Phantom Horse 6: Phantom Horse Wait for Me Read online

  “You could find her a better home,” suggested Dad, walking into the cottage and slamming the door after him.

  I do not like to recall the drinks party. Patio doors were opened on to the swimming pool. We knew none of the other guests. David Winter introduced me as Rachel’s friend. “A first-class rider and a real country girl,” he added, patting me on the shoulder. There were eats scattered everywhere and drinks served from a bar by a man in a white coat.

  Halfway through, David Winter led Dad away to look at the equipment. A tall blonde lady asked me whether I liked school, but after a few moments she lost interest and turned away.

  Rachel looked marvellous, and much older than sixteen. Mum talked briefly about houses and why she preferred the country to the town. Angus followed Rachel from guest to guest as though he were her private detective, while I sat in a chair feeling like an outcast.

  The air smelled of chlorine. I couldn’t help wondering what the farmhouse made of it. Did it miss the farmhands in their boots and Mrs Mooring who had tended her cows in a long skirt and overcoat? I wondered. But, of course, it was not the same house now. The stone floors had been removed or covered over; the fireplaces revealed to be filled with flowers; the ancient kitchen modernised; the old cooker gone; the pantry now part of the kitchen; the scullery with its old stone sink had become a utility room. There was no hum of insects any more, just a continual murmur of equipment.

  At last Dad returned, red faced, the sleeves of his striped shirt rolled up. “Time to go home,” he said. “Thanks for a wonderful party, David.”

  “It’s a pleasure.”

  They saw us to our car. No one else was leaving yet and I imagined them talking about us afterwards and filling their glasses again.

  What would they say? That Dad was intelligent, and the rest of us country bumpkins?

  “What a party!” Angus said. “Well, did you like them, Dad?”

  “Not particularly,” replied Dad, sitting beside Mum who was driving.

  “I feel tipsy. I don’t know what I drank. That man in white kept filling my glass,” said Angus. “Wasn’t the food terrific? You should be happy, Jean, with all the complimentary remarks you were paid on your riding.”

  “They were being kind. They had to think of some reason for my being there,” I replied.

  “I don’t know why we had to leave so early. No one else was leaving,” complained Angus, looking out of the back window. He was slurring his words.

  I was disgusted.

  Mum talked about the house. “They must have spent thousands on it. Do you remember how it was? You could have scraped the muck off the kitchen floor,” she said.

  Dad was preoccupied.

  The horses whinnied when they heard the car. Phantom was standing by the gate waiting to be brought in. Suddenly I felt like weeping.

  “How much longer are you going to keep that mare?” demanded Dad angrily. “Can’t you see she’s eating all the grass? There won’t be enough grass for our own animals soon.”

  Attempting to change the subject I asked, “What was the equipment like? Is it very up to date?”

  “Too up to date,” said Dad, stalking into the house.

  Parties are supposed to be fun, I thought, tearing off my dress, which was blue and rather childish. What’s wrong with us?

  It was a cold lunch again, followed by coffee which Mum said we needed, and as we sat in the kitchen, I could feel the weather changing: a small wind made the checked curtains tremble, clouds fanned out across the sky. “We had better close the windows, it’s going to rain,” Mum said.

  “What sort of equipment did they have?” I asked again, some time later.

  “Phones, laptops, that sort of thing, and a device for tracking satellites,” answered my brother promptly. “Rachel’s shown it to me.”

  Dad was in the garden. We could hear him attacking the weeds with a spade, using short, angry chops.

  “I think I’ll ride,” I said.

  “Me too,” suggested Angus.

  It seemed years since we had ridden together. By the time we were mounted it was spitting with rain. But when we returned everything was suddenly green again, the dusty flowers washed clean, the leaves on the trees sparkling. We were soaking wet, but there was a rainbow in the sky and I think we both felt better – Angus more sober, me more confident of my worth. We had talked only of Rachel and her parents, wondering what had brought them to Hill Farm House and how they had made so much money. We had discussed Rachel’s character, Angus insisting that there was much good in it, I insisting otherwise.

  “She says Dad’s the handsomest man she’s ever seen. She kept asking about him,” said Angus.

  “What did you say?” I asked, dismounting and running up my stirrups.

  “I said that I couldn’t really talk about his work, not that I know much about it anyway, and she understood immediately,” related Angus happily. “She is clever, you know. I know she looks dumb, but she isn’t.”

  “I’ve never said she was stupid,” I told him, letting Phantom go in the paddock. “All I’ve ever said was that she seems spoilt and that she’s like a person wearing a disguise. She’s selfish, too, because if she wasn’t selfish, she would be here every day mucking out Marli, instead of treating me like a groom,” I finished, suddenly unable to control a feeling of anger.

  Two days later, Angus started work on Dominic’s farm. Marli was now sound and Rachel appeared for her first riding lesson dressed in black denim jodhpurs and a black sweatshirt.

  “I love black,” she said, looking at me defensively. “And it doesn’t show the dirt.”

  “But it does show white hairs if you ride a grey horse,” I answered, laughing. “Angus, by the way, is working on the farm, so you won’t see him.”

  “That’s all right. I came to learn to ride, not to see Angus,” she answered, offering Marli a sugar-lump.

  Phantom was tied up in the yard. I had marked out a school in the paddock.

  Rachel turned out to be better than I expected. She could rise at the trot and knew the basic aids. She could have managed a sensible middle-aged cob without any trouble, but was not up to a highly-strung Arab like Marli. I stood in the middle calling out orders: “Walk on. Trot on, square your shoulders. Hands still. Heels down. Don’t lean forward. Tuck your bottom in. Prepare to halt.” Gradually my teaching improved and soon I was enjoying myself. After half an hour I called a halt.

  “I think that’s enough for a first lesson, don’t you?” I asked.

  Rachel slid to the ground and started to pat Marli. “It was fantastic. The best lesson I’ve ever had. You’re a born teacher, Jean,” she said. “I mean it – a born teacher.”

  “You can do the same tomorrow if you like, and the next day we might try a hack together,” I suggested.

  She gave me four pound coins. “I know it isn’t nearly enough, but it’s all I have just now,” she said.

  We turned Marli out so that she could roll, then went indoors for iced water and the flapjacks Mum was just removing from the oven. Then we sat in garden chairs on the small patio by the front door and Rachel said, “I envy you, Jean. I do really.”

  “Because I can ride?” I asked.

  “No, because you have a brother and two parents, and because you’ve always lived in the same place.”

  “But no swimming pool,” I answered.

  “But what is a swimming pool? I would rather have your father than my stepfather any day.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “My real father was different. He was in the Army – quite high up actually. He should have sent someone else to defuse the bomb. He didn’t have to do it himself.” She was crying now, the tears smudging the mascara, her whole face suddenly crumpling, destroying the veneer which had been there before, so that now I could see the real face which was young and hurt and somehow, at that moment, defenceless. I did not know what to say.

  “Did it happen a long time ago?” I asked.

/>   “Three years ago,” she replied, wiping her eyes on a handkerchief, “and Mother married David six months later, which made everyone talk. Of course, she knew him before. She had met him abroad when Father was posted to Belize. David wasn’t so rich then, just a hanger-on really, the sort of person who does party rounds for the free food.”

  “I expect your mother needed someone,” I suggested, feeling inadequate.

  “You’re all so honest, that’s what I can’t get over,” Rachel continued. “Mother calls it being gullible. I mean, look at you looking after Marli for me. You don’t have to, no one made you.” She was standing up now. “Anyway, I must go. I have to man the telephone. I’m sorry about the outburst. Forget it, please. You won’t tell Angus, will you? I haven’t any other friends round here, only you and Angus.”

  “Okay. I won’t. I promise,” I said.

  She visited Marli before calling, “See you tomorrow, then. Same time, same place, and thank you.”

  I kept my word and told Angus nothing of our conversation when he returned exhausted from the farm at half-past eight in the evening.

  Rachel rode again the next day. I showed her various movements on Phantom first, like the turn on the forehand, the turn on the haunches and how to rein back. Then I cantered, asking her to call out which leg he was leading on. Then she rode Marli, sitting very still, having improved far beyond my expectations. Later, I lent her a pile of books to read and we sat discussing horses. She told me that her real father had learned to ride in the Army, and had planned to breed horses on his retirement.

  “He would have liked you so much,” she said.

  Later still we cleaned the tack together and Mrs Parkin, whose day it was with us, said, “I’m so glad to see you two girls getting on together.” There was a note of triumph in her voice because she felt responsible.

  Later still, Rachel offered me a cigarette, which I refused.

  “You’re so sensible not to smoke. I know I shouldn’t but it calms my nerves,” she said.

  She stayed to lunch that day, eating omelette and peas in the kitchen, followed by treacle tart.

  At three o’clock she said, “We have a conference, so I must go. I’m to serve the drinks.”

  She had a bicycle now, a bright red one which clashed with the colour of her hair. She pushed four more coins into my hand. “See you tomorrow then,” she called, pedalling away.

  “You see, she’s not so bad after all,” Mum said, handing me a cup of tea. “Just lonely and mixed up, poor kid.”

  “But Marli will have to go back to Hill Farm House soon, because Dad’s right – she’s eating all the grass,” I said.

  “The Watsons need a home for their donkey. She could go up to Hill Farm House, too, for the time being anyway, and keep Marli company. What do you think, Jean?” asked Mum.

  “I think it’s a brainwave! Well done, Mum,” I cried. “I’ll tell Rachel tomorrow.”

  We rode together the next day, letting our mounts walk through the valley on long, loose reins, stopping to wave to Angus and Dominic at work. It was cooler today with a wind blowing from the west.

  Phantom and Marli were friends now; their strides matched perfectly, their manes rippled in the breeze, gold and chestnut.

  “What would you do if Phantom suddenly died?” asked Rachel.

  “Scream, yell, feel like killing myself. Honestly, it would take me months if not years to get over it,” I said, leaning forward to pat Phantom. “But don’t let’s talk about such things.”

  “That’s how I felt when my father died. Now I think I have a curse on me. I think people only have to know me to die,” Rachel said. “Does that sound crazy?”

  “Yes, completely,” I replied. I did not want to listen but Rachel could not stop now. She had probably been bottling it up inside her for a long time.

  “Uncle George died yesterday, he was my godfather. That’s why I’m so upset. I liked him. He was a friend of Father’s, not really my uncle. He had a heart attack. He went for a walk and died, just like that. One of my cats died the same way. My one and only cat actually. He went out and didn’t come home. Now I fear Marli will die, or you,” she almost shouted.

  “Me? But my heart is all right. I’m young. I shan’t die.”

  “Father was only forty.”

  “Well, I’m only fifteen,” I snapped. “Let’s trot. Use your legs, gently, hands still.”

  But as soon as we walked again, Rachel resumed her conversation. “Or your father could die. Then you would have a stepfather like me.”

  “Mum would never marry again,” I said.

  “Or Angus. He could get caught in a baler, it’s always happening. Or you could all be wiped out in a car crash.”

  I put my hands over my ears and cried, “Don’t be so morbid. I’m not listening!” and made a mad humming noise.

  Then I looked at Rachel and saw that she was crying, the tears dribbling down her cheeks slowly, like eyedrops from a bottle.

  “For goodness sake, we’re having a lovely ride. You’re improving every moment. Whatever is the matter now?” I asked.

  “I have a terrible sense of an approaching disaster. Don’t come near me any more or you’ll die. I know you will,” she said.

  I thought: She’s crazy. How awful. How terrifying. What can I do? The answer was nothing.

  “You can have Marli back tomorrow. The Watsons want to put their old donkey in your paddock. She’s called Maggie. Is that all right?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “She will probably die, too.”

  “Stop being negative; be positive,” I said, repeating something Dad is forever saying. “If Maggie dies it will only be from old age. She’s reputed to be nearly forty.”

  “What a grand old age,” replied Rachel, without feeling in her voice. “What’s the time? We’d better move. I’ve got to man the telephone again.”

  “You seem to have a very important telephone,” I said, pushing Phantom into a trot.

  “It’s business, and business reigns supreme in our house. Actually it’s a call from the Middle East,” said Rachel. “Most things come through by email, but this must be person to person for some reason, or person to poor little me. Maggie and Marli will go well together as names, won’t they? Will you help me, Jean? Please? I do so love coming to your cottage and I don’t want to give up my lessons.”

  “You needn’t. We can still ride together and I’ll help you.”

  “But it won’t be the same, will it?” she asked.

  “Nothing ever stays the same for ever,” I answered, feeling overwhelmed and guilty at the same time for wanting a few days to myself to dream impossible dreams and to go down to the farm and see Dominic. “Of course we will see each other all the time. There’s a marvellous horse show at the end of the month, with a class for Arabs that’s just right for you. I’ll help you practise for it, I promise. You don’t have to cry,” I said. “So do stop worrying. No one is going to die. We’re all going to live to great old ages, even Marli and Phantom.”

  “How lovely to be so optimistic. I’m sorry to have been such a drip,” said Rachel, dismounting in our yard and wiping her eyes. “I’m not usually like this. Please forget it, Jean.”

  But, of course, I could not forget it and dreamed that night that Dad was dying in a bomb attack on Sparrow Cottage. The whole house was in flames and no one could reach him. For a brief second we saw his face at a window, then he was gone, never to be seen again.

  I woke with tears streaming down my face to the sound of cocks crowing. Thank God it isn’t true, I thought. But the dream stayed with me, the terror of it blocking out the dawn, continuing until Mum stood beside me, fully clothed, saying, “Wake up, Jean. It’s nearly ten o’clock.”

  5

  I dressed slowly, with Rachel’s words echoing in my head: “I think people only have to know me to die.” What did she mean? I wondered, pulling on my jeans. Surely she needed treatment. I hurried downstairs and stood in the kitchen saying,
“I hope Angus is all right. Is he helping Dominic?”

  “Yes, he went hours ago.”

  “And Dad?”

  “You know he stayed the night in London. What’s the matter, Jean?” asked Mum.

  “Nothing. I just feel scared.”

  “But why, darling?”

  “It’s Rachel. I think she’s crazy,” I said, before going outside to check on the horses. The nightmare was still in the back of my mind sending out tendrils of fear.

  I stood patting Phantom while Mum called, “You can ride Marli over to Hill Farm House this morning. Mrs Watson is taking Maggie there about now.”

  “Okay,” I shouted.

  “What about breakfast?”

  “I don’t want any, thank you.”

  “You’ll get anorexia nervosa, the slimmers’ illness. You’ll end up looking like a witch,” said Mum, appearing with a bowl of cereal in her hand. “Now stop worrying about Rachel. She’s a bit unbalanced, that’s all. Take everything she says with a pinch of salt. I suspect she likes over-dramatising things and weaves fantasies. But that isn’t insanity.”

  “Okay,” I said, swallowing cereal. “I’ll ignore half of what she says. I just hope it will be the right half.” I could hear the combine in the valley. A few more days and the harvest would be in. It had been early this year and was breaking all records. Once it was in, Angus would be back at home and I reckoned I would feel safer with him around.

  I gave Mum back the empty bowl.

  “You look pale, Jean. Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked.

  “I dreamed Dad was burned to death,” I answered, fetching Marli’s tack.

  “You are in a mess, aren’t you?” Mum told me. “Stop worrying.”

  “I’ll try,” I said, trying to smile. “I wish I could work on the farm. I need money.”

  “You can next year, when you’re sixteen,” Mum told me.