by Kate Lattey
“The day that Anders stops talking will be the day the world stops spinning,” I told her. “We’ve never been able to get him to shut up!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When I got home that evening, there were presents under the tree. Lexi was pacing around in front of it, desperate to know what was under the wrapping paper with her name on it.
“There’s one for you,” she announced as I walked into the living room, freshly cleaned after my shower. “It’s big.”
My heart leapt instinctively, but when Lexi pointed out the box she’d been referring to, I felt a rush of disappointment. The box was a reasonable size, and one of the largest under the tree, but it wasn’t big enough to fit a saddle. Although why I had thought my parents would buy me a new saddle, when I hadn’t even told them that I needed one, was beyond me.
“Cool,” I told Lexi, towelling my hair dry with one hand as I flopped down onto the couch and propped my bare feet on the armrest. “What’s in yours?”
“I don’t know,” she snapped. “I don’t have x-ray vision.”
“I wish you did,” I replied. “Actually, I wish I did. Then I could see everyone’s presents, and I’d make you pay me to tell you what they are.”
Lexi narrowed her eyes over her shoulder at me, but I could tell she was amused by the prospect. “That’s despicable.”
“Despicable me,” I agreed, my eyes drifting to our heavily decorated Christmas tree. Spindly pine branches were sagging under the onslaught of plastic baubles, spray-painted macaroni medallions and fuzzy pipe cleaner candy canes. It smelled gorgeous, and despite the rubbish decorations, it gave off a much more Christmassy vibe than the sad little plastic tree sitting in the corner at Katy’s, or the huge silver tree that Susannah had in her house. She’d posted a photo on Facebook last week, and when I commented that it looked like one out of a shop she’d admitted that it was. Apparently her mother saw it on display and liked it so much that she bought the whole thing, decorations and all. Susannah claimed that her mother spent literally hours decorating it symmetrically, and that nobody else was even allowed to touch it, which didn’t seem very festive to me.
“Do you want to do a jigsaw?”
I turned my head to look at my sister. “Hmm, that depends. Do you have one with horses on it?”
She rolled her eyes. “You should try getting a new interest.”
“I could say the same for you,” I pointed out as she rummaged around in the cupboard, and she glared at me over her shoulder.
“Oh, shut up,” she muttered irritably as Anders sauntered into the room.
“Ah, Christmas spirit is in the air,” he declared, sitting down on the couch next to my head and letting off a loud fart.
“Gross!” I sat up as quickly as I could, spinning around to pummel him in the side with my balled fist, but it made little impression on him. “Why do you have to be so disgusting?”
“Just using the gifts that God gave me,” he replied easily as Lexi dumped a box on the coffee table and lifted the lid off. “The whale one again? Really?”
“When does Aidan get here?” I asked before Lexi started snapping at him.
“Tonight, I think. He’s working all day. Sucker.” Anders leaned back against the couch and kicked his feet up onto the end of the coffee table, pretending not to notice Lexi’s irritation at him.
I looked over my brother’s head and saw Astrid wandering past the room. “Hey Chook! You wanna play a game with us?”
Her head slipped around the door frame. She’d been even quieter than usual lately, and I was starting to get worried about her. When we’d shared a room I’d been able to keep a close eye on her, and we’d talked every night. As much as I liked having the room to myself now, I missed my baby sister.
“What game?” She wandered into the room, but paused when she saw the jigsaw puzzle.
“Game of Life?” I suggested. Anders snorted, but Astrid came a little further into the room. The Game of Life was her favourite board game.
“I guess. Who’s playing?”
“Me. Anders.” I kicked his ankle before he could refuse, and he nodded. “And Lexi.”
Lexi raised her head and considered us for a moment, then looked back down at her jigsaw. “I was going to do this.”
“But you haven’t started yet,” I pointed out. “And it’s Christmas. Family time! Bags being the blue car.”
“I want the red one!” Astrid said, hurrying to the cupboard and digging the worn box out from amongst the endless jigsaw puzzles.
Lexi’s brow creased, and she stared at the jigsaw pieces that she’d already taken out of the box. Forcing her to change her plans never went down well, especially when she was about to do something she really liked, but she generally had a good time playing The Game of Life as well, unless Anders tried to cheat. That always wound her up big time, and Anders had long since been banned from being the banker, due to his willingness to accept bribes from other players. Monopoly was no longer considered a family game after one too many hissy fits had been thrown as a result, and Mum had given our set away to the Salvation Army to be redistributed to a family that could play without trying to kill each other, or so she said. (Anders had a theory that no family could play Monopoly without arguing, which seemed highly probable.) But The Game of Life was a frivolous game that it was almost impossible to lose at, and we kept ourselves entertained by making up elaborate names and life stories for ourselves as we played.
After a moment’s pause, Lexi gave a put-upon sigh and scooped a handful of jigsaw pieces back into the box, conceding defeat.
Anders shot me an amazed look. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”
That evening, after celebrating a sublime Game of Life victory in which I had married Scott Eastwood, enjoyed a lucrative career as a doctor, and invented a new ice cream flavour (salt and vinegar, I’d decided), I fell back to thinking about Squib and my sudden need for a new saddle. Katy was of the opinion that I should just ask Susannah to borrow hers, and hope that she’d eventually forget I had it and just let me keep it. I considered that highly unlikely, and pointed out that if it got damaged while in my possession I would be liable to pay for it with money I definitely did not have. But Katy insisted that I couldn’t do Squib justice in the saddle that I had, and that the time had come to invest in a new one.
And so I found myself standing in the hallway outside my parents’ bedroom, my bare feet pressed into the hallway carpet, trying to summon the nerve to ask them to spend money I knew they didn’t really have to spare. The door was sitting slightly ajar, letting a thin finger of warm light out into the hall. I could hear their voices, and in the moment that I paused, hand raised to knock, I overheard their conversation.
“I just want her to be passionate about something,” Mum was saying. “It was never this hard with the others. They were all willing to get involved in plenty of activities.”
“Well, maybe she’s not built that way,” Dad replied, his voice low. Not being built that way was his usual response whenever anyone complained about Lexi being tough to live with, so I figured that’s who they were talking about. But Mum’s next comment surprised me.
“She can’t sit in her room reading books all day,” she said irritably.
“Why not?” Dad asked.
“Because it’s anti-social,” Mum said. “She can’t hide from the world, she has to go out and live in it. Even Lexi puts herself out there, and it’s a lot harder for her, considering…”
Her sentence dried up, but we all knew what she’d been thinking. In many ways, Asperger’s Syndrome was a social disorder, making it difficult for Lexi to interact with people because, amongst other challenges, she struggled to make and maintain eye contact, and it was sometimes hard for her to see things from others’ perspectives. But Astrid didn’t have Asperger’s, which in Mum’s mind meant that she had no excuse for her lack of social activity and close friends, and simply wasn’t trying hard enough. I rested my knuckles against the do
or, preparing to knock, when Mum said something else that sent a chill down my spine.
“AJ has the pony to keep her busy and get her out of the house. Maybe Astrid would like to ride, and they could share him.”
“I don’t know if AJ would be too keen on that,” Dad said astutely. “We’d probably end up paying for two ponies, and one’s expensive enough.”
I took a step back from the door, deciding that this wasn’t the point in their conversation that I wanted to come into, but I hadn’t realised that Dax was behind me, and I trod on his paw by mistake. He yelped and limped dramatically away from me, his tail clamped down and ears drooping.
“What’s going on out there?” Mum called, and I was forced to push the door open a little and explain myself. Dad was sitting on the bed, still fully dressed with his reading glasses on and a magazine open in his lap. Mum was standing with her back to the window, leaning against the wide sill with her arms folded.
“It’s only me,” I said. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I just came to ask you something.”
“Come on in then, and fire away.” Dad set the magazine down next to him and motioned to the end of the bed. I perched there awkwardly, wondering how to come out with it.
“Astrid’s really shy.” It wasn’t even what I’d intended to say, but apparently it had been playing on my mind more than I’d realised.
“What’s that?” Mum came towards me and sat on the bed as well, her blue eyes fixed on mine.
“She’s shy. Like, painfully shy. She struggles in crowds of people and she won’t talk to anyone she doesn’t know. That’s why she has trouble making friends, because she doesn’t know what to say so she says nothing and then they think she’s weird and get bored of her.”
“She talks all the time at home,” Mum argued, but Dad looked thoughtful.
“Not as much as the others,” he said. “Bit hard to get a word in around you and Anders.”
“Yeah, well. Lexi does her share of the talking too,” I said defensively.
“What do you suggest then?” Mum said, always looking for an immediate solution to any problem that arose. “How can we get her more engaged, help her to make friends? What does she like doing, what activity could we get her involved in?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Have you asked Astrid?”
Mum shot me a look that plainly said I’m not stupid. “Of course I have. She just shrugs and says she can’t think of anything.”
“You shared a room with her for years,” Dad said. “You probably know her better than we do. What does she like?”
I considered that for a moment. We all knew she loved to read, but that wasn’t exactly social. “What about music? Maybe she’d like to learn an instrument.” It felt to me like I was clutching at straws, and I made a mental note to ask Astrid next time I talked to her, but Mum’s response surprised me.
“I suggested that already.”
“She said no?”
“She said the only instrument that interested her was the drums, and I said that wasn’t an option.”
“Why not?”
Mum looked exasperated. “How do you imagine Lexi will cope with being made to listen to drum practice every day?”
She had a point, sort of. Lexi liked to live in silence, unless the noise was of her own creation, and had been known to lose her rag over Anders playing his guitar if it was even remotely audible from her bedroom. But I felt bad for Astrid, and I said so.
“Why does that have to be Chook’s problem?” I asked hotly. “Did you think of at least getting her some lessons, let her see if she likes it before you just tell her no, because it might upset her sister?”
“I think it’s a fairly safe bet that it’ll upset Lexi,” Mum argued, but Dad interjected.
“I think Poss is right. Lexi’s almost seventeen, it’s time she learned to cope with people doing things she doesn’t like. She’s going to have to face those situations later in life.”
I was pleased, though Mum wasn’t. I searched for a compromise. “What if you gave Astrid an allocated half hour every day to practice, and she had to only play the drums during that half hour?” I suggested, knowing how that would appeal to Lexi’s appreciation for structure. “If Lex knows it’s only for that short time then she’ll be able to go outside, or put earplugs in, or just suck it up.”
“We’ll certainly take that into consideration,” Dad said, letting me know that my contribution to the conversation was over. I stood up, hoping they did, and making a resolution to check in with Astrid more often from now on.
“Wasn’t there something you came here to ask us?” Dad said.
“Oh. Yeah.” I hesitated, then decided I might as well spit it out. “It’s about Squib’s saddle. I need a new one.”
Dad frowned. “What’s wrong with the one he’s got?”
“It’s not the right shape, for starters,” I began, but Mum interjected.
“For him, or for you?”
“Both. Mostly me,” I admitted. “He’s jumping so much better now, not to mention bigger fences, and I’m finding it really hard to keep my seat. I borrowed a saddle from a friend at Taupo and it was amazing. I rode way better in it.”
Dad smiled kindly. “Did it help you to win your class?” They had been very proud of my success, although I wasn’t sure they appreciated how big of a deal it was to have won a big class at such a prestigious show.
“Well, not exactly,” I admitted. “I was still using my saddle then. But I rode in hers for the next two rounds.”
Mum was frowning now. “I thought you fell off in your last round.”
I sucked in a breath, then huffed it out. “Yeah, but that wasn’t the saddle’s fault. I’d have fallen off way earlier in my saddle, and I would definitely have fallen off in the Mini Prix. Anyway that’s not really the point.”
“Well, it seems like it to me,” Mum argued. “You say you can’t ride in your own saddle, but admit that it’s not stopping you from doing well.”
“It will soon,” I told her darkly. “I still want to move up and do bigger heights, and that’s going to be way too hard without a decent saddle.”
My parents looked at each other and sighed.
“Honey, I understand that you want to have nice things,” Mum said, missing the point entirely. “But riding is already an expensive hobby, and we’ve just forked out a lot of money for Squib’s new shoes. We just don’t have the spare change to be spending on a new saddle when the one you’ve got is perfectly serviceable.”
“But…”
Dad spoke up before I could continue. “How much would a new saddle cost?”
I shrugged. “It depends on the brand, and how old it is. I don’t need a brand new one,” I quickly pointed out. “Second hand is fine, or third hand. Just as long as it fits both me and Squib.”
“Ballpark figure,” Dad insisted.
“Two thousand?” I suggested. “Maybe fifteen hundred if it’s a good quality second-hand one…” I could see that I’d already lost them.
“That’s what we paid for your pony!” Mum pointed out. “How can a saddle cost more than a horse?”
She looked at my dad, baffled. He shrugged, because he didn’t know any more than she did, then spoke, each word making my spirits sink lower.
“Honey, we made the deal with you when we bought you a pony that we weren’t going to spend thousands on showing him,” Dad reminded me. “You told us then that you were happy just to ride, and go to Pony Club. Having a fancy saddle and going to lots of big shows wasn’t ever part of the plan.”
“I know. But Squib’s so good. I mean, he’s really talented. He could go all the way to Grand Prix, jump in Pony of the Year.” I could see the scepticism on their faces. “Katy says so, she says he’s got talent to burn and it’s a total waste not to shoot for it. And you’re not even paying for his grazing anymore, because Deb doesn’t charge us anything, remember? And she takes me to shows for free, and gives me lessons, and they have lent me h
eaps of gear.” They had no idea how cheap this whole thing actually was for them. “And I paid for Squib’s registration out of my savings, and his entry fees come out of my pocket money…”
“AJ, I don’t think you’re hearing what we’re saying,” Mum said, addressing me by my actual name for once, which meant that things were getting serious. “We are not prepared to spend thousands more dollars on your pony. It’s not fair on your brothers and sisters for us to put more money into your hobby than theirs, just because yours is more expensive. Now if Squib is sick or injured, we’ll pay for the vet bills. But outside of an emergency like that, the money just isn’t there to be spent. It’s not a matter of us sitting on it and refusing to hand it over – we simply don’t have it to spare. You know that.”
Dad tried to be less deflating. “You are more than welcome to sell the saddle you currently have, and put that money towards a new one,” he said, thinking he was being generous. Mum beamed at him, as though that was an excellent suggestion, not understanding that my saddle wasn’t worth much at all. But I knew it was pointless arguing, so I just nodded.
“Thanks.” I tried not to sound too depressed. I wanted to get mad and yell at them, the way that Katy would yell at Deb if she’d put her into this situation. But Deb never would. She’d go without groceries for a month to buy Katy a saddle if she thought she needed it, because their entire lives revolved around the ponies. I wished my parents were like that, but they weren’t, and no amount of sulking was going to change that fact. I was just going to have to accept it.
I said goodnight to my parents, assured them that I understood their side, and reminded them about offering Astrid drum lessons before slipping back out into the hall, and pulling the door closed behind me. It shut with a click, and I looked down at Dax, who had returned to guard their bedroom as he did every night, despite having a basket in the living room where he was supposed to be sleeping.