didn’t use marmalade.
‘Hey, Teddy,’ I say, sleepily. I was awake most of the night and only drifted off when it was getting light. My dreams are always the same – I’m riding Samphire, pursued by men in black cloaks with lassoes. I wince when I glimpse Ed’s operation scar through his pyjamas and suddenly imagine blood gushing through it, covering my bed in red gloop.
‘Are you sick, Stick?’ he persists, lifting my eyelids in turn. ‘Mum says, because you’re a teenager, you need to sleep because that’s when you do your GROWINGbut it’s NINE O’CLOCK and Samphire needs his mush and I need some company and it’s time you GOT UP. Mum has sent you a pancake. Look. Mmmmm.’
Ed dangles the strange-shaped limp object under my nose with his fingers. It smells floury and sweet.
‘Can’t you go and glue something on to your plane,’ I respond, a bit crossly.
‘Moody dudey,’ he declares. ‘Mum says that’s because of your horse-mones.’
‘Look, shut up!’ I snap. ‘Get off my bed and out of my room. I should be at the stables.’
‘Don’t mean it,’ he teases, wrapping himself up in my duvet as I swing my feet on to the floor, treading on the sad pancake and in the runny honey on the plate.
‘I really DO!’ I yell, kicking the tray away and hopping out of my room towards the bathroom. Once inside, I slam the door and raise my sticky foot to the tap in the basin. Cold water gushes over it, sending the nerves into frenzy.
‘Aaargh!’ I exclaim. There is a soft knock. ‘What?’ I answer.
‘About you hating me,’ says a small voice.
‘I don’t hate you, Teddy,’ I answer, more gently.
‘I understand, s’OK.’
‘Why would I hate you?’ I ask, busy drying my toes with the towel.
There is a neigh from the hallway and fingers making galloping sounds up and down the door. I find myself sliding down, leaning against it. I can hear Ed breathing, very close.
‘I’m not stupid, Stick,’ says my brother. I’m hugging my knees under my chin. I feel so small. The loo, basin and the bath look enormous from this angle.
‘I didn’t want Mum to tell you,’ I say.
‘She didn’t. I asked Dr Devereux. He told me you were the best sister in the world. I couldn’t argue cos I had a thing down my throat. Kidding. You are the B-E-S-T-E-S-T.’ There is an awkward silence between us. I think we are back to back, because I can feel thedoor vibrating when Ed breathes out.
‘I’ve got a hundred pounds in my tin,’ he says, after a while, certain that this will solve all our problems.
‘That’s two weeks’ livery,’ I tell him.
‘That horse eats too much,’ sighs Ed, his head flopping back with a thud. ‘Don’t sell Samphire, Stick,’ he almost whispers. ‘Pleeeeeeease.’
‘I have to, Ed. We need the money. But I’m going to work really hard and buy him back as soon as I can.’
‘In six months?’ Ed asks.
‘Definitely,’ I say, crossing all my fingers, the way Ed and I do when we tell white lies.
‘Are you crossing your fingers?’ he asks. I untangle them immediately.
‘Nope,’ I answer.
‘Stick?’
‘What?’
‘I’m really sorry. I’ve made you something. You don’t have to like it.’ There is a scuffling noise and under the door Ed pushes a piece of paper, neatlyfolded into a star shape with four pointed corners. There is a word written in different coloured felt tip on each. They read
I love you sis
.
My body is shaking with sadness. No tears come, just a pain that holds my jaw rigid and my breath locked inside my chest.
‘You have to come out now,’ says Ed.
‘In a minute,’ I manage to reply.
‘No, now, Stick. There’s someone on the phone and Mum says it’s for you.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
‘Steady, Sam. I need you to stand still.’ I’m putting the last protective boot on my horse’s restless legs, making sure that he’s insulated from the hazards of being transported by trailer across the county.
It’s the morning I’ve
‘Hey, Teddy,’ I say, sleepily. I was awake most of the night and only drifted off when it was getting light. My dreams are always the same – I’m riding Samphire, pursued by men in black cloaks with lassoes. I wince when I glimpse Ed’s operation scar through his pyjamas and suddenly imagine blood gushing through it, covering my bed in red gloop.
‘Are you sick, Stick?’ he persists, lifting my eyelids in turn. ‘Mum says, because you’re a teenager, you need to sleep because that’s when you do your GROWINGbut it’s NINE O’CLOCK and Samphire needs his mush and I need some company and it’s time you GOT UP. Mum has sent you a pancake. Look. Mmmmm.’
Ed dangles the strange-shaped limp object under my nose with his fingers. It smells floury and sweet.
‘Can’t you go and glue something on to your plane,’ I respond, a bit crossly.
‘Moody dudey,’ he declares. ‘Mum says that’s because of your horse-mones.’
‘Look, shut up!’ I snap. ‘Get off my bed and out of my room. I should be at the stables.’
‘Don’t mean it,’ he teases, wrapping himself up in my duvet as I swing my feet on to the floor, treading on the sad pancake and in the runny honey on the plate.
‘I really DO!’ I yell, kicking the tray away and hopping out of my room towards the bathroom. Once inside, I slam the door and raise my sticky foot to the tap in the basin. Cold water gushes over it, sending the nerves into frenzy.
‘Aaargh!’ I exclaim. There is a soft knock. ‘What?’ I answer.
‘About you hating me,’ says a small voice.
‘I don’t hate you, Teddy,’ I answer, more gently.
‘I understand, s’OK.’
‘Why would I hate you?’ I ask, busy drying my toes with the towel.
There is a neigh from the hallway and fingers making galloping sounds up and down the door. I find myself sliding down, leaning against it. I can hear Ed breathing, very close.
‘I’m not stupid, Stick,’ says my brother. I’m hugging my knees under my chin. I feel so small. The loo, basin and the bath look enormous from this angle.
‘I didn’t want Mum to tell you,’ I say.
‘She didn’t. I asked Dr Devereux. He told me you were the best sister in the world. I couldn’t argue cos I had a thing down my throat. Kidding. You are the B-E-S-T-E-S-T.’ There is an awkward silence between us. I think we are back to back, because I can feel thedoor vibrating when Ed breathes out.
‘I’ve got a hundred pounds in my tin,’ he says, after a while, certain that this will solve all our problems.
‘That’s two weeks’ livery,’ I tell him.
‘That horse eats too much,’ sighs Ed, his head flopping back with a thud. ‘Don’t sell Samphire, Stick,’ he almost whispers. ‘Pleeeeeeease.’
‘I have to, Ed. We need the money. But I’m going to work really hard and buy him back as soon as I can.’
‘In six months?’ Ed asks.
‘Definitely,’ I say, crossing all my fingers, the way Ed and I do when we tell white lies.
‘Are you crossing your fingers?’ he asks. I untangle them immediately.
‘Nope,’ I answer.
‘Stick?’
‘What?’
‘I’m really sorry. I’ve made you something. You don’t have to like it.’ There is a scuffling noise and under the door Ed pushes a piece of paper, neatlyfolded into a star shape with four pointed corners. There is a word written in different coloured felt tip on each. They read
I love you sis
.
My body is shaking with sadness. No tears come, just a pain that holds my jaw rigid and my breath locked inside my chest.
‘You have to come out now,’ says Ed.
‘In a minute,’ I manage to reply.
‘No, now, Stick. There’s someone on the phone and Mum says it’s for you.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
‘Steady, Sam. I need you to stand still.’ I’m putting the last protective boot on my horse’s restless legs, making sure that he’s insulated from the hazards of being transported by trailer across the county.
It’s the morning I’ve
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