HartsLove (15 page)

Garth stood for a long time on the very edge of the ruins. He was quite calm. More than calm. He was pleased – happy even – because what he was about to do made the flipping and the Cannibal ride pale into insignificance, which was precisely the point. If he could do what he intended to do, then at last everything would be different. Even riding would seem easy. He breathed slowly and made himself go through all the stages. It was cheating to do things blind. First, he would focus on the Resting Place. Second, he would place the barrel of the gun against his forehead. Third, he would pull the trigger. If the bullet was in the firing chamber, a hole would be punched
through his head. He would fall but he would not know it because he would be dead. If the bullet was not in the firing chamber, he would never be frightened of anything again.

He focused. He put the barrel to his forehead. He frowned just once. He pulled the trigger. He never saw Snipe springing forward as the gun went off. He did hear a crack. He did see smoke billow out. He never saw the bullet bury itself in the lead of the north-west wing. When Garth realised he was still standing, he dropped the gun. Then he dropped to his knees. He was not just shaking. He was not just dizzy. He was actually rattling: bones, teeth, brain, nails, even the hairs on his head. Not an atom of him was still, or perhaps everything was still and it was the world that was shaking. Whatever. He had done it. He had actually done it. He had held a primed gun to his own head and pulled the trigger. He did not ask himself what had happened after. All he knew was that he had held the gun steady and that the glow beginning to rise from his toes was a hundred times more powerful than the glow from flipping over the ruins, a thousand times more powerful than the glow from the bottle of his father's brandy, and a million times more powerful than the glow from the Cannibal. He really did feel ready for anything. He picked up the gun, held it to the sky, then hurled it as hard as he could into the bottom of the moat.

Daisy was unsure about many things, but as she hosed The One's knee the following day, of one thing she was absolutely certain: though she loved Garth dearly and never wanted to crush his dreams, in the unlikely event that The One did get better in time, Garth could not ride him. If The One made it to the racetrack, Garth could not spoil his chances. She concentrated hard on the hosing, not wanting anything to show in her face. Garth was walking round the yard in a crab, much to The One's amusement. ‘I know what you're thinking,' he said, and Daisy blushed, ‘but it'll be fine. I rode inside the Cannibal down the spiral stair. If I can do that, I can do anything.' He would never, ever tell her about the gun.

‘That was different, Garth.'

‘How different?'

‘You know how different. The Cannibal's a dead bear, not a living horse,' said Daisy shortly. She turned the hose off, cleaned a bone comb and began to tidy up The One's mane. The One tossed his head as she teased out the long tangles.

‘You weren't there, Daisy,' Garth said. ‘Really, I rode the Cannibal to test myself, and I passed the test. Don't you believe me?'

‘I believe you,' Daisy said, tugging at the ripples, ‘but –'

She was all prepared for Garth to lose his temper. Instead he put his hands on her shoulders and made her face him. ‘I can do this,' he said in a tone half grave, half pleading. ‘I can.'

It was impossible to turn him down. And anyway, Daisy thought glumly, it probably didn't matter. The One would most likely never run, so Garth would never ride. It was not much comfort, but it was all she had.

Rose was also glum. She did want The One to get better – of course she did – but his recovery would be the end of her meeting Arthur at the Hartslove gates, as she had taken to doing, and walking with him along the track over the moor. When he had first found her waiting, Arthur tried to thank her for the food he regularly found on his kitchen table. Rose denied any knowledge, but she knew Arthur did not believe her. They made a curious couple, often walking without talking, as though they knew each other too well for words. Nor, when they parted, did Arthur kiss her. Rose was at first disappointed by this. Yet as she watched Arthur's cob's tail swing away, she felt that within the space left by Arthur's restraint, her love was growing stronger. When Arthur told her that it should be clear in another week whether or not The One was sound, her heart sank.

The week was filled with hosing and very gentle walking. Though Daisy tried to suppress her hopes – and refused to think about Garth – hope would spring up, particularly as The One's leg began to look normal again. Towards the end of the week, she even put on the saddle and did up the girth. The One stood like a rock. Daisy had taught him well.

Skelton was busy too. He showed Daisy how, through vigorous massaging of neck and haunch, she could begin
to build the muscles The One would need if he was to run his fastest. At first Daisy was nervous, but The One seemed to enjoy her attentions, and when she finished, particularly if Skelton was nearby, the horse would edge so close to her that you could not fit a piece of paper between them. ‘You're a very forgiving The One,' Daisy murmured to him, pressing her cheek to his. Skelton smiled secretly.

Garth came to the stables every day, half hoping for a relapse. Though he knew Daisy preferred to be on her own, she was welcoming. So much was unspoken between them that for the first time they were awkward with each other.

The weather turned. For two days there was no frost, and with all the grooming The One's winter coat loosened and his colour deepened into molten copper. Only when Daisy tried to thin his mane, forelock and tail did he object, thrusting his gawky head high and curling his top lip in disgust until Garth devised a tumbling and juggling routine that the horse followed, goggle-eyed, whilst Daisy tugged and pulled. At last his mane flowed down his neck in a smooth wave instead of sprouting like a wire brush, and his tail, always too long and full for elegance, no longer trailed after him like a hedge full of birds' nests, though he still did not look much like a racehorse.

To all this, Charles was a ghostly spectator, kept as such by Skelton who always made sure there was an uncorked bottle of brandy or wine beside his open window. If Charles could be kept completely drunk until Derby Day, he would
barely remember the ‘joke'. Skelton also made certain that it was he who reported to Charles on the horse's progress, and he was careful how he did it. ‘Ah, Sir Charles,' he sighed, ‘what special children you have. Though they know the horse is really finished, they still cluster round him. They want to make him feel wanted.' A strategic pause. ‘I hope you don't mind, but I've made an arrangement with the young vet that he should tend to the horse, and perhaps even pronounce him recovered – just to allow the children a little hope, do you see? I mean, without hope, what has poor Miss Daisy got left in her life? Best allow the girl her dreams. Can't do any harm.' Charles nodded and took another drink. Skelton was a good man to be bothered about the children, and he was obviously paying the vet from his own pocket. ‘Thank you, Skelton,' he said.

‘It's a pleasure, Sir Charles,' Skelton replied.

On the first day of April, the waiting was over. ‘Arthur's going to get The One to trot today,' said Daisy at breakfast. Nobody said, ‘On April Fool's Day?' but everybody was thinking it.

‘Pa should be there,' Daisy said. They all avoided each other's eyes. Somebody would have to tell him, because their father no longer came to meals, and when he did they wished he would not: they found him pitiful and they did not want to pity him. ‘Who'll fetch him?'

‘Pa's lost interest,' Rose said in the end.

‘Pa's not well,' said Lily loyally.

‘Pa's drunk from morning until night,' Garth said bluntly. ‘I don't know where he gets the drink from. Does anybody?'

‘The cellar?' said Rose

‘The cellar's empty.'

The conversation stuttered to a halt. Nobody volunteered.

After breakfast, Daisy found her crutches waiting for her by the front door. She went straight to the stables. The One greeted her with a whinny. It was raining, so Daisy kept him inside. For about the hundred and fiftieth time, she put the saddle on and tightened the girth. The One took no notice. He was watching Garth, who was now perched on the top of the door. Daisy bent and touched The One's knee. ‘Do you think he's really better? I just can't tell.'

Garth dropped into the stable. ‘He seems fine to me.'

Skelton appeared. The One snorted and laid back his ears. ‘Young vet been?'

‘Not yet,' Daisy said.

‘I'm quite sure the horse is better,' Skelton said crisply. ‘It wasn't that much of a blow.'

‘That's not what you said at the time,' Garth pointed out.

‘I said what I thought,' Skelton replied without missing a beat.

‘And you really think he's better?' Daisy asked.

Skelton shrugged. ‘Got my fingers crossed, like you,' he said. He was not lying.

The day dragged. By the time Arthur came, Skelton was back in his house and the rain had settled to a steady downpour. Arthur was flustered. ‘I'm sorry,' he said, vaulting off his cob, his hat brim dripping. ‘Mr Snaffler kept me back to try to save a lady's canary. Shall we get The One out?'

Daisy nodded. She had been waiting all day, yet now that Arthur was here she suddenly wished he was not. She began to gabble. ‘Was it the lady's favourite pet? It must be hard to make a canary better.'

Arthur gave an unusually waspish laugh. ‘It's more that the owner's a favourite client,' he said. ‘The bird can't be saved, but the lady's paying good money to find that out.' He was angry, Daisy could see. Her heart sank. She found it difficult to fasten the head-collar buckle. ‘You should put your horse in the barn,' she said. ‘He won't like getting wet.'

Arthur shook his head. ‘I can't stay long. Mr Snaffler thinks I've gone to the apothecary for something.'

‘Perhaps you'd like to come back another time?' Daisy suggested quickly.

Arthur came into the stable and took off his hat. ‘No,' he said. ‘I said I'd make my decision today and that's what I shall do. Let's see now.' He patted The One and bent over the knee.

Daisy moved away. Garth stood with her.

Skelton reappeared. ‘So, what's what?' he barked.

Arthur ran his fingers very slowly from The One's shoulder, right over his knee and down to his fetlock. Lastly, he picked up the foot and flexed the knee joint, feeling and listening to everything his hands were telling him. He pulled the leg forward, making it stick out straight. ‘Is he walking any better?'

‘He's not limping,' Daisy said, ‘though we haven't let him go far.'

Arthur put the foot down. ‘Open the door,' he said to Skelton. Skelton opened it. Arthur began to strip off The One's rug. ‘Goodness,' he said with some admiration. ‘He looks a picture.' Daisy hardly heard. ‘Now,' Arthur said, ‘take him out and run to the far gate so that he has to trot beside you.'

‘Trot straight away?' Daisy was disconcerted. ‘I don't know.'

‘He needs a proper test,' said Arthur gently.

‘No – I mean yes – I mean –' Daisy gestured at her legs. ‘I mean I can't trot.'

Arthur could have kicked himself. Garth took hold of the rope. ‘I can.'

Passing Skelton, The One shied, then sauntered along shaking raindrops out of his forelock. Sauntering was no good. ‘He needs to trot,' Arthur said.

‘Get on!' came a great shout from Skelton. He could
not disguise his anxiety. ‘Get on, horse, and show us what you're made of.' He cracked an old lash.

The One's head flew up. For a moment, Garth was off his feet, dangling on the end of the rope, then he was running and The One was trotting, though not properly, and they were at the far side of the yard. The rain streamed down. The cobbles were awash. The One whipped round and trotted back in a more orderly fashion.

Arthur, soaked through, had his hands on his hips. ‘Go again,' he said.

Garth pushed The One round. The horse did not want to go again. He did not like the rain. He wanted Daisy and he wanted to be back inside his stable. ‘Get on with you!' cried Skelton and cracked the lash.

The One baulked and set off at a hand canter. Garth was again swept off his feet. ‘Slowly,' Arthur and Daisy cried together. ‘Slowly!'

All Daisy could see was history repeating itself. ‘Please, oh please, The One! Go slowly! Garth! Don't let go!'

The One returned. Arthur was not yet satisfied. ‘Once more,' he said.

Garth set off again, and this time The One trotted, flinging his legs out as though he were a dancer. When he got to the gate, he turned smartly round and not even God could have prevented him from trotting, at speed, straight back into his stable. Arthur followed him in and closed the door. ‘Well, I never,' he said.