Phantom Horse 3: Phantom Horse Disappears Read online

  2

  I put the kettle on and gazed at Twilight who was lying down beside Moonlight, looking like a cuddly toy. I have always been able to get up early. I feel alive and full of energy the moment I awake, unlike Angus who is forever going back to sleep after the alarm clock has gone off. It was a lovely morning. The dew still lay on the grass, soaking my feet through my trainers. A late cuckoo was calling “cuckoo”, apple-trees were joined by cobwebs which looked like strings of pearls. The garden smelled of lilac. Poor Mum in Nigeria, I thought, imagining blistering heat and a treeless landscape.

  Aunt Nina was still asleep when I knocked on her bedroom door. Her room smelled of perfume. I put a mug of tea on the table beside the bed and touched her shoulder.

  “Not a mug next time,” she muttered, opening her eyes. “A nice cup and saucer and lumps of sugar in a basin, and milk in a jug. Try and be dainty, Jean.”

  I tiptoed from the room without answering and shouted at Angus to get up. “You’ll be late for school if you don’t,” I added, “and you’ve got a careers talk this morning.”

  I rode Phantom in the evening. Then Aunt Nina washed my hair and swamped it in the most disgusting mousse. Angus read about careers until he felt dizzy.

  When my hair was dry I cooked the supper, while Aunt Nina lay on a towel on the lawn.

  “I’m missing my little flat already,” she said, coming in for supper. “I like to hear London going on outside. Nothing happens here.”

  “There’s lots going on if you know where to look,” I replied quickly. “There’s slugs eating the strawberries, and caterpillars on the cabbages, the peas are growing fatter in their pods, and Phantom is learning to stand still while I count to twenty.”

  “And Twilight is growing bigger every second,” interrupted my brother.

  “The apples are growing on the trees, and over at the farm the cat is having kittens,” I continued.

  “And my mind is swallowing a huge quantity of facts about careers,” added Angus. “And listen, there’s a car going by.”

  But Aunt Nina had her hands over her ears by this time. “Serve my food, Jean,” she cried. “No, not like that … daintily. And not so much potato; I have to think of my figure.” Taking her hands off her ears, she continued, “I’m sorry for Cousin Mary, as your mother calls her, having to put up with you two for all those weeks. Three days is enough for me.”

  The next evening we took Mermaid, Moonlight and Twilight to the farm, leaving Phantom behind in the stable. Twilight trotted along behind her mother, looking sweet. The farmer, Mr Barnes, said, “Don’t you worry, I’ll look after the foal. I’ve had horses all my life. I’ll see she won’t come to no harm. So enjoy yourselves in Ireland.”

  We turned the ponies into a forty-acre field just as the sun was going down.

  “We are extremely grateful,” said my brother politely. “We really don’t know what we would have done without you.”

  Walking homewards we discussed Aunt Nina. “She was furious because I spilt oats in my bedroom,” I said.

  “She’s so fussy. Never mind, only two more days. Phantom goes tomorrow, doesn’t he?” asked Angus.

  When we got home we found a message from Mum saying: Arrived safely. Love Mum … nothing more. “I suppose Mum couldn’t phone us. I expect she’ll write to us at Cousin Mary’s,” I suggested. “Perhaps we’ll find a letter when we get there.” I was missing her all the time now, whereas Angus insisted that he was quite capable on his own.

  “If Aunt Nina wasn’t with us, I would be perfectly happy,” he said.

  The weather had changed while we’d walked. The sky had darkened, an ominous breeze stirring the trees. The air was so close that you felt trapped. Phantom was stamping in the stable. The flies had retreated to the safety of hedges. Everything seemed to be waiting for the storm to break. I gave Phantom some hay and filled up his water bucket. “You can stay in tonight,” I said. “And tomorrow I’ll get up early and ride you. Then in the evening you will go away in a box and we’ll meet you again in Ireland.” Suddenly the future seemed immensely exciting, waiting like a book to be read.

  As I went inside the storm broke. Great jagged flashes of lightning lit the sky. The thunder was deafening when it came. Aunt Nina sat with her hands over her ears, wishing herself back in London.

  “Only one more day in the country,” she gasped. “I’m a Londoner through and through. Eat your supper, for goodness sake. I can’t eat a thing while the storm lasts.” She was wearing a pyjama suit, a long necklace – which reached almost to her waist – and lots of perfume.

  “We are sorry you had to come. Personally, I think we are old enough to look after ourselves. Unfortunately Mum and Dad thought otherwise,” Angus said rather pompously.

  “Take your shoes off. Can’t you see I’ve washed the floor?” continued Aunt Nina, as though Angus had never spoken. “Honestly, you children! You’re only half civilised.”

  “We are not children,” replied Angus.

  I rose at dawn the next morning; all the birds were singing. It was better than any chorus I had ever heard before. Don’t their throats ever get tired, I wondered, putting on Phantom’s saddle. The sun was coming up beyond the beech woods. Everything still sparkled after the thunderstorm. You could almost feel things growing. I saw that the roses were coming out round the front porch as I swung into the saddle. The roads were empty. We seemed to have the whole world to ourselves, except for the creak of the saddle and the eternal birdsong.

  I rode through the woods where everything smelled of damp earth and wet leaves, and remembered the places where I had ridden before – the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. Lovely, too, but in a completely different way. I wanted my ride to last for ever, but all too soon the sun was up, drying the leaves. The post van passed along the road and in the distance I heard the chink of milk bottles.

  I cantered back through the woods with the sun making patterns through the leaves; the birdsong was hushed, people passed on bicycles. Oh, for life to be like this for ever, I thought, turning down the twisty road to home. But no, we had to grow up, go out into the world, work and be educated, worry over gas bills and the washing-up and whether the floor’s clean.

  I put Phantom back in the stable, untacked and groomed him quickly with a body brush; then I bandaged his tail, fetched him clean water, mixed him a feed and filled his haynet. It was really morning now. A boy pushed a paper through our letterbox, and the flowers opened their petals as the sun moved so that it shone directly on Sparrow Cottage. I made tea for Aunt Nina, poured it into a best cup and saucer and took it upstairs on a tray, leaving my shoes in the hall. Then I woke Angus.

  “This is our last day,” I said. “We’ll have to pack tonight, so for goodness’ sake, get up!” There was a well of sadness inside me all the time because we were leaving, and battling against it, a rising tide of excitement. I imagined a splendid house, set in a quiet landscape, incessant talk of horses, a cousin who was a kindred spirit. I ran downstairs whistling. The post had come. I picked up the letters, but there was nothing for me or Angus.

  School seemed a waste of time, for how could geometry matter when tomorrow I would be in Ireland; when Phantom might not load this evening; when life suddenly seemed so intensely exciting? History seemed irrelevant to my mood; for who could care about the past when the future waited like a mountain to be climbed?

  At last school was over. I caught the bus with Angus, who was worrying about his exams again. “What does ‘clandestine’ mean?” he asked.

  “Secret, not mentioned; hidden, I suppose,” I answered.

  “I didn’t put that,” wailed Angus. “I put something else. I bet I’ve failed. Dad will be furious.”

  Everybody shrieked after us when we left the bus: “Have a good time! Bring us back some shamrock! Bring stamps, coins … have a good time …!”

  Their voices were drowned by the sound of the engine starting up again. I felt as though I was about to begin a new life. “Tom
orrow we will be gone,” I said to the road. “We won’t walk on you any more.”

  “You’re mad,” said Angus. “Why do you talk such nonsense? I’m suddenly certain I’ve failed English, I know I have.” His face looked pale in the sunlight.

  “What nonsense?”

  “Talking to the road as though it was a person,” he said.

  “The horse box is coming at five,” I said, starting to run. But when I reached home the loose box was empty. I felt my heart leap … He’s gone, he’s got out, I thought, running towards the cottage, shrieking, “Phantom’s gone! Aunt Nina, Phantom’s gone!”

  She was lying on the lawn in a bikini. “Of course he has, they came early. Good thing, too, considering what he was like to box; they were here for two hours.”

  I felt let down. I had wanted to box Phantom myself, to say goodbye to him.

  “Oh, I see,” I said. “But he would have boxed all right for me.”

  “Tea’s on the table; and you had better start packing. By the way, I’ve got you a present.” Aunt Nina picked up a bottle of sunscreen and came inside with us. “I went into Henley and got it for you.”

  She handed me a parcel which contained a pink nightie with frills and a pair of fluffy bedroom slippers. I said, “Thank you, you are kind,” thinking of all the things I would much rather have been given – a new pair of jodhpurs, a new riding-hat, a set of leg bandages for Phantom. I shan’t wear it, I thought. I hate frills.

  Angus and I stuffed things into our cases. We kept weighing them on the bathroom scales and then taking things out again.

  “It’s all these boots and your riding hats which are so heavy. Can’t you leave them behind?” asked Aunt Nina, leaning over us.

  We shook our heads. I longed to take out the frilly nightie, but I couldn’t with Aunt Nina watching.

  “Take a dress instead of jeans. Haven’t you something in thin cotton or polyester?” asked Aunt Nina, going to my wardrobe. “That hardly weighs a thing.”

  In the end we put our jodhpur boots and riding hats in a duffel bag which Angus said he would carry as hand luggage. Then we shut and locked our cases.

  I wandered out to the stable, mucked it out, and listened to hens cackling in the distance and the whirr of a machine turning the last of the hay on the farm. Tomorrow we would be in Ireland; it seemed impossible. Supposing we hate Cousin Mary? Angus thinks he’s so capable, but he isn’t really. He’s reckless and he says aggravating things. And suddenly, standing in the peaceful English twilight, I was filled with apprehension and doubts. I saw Angus arguing with Irishmen. I imagined Cousin Mary saying, “I think it would be better if you left immediately.” And where would we go?

  Little did I know then what really lay in store for us. Perhaps if I had known I would have begged Aunt Nina to stay. I would have cabled Mum saying: Come back. I would have missed the plane on purpose. Instead I went back indoors and ate a cold supper with Aunt Nina and Angus in the kitchen, discussing boring subjects like cars, the necessity of speaking good French and whether Paris fashion still led the world.

  3

  England lay below us, a patchwork of fields dotted with houses like a model village. We read the instructions for emergencies provided for us and checked that our life-jackets were under our seats.

  Then there was nothing but clouds outside, and an occasional patch of blue. The captain made an announcement which we couldn’t hear. Coffee and fruit juices were served and a snack lunch. Someone suddenly said, “I can see land below. It’s Ireland!”

  My ears kept popping as we descended, our safety belts fastened. Below were fields, then the buildings of the airport. It was a long run in and there was a small jolt as we landed on the ground. We unfastened our safety belts. In a moment we would meet Cousin Mary. What was she like, I wondered, and what about her daughter? Would we enjoy ourselves? Or would the whole holidays be a misery; so much wasted time?

  Everyone was leaving the plane. Outside, the sun was shining as we followed each other onto a bus like sheep, for the short trip to the terminal.

  “Cousin Mary is going to meet us on the other side of Customs. And I’ve still got the money,” said Angus, feeling his breast pocket. He was wearing corduroys and a hacking jacket. Aunt Nina had made me wear a skirt and jumper. I felt ridiculous in them – as if I was returning to my old school instead of embarking on three weeks of adventure in Ireland. For that is how I saw it even then, and as things turned out, I was right.

  We waited ages for our luggage by a sort of roundabout which had a conveyor belt attached, so that when the suitcases arrived we just leaned down and picked them up as they went past.

  “I hope Phantom’s all right,” I said. “It’s awful not knowing where he is.”

  “He probably spent the night in the horse box on the boat. He may be there before us,” replied Angus.

  “Look, there’s your suitcase! Grab it!”

  “What are you here for?” asked the Customs official.

  “For a visit,” answered my brother, and suddenly I noticed for the first time how tall he had grown.

  “I hope you enjoy it.” He chalked our bags and then we were past him, our eyes searching for Cousin Mary. Our luggage had been a long time arriving so that nearly all the other passengers had already left. Cousin Mary, for it had to be her, stood with a girl of about my age. They both wore droopy skirts and cardigans. They pointed and looked at one another when they saw us.

  “She’s awfully wispy,” said Angus quickly, “and her mouth turns down at the corners.”

  She was the opposite of Aunt Nina, and since we had criticised Aunt Nina so much to each other we probably deserved the opposite. Aunt Nina seemed on top of the world most of the time and always afraid she was missing something. One glance at Cousin Mary told us that the world had defeated her.

  Angus smiled and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Angus,” he said. Then she and I shook hands.

  “Has Phantom arrived?” I asked, picking up my case again.

  “Phantom?”

  “My horse.”

  “Not yet, I think,” replied Cousin Mary. “He will be going straight to O’Reagan’s when he does. We don’t have the farm any more, but O’Reagan is very good with horses.” She had a lilt to her voice.

  Angus was introducing himself to our cousin Fiona as we walked outside into the sunshine.

  “Wait here and I’ll bring the car round,” said Cousin Mary.

  “Why do you have to bring your horse?” asked Fiona. “Mr O’Reagan has an awful lot of horses.”

  “If I left him at home or on the farm he would jump out and disappear,” I answered, noting her low, broad forehead, her blue eyes and dark, wavy hair pushed behind pointed ears. “He came from America. He was wild in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I caught him and tamed him but I’m always afraid he’ll go wild again,” I told her.

  “Mr O’Reagan understands horses. He’ll look after him well for sure,” said Fiona.

  Cousin Mary tooted her horn. We loaded our cases into the car. There wasn’t much room when we were all inside.

  “Welcome to Eire,” said Cousin Mary. “I’ve grown to love it. I hope you will too.”

  Dublin seemed to go on for ever, but at last we reached the country. “We will stop in a minute and have a bite to eat,” said Cousin Mary.

  “It’s just like England,” replied Angus, sounding disappointed.

  “It’s different where we live,” replied Fiona. “It’s awful wild and very beautiful, isn’t it, Mother?”

  “Too wild. We only have turf fires, though we have the electricity and the telephone when it isn’t cut off,” replied Cousin Mary.

  “Is it good riding country?” I wanted to know.

  “You will find it awful wild at first, but better when you know it,” replied Fiona.

  “Fiona doesn’t ride,” said Cousin Mary, stopping the car in a lay-by. “She never took to it.”

  “Are the fences high?” I asked, stepping out into the so
ft Irish air, staring at the blooming gorse which was everywhere.

  “Why on earth?” asked Cousin Mary.

  “Because Phantom jumps out,” I said.

  “Oh, they’re high, awful high,” replied Fiona. “Mr O’Reagan keeps them high. He’s a wonderful man, Mr O’Reagan, a truly wonderful man. You won’t have any trouble with Mr O’Reagan around, will she, Mother?”

  Cousin Mary laughed. “Fiona has great faith in Donnie O’Reagan,” she said. “But he is good with horses. It’s his trade, you know.”

  We ate ham sandwiches while Angus made polite conversation and the sky clouded over. A caravan went by drawn by a piebald horse. Cars were few and far between.

  We drove on and the countryside grew wilder; once we saw the sea, a cold grey sea with gorse reaching right down to it and never a boat or a person to be seen. Sheep grazed by the roadside now. They had the long wool used for Aran sweaters, and small black faces. The ground looked wet and boggy and everywhere there was turf-cutting going on. We passed solitary ruined towers, and even the remains of a magnificent castle.

  “We’re nearly there,” said Cousin Mary.

  I looked for houses but saw nothing but moors reaching up to where gorse and rock met the grey sky. A donkey cart went by with two curly-headed boys laughing in it. Men in dark suits pedalled bicycles. We passed a bungalow fenced round by a high stone wall, with black heifers grazing under the windows.

  “It’s beautiful!” my brother exclaimed. “Fantastic! Look at the boulders.”

  The fields were fenced by boulders: crazy and crooked. Tumbling fields, yellow with gorse and grey with boulders. I wanted to laugh but I couldn’t, for I kept thinking: How will Phantom fit in here? Will he have to be stabled all the time? What will he eat?