Just Jack

by Adele Broadbent

  ‘Just a minute, Jack,’ said Mrs Davis. ‘I nearly forgot. Silly me. You’ve been here all dinnertime and I forgot to give it to you.’ She reached in behind the fruit bowl on the bench. ‘A letter came for you today.’

  Chapter 9

  The plain brown envelope held no clues. I flipped it over. No sender’s address. It had to be from home. In the privacy of my bedroom, I wondered whether to open it. I leaned against the wall, staring out the window. Why bother opening it? I knew I was a stable-hand and that a jockey apprenticeship was nowhere in sight. I couldn’t write and tell them more lies, but I couldn’t tell the truth either.

  I jumped at a knock on the door. ‘Jack?’ came Mrs Davis’s voice. ‘Mr Mac has asked me to fetch you. He’s gone over to the stables.’

  I slid the envelope into my pocket. ‘Coming.’

  The next day, Mr Mac left me to it as usual. ‘I’m off to meet a man about a horse,’ he said. Which meant he was off down the pub.

  I felt like a plough horse — trudging through each day, same thing, day in, day out. I didn’t dream about racing any more, just making the most of my ride to the track each morning. Even when Alec whispered that he’d be finishing soon, I didn’t take much notice. Any hopes I’d had were pounded into the mud after day after day spent only watching the track work.

  As I forked fresh straw into Dazzle’s stall, a familiar tune went through my head. I hummed for a moment before realizing I could hear someone whistling. That tune. It couldn’t be! He always whistled that tune! The moment I turned to look outside, Uncle Onslow appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Hello, Wee Jack.’

  ‘Uncle Onslow!’ I dropped the fork and bounded across the box, sending straw flying. Leaping through the doorway, I threw my arms around him.

  He stumbled backwards in surprise, hanging onto me. ‘Whoa! What a welcome!’

  I let go, feeling my face flush. ‘Sorry. It’s good to see you, that’s all. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Didn’t you get my letter? I did wonder whether it would arrive in time. I’m on my way up to Auckland. Last-minute thing, you know,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Oh.’ I stared at my boots, caked in straw and manure. ‘I got it,’ I said, pulling it from my pocket. ‘I thought it was from—’

  ‘It’s unopened. How long have you had it?’

  ‘Since yesterday.’

  ‘Why didn’t you open it? Jack?’

  Slowly, I looked up into his puzzled face. As I fought the lump swelling in my throat, tears sprang to my eyes.

  ‘Jack, what’s wrong?’

  I turned away, hiding my shame. Working men didn’t cry. When I felt his hand on my shoulder, I dragged my sleeve across my eyes.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ he asked. ‘I’ve come to check on you for your mum and dad.’ He squeezed my shoulder. ‘It looks like it’s a jolly good thing I did.’

  Uncle Onslow sat and listened. I talked about Kenny and how all the work was left to me. About Mr Mac’s drinking and snoring, and how much training I’d had — or rather not had. He shook his head in disbelief. I’d never seen him look so cross.

  I got to my feet, reaching for the pitchfork left in the straw — anything to avoid the look on his face. ‘So that’s why I never wrote,’ I said. ‘Dad wants to hear I’m winning races. He wants me to be as good as Robert at everything, but I’m not. I’m sorry, Uncle Onslow. Maybe you were wrong about me. Maybe I’m not good enough to be a jockey, either.’ I stabbed at the straw. ‘You got me this job and I’ve let you down.’

  ‘What? Jack, you’ve done nothing wrong. And I still believe you’ll make a fine jockey. You just haven’t been given the chance.’

  I looked up at him.

  ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘I didn’t get you this job — your grandfather did.’

  Grandfather! My mouth dropped open. ‘He can’t have,’

  I blurted. ‘Why would he? He couldn’t wait to get rid of me. He hates me!’

  This time I didn’t wipe away the tears.

  ‘He doesn’t hate you, Jack,’ soothed Uncle Onslow. ‘I know he demands a lot from everyone, especially his family.’ He sighed. ‘It’s his way of wanting the best for us all. It took me many years to understand, but it’s just how he is. He saw your gift with horses, and that farm work didn’t suit you. Mr MacKenzie was a mate of his from way back, so he organized the apprenticeship. It was a chance for you to find your own way.’

  I dropped my head again. ‘And like always, I’ve mucked it up.’

  ‘No, Jack,’ he said, lifting my chin. ‘Where will I find Mr MacKenzie?’

  I knew that voice. He was mad, all right. He just didn’t rant and rave like Mr Mac.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘He went out a while ago.’

  What was he going to do? Heck! What if he told Mum and Dad? They’d know everything. Robert would crow for a week. I’d be a failure. Again. I grabbed my uncle’s arm. ‘Please don’t tell them at home, Uncle Onslow — please!’

  ‘Calm down, Jack. I’ll sort it out.’

  Quickly finishing the stall, I took Uncle Onslow to meet Mrs Davis.

  It was torture, waiting for my boss to return. If I squeezed any harder on my ‘tiddly teacup', I’d break it. I put it down quickly, and tea sploshed over the rim. Where was he? What was Uncle Onslow going to say to him?

  While I imagined the worst, Uncle Onslow chatted politely to Mrs Davis. It felt like my future was hanging like a worn-out bridle with a buckle about to snap. I ignored my swirling stomach and concentrated on stroking Marmite, who was stretched across my knee. At least he was happy.

  Suddenly he sprang off my lap and streaked down the hall. Mr Mac must be back. Sure enough, moments later Mr Mac strode into the kitchen. He wasn’t drunk, but I could smell the beer on him.

  ‘Mr MacKenzie,’ said Mrs Davis. ‘We have a visitor. Jack’s uncle from Ormondville.’ Uncle Onslow stood.

  Mr Mac stopped, flicking a look at me then nodding at Uncle Onslow. ‘Come to check on Jack?’ Instead of the scowl I expected, he looked more like a possum caught in a trap.

  ‘I have that,’ said Uncle Onslow. ‘I’d like to speak with you outside, if I may?’

  Back out in the feed room I tried to keep busy, sweeping the floor and benches, folding towels, poking at cobwebs in the rafters with a broom handle. Mr Mac and Uncle Onslow had looked serious when they’d left the kitchen.

  I screwed up my face at the thought of fiery Mr Mac and calm Uncle Onslow together. Would I stay? It would still be better than going home. Even if Uncle Onslow explained it wasn’t my fault, I knew I’d never hear the end of it. Maybe it would have been better if he hadn’t come. No, it was grand to see him. If only I’d kept my mouth shut. Why did I have to blubber like a baby?

  Dropping down onto a feed sack, I rested my chin in my hands and waited for their decision.

  When Uncle Onslow appeared, I jumped, knocking a bucket off a bench with my elbow. I scooped it back up and spun around to face whatever had been sorted.

  ‘I’ve spoken with Mr MacKenzie,’ he said. ‘Hard work is part of any apprenticeship, Jack. No doubt you’ve learnt that?’

  My heart sank.

  What had Mr Mac said about me? The trickle of hope for something better evaporated. I nodded, dropping my chin, waiting for the outcome.

  ‘I can see working here has made you stronger,’ he continued. ‘But that fine spirit of yours has faded,’ he said, quietly. ‘You have a gift, Jack. Horses trust you. You can still make a go of this. If you want to.’

  ‘Yes!’ I cried. ‘I want to be a jockey more than anything, but Mr Mac won’t—’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to hear,’ he said smiling. ‘I’ll put my business in Auckland off for a bit. Just long enough to work out something else for you. I’ll collect you and your things next week on Thursday.’

  For a moment I was dumbstruck. ‘Honest?’ At his nod I flung myself at him. ‘That’s marvellous, Uncle Onslow, thank you!’ I caugh
t my breath. ‘What did Mr Mac say? Was he really angry?’

  ‘Angry? Quite the opposite. It seems he’s grown quite attached to you.’ He ruffled my hair. ‘I’m not sure why he didn’t let you train, but it’s time to move on. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine,’ he assured me with a smile. ‘Let’s get you where you should have been months ago: riding racehorses!’

  A new apprenticeship — somewhere else? Could it be that easy?

  It was only after I’d waved goodbye to my uncle that I thought about Mr Mac again. Attached to me? He didn’t show it. Working me like a slave with hardly a kind word. Breaking his word to let me train. It didn’t make sense.

  Mr Mac ignored me as much as possible, carrying out our usual routine but not muttering a word unless he had to. The days limped by slower than a three-legged horse. The first chance I got, I told Percy and Eddie at the track.

  Percy whistled. ‘Crikey, Jack! What’d old MacKenzie do?’

  I glanced about, making sure my boss was out of earshot. ‘That’s the strange thing: he hasn’t said a word about it. I thought he’d go mad.’

  Eddie shook his head. ‘I’d watch out if I were you. He’s probably brewing on something.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I’d bet on it.’

  Eddie’s warning stayed with me. I tried to avoid Mr Mac when I could, and kept quiet when I couldn’t. He began hanging around the stables more than usual. He’d begin to say something, then walk away, shaking his head.

  It was only a few more days before Uncle Onslow would be back to fetch me. That got me thinking. Where to? Another stables, he’d said. The whole thing whirled around in my head, while I waited for his return.

  It didn’t take long before everyone at the track knew I was leaving. ‘Good luck, Jack. Where are you off to?’ they asked. It felt strange not having an answer, but, despite the past few months, I had to trust Uncle Onslow. It was either that or go home to Ormondville. And look a fool.

  Mrs Davis tried to make my farewell tea, as she called it, special. She’d made my favourite — chicken pie with fried spuds, and lamingtons for afters. But Mr Mac’s silence squashed it flatter than a penny left on a train track.

  When I went to bed, full of anticipation for the next day, I didn’t know I wouldn’t see him again. At least not until after everything happened.

  Chapter 10

  On my last day, I wasn’t sure what time my uncle was coming, so I followed my usual routine, giving the horses their breakfast before putting them in their yards. There was no sign of Mr Mac, so I figured he wasn’t going to the track.

  Captain nudged my leg as I sat astride his fence. ‘Can’t fool you, can I?’ I said, holding out a sugar cube on my palm. He snuffled it up and gave a snort.

  ‘OK, boy, one more, since I’m leaving.’ Although the thought of a new start was exciting, it was scary, too. Leaving Captain and Dazzle was like leaving home again. They’d been everything for over four months. I slipped off the fence and reached up to rub Captain’s nose. He must have sensed something was up, as he dipped his head so I could put my arms around his neck.

  ‘Goodbye, Captain. I only wish I’d got to ride you properly. Just once.’ He pulled up, nearly lifting me off the ground. ‘You big black ratbag,’ I said, laughing. He nudged my shoulder. ‘Don’t be greedy. The rest are for Dazzle.’

  I climbed into Dazzle’s yard and held out her treat. Her lips lightly tickled my palm as she took it. I held both sides of her face. ‘Goodbye, Dazzle.’ Her kind brown eyes gazed back at me, and I leaned my head in to hers.

  ‘Saying your goodbyes?’ Uncle Onslow leaned over Dazzle’s gate.

  ‘You’re here!’

  ‘Of course I’m here,’ he said with a smile. ‘I said I’d fetch you today. You ready?’

  ‘Nearly. I’ve got to do one more thing.’ Uncle Onslow followed me back to the house.

  Mrs Davis sat at the kitchen table, Marmite draped over the back of the chair as usual. Her eyes glistened when she looked up.

  ‘Uncle Onslow’s here,’ I said. ‘I’ll be off now.’ She smiled and held out her arms. Her hug was like being wrapped in a cosy quilt on a winter’s day. ‘Goodbye, Jack. Thank you, dear, for being so kind to an old lady and being a good listener.’

  I hugged her back. She’d been good to me, when everything else had been so rotten. ‘I hope William comes back one day,’ I whispered, and gently pulled away.

  She nodded. ‘So do I, dear. So do I.’

  ‘I’m sorry I’m leaving, but you know …’

  ‘I know, dear. I’m sorry Mr MacKenzie isn’t here. He’s not very good at goodbyes.’

  I reached over to Marmite and scratched him under the chin. His purr rumbled loudly. ‘Goodbye, puss.’

  ‘Come on, Wee Jack,’ said Uncle Onslow. ‘We’d better be going.’ With a nod I fetched my case, quickly wiping my eyes.

  Mrs Davis bustled past us. ‘Go out the front way, dears.’ After another hug, she opened the front door.

  As I followed my uncle down the path, a lump sat in my throat. I was relieved Mr Mac wasn’t around. Saying goodbye was hard enough.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Uncle Onslow. I looked up to see a black, shiny Austin parked at the curb. ‘I borrowed her to take you to the bus station.’

  ‘Gosh! She’s a beauty.’ I ran my hand down the full curving fender. ‘I haven’t been in a car for ages.’ I climbed in and gave Mrs Davis one last wave before we drove off.

  The smell of the polished leather seats and the rumble of the car filled my thoughts. Then I remembered what Uncle Onslow had said. ‘Bus station? We’re going to the bus station?’

  ‘Yes. I can only have the car for a bit.’

  ‘But where am I going?’

  ‘Your new job is in Napier, with a chap called Laddie Baxter,’ said Uncle Onslow. ‘He’s a friend of mine, with half a dozen horses and a couple of jockeys working for him.’ He shot me a grin. ‘This time you’ll be an apprentice jockey, not a stable-hand.’

  With my bus ticket in one hand and my case in the other, I stood at Uncle Onslow’s side.

  ‘All set?’

  ‘Can’t you come with me?’

  ‘No, Jack. I’ve got business in Auckland, remember? Which reminds me: I won’t be home for quite a while, so I want you to write and tell them what’s happening.’

  A lump swelled in my throat. Tell them I’d spent four months mucking out stables? I looked away, not wanting to answer. He bent down. ‘You’ll be fine. Laddie is a good bloke.’

  I groaned inside. That’s what he’d said about Mr Mac. For the first time, a speck of doubt appeared in my mind. Would he be right this time?

  He patted me on the shoulder. ‘And just think about all that experience you’ve gained.’ He gripped my arm. ‘And all those muscles you’ve found,’ he whispered with a chuckle. ‘You’ll be fine. Just remember that letter.’

  ‘Thanks, Uncle Onslow. Thanks for everything.’ I quickly stepped up into the bus. ‘It’ll be better this time. I know it will.’

  Looking down at my uncle through the window of the bus, I wished I felt half as sure as I’d sounded. I waved, then sat back in my seat as the bus rolled away from the station. A boy clutching a blue wooden yo-yo sat across the narrow aisle, next to his mum. I shut my eyes for a moment, thinking of Mum’s smiling face, and the way Dad looked when he’d first learnt about my apprenticeship. I think he’d been relieved. Pleased, but relieved all the same. Could I write and tell them everything? Maybe after I’d done some real jockey work. Track work for a start. I nodded to myself. Yes. That’s when I’d write and tell them I was in Napier.

  The houses soon thinned out to give way to paddocks. The green fields and long lines of wire fences reminded me of Ormondville. Uncle Onslow had said that everyone was well at home. Mum had recovered from her flu, but Grandfather had come down with it soon after. Being as stubborn as he was, he didn’t slow down until the doctor threatened to admit him to hospital. He must have
been really sick. Now it was November and warming up, he was much better and out on the farm again.

  Grandfather. Again I marvelled at what he’d done for me. It didn’t turn out as planned, but still he’d got me started. And all that time I’d thought he wanted rid of me.

  I stared at the countryside around me. This time. This time, I’d show them for real. I’d work even harder and earn my racing colours. I clenched my fists. After Mr Mac’s, I could handle anything.

  The trip to Napier didn’t take long, and we soon pulled into another bus station. I stared down at the strangers’ faces. Which one was here to collect me? I couldn’t tell. Was it the man in the red-checked shirt, or the short man leaning against a post with a cigarette?

  Two women standing together didn’t count in my guessing, or the tall man in a jacket and tie, holding a girl’s hand.

  Realizing I was the last on the bus, I scrambled from my seat and grabbed my case. My palms slippery, I tightened my grip on the handle and scanned the faces again from the bottom step.

  The man with the cigarette shook another man’s hand, and the man in the checked shirt picked up a case for a woman passenger. The two women I’d seen greeted the yo-yo boy and his mum with a noisy hug.

  I stepped off the bus and looked down the station. Maybe Mr Baxter was late? Not again. Things couldn’t go wrong again.

  ‘Jack? Jack Baines?’

  I spun around to find the jacket-and-tie man right behind me. Now that I was off the bus, I could see his true height. I peered up into a round, smiling face. He held out a huge, weathered hand, which had a fearsome grip. ‘Hello, Jack,’ he said in a deep voice, his handshake nearly shaking my arm from its socket. ‘Laddie Baxter.’ He reached behind him and gently pulled the girl between us. ‘And this is Isobel, my daughter.’

  Chapter 11