Kenny leaned over the stable door, holding a thick slice of cake. I ignored him as he ate it slowly, smacking his lips together with a loud Mmmm.
Just as he took his last bite, I scooped up a clump of dung with the pitchfork and flicked it hard and fast. It hit him squarely in the chest with a wet plop. I burst out laughing as he stared down at the dark, wet patch on his shirt.
‘You little—’ he yelled, barging through the door. His first swing missed as I ducked and sprang aside. I spun around to face him, fists raised. ‘Why did you pull that stunt with the saddle?’ I yelled. ‘I’ve done nothing to you!’
Kenny swung again — missed. ‘Teaching you your place, that’s all. I was here first, and I don’t need some green farm hick getting grand ideas about himself.’
‘I’m not green. I’ve been riding since I was eight.’
‘So have I,’ said Kenny, thrusting out his chin.
‘That’s not what I heard.’ I took a step towards him.
He stepped back, his eyes widening. ‘Just you remember,’ he growled, backing towards the door. ‘I was here first, farm boy.’
Fuming at Kenny’s words, it didn’t take me long to finish off Dazzle’s box. I gritted my teeth and got stuck in, and by the time I’d finished sweat trickled down between my shoulder blades. I trudged back to the house.
Mrs Davis chatted over her cup of tea while I wolfed down my dinner. Then it was more jobs. ‘Mr Mac and Kenny are out getting fresh grass for the horses,’ she said, passing me a broom. ‘We’ll start today with sweeping the front porch, dear. Mind my wee pots.’
That night I crawled into my bunk, ignoring Kenny on his side of the room. I was too tired to care about his smart cracks anyway. I closed my eyes to the terrible thought that I hadn’t left Robert and Grandfather behind at all. Kenny and Mr Mac were no better.
The next few days were much the same. I worked hard and took in as much as my foggy mind would let me. I soon figured out where Mr Mac disappeared to each afternoon by the smell of beer on his breath when he returned. And to my horror, the volume of his snoring doubled when he was drunk. So that’s what Kenny’s mates had meant. I tried searching for Kenny’s wax earplugs while he was out, just to borrow for one good night’s sleep. But he’d hidden them well.
Kenny’s own vanishing act each afternoon while Mr Mac was at the pub left me with Mrs Davis and Marmite. If I wasn’t sweeping, mowing, weeding or scrubbing, I sat in the kitchen with her while she talked about the weather or cooed over Marmite.
By Saturday, Marmite was leaping up on my knee to be stroked. If Robert or my mates could see me sipping tea with an old lady and her cat, they’d have died laughing. But I was pleased to be able to relax for a bit, and I wasn’t about to tell anyone anyway.
On Sunday morning I woke with my pillow still wrapped around my head in an effort to drown out Mr Mac’s snoring. With a groan I rolled onto my back.
It was daylight! Kenny was gone. Birds sang heartily outside, and thin sunbeams streaked through the gap in the curtains. I leapt from the bunk, yanked open the bedroom door and pounded down the hall.
Chapter 6
A week. I’d only been an apprentice for a week, and I was going to get the sack for sleeping in! How would I tell Dad? How would I face Robert? Skidding along the wooden floor in my socks, I found Mr Mac, Kenny and Mrs Davis sitting at the kitchen table. By the crumbs on their plates I could tell they’d been there a while.
‘Good morning, Jack,’ said Mrs Davis cheerfully. I stared at Mr Mac, my heart racing. Why hadn’t he woken me?
He looked up from his tea. ‘Don’t look so worried, boy. It’s Sunday. Horses’ day off.’
‘Oh!’ I slumped against the doorframe.
Kenny cackled from the table. ‘You should’ve seen your face. It was worth ten bob.’
‘Go and get dressed, Jack,’ said Mr Mac. ‘Still plenty of work to do.’
Later that morning, as I spread new straw in Dazzle’s stall, Kenny called out: ‘You staying?’
‘Eh?’ I looked out just as he disappeared through the tin fence. Of course. We had the afternoon off. I finished up and found Mr Mac hanging up bridles.
‘Still here?’ he said.
I shrugged. ‘I haven’t got anywhere to go. I don’t really know Hastings.’
‘I’m sure Mrs Davis can arrange more chores,’ said Mr Mac. He smiled at the look on my face. ‘Or you could explore a little.’
‘Maybe I’ll do that,’ I said. Going for a walk had to be better than more chores.
‘Finished Dazzle’s box?’
‘Yes, Mr Mac.’
‘See you at tea, then. No sleep-in tomorrow.’
With my pay in my pocket, I strolled through the streets. It felt strange being on my own, but good at the same time. I felt older somehow. I was a working man on my day off. If only my family could see me. Despite myself, I suddenly missed them. Annie and Mum, anyway. After asking directions from passers-by, I found myself at the railway station again.
I found out how much a return trip would be and how long it would take. Maybe I could visit one Sunday. I’d see how things went and ask Mr Mac. The rest of the afternoon flew by while I explored the streets of Hastings.
At dusk I made my way back to the stables. I stopped by the gate in the fence at a strange noise coming from the other side. Someone was … singing? I covered my chuckle with my hand. It couldn’t be!
Sure enough, when I peered through the gate, Mr Mac was sitting on the garden seat, singing to the heavens. His mournful tune silenced me as I sneaked around to the back porch where Kenny stood in the doorway, watching.
When I nodded back down the yard, Kenny rolled his eyes. ‘Leave him be or we’ll all cop it,’ he warned. ‘He’s been drowning his sorrows all day.’
Mr Mac eventually came in, ate his tea and stumbled off down the hall. Mrs Davis, usually gossiping non-stop, was silent.
‘Got any earplugs yet?’ Kenny asked, scraping up the last mouthful from his plate.
‘No,’ I moaned, slumping in my chair.
‘Shame. You’re going to need them.’
Kenny was right. Mr Mac’s snores were roaring through the wall by the time I’d washed up and climbed into bed. Kenny came in soon after, and screwed up his face at the rumble through the wall. He fished out the wax blobs from his pocket, poked them in his ears and switched out the light. ‘Night.’
The darkness made the snoring sound even louder. I lay there, wide awake, for hours. I tried putting my fingers in my ears, then wrapping my pillow around my head. Neither worked, and I knew I’d pay for it in the morning. I needed all the sleep I could get.
Please, Mr Mac, I pleaded silently. Please be quiet.
He snored on, oblivious to the world.
I had to get some sleep! I racked my muddled memory of the house. I couldn’t think properly. Was there a couch somewhere? A comfortable chair? Even a thick floor rug would do. What about the front room? The one Mrs Davis didn’t use.
With a blanket I slipped silently from the room and crept down the hall. Yellow light glowing underneath the door of the front room stopped me in my tracks. Who was in there? Taking care to step on the floor rugs to soften my footsteps, I edged closer to the door.
Someone was crying.
I shuffled closer and put my ear to the door.
‘Oh, Marmite, I do miss him so. He turned sixteen today. Where could he be?’
Mrs Davis! Who was she talking about? Who’d turned sixteen?
‘I’m so pleased I still have you,’ she said. ‘One day, Marmite, one day he might come back.’
A chair scraped behind the door and I shot back to my bedroom. I tiptoed back in, but Kenny was still sound asleep, and thankfully Mr Mac’s snoring wasn’t thundering through the wall any longer. He must have turned over. Mum always reckoned that worked with Dad.
I snuggled under my blankets. What was Mrs Davis doing up so late? And who was she crying over? I lay thinking in the dark until sleep
finally came.
‘William!’ yelled a voice in the darkness. My eyes flew open and I peered over at Kenny. Now what?
‘William!’ came the voice again. It wasn’t Kenny. The sound came through the wall followed by a thump and a snort. Mr Mac must be dreaming. Was the whole house going mad? I pulled my pillow over my head, groaning at being woken again. Mr Mac went quiet. At least he wasn’t snoring. But who the heck was William?
Mrs Davis fussed and bustled around as usual in the morning, with no sign of her upset the night before. How long had she been going to the parlour in the middle of the night? I hid my surprise when Mr Mac smiled and touched her arm. ‘He’ll be fine,’ he whispered, before disappearing outside. Who?
A week later I got up in the night again. Half-asleep, I stumbled to the bathroom and back. I peered around the corner down the hall. A triangle of light spread across the hall floor. The parlour door was open.
Jolted awake and keen to see inside the mystery room, I inched my way along the wall towards the light.
Mrs Davis’s voice floated out into the hall, singing a lullaby. I leaned against the wall, listening. It felt wrong being there, but I couldn’t help it.
Through the gap in the doorway I could see the edge of a piano draped in a lacy cloth, with a huge painting of a lake behind it. Mrs Davis’s singing trailed off. What was she doing?
‘Come in, Jack. It’s too cold to be standing in the hall.’
I held my breath, glued to the spot. How did she know it was me? If I ran back to my room now … The parlour door swung open, making me squint in the sudden light.
‘Come in, dear. Couldn’t you sleep?’
‘I was just going to the bathroom.’
‘The bathroom is at the other end of the hall, dear.’
I fiddled with the cord on my pyjamas, not sure where to look.
‘It’s warmer in here,’ she said. I hesitated, then followed her into the softly lit room.
The front parlour was grand, just like a picture from Mum’s Buckingham Palace book. Gilt-framed landscape paintings lined the walls. Marmite lay stretched out in the centre of a narrow scarlet couch. Thick cream curtains hung in the windows, and a deep-red rug fringed with black tassels covered almost the entire floor.
What struck me most were the photographs. They were everywhere. On cabinets and bookcases, along the piano and on side tables. They were all of either a boy or a couple, smiling back at the camera.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s just that I saw the light and wondered who was in here. How did you know it was me?’
Mrs Davis smiled and stroked Marmite. ‘Because Kenny wouldn’t worry about interrupting anything. He’d just barge in. And Mr MacKenzie sleeps like a log with all that he drinks.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I rubbed my toes through the pile of the rug. ‘I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I heard someone crying once and—’
‘I understand, dear.’ She gazed around the parlour. ‘This room holds many happy memories. Marmite and I like to spend time in here.’ The black cat’s purr grew stronger at the mention of his name.
I picked up one of the photo frames. ‘Who is this boy? There are so many pictures of him.’
‘My son, William.’
William! The name Mr Mac called out in his sleep. ‘Where is he? Did he …?’ I couldn’t finish the sentence.
‘No, not that I know of. I hope he is well and happy somewhere,’ she added in a whisper. A tear slipped down her face, leaving a track on her powdered cheek.
‘Oh.’ I looked away. ‘But he only looks about Annie’s age.’
‘Your little sister?’
I nodded.
‘Those are old photographs,’ she said. ‘He’d be your age now—a little older.’ She sighed, and the odd look I’d seen before crossed her face. ‘When Arthur found out, he was so hurt. He couldn’t forgive me. Nearly seven years ago now, when he took our William.’
I stared at a photograph of a man on the wall and frowned. He looked familiar, his blue eyes staring back as I tried to understand.
She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘I don’t know why I keep all these photos. Maybe William will come back one day and he’ll be sad if I’ve put them away.’ She must have seen my puzzled look, still staring at the man.
‘That’s my husband, Arthur — Mr MacKenzie’s brother. I have reverted to my maiden name.’
Of course! A younger version of Mr Mac looked back at me from the picture. Except this man smiled, his blue eyes twinkling and friendly. What did he find out to make him take William away?
Mrs Davis sniffed softly. ‘Harry is an honourable man. After everything, I think he felt a duty to stay. And he loves his horses so. Although nothing’s been said, it’s a comfortable arrangement, the stables right next door and all.’ She sighed.
Harry. So that’s what the H stood for in Mr Mac’s signature. I yawned despite wanting to know more — especially about the boy.
‘You’re a lovely boy, listening to an old woman’s ramblings, but I’ve said too much already.’ Her face crinkled into a frown. ‘You must be off to bed now. You’ve an early start.’
Back in bed I dropped off to sleep, wondering why Mrs Davis had lost her son.
Chapter 7
Mrs Davis gave me a knowing smile the next morning at breakfast, and again I noticed Mr Mac touch her arm before he went back out to the stables. It was just for a moment, but it was there. Mrs Davis sighed, then turned to me with a smile. ‘A letter came for you, dear. Now where did I put it?’ She rustled in some papers on the bench and fished out an envelope. ‘Here it is. A letter from home maybe?’
‘Thanks, Mrs Davis!’ I gobbled down the rest of my porridge and grabbed my jacket. Outside, between the house and the fence, I ripped open the envelope.
Dear Wee Jack,
I hope this letter finds you well. Your mother has asked I write, though it has only been a week. She has been unwell with a nasty cold but is now on the mend. Annie is fine and has been a grand help in the house. Robert and I have been working with Grandfather on the farm, with the ewes now all heavy in lamb. We have had to make repairs on the milking shed, but Robert made light work of it, even improving things there. He has been voted captain for the Ormondville rugby team to compete in the Regionals, so we are very proud. Grandfather has bought him new boots. We hope you are working hard in your new position. Uncle Onslow says it is tough, but can be very rewarding when you are winning. Looking forward to that day, Wee Jack. Write soon. It will please your mother.
Dad
I stared at the fence in front of me. What about you, Dad? Would it please you? Nothing had changed: Robert was still the family golden boy. Even Annie was doing well in his eyes. It seemed the only thing he wanted from me was to work hard and win races. I folded the letter up and stuffed it in my pocket. If that’s what he wanted to be proud of me, then that’s what he’d get.
Dear Mum and Dad,
Thank you for your letter. Sorry to hear Mum was poorly. Hope you are feeling better, Mum. My apprenticeship is grand. I am at the Hastings Racecourse with Mr MacKenzie’s horses every day. Our landlady Mrs Davis is a good cook, but not as good as you, Mum. Say hello to Annie for me.
Love Jack
It wasn’t the whole truth, but I’d written no lies either.
As the weeks passed, I wondered if my time to ride would ever come. I knew I had to prove myself to Mr Mac before I could prove myself to my family. I tried to work harder and earn my ride. No longer did my muscles ache from lifting the heavy covers, lugging water buckets or mucking out wet straw. Both horses were comfortable with me now, and I loved to treat them once in a while to sugar lumps. When I watched them train, my knuckles were white on the fence rail while I longed to be out there riding them.
With the worsening weather, Mrs Davis kindly gave me inside jobs in the afternoons. One day, when the icy wind outside cut like razors, I had finished the few jobs she’d given me and was si
tting in the kitchen with Marmite curled on my knee.
‘Do you know where Kenny goes?’ I asked Mrs Davis. ‘Does he go home?’
She turned from the sink. ‘I’m not sure where he gets to, but it won’t be to see his family.’
‘Where do they live?’
‘Oh, they’re in Hastings, too, but not so you’d know. They don’t see Kenny at all. He told me once there are six younger brothers and sisters at home, and his mother was pleased when he left. Something happened where he worked before, a building accident I believe. Someone was badly hurt and the blame was laid on Kenny. He was lucky to escape police charges, but not lucky enough to avoid the injured man’s workmates.’ She shook her head, clicking her tongue. ‘Mr MacKenzie found him beaten black and blue outside his drinking establishment. He brought Kenny home, and he’s been here since. Nearly two years ago, it was.’ She sat down opposite me and gave a sigh. ‘Remember the day you arrived?’ I nodded. How could I forget?
‘It was Kenny’s birthday. His family knew he was here, but nothing came for him — not even a note.’
I stared down at Marmite, scratching his chin. A building accident? Kenny was mean, but I didn’t think he’d hurt anyone on purpose. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Suddenly Marmite was alert, ears pointed at the back door. His claws pricked my leg while Mrs Davis kept talking. ‘Harry thought it would be nice to have a young man in the house again, and has done his best by Kenny. Trying to make up for things, I suppose.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘And maybe fill the gap William left behind.’
The back door suddenly opened then slammed shut, making the china tinkle on the table. Marmite leapt from my knee and flew down the hall, claws skidding on the floorboards.
Mr Mac stood swaying by the door, glaring at Mrs Davis then at me. ‘What have you been saying, woman?’
Mrs Davis’s hands flew up to her cheeks. ‘Oh my, Mr MacKenzie. You did give me a start.’
‘Don’t mollycoddle me, woman.’ The smell of beer blasted across the kitchen. He staggered over to the table and banged his fist down on the table. The china cups leapt in their saucers, spilling tea across the tablecloth. ‘I heard you talking about Kenny,’ he growled. ‘He couldn’t make up for anything, woman. Worst thing I did, saving that lazy good-for-nothing. His laziness cost that man his legs — he deserved the beating he got. It didn’t beat the laziness out of him, though, did it?’
Just Jack Page 3