by Karen Wood
‘Jessy . . .’ Shara paused. ‘Why don’t we go for a ride?’
‘What?’ Jess turned and stared at her. ‘You must be joking.’
‘You could ride that bay horse.’
Jess screwed up her nose. ‘What, Hetty’s horse?’
‘Yeah, why not?’
‘I don’t want to ride him. I can’t even catch him!’
‘Didn’t you say he’d done pony club?’ said Shara. ‘How wild could he be?’
‘He’s about a hundred years old,’ said Jess. ‘He’ll probably have a heart attack and drop dead on me.’
‘Oh come on, Jess, he’ll be all right.’
‘I really don’t feel like riding today. It’s way too soon.’
‘But it’s impossible to be sad on the back of a horse,’ said Shara. ‘You say that all the time.’
‘Well, maybe I want to be sad,’ said Jess.
‘Come on,’ Shara pleaded. ‘We’ll just walk along the river flats and talk. That old fella will be fine. I promised Mum I’d exercise her new mare today.’
Jess shook her head. The last thing she felt like doing was jumping on someone else’s geriatric horse. She couldn’t believe that Shara had even suggested it.
‘I’ll run home now, saddle up and then come back and get you,’ said Shara. She stood up to leave. ‘Okay?’
‘Oh, all right,’ grumbled Jess. It couldn’t be as bad as sitting around staring at an empty horse yard all day.
‘Besties?’
Jess nodded. ‘Best besties.’
Jess rummaged through an old bag of tack and pulled out various bits and pieces. Diamond’s gear wasn’t going to fit that big clomper of a horse. After much sorting, buckling and rebuckling, she put together a sort-of-functional bridle and carried it out to the paddock.
The gelding stood with his back to her, resting a leg. When he saw her approaching, he screwed up his nose and walked away. Jess followed him, lunged and grabbed a chunk of his mane. She was relieved when he let her put the halter on.
Back at the hitching rail, Jess ran a critical eye over him. He had a long scrawny neck and a head like a besser block. His coat was dull and shaggy and his feet were like chipped old dinner plates. ‘What an embarrassment,’ she said out loud. ‘Well, I guess you’ll do for a trail-ride, old fella. I just hope you’re not a lunatic.’
She heard the clatter of horseshoes on the road.
‘Come on, Jessy. Get that brumby saddled up,’ Shara called out as she rode into the driveway on her mother’s new horse, a huge bay mare. She jumped off and gave the gelding a pat on the forehead. ‘Oh, he’s a total sweetie! What’s his name?’
Jess screwed up her face. What was it with Shara and ugly animals? ‘I think it’s “Dodger”.’
‘He’s cute.’
‘I’ve seen better-looking roadkill,’ Jess mumbled under her breath, as she tossed her saddle over Dodger’s back and reached under his belly for the girth. It only just fitted. As she struggled to get it to the first hole, he began to shift around. ‘Stand up,’ she said, in a quiet but threatening tone.
‘He looks a bit ticklish,’ said Shara.
Jess yanked at the girth. Dodger put his ears back, inhaled, and inflated his belly like a balloon, causing the girth strap to slip out of the buckle and fall away.
‘Come on, Piggy,’ Jess said, giving him a nudge in the ribs and reaching for the girth again.
Dodger inhaled, deeper this time. He leaned towards her.
‘Look at him; he’s got no manners at all,’ she said, slapping him on the belly. ‘Stop it!’
In reply, Dodger pushed harder until Jess found herself squeezed firmly against the hitching rail. ‘Crikey!’ she wheezed, trying to push him off. She could have sworn he eyeballed her foot. ‘Don’t you dare!’ she growled, pushing at his shoulder.
Dodger’s hoof came down on her foot with half a tonne of horse behind it, leaving her gasping in pain. She hurriedly pulled her hoof pick from her back pocket and dug it into his ribs. The old horse snorted and jumped away, making the saddle slide from his back and land with a thud on the concrete slab.
‘Untie his rope,’ said Shara. ‘He’s gonna pull back!’
‘Whoa, Dodger!’ yelled Jess.
Dodger rolled his eyes and gave a gigantic heave. Both his front legs lifted from the ground and paddled wildly in the air. He threw his weight at the rope, twisting and shaking, until it snapped and catapulted him backwards, sending up a cloud of dust. Dodger scrambled to his feet, exploded off his hind legs and fled to the bottom end of the paddock. He bucked and squealed in triumph.
‘That went well,’ said Shara.
‘He’s totally crazy!’ said Jess.
Shara picked up the broken shred of rope still tethered to the fence. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have tied him to a solid post.’
Jess sat down behind the hitching rail. ‘How was I to know he’s a total nutter?’
‘He just hasn’t been handled for a while. He needs a gentle hand,’ Shara said.
‘A gentle hand? Are you kidding?’
‘You’re so uptight. No wonder he’s freaking out.’
‘Uptight?’ Jess couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Why don’t you go and saddle him up, if you’re so relaxed? See how you go with him!’
‘Okay then, I will,’ said Shara, tethering the mare to the hitching rail. ‘I tell you what: if I can do it one-handed, will you still come for a ride?’
‘No, I think I’ll go and do some yoga so I’m not so uptight,’ Jess hissed.
Shara giggled and walked away to get Dodger. She caught him easily and saddled him with one hand, chatting quietly to him all the while. Dodger looked like an old school pony in her hands. His ears flopped lazily to the sides of his head and his lower lip hung open, a thin stream of dribble hanging from his chin. Finally, Shara held out the reins to Jess.
Jess snatched them from her. ‘Just walk until I get used to him.’
6
THEY HEADED OUT the driveway and walked along the road. Every three or four strides, Dodger snatched the reins. ‘He’s trying to rip my arms off,’ whined Jess.
‘Give him a long rein and see if that helps,’ said Shara, kicking her feet out of the stirrups and waggling her legs around. ‘Just relax a bit.’
Aargh! If she says that one more time . . .
They came to the open flats where the river wove through the valley. At the next crossing they stood and let the horses drink, while Shara’s dogs rolled about in the sandy patches and lay on their bellies in the cool water, panting happily. Jess closed her eyes and let the trickling sounds of the river flow through her soul. For a brief moment Dodger stopped snatching, and she exhaled.
Shara’s big mare raised her head and let out an anxious whinny, breaking the serenity. Dodger did the same, sniffing at the air and stepping backwards. He seemed suddenly nervous. Their call was answered, and from around a bend in the river came a brilliant white horse with a finely dished nose and a long curly tail. Her name was Chelpie, and her rider, wearing a white shirt and black helmet, was Katrina Pettilow.
‘Settle down, Chelpie,’ Katrina said in an annoyed voice, and turned to the girl riding behind her. ‘Tegan, keep back a bit. You’re making her nervous. I told you she gets hard to manage when we ride near the river.’ She looked down at the horse’s back legs. ‘You’ve splashed mud on her!’
Jess groaned inwardly. Katrina made such a big deal about her horse being white. ‘Not many horses are truly white, you know, most are really just greys that fade with age,’ Katrina would tell people. Like anyone cared. Then she would crap on about the genetics of white horses, and why her horse was so special. And although both Shara and Jess agreed that there was something special about the horse, they also agreed that there was something truly painful about the rider.
Her shadow, Tegan Broadhead, was equally so, even though there was nothing special about her small brown pony. She worshipped the ground Katrina walked on, which only encouraged
her to be even more painful. Together, they were excruciating.
‘Hello,’ said Katrina, without quite looking Jess in the eye.
‘Hi,’ Jess mumbled.
Shara pretended to be busy adjusting her horse’s girth.
Great, she’s going to leave me to do all the talking.
Katrina pulled Chelpie to a halt. ‘Sorry to hear about your pony,’ she said. ‘What was its name again?’
‘Diamond,’ said Jess.
‘Oh yeah, that’s right, knew it was something like that.’ She pointed her dressage whip at Dodger. ‘Is that your new horse?’
Behind her, Tegan snorted.
Without warning, Dodger pinned his ears flat back and lunged at Chelpie, almost dislodging Jess from the saddle.
‘No, it’s not my new horse,’ she said, pulling him sharply away. ‘Stop it, Dodger!’
‘It’s got a bad temperament,’ said Katrina. ‘Has it been abused or something?’
‘Where’d it come from?’ asked Tegan, looking at Shara. ‘Get another one from the dogger’s yard?’
Shara gave her a mock smile and said nothing.
‘He belongs to my cousin,’ said Jess. ‘There’s a drought out west, in case you hadn’t heard.’ Jess felt Dodger’s back tense beneath the saddle as he lifted his tail. She smirked.
Nice timing, Dodger.
She turned in time to see a large green poo ooze like toothpaste from his rear end, hit the water and swirl towards Chelpie’s curly white tail and silvery hocks.
‘Oh, yuck!’ said Katrina. She raised her whip and brought it down sharply on the little mare’s rump. Chelpie shot out of the water with a cranky swish of her tail, sending a spray of green all over Tegan.
Jess smiled sweetly. ‘Must be the change in his diet,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Sorry.’
‘That horse is a welfare case, Jessica Fairley!’ Tegan said, wiping her face with her sleeve. ‘Gross! It’s probably full of worms.’
‘You can talk,’ said Jess. ‘Why don’t you get a bigger horse and give that poor thing a break?’
‘Yeah, why don’t we just toss it out onto the river flats and let other people’s horses chase it through a cattle grid? Why don’t we just let it snap its legs in half?’ Katrina retorted. She yanked on Chelpie’s mouth. ‘Come on, Tegan, let’s get out of here.’
Jess’s mind scrambled. She growled at Dodger to stop his head-tossing and gave him a sharp kick in the ribs. ‘What did she mean by that?’ she said to Shara.
Shara rode up next to her. ‘Who cares? She’s a slaggy ho-bag.’
‘What did she mean by other people’s horses? What other horses?’
‘How would I know, I wasn’t there,’ snapped Shara. ‘She probably just made it up. God, she annoys me. Come on, let’s go down near the sawmill and try out some of our new jumps.’ She trotted off.
Jess followed. ‘Shara, wait!’
Before she could catch up, Shara was cantering over a large open field.
Near where Slaughtering Creek met the Coachwood River, the grass grew long and wispy, brushing the bottom of the girls’ boots and rustling in harmony with the distant hum of farm machinery and intermittent bird calls. But the seemingly tranquil setting belied the edgy feeling it gave Jess. It was very close to the old drover’s yards and horrible images of Diamond’s legs were leaping into her thoughts. She brought Dodger back to a walk and tried not to look in the direction of the cattle grid.
Jess saw a tall man heading their way, calling out to them. As he got closer, she realised it was Lawson Blake, a local farrier – and he was carrying a gun. ‘Shara, wait up!’ she called out.
Shara slowed to a walk.
‘You kids get out of here,’ Lawson yelled.
‘You can’t tell us to leave,’ Shara retorted. ‘This is Crown land.’
Jess pushed Dodger into a trot and caught up with her. ‘Let’s just go, Shars.’
‘I’m fed up with people stirring up my cattle,’ Lawson shouted, waving an arm at them. ‘Move it, and take those bloody dogs with you or I’ll shoot ’em.’
‘We haven’t been anywhere near your cattle,’ said Shara. ‘We’re just riding through.’
‘Well, you just keep on riding, and don’t come back.’
Shara ignored him. ‘Come on, Jessy. Let’s do some jumps. He can’t tell us what to do.’ Before Jess could protest, Shara kicked her mare into a canter and pointed her towards a pile of logs.
Lawson spat on the ground, then raised his gun. ‘I’m warning you,’ he yelled.
Shara kept riding.
Lawson shook his head and then the sky exploded.
Dodger went to pieces. He spun on his hind legs and threw his head back, his huge skull smacking into Jess’s face with a sickening crunch.
She fought to open her eyes as he began to spin on the spot. The tighter she held him, the more he turned in crazy, dizzying circles, around and around, tossing his head frantically. Jess screamed.
‘Jess!’
She couldn’t tell where Shara’s voice came from. It was like being stuck on the worst ride at an amusement park with the lights turned out.
‘I’m coming, Jessy. I’m coming.’
The reins were pulled from her hands. ‘Let go of his head, Jess. I’ve got him. Let go.’ A hand grabbed her arm. ‘Jump off! I can’t hold him much longer.’
Jess let herself collapse off the horse. Dodger broke free and she listened to the fading drum of his hooves as he bolted into the distance.
She spat a glob of blood from her mouth and tried to get her breath back. Her face burned with a vicious heat and when she opened her eyes, she could see only grass.
‘I can’t believe he shot you!’ Shara gasped, and looked behind her. ‘Oh no, he’s coming over!’
Jess swung an arm at her. ‘He didn’t shoot me, you idiot,’ she lisped through her swelling mouth. ‘Dodger headbutted me. I told you he was dangerous.’
‘Jessy, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have . . .’ Shara looked over her shoulder again.
‘You shouldn’t have just taken off like that,’ Jess shrieked. ‘What is with you lately?’
Shara tried to help her up. ‘I didn’t mean to . . .’
‘Dodger has playing up all day, or haven’t you noticed?’ Jess pulled herself up off the ground and pushed Shara with both hands.
Shara staggered backwards. ‘Hey!’ she yelled. ‘I was trying to cheer you up!’
‘By putting me on some half-wild brumby and nearly getting me killed?’
‘No. I . . .’
‘Just get away from me.’ Jess’s face was throbbing so hard she could barely think straight. Behind Shara, she saw Lawson Blake turn on his heel and walk away. She did the same, heading towards home.
Shara called after her. ‘Jess! Wait! You’re bleeding!’
‘Leave me alone!’ Jess screamed.
7
WHEN JESS ARRIVED HOME, Caroline had fifty conniptions. She buried Jess’s swollen face under a packet of frozen broad beans and raced her off to the closest hospital. After several hours in the waiting room among vomiting, bleeding and groaning people, Jess was sent home with a fresh icepack and some painkillers and told to rest for a week.
Craig hit the roof. First he rang Shara’s mum, ranting about Shara being so irresponsible. Then he stormed down to the police station to have Lawson Blake arrested.
The next day the police paid a visit to Lawson, who came up with some half-baked story about his cattle – the same story that he phoned Craig with afterwards, smarmily apologising and inviting him over to ‘discuss it’.
Now, two days later, her parents seemed to think Jess was having some sort of breakdown because of Diamond. Her father was making appointments with school counsellors and psychologists, while Caroline insisted she needed a spiritual healer. Jess was refusing point-blank to go and see any of them. With only a week left until the summer holidays, she told her parents she would be fine so long as she had that week off school.
Buzz rumble.
Shara: we need to talk
Jess flipped her phone shut.
‘I hope she gets into that stupid school,’ she grumbled to herself. ‘I hope I never have to talk to her again! For at least a month!’
Jess would be only too happy to lock herself in her bedroom and never come out again, but her parents were adamant that she keep up with her chores, and for some perverse reason that included looking after Dodger. Some stupid ‘getting back on the horse’ way of thinking – obviously thought up by someone who had never ridden a horse, let alone fallen off one, and definitely had never been headbutted by a total psycho like Dodger.
But her protests only earned her a karmic forgiveness lecture from Caroline. ‘You must cultivate love, darling; fight evil with goodness. Don’t destroy yourself with anger.’
The lecture made Jess feel even crankier. In the end she gave up protesting, choosing instead to storm to her room and count her miseries. She couldn’t believe they’d listened to that Lawson Blake. They needed to wake up and smell the gunpowder.
In the afternoon, at her father’s insistence, she set about fixing the fence that Dodger had broken. Hateful creature!
She pulled some pliers from her back pocket and twisted the wire back to keep it off the ground. That horse just had no respect for fences. He had no respect for anything.
Two horses walked down the road towards her. She recognised their riders: Rosie and Grace Arnold from Valley View Pony Club. The two sisters had the same tawny-blonde hair, olive skin and brown eyes. She had seen them at gymkhanas many times but had never actually spoken to them. In Coachwood Crossing, everyone knew everyone. Or at least, everyone knew everything about everyone.
Jess knew that the Arnolds had a stud farm and bred Australian stockhorses. Rosie was the elder sister and she always rode a chestnut horse called Buster. Grace was younger and never rode the same horse twice. Their stud farm, Jess imagined, must be huge.
Rosie sat neatly in the saddle with her heels down and her back straight. A short riding crop sat at a perfect angle across her thigh and a tidy plait poked out below her helmet. Buster’s saddlecloth was clean, blue and matched his shin boots.