Samphire. Sue offered to keep him as a hacking horse until I was able to reclaim him. Rachel’s lovely family said they would pay for his keep at the stables temporarily.
The trouble is, we need the lump sum from his sale to keep us going until Mum can work again. And she would never accept financial help from Rachel’s parents or Sue. Even if Sam could stay at the stables,with his sensitive nature, he wouldn’t like the change and he’d find it hard to adapt to being a hack with lots of new handlers. He might even become unrideable again, or ill. It would be the hardest thing in the world to see his spirit broken. At least, if he goes to a good home, he’ll have a better life than that.
A decision is one thing. Making it happen is totally different. I don’t think I’ve eaten a whole meal since that night – my stomach is permanently knotted up. I’ve had to tell Ed I’ve got a bug. He’s really worried about me, which is mad. He’s the one who needs all our TLC.
‘You’re like a stick, Stick,’ he said to me this morning.
‘What’s a stick stick?’ I replied.
‘It’s like a Twiglet, only twice as thin.’
‘Don’t worry, as soon as I’m better I’m going to eat a whole bag of doughnuts,’ I promised.
‘Maybe you’ve got a tarantula in your belly, which is eating your food,’ he suggested, helpfully. Ever sincehe watched
Spider Attack
on DVD, he’s had them on the brain.
‘That must be it. Thanks for the diagnosis, Teddy.’
He looked at me through narrowed eyes; I think he’s getting suspicious. He’s already asked Mum why she’s not going to London. She told him that her work is on hold while he’s recovering, but he’s clever – it won’t take him long to put two and two together once I’m doing fewer hours at the stable.
Samphire is pawing at his straw. I’ve been daydreaming and not in a good way. Mum said I should try to live for the moment and enjoy every precious minute I have with him.
I’m doing my best, but I wish with all my heart I could hold back time.
Chapter Twenty-four
‘Come on, boy, let’s go,’ I say to Samphire, urging him into a fast canter. The ground beneath his feet is squishy with water after days of rain. Today, sun is dancing around the edges of the clouds and the puddles on the woodland tracks are silver mirrors to the sky.
It’s Christmas Eve. Ed is making progress but he’s needed dialysis again while he adjusts to his new kidney. That’s not unusual after a transplant, his surgeon assured us. But I think Ed’s disappointed. He’s been very quiet, even when he had a couple of friends round for his birthday tea last week. I know Mum’s worried, but she’s busying herself with preparations for the Christmas lunch tomorrow. We’re keeping it low key as my secret is weighing heavily on us both.
Sam is skittish and bolshy, sensing my distracted mood. He’s flinching at the sight of bushes and almost bolts when confronted by a rabbit darting from behind the stump of a dead tree.
‘Shh, boy, careful now.’ I try to ease his nervousness with soothing strokes on his neck. He won’t be calmed, though. This ride he knows so well is suddenly like foreign territory to him, every step a potential trap. I think he knows that everything is about to change. When I saddled him this morning, I couldn’t look him in the eye. I feel like a betrayer.
All around us, a blanket of orange-brown ferns lies heavily across the soggy undergrowth. The hidden beginnings of life beneath are waiting for warmer days to begin their ascent. I wish it would be winter forever, though. Once spring begins, Samphire will be gone, taking my hopes for happiness with him.
The advert that we’re going to place in January is already drafted on my desk at home:
Beautiful, grey part-Arab stallion, 3 years old, 15 hands.Spirited, suitable for experienced rider. Event potential, willing jumper. Family illness forces sale. £2000
.
In a few days, I will be entering these
The trouble is, we need the lump sum from his sale to keep us going until Mum can work again. And she would never accept financial help from Rachel’s parents or Sue. Even if Sam could stay at the stables,with his sensitive nature, he wouldn’t like the change and he’d find it hard to adapt to being a hack with lots of new handlers. He might even become unrideable again, or ill. It would be the hardest thing in the world to see his spirit broken. At least, if he goes to a good home, he’ll have a better life than that.
A decision is one thing. Making it happen is totally different. I don’t think I’ve eaten a whole meal since that night – my stomach is permanently knotted up. I’ve had to tell Ed I’ve got a bug. He’s really worried about me, which is mad. He’s the one who needs all our TLC.
‘You’re like a stick, Stick,’ he said to me this morning.
‘What’s a stick stick?’ I replied.
‘It’s like a Twiglet, only twice as thin.’
‘Don’t worry, as soon as I’m better I’m going to eat a whole bag of doughnuts,’ I promised.
‘Maybe you’ve got a tarantula in your belly, which is eating your food,’ he suggested, helpfully. Ever sincehe watched
Spider Attack
on DVD, he’s had them on the brain.
‘That must be it. Thanks for the diagnosis, Teddy.’
He looked at me through narrowed eyes; I think he’s getting suspicious. He’s already asked Mum why she’s not going to London. She told him that her work is on hold while he’s recovering, but he’s clever – it won’t take him long to put two and two together once I’m doing fewer hours at the stable.
Samphire is pawing at his straw. I’ve been daydreaming and not in a good way. Mum said I should try to live for the moment and enjoy every precious minute I have with him.
I’m doing my best, but I wish with all my heart I could hold back time.
Chapter Twenty-four
‘Come on, boy, let’s go,’ I say to Samphire, urging him into a fast canter. The ground beneath his feet is squishy with water after days of rain. Today, sun is dancing around the edges of the clouds and the puddles on the woodland tracks are silver mirrors to the sky.
It’s Christmas Eve. Ed is making progress but he’s needed dialysis again while he adjusts to his new kidney. That’s not unusual after a transplant, his surgeon assured us. But I think Ed’s disappointed. He’s been very quiet, even when he had a couple of friends round for his birthday tea last week. I know Mum’s worried, but she’s busying herself with preparations for the Christmas lunch tomorrow. We’re keeping it low key as my secret is weighing heavily on us both.
Sam is skittish and bolshy, sensing my distracted mood. He’s flinching at the sight of bushes and almost bolts when confronted by a rabbit darting from behind the stump of a dead tree.
‘Shh, boy, careful now.’ I try to ease his nervousness with soothing strokes on his neck. He won’t be calmed, though. This ride he knows so well is suddenly like foreign territory to him, every step a potential trap. I think he knows that everything is about to change. When I saddled him this morning, I couldn’t look him in the eye. I feel like a betrayer.
All around us, a blanket of orange-brown ferns lies heavily across the soggy undergrowth. The hidden beginnings of life beneath are waiting for warmer days to begin their ascent. I wish it would be winter forever, though. Once spring begins, Samphire will be gone, taking my hopes for happiness with him.
The advert that we’re going to place in January is already drafted on my desk at home:
Beautiful, grey part-Arab stallion, 3 years old, 15 hands.Spirited, suitable for experienced rider. Event potential, willing jumper. Family illness forces sale. £2000
.
In a few days, I will be entering these
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