words, my name and number into a box on my computer screen and with a click of the mouse, Samphire’s details will be added to the ‘For Sale’ section in the next edition of
Riding
magazine. He will never know that he’s becoming more valuable with every new skill he learns; that to me, he is priceless.
Each morning, when I wake up, I think the whole situation is just a bad dream. I blink and rub my eyes. The first thing I focus on is the photo of Samphire by my bed. In seconds, my memory starts to function, sending an aching sadness from my stomach to my throat.
Then I see Ed, who on a good day will be sliding down the banisters, cleaning his beloved Spitfire, laughing like a loony over some stupid cartoon, his mad fringe twizzled into blond dreadlocks with pencils sticking out of them, and I feel guilty and ashamed.
‘Sacrifice is about giving something up for a higher good,’ our head teacher said in the last assembly of term. She hoped we would sponsor a cow or donate money for school books in the Third World instead of asking for presents. The boys made mooing noises and the Glossies turned up their noses at the idea of fewer parcels of beauty products under the tree.
My eyes had stung, especially when she ended by saying, ‘It’s not just about sharing your last chocolate, but the good intent in your heart.’ I wanted to yell that sacrifice is really about the big things in life, not just cows or books or sweets or gifts wrapped up with ribbons. And that sometimes, it’s a terrible choice.
‘But it doesn’t have to be forever,’ I say out loud, curling lower, willing Samphire to go faster. ‘I will come and find you, Sam, wherever you are, however long it takes.’
Chapter Twenty-five
‘Hey, Jodie,’ says Rachel, as she leads Rambo towards his stable. He’s just back from an afternoon ride and steam is rising from his back. He has orange chunks in the corner of his mouth, the remains of a carrot given by his appreciative young rider.
‘Hey,’ I say, mustering a smile and then busying myself with the curry comb on Sam’s muddy legs to avoid further conversation. Rachel knows how hard I’m finding the situation. I wonder if she’s seen the ad in
Riding
. She’s so kind, but there’s nothing she can say to cheer me up.
Samphire is nuzzling my boot, then my pocket, where the pony nuts live. When I don’t respond, he leans against me and his left foot stomps on my toes.
‘Bad horse,’ I say, pushing him off. ‘You don’tget treats until I’ve finished brushing you. You know the rules.’
‘So handsome,’ says Rachel, appearing by my side. She strokes Sam’s nose gently. He tosses his mane as if in agreement. ‘As soon as the field drains, we could try him on some jumps,’ she suggests. ‘What do you think?’
‘No point,’ I shrug. My throat feels tight and dry.
‘Any calls yet?’ she asks. She must have seen the ad. I shake my head.
‘It’s so tough. I think you’re being really brave,’ sighs Rachel, sadly, her hand on Samphire’s neck. She wouldn’t say that if she’d seen me punching my pillow at night.
‘I’ll get him back,’ I state.
‘Good,’ says Rachel, giving Sam a kiss on his nose. ‘We don’t want to let you go for long, gorgeous,’ she whispers in his ear, before moving away with a thoughtful, backward glance.
There’s no going back now, Sam
. The part of my brainthat kept telling me I could always change my mind has just realised that it’s no use pretending. These will be our last days together, unless a miracle comes or Mum wins the Lotto.
I can’t believe that I was lucky enough to find you and now I’m losing you
. The unfairness of it all is twisting and gnawing at my guts. The ache is turning to constant pain.
Chapter Twenty-six
‘Whassup, Stick?’ asks Ed, his face two millimetres from mine. He smells of toast and honey and bacon. Mum must be attempting American pancakes. You really need maple syrup for those. At least she
Riding
magazine. He will never know that he’s becoming more valuable with every new skill he learns; that to me, he is priceless.
Each morning, when I wake up, I think the whole situation is just a bad dream. I blink and rub my eyes. The first thing I focus on is the photo of Samphire by my bed. In seconds, my memory starts to function, sending an aching sadness from my stomach to my throat.
Then I see Ed, who on a good day will be sliding down the banisters, cleaning his beloved Spitfire, laughing like a loony over some stupid cartoon, his mad fringe twizzled into blond dreadlocks with pencils sticking out of them, and I feel guilty and ashamed.
‘Sacrifice is about giving something up for a higher good,’ our head teacher said in the last assembly of term. She hoped we would sponsor a cow or donate money for school books in the Third World instead of asking for presents. The boys made mooing noises and the Glossies turned up their noses at the idea of fewer parcels of beauty products under the tree.
My eyes had stung, especially when she ended by saying, ‘It’s not just about sharing your last chocolate, but the good intent in your heart.’ I wanted to yell that sacrifice is really about the big things in life, not just cows or books or sweets or gifts wrapped up with ribbons. And that sometimes, it’s a terrible choice.
‘But it doesn’t have to be forever,’ I say out loud, curling lower, willing Samphire to go faster. ‘I will come and find you, Sam, wherever you are, however long it takes.’
Chapter Twenty-five
‘Hey, Jodie,’ says Rachel, as she leads Rambo towards his stable. He’s just back from an afternoon ride and steam is rising from his back. He has orange chunks in the corner of his mouth, the remains of a carrot given by his appreciative young rider.
‘Hey,’ I say, mustering a smile and then busying myself with the curry comb on Sam’s muddy legs to avoid further conversation. Rachel knows how hard I’m finding the situation. I wonder if she’s seen the ad in
Riding
. She’s so kind, but there’s nothing she can say to cheer me up.
Samphire is nuzzling my boot, then my pocket, where the pony nuts live. When I don’t respond, he leans against me and his left foot stomps on my toes.
‘Bad horse,’ I say, pushing him off. ‘You don’tget treats until I’ve finished brushing you. You know the rules.’
‘So handsome,’ says Rachel, appearing by my side. She strokes Sam’s nose gently. He tosses his mane as if in agreement. ‘As soon as the field drains, we could try him on some jumps,’ she suggests. ‘What do you think?’
‘No point,’ I shrug. My throat feels tight and dry.
‘Any calls yet?’ she asks. She must have seen the ad. I shake my head.
‘It’s so tough. I think you’re being really brave,’ sighs Rachel, sadly, her hand on Samphire’s neck. She wouldn’t say that if she’d seen me punching my pillow at night.
‘I’ll get him back,’ I state.
‘Good,’ says Rachel, giving Sam a kiss on his nose. ‘We don’t want to let you go for long, gorgeous,’ she whispers in his ear, before moving away with a thoughtful, backward glance.
There’s no going back now, Sam
. The part of my brainthat kept telling me I could always change my mind has just realised that it’s no use pretending. These will be our last days together, unless a miracle comes or Mum wins the Lotto.
I can’t believe that I was lucky enough to find you and now I’m losing you
. The unfairness of it all is twisting and gnawing at my guts. The ache is turning to constant pain.
Chapter Twenty-six
‘Whassup, Stick?’ asks Ed, his face two millimetres from mine. He smells of toast and honey and bacon. Mum must be attempting American pancakes. You really need maple syrup for those. At least she
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