Pony Jumpers 9- Nine Lives Page 3

  “Oi, Asteroid. Give me back my fork.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she scowled.

  “I’ll call you whatever I like until you give my cutlery back.”

  “Stop fighting,” Mum said irritably as Anders held out his fork towards me.

  “Here, take mine.”

  “I don’t want yours, it’s got boy germs on it,” I told him, then instantly regretted my words as his eyebrows quirked upwards wickedly.

  “Didn’t see you being too worried about boy germs when you had your tongue down Scud’s throat the other day.”

  Mum cleared her throat, Aidan shot me a surprised look, and I flushed red and ignored them both as I grappled Astrid for my fork. I finally retrieved it from her grip, only to turn back and discover that Aidan had stolen an entire piece of chicken off my plate while my back was turned.

  “So have you looked for another job yet?” Mum asked Aidan as I tried to reclaim my dinner off his plate.

  “Funny you mention that,” Aidan said between mouthfuls, fending me off almost effortlessly with his elbow. “I was actually going to ask this bloke over here if he’s got any work that needs doing.” He looked at Dad with a hopeful expression. “What with Anders being out of action these days, I figured you could probably use the help.”

  “It’s a bit of a commute from Dunedin, son,” Dad pointed out mildly.

  Aidan set his knife and fork down on his plate, and I snatched my chicken back while his attention was diverted. “Well, that’s okay. Because I’m not going back to Dunedin.”

  “Excuse me?” Mum demanded from the other end of the table, as the rest of us fell into shocked silence. “Why on earth not?”

  Aidan lifted his chin and looked at her. “I’m not going back,” he repeated. “Because I’ve dropped out.”

  The sun was shining brightly the next morning when Dad dropped me off at Katy’s, on his way to pick up plants for a job. I’d been supposed to be helping him, but Aidan had already usurped me. Dad had offered me the whole day off, but I’d quickly turned him down. I needed the money, and I’d tried to tell Aidan not to muscle in on my job, but it hadn’t done me any good.

  I was greeted by a chorus of a plaintive whinnies, and turned to see the ponies lined up near the gates of their paddocks, loudly demanding breakfast.

  “Haven’t you been fed yet?” I asked them. “Is Katy too lazy to get up and feed all you poor starving children?”

  I looked over at the house, and saw that Katy’s bedroom curtains were still pulled shut. I shook my head at her laziness as I changed course towards the front door. Deb’s car wasn’t there, so she must have started work earlier than usual this morning. I jumped up onto the front porch and knocked on the door, but there was no reply.

  “Katy?” I tugged at the sliding door, but it was locked. I reached under the plant pot and pulled out the spare key, then unlocked the door and slid it open. “Katy!”

  There was still no answer, and no sign of Katy. I kicked my boots off and let myself in, walking through the small living room and down to Katy’s bedroom. The door was ajar, and I pushed it open and stuck my head in. “Oi, lazybones!”

  But she wasn’t there. Her bed was rumpled up and unmade, and the floor of her bedroom was covered in discarded clothing. Her little dog Critter was nestled in the middle of her duvet, and he looked at me through bleary eyes, then let out a low growl.

  “Some guard dog you are,” I told him. “Where is she?”

  Critter lowered his head back onto his paws and closed his eyes, unconcerned by his owner’s absence. I searched the rest of the house, but Katy wasn’t anywhere to be found. So in the end, I pulled out my phone and called her.

  “Hi AJ. What’s up?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Didn’t you see my note?”

  “Uh, no.” I looked around the living room. “Where is it?”

  “In the tack room.”

  “Oh. I haven’t been over there yet,” I admitted. “I just got here and found the ponies dying of starvation. Where are you?”

  “I am in the car,” she told me matter-of-factly. “With my father. On our way to Taupo for a week of father-daughter bonding.”

  I wondered how she’d have phrased that if her father hadn’t been sitting right next to her. “Oh. You never thought to mention that before?”

  “I didn’t know,” Katy replied. “Until last night. My wrist was killing me, and Mum went berserk because she thought I’d rebroken it. She took me off to A&E and they said it’s just sprained, but they stuck it in a sling and said I have to rest it for at least a week. So she decided to enforce that by kicking me out of home and making me go on holiday with this old man.”

  “Oh. Well, that makes sense, I guess,” I said, stepping back out onto the porch. Squib saw me and whinnied again. “You could’ve just texted me.”

  “I’m out of credit. Sorry. Is that Lucas I hear?”

  “No, it’s Squib,” I said as I pulled my boots back on.

  Katy laughed. “Squib doesn’t even get breakfast,” she pointed out.

  “He’s an optimist.”

  I kept chatting to her as I walked across the yard, but then the line started breaking up and we had to terminate our conversation. I found the note she’d left on the whiteboard, which just read Been kidnapped by my dad for a week and he turned up at sparrow fart so havent had time to do ponies. Can u feed out and take rugs off pls, morning feeds are in tack room, mum will do tonight. See u Saturday if I survive this ordeal, K x. I shook my head at it before heading towards the feed room to get the ponies’ breakfast sorted.

  Squib whinnied hopefully as I carried the buckets out to the paddocks, but I shook my head at him.

  “Ponies in the fat paddock don’t get brekkie,” I reminded my pony as Robin came up alongside him, looking equally expectant. “Sorry kids, but I cannot be swayed, no matter how cute you are. I can take your pyjamas off though. Just give me a second to feed the dragon.”

  I looked past them towards Tori’s paddock, expecting to see her pawing at the gate like she usually did when she thought she hadn’t been fed quickly enough, but she was still standing in the far corner, where she’d been since I arrived. She had her head up and was watching me intently, but hadn’t moved a muscle.

  “I’ve got yours, I promise,” I called to her, secretly relieved that she was keeping her distance. I’d avoided being bitten by her so far, but by this point I was the only one around here who had. I carried her feed down to her gate, ignoring Squib as he pranced along the fence line next to me, trying to convince me that he was about to drop dead of hunger at any second.

  “Dream on, Squiblet. If you get any fatter you’ll need liposuction,” I told him as I opened the gate into Tori’s paddock and walked in a few paces.

  Usually I just hiffed the bucket over the fence, dodging her teeth and flattened ears, but I was feeling emboldened by the distance she was keeping between us. I set the bucket down on the dry grass and looked at Tori, who looked back at me but still didn’t move. I wondered if it was because I was late, or because she still considered me a stranger. Squib whinnied again, and I shrugged at the black mare and went to take his cover off before he melted in the sun.

  A few minutes later, as I pushed a wheelbarrow out to Squib’s paddock to start mucking out, I realised that Tori still hadn’t gone to get her feed.

  “Tori, c’mon,” I told her. “What’re you waiting for? I haven’t poisoned it, I swear. Squib’ll do a taste test for you if you want, but …”

  The chatter died on my lips as I noticed something unusual. Tori had high white socks on both of her forelegs and one hind leg, but from here, it looked like both of her hind legs were black. Squinting in the bright sun, I walked up the fence line towards her, a sense of foreboding adding a chill to the morning air. When I got a few metres away from Tori, I stopped. Her right hind leg was covered in blood, and a long flap of skin hung down the front of her cannon bone.

  �
�Oh no.” My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh, horse. What’ve you done?”

  3

  THAT’S NOT GOOD

  “Hold her steady, now.”

  I tightened my grip on the lead rope attached to Tori’s halter. “C’mon Tori,” I urged the horse. “Be brave, okay?”

  “You might have to sedate her again,” Deb said nervously from her position at the vet’s shoulder, eyeing Tori’s quivering flank anxiously. She’d dashed home from work after receiving my panicky phone call, and had arrived at the same time as Clive, so was still dressed in her smart work clothes, which were now bearing traces of hay and horse hair. “It obviously hasn’t kicked in yet.”

  “It’s had time to,” the vet muttered. He was a small, wiry man who looked like Tori could send him flying with one well-aimed hoof. Even our burly farrier Rick had trouble with Tori’s back end, and he probably weighed twice as much as Clive. He was a good vet, and most horses liked him, but Tori hated everyone, and it seemed that no amount of sedative could change that.

  Clive put a hand on the black mare’s hip and leaned down to inspect her hind leg. Her hindquarters twitched nervously, and when he reached one hand down to touch her just above the hock, Tori reacted violently. She lashed out hard, missing the vet by millimetres before her hoof hit the back wall of the stable with a loud bang.

  Lucas, who was munching on a haynet next door, jumped in surprise as Clive and Deb swore in unison. The flaxen chestnut pony looked at us in astonishment, his expression made even more comical by the hay sticking out of both sides of his mouth. I would’ve laughed if I hadn’t had my hands so full with Tori, who was still determined to kill Clive before she’d let him touch her again.

  “Woah, mare,” I murmured.

  “She’s a real piece of work, this one,” Clive said with a frown, moving somewhat reluctantly closer. “I’ve known half-broke stallions with better manners. Can someone pick up a foreleg so she can’t do that again?”

  Deb quickly moved in and lifted Tori’s left fore, so that she’d lose her balance and topple over if she tried to kick out again. We all just had to pray that she had enough sense not to try it, and end up landing on both of them.

  “Good girl,” I told Tori, holding her tight to stop her attempts to snake her head around and bite Deb on the butt.

  Katy’s mother felt the horse moving and tightened her hold on Tori’s leg. “Don’t you let go, AJ.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ll block it,” the vet decided, pulling out another needle. “Then she won’t feel anything, and with any luck, she’ll start to settle down a bit.”

  But as soon as the needle punctured Tori’s skin, she flung herself forward in a panic, knocking me aside and tearing the lead rope painfully through my hand. She pulled away from Deb, who was forced to let go of her foreleg, and swung her hindquarters into Clive, shunting him backwards into the wall.

  I made a grab for her dangling lead rope, but Tori saw me coming and spun away from me, right into Deb. I heard a crunching noise as Tori’s hoof landed right on top of Deb’s flimsy work shoe, and Katy’s mother turned white and gasped in pain as the mare jumped back, then charged towards the stable door, slamming her chest into it with a crazed whinny. Squib, unable to resist getting involved in a dramatic moment, whinnied back, which distracted the big mare for long enough for me to step up and grab her lead rope in a firm grasp. Deb was still swearing as she hopped towards the wall, where Clive was standing, and we all stood there in shock for a moment, staring at each other and at the big black mare, who rolled her eyes at us in response, as if to say what did you expect?

  After that, Deb and I swapped places, and I managed to hold Tori’s foreleg up for long enough for Clive to flush the hind leg wound with saline solution, then push the flap of skin back up as closely as possible to its original position without being kicked to pieces, then quickly wrap it with a heavy bandage. There was no hope of suturing, given Tori’s behaviour, so we just had to hope that the injury wouldn’t end up scarring too badly. At this point, all any of us could think about was getting the horse’s leg wrapped and getting the hell out of her loosebox as soon as possible.

  My back was aching as I held tightly to her foreleg, watching Clive wind vetwrap around the large cotton wool padding that covered the sterile bandage.

  “That should do it,” he said at last, cutting off the end of the duct tape and moving away. I lowered Tori’s foreleg, Deb unclipped her lead rope, and the three of us backed out of the stable quickly, with Clive hurriedly scooping up his supplies as he went.

  “Of course, this had to happen the moment Katy left,” Deb muttered as Clive drove away. “Don’t tell her about it, will you?”

  I blinked at her. “You think she won’t notice when she gets back?”

  “She’ll use it as an excuse to come home,” Deb said, running a hand through her grey-flecked hair anxiously. “And she needs the break.” She tried to put her weight onto her stomped foot, and winced audibly.

  I looked down at it dubiously. Her hosiery was laddered, and the top of her foot was visibly swelling. “Speaking of breaks, you should go to the A&E with that,” I said.

  “I’ll be fine,” Deb said bravely. “Nothing a couple of Panadol can’t sort out.”

  “I guess.” I looked over my shoulder at Tori, who was finally showing some effect of the sedative she’d been given. Trust her to wait until it was no longer needed. Ornery creature. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

  “No, it’s fine. Go ride Squib.” Deb hopped towards her car painfully, then paused and looked back. “If you get time, you could ride one of Katy’s. I may not be up to lunging them all tonight.”

  “Consider it done,” I promised.

  Keen to be helpful, I tacked Lucas up first and gave him a quick school in the arena, enjoying his calm nature and established flatwork. I loved Squib to the moon and back, and wouldn’t have swapped him for the world, but it was nice to have an easier, more obliging ride from time to time.

  “Your turn now,” I told Squib as I turned Lucas out again, but my pony was in a strop with me because I hadn’t ridden him first, and made me pursue him around the paddock for fifteen minutes, refusing to let me catch him. Eventually I turned my back on him and pretended to catch Robin instead, which offended Squib so much that he gave in and let me halter him, then pranced along next to me all the way to the gate, showing off and pulling victory faces at Robin, which was a total waste of his time, since Robin was quite content to stay in the paddock and eat instead of going to work.

  I knew better than to try to school Squib when he was in one of his puckish moods, so I took him for a canter around the hills instead. He adored it, bounding up the narrow sheep tracks with his ears pricked, his short mane ruffling in the wind. I sank my weight into my heels and lifted my seat out of the saddle, loving the way that its knee and thigh blocks held me securely in place. I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around the idea of someone having a saddle as nice as this just lying around as a spare, but I wasn’t about to complain about Susannah’s extravagant lifestyle, since it was currently working very much in my favour.

  “You are a troll,” I told my pony affectionately as he sidled impatiently away from the gate that I was trying to shut. “Just stand still for two seconds, would you?”

  Squib snorted and tossed his head impatiently, and with the gate latched, I threw caution to the wind, dropped the reins and let him go for a proper gallop up the hill.

  By the time I got back to the yard, there were only a few minutes left before Dad was due to pick me up. Working fast, I hosed Squib off and returned him to the paddock, but couldn’t resist pausing at the gate to watch him roll, laughing at the sight of him wriggling around on his back, rubbing the earth into his grey coat with his legs waving in the air.

  I shouldn’t have let him distract me. If I’d turned away sooner, I might have been able to stop what happened next, but by the time I returned to the stables, it was too
late. As I approached the row of looseboxes, I could see Tori’s head moving up and down rapidly, her ears laid back and teeth bared as her neck snaked through the air. Then a piece of something white flew into the air and fell softly onto the dirt outside her stable, and I felt suddenly sick as I realised that the Antares was no longer perched on the divider between the stables where I’d left it…

  No no no no, please no! I ran up to the stable door and stared in at the once-beautiful saddle, now lying on its side in the shavings between Tori’s front feet, battered and torn.

  “Tori, no! What’ve you done?!” I cried.

  I worked the bolt and pulled the door open, ignoring her threatening glare as I rushed in and scooped up the incredibly expensive, badly damaged saddle. Tori tossed her head defiantly and retreated into the back of her box, where she stood and glared at me as I gazed down at the wreckage in my arms. The beautiful brown leather was torn right across the flat seat, and the stuffing was falling out of the panels underneath.

  I looked back at the horse, utterly dumbfounded. “What on earth did you do that for?” I asked her, but she had no answers for me.

  As I stumbled out of the loosebox, Aidan drove up in Dad’s old station wagon. He couldn’t miss my traumatised expression, and when he asked me what was wrong, I promptly burst into tears.

  “Oh, man. That sucks,” he said sympathetically after I’d garbled out the story. He took the saddle from me, then put his other arm around me and gave me a firm hug. “I’m sure there’s someone that can fix it though, right?” He held the saddle out, looking at it critically. “It’s just the leather that’s ripped. Surely a saddler can replace or repair it.”

  I sniffed, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. “I don’t know. Maybe. But how am I going to pay for that? I should never have let Susannah lend it to me in the first place.”

  “Well, it’s done now,” Aidan said practically. “No use crying over spilt milk. Is there anyone in Hastings who does saddle repairs?” I nodded, and he patted my back comfortingly. “All good, then. I’ll put it in the car, and we’ll take it over there on our way back to work, okay?”