss. Please.’ She reached out but their mother was gone, making spectacular strides across the lumpy ground.
‘Oh well,’ Elaine said. ‘That’s it. There goes first.’ She leaned against the fence and fixed the collar of her stiff white blouse. ‘And if I don’t win, she’ll be raging. But she can never see herself? She doesn’t—’
‘I know,’ said Kate. ‘I know. She’s just trying to help.’
‘I’d love to leg it,’ Elaine said. ‘Right now.’
‘In the middle of the competition?’ Kate was aghast.
‘Would you do it?’ Elaine said. ‘Would you come with me?’
Kate gave a giddy laugh. ‘She’d kill us. She’d murder you.’
‘We’d be gone,’ Elaine said. ‘To Dublin. To Galway.’
‘No,’ said Kate. ‘London. We’d have to leave the country to be sure.’
‘Cut all family ties?’
‘Not if we were together,’ said Kate.
They smiled at each other in desperation. Her sister went at the helmet again.
‘You’re lucky you never got dragged into this lark.’ Elaine took off her helmet and left it on the fence post beside her whip. Wisps of hair were loose at the crown of her plait. One of them caught the breeze and shot up like a horn.
‘I didn’t have a choice,’ said Kate.
Elaine narrowed her eyes, two amber slits. ‘Do you ever think it’s weird?’
‘What?’
‘That she split us up. Horse riding and piano.’
‘Nah,’ said Kate, though really, she didn’t know. ‘I don’t think I liked horses. I can’t remember. You love it though, always did.’
‘I don’t,’ said Elaine, but she was smiling now.
‘All your trophies and rosettes.’
‘Here,’ said Elaine. ‘Cover me for a second.’ Reversing into Kate, she stuck her hand down the back of her jodhpurs. ‘My knickers have been twisted all morning.’
‘Stop! We look like we’re humping.’ Kate laughed and glanced over at the burger van. The boys were gone.
When she was done, Elaine leaned against the fence. ‘Who was that with Conor anyway?’
‘Didn’t get to meet him. I was summoned. You saw.’
‘Find out. I’m done with the football lads. They’re all the same. Smelly old cars and not one of them understands the clitoris.’
‘Jesus!’ said Kate. ‘Shut up.’ There was no one near them but a word like that had the capacity to travel.
Elaine roared laughing, grabbed her whip and poked Kate in the belly. ‘You have one too. Down, farther down.’
‘Shut up!’
‘Just a leeeetle bit lower.’ Elaine jabbed her thigh.
Kate gave in to the laughter.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Elaine, straightening up. ‘Watch out. Here she comes.’ The blonde, beaming head was bounding towards them.
Elaine buttoned her riding jacket and put on the helmet, tying it at the outside notch. ‘Stop the messing now, Kate Gleeson,’ she said in their mother’s voice. ‘People are watching.’ She flicked her whip at the empty stand. ‘All the imaginary people with their imaginary cares.’
Kate laughed again. Her sister was right, as usual, so many of life’s troubles were just entirely made up. ‘Good luck in the prancing one,’ she said, but her sister was gone, setting off towards their mother in her spirited, defiant way.
In the front row of the stands, the midday sun was hot on Kate’s face, her thick cord trousers stuck to the plastic seat. She’d been waiting for nearly an hour, reading snatches of her new book, but mostly just watching people come and go through the dark security of Elaine’s Ray-Bans. Below in the arena, the stewards were doing the final checks on the fences. There were eleven in total, which seemed a strange number to her, but she’d stopped looking for logic in equestrian sports long ago. There were more rules to it than bridge. Her favourite fence was the redbrick wall, though she liked the ones with the water too, the splash of the planks and poles when knocked. Earlier they had used a thick hose attached to a truck to fill the ditches and as she began to feel sweaty n
ow, she imagined herself paddling in one of them.
Taking off her jacket, she pulled her T-shirt out of her cords. Well, Ray’s T-shirt, to be exact, the Nirvana one with the face, whipped from the ironing pile that morning. Some of the stewards down below were arguing. There seemed to be a problem with the final fence, the tricky double-gated one that Elaine sometimes struggled with. All the official-looking people had gathered around it, taking it apart plank by plank. A woman in dungarees eventually came to help them and they began to restack it under her guidance. It was a lovely thing to watch, calming and interesting, like a giant Jenga game where everyone was on the same team.
The stand had filled up after the dressage round, mostly parents and primary school children, with the odd person of interest dotted about the place. Conor Doyle, for example, huddled with the other boy in the back row, doing a poor job of hiding their cigarettes. She couldn’t turn around again without being obvious. Conor and herself were sort of friends now. He often saved her a seat in honours maths. He’d gotten rid of the manky ponytail, and he was actually kind of funny if you gave him time to get going.
‘Excuse me,’ a woman said, startling her. ‘Can you move in please?’
‘Oh.’ Kate sat up straight. ‘I’m keeping this seat and the one next to it. I’ve been here for over an hour.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ the woman said. ‘You can’t reserve seats. Move in.’
Kate recognized her, the long chin and jaw that seemed to suck the rest of her face downwards.
‘Mrs Stevens?’ she smiled. ‘Lucy’s mother?’
‘Yes.’ The woman fixed her khaki linen jacket and squinted suspiciously at Kate.
‘I’m Kate Gleeson. Elaine’s twin.’
‘But of course!’ she hooted. ‘I just met your mother. She’s all business down there.’ Mrs Stevens gave a tinkling laugh. ‘It’s like she’s never been away. Your sister’s horse is a fine specimen.’
‘Prince Francis,’ said Kate.
‘The farmers always get the best horses. The rest of us don’t stand a chance.’
Kate couldn’t remember what Lucy Stevens’s father did for a living.
‘But my Lucy has been riding beautifully all year. I think this will be her big one. We’re confident.’ Mrs Stevens looked at Kate.
Kate felt like telling her she couldn’t give a damn who won, that the only reason she was here was because her mother had said she was a bad, unsupportive sister for not coming to the last one in Tipperary.
‘Lucy got top marks in dressage. The same as your sister. They’re tied.’
‘That’s great,’ said Kate, feeling hungry all of a sudden.
‘Of course it makes the—’
Kate nodded along but really she was finding it hard to keep up with the horsey intrigue. The salty sweetness of the onions from the burger vans was drifting on the wind. She wondered if she could ask Mrs Stevens to mind their seats. She looked up at her mopey, heavily made-up face and decided against it.
‘And your sister?’ Mrs Stevens took off the jacket to a khaki sleeveless top.
‘My sister?’
‘You can tell she’s been practising. I’d say she’s out morning, noon and night.’
Kate couldn’t tell if it was a question. She glanced at the vans, where a queue was forming.
‘I saw her ride in Thurles last weekend,’ said Mrs Stevens. ‘Herself and Lucy were robbed by that Lanigan girl. Daylight robbery.’
Not again—Kate had heard it about twenty times over the week. Her mother was convinced the judge from Tipp town was biased. Or to be more specific, that she hadn’t gotten off her fat, waddling arse to view the dressage properly.
‘Yeah,’ said Kate. ‘But hopefully they’ll win today.’
‘There’s no they, dear.’
And hopefully this conversation would end soon too. Her cords began to itch at the waistband.
‘There can only be one first place,’ said Mrs Stevens with a tight smile that made her chin seem even longer. ‘May the best girl win.’
The commentator’s voice came through the speakers and gave a ten-minute warning for the crowd to take their seats. The decibel level immediately rose in the stand. Mrs Stevens told Kate to enjoy the event and moved into the row.
Her mother appeared a minute later, no sign of burgers or chips, even though it was gone one o’clock now.
‘Take off those glasses,’ she said. ‘You’re not blind.’
‘But Mammy—it’s sunny.’
‘What did Horse Face Senior want?’ her mother said, fixing herself in the seat.
Kate laughed. ‘You’re so mean.’ She gave a quick look down the row, then laughed louder as her mother flared her nostrils and stamped her foot on the ground. ‘Mammy!’ Kate said. ‘She’ll hear us.’
‘With her big horsey ears?’ Her mother went into convulsions, eventually stopping to take Kate’s fleece out of her tote. ‘Put that on. It’s getting cold.’
‘It’s not cold.’ Though actually, it was getting a bit chilly, the sun disappearing for minutes at a time. ‘And I have this.’ Kate put her jacket back on. There was no way she was wearing the old Musto. Conor Doyle is here. The thought was in her head before she knew it. She glanced at the back row but he’d moved.
‘Oh, fine.’ Her mother put the Musto in the bag. ‘If you do up your jacket, I won’t tell your brother what happened to his T-shirt.’ She winked at Kate and the two of them had another giggle. Kate did a few buttons from the bottom. They stood up to let more people into the row, the seats beside them filling up. She gave a polite smile to her neighbour, an older man with a newspaper under his arm.
‘Well,’ her mother said. ‘What did she want?’
‘Who?’
A group of small children passed in front of the railing with candyfloss bigger than their heads.
‘Horse Face Stevens.’
‘She said Elaine had gotten really good over the summer. She’d seen her in Thurles.’
‘Robbed! We were robbed.’
‘I know, Mammy.’
A cheer went up from the crowd as the horses appeared in the practice ring beside the arena.
‘What else did she say?’ Her mother zipped her own fleece. It was light pink and brand new, not a bobble in sight.
‘That Elaine got top marks in dressage. That’s good, isn’t it?’
Her mother told the candyfloss children to move on and stop blocking the view. She reached for a bottle of sparkling water. ‘Warm,’ she said, frowning.
‘I’ve no fridge in my bag,’ said Kate.
‘Watch your cheek. What else did that woman say?’
‘I don’t know, Mammy. I’m hungry. Can I get a burger?’
‘What else?’
‘That the farmers always get the best horses.’
‘As if,’ her mother said, with venom. ‘That’s her excuse.’
‘Look, Mammy. There’s Elaine.’
‘There’s your sister!’
Elaine had ridden to the gates and was waving at them. Slayer looked blue-black beside the other horses. The size of him always shocked her, so much bigger than Elaine’s old pony.
Her mother stood and started to hoot. ‘Good luck, darling,’ she called.
Elaine turned Slayer around so that his shiny, muscular behind was facing them. Kate tried not to laugh. Her sister could get away with so much.
A woman from the row behind tapped her mother on the shoulder and the two of them got into a conversation about the Swedish oxer, which Kate gathered was the problematic fence from earlier. She tuned out and watched her sister, trotting majestically around the practice ring, the other riders moving out of her way. Elaine would take on the world one day. She wasn’t afraid of anyone. She’d spent the last three years begging to go boarding in the Urselines’ but now that they were in fifth year, her focus had shifted to college, to the freedom of the future. It was all decided: Trinity College Dublin, Law for Kate, Drama Studies for Elaine, though Kate reckon
ed her sister would take any course, even Irish if she had to. All she wanted was to be gone from Cranavon. Kate could understand it but thought it was ungrateful too, that she should try to be less obvious.
Down in the ring now, Slayer looked ready to go. Only six riders had made it through dressage. The judges had been ruthless, her mother said, as the winner of the overall competition would represent the county in the All-Ireland Final.
The running order, names and numbers went up in flickering yellow letters on the black board beside the podium. Lucy Stevens was fourth, Elaine last.
‘Damn,’ her mother said.
Kate nodded, understanding. Elaine wasn’t good at waiting.
‘She just needs to keep her nerve,’ her mother said, brandishing a fist at the waiting horses. It was meant as encouragement, but from over there, who knew what Elaine would make of it. She saw Slayer rear up on his hind legs, only a few inches, but enough to disturb the dappled grey horse beside him.
‘Stevens better control her speckled creature. Look how she’s unsettling Francis.’
Kate said nothing. The candyfloss from earlier had left her edgy. She wanted something to fill the sugary hollow inside her. And she was cold. She buttoned up her jacket.
‘Mammy,’ she said. ‘Can I go get a burger? Elaine’s not until last.’
‘They’re starting—’ Her mother pointed to the stewards with their clipboards, ‘don’t upset me.’
The steward closest to the crowd blew her whistle, the countdown timer on the board began, and the first rider trotted up to the fence on a chestnut horse that took the jumps with a kind of slow grace that made the whole thing look easy.
‘Watch her sauntering,’ said her mother in disgust. ‘Watch her slump.’
Kate sat straighter in her chair and watched the girl falter on the water fence, two poles splashing into the ditch. ‘See,’ said her mother. The crowd oohed, and oohed again at the next fault, and yet another on the redbrick, so that it became painful to watch her complete the round.
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