‘I’ll let you wait one more day if you like, but after that we start back with the cavaletti work and then with the fences.’
That night Suzanne tried frantically to recall anything Germight have told her about where he lived. But there was nothing. She picked at her dinner. Then she went to her room and sat on the edge of her bed, staring moodily at the horse pictures on the walls without really seeing them. The newest one was a clipping from the newspaper, with the photograph taken the day Dancer got colic at the gymkhana.
Suddenly Suzanne’s eyes opened wide. She got up and went to peer more closely at the newspaper article. Of course! The man who took notes had asked all sorts of questions, including their addresses.
There it was, in fine print in the caption below the picture: Suzanne O’Gorman, daughter of Declan and Phyllis O’Gorman of Stepaside, with her horse Star Dancer, who is kept at High Hill Stables. Also shown is Ger Casey of Morton’s Court, Dublin.
Suzanne ran to the sittingroom where she found her mum reading a magazine and her dad watching the telly.
‘Daddy, where’s Morton’s Court?’ she asked excitedly.
Without looking up from her reading, her mother said, ‘Don’t bother your father, Suzanne. You know he likes to see the nine o’clock news.’
‘But this is important!’
Mr O’Gorman half turned in his chair to look at her. ‘Morton’s Court, did you say? I don’t think I … ah sure, aren’t those the old council flats on the way to the electricity works, out towards Irishtown and Ringsend somewhere?’
‘How far are they from the RDS?’ Suzanne wanted to know.
‘A couple of miles at least, I’d say.’
‘But a person could walk from Morton’s Court to the RDS?’
‘They could, of course. Why, Suzanne?’
‘Morton’s Court is where Ger Casey lives.’
Mrs O’Gorman put down her magazine. ‘In those old council flats? But they’re practically derelict, some of them! Didn’t I read in the papers not long ago that they were due to be demolished?’
‘I need to go over there, Daddy,’ Suzanne said earnestly. ‘I need to find Ger.’
‘That’s on the other side of the city, Suzanne. What’s so urgent about it? Why do you think you have to go all the way over there to find the lad?’
‘Because he hasn’t come to work at the stables for days and I’m worried about him. He might be sick or something.’
‘Did Brendan Walsh ring him?’
‘Ger didn’t leave a phone number, and we couldn’t find one through Directory Enquiries because we didn’t know what name the phone is listed under.’
Mr O’Gorman shot a quick glance at the news, then looked back to his daughter. ‘I think it’s best you let the stable manager sort out his own employee problems, Suzanne.’
‘But … it might be my fault Ger isn’t coming to work. He might think I’m mad at him. But I’m not. Not any more. And I need to tell him.’
Mr O’Gorman switched off the telly. ‘I think you’d better explain the whole thing to us, my girl,’ he said firmly.
Suzanne obeyed. She felt like she was betraying Ger when she told how he had given the ice cream to Star Dancer, but she wouldn’t lie to her parents. She just didn’t bother to mention the magic stone. It would sound silly, she realised. Silly kid’s stuff. Parents got old and forgot there was such a thing as magic.
When she had finished explaining, it was Mrs O’Gorman,surprisingly, who said, ‘Suzanne’s right. I think that boy should be found and told he has nothing to worry about. Anyone can make a mistake. There’s so much to learn about horses and he’s only been around them a short time. I think he’s done brilliantly, really.’
Suzanne’s face lit up. ‘Oh, thanks a million, Mum!’
‘Declan,’ Mrs O’Gorman went on, ‘you said you’d some messages to do tomorrow out in Clontarf?’
‘I need to see a magazine distributor out there.’
‘Then why not take Suzanne with you, and on
That night Suzanne tried frantically to recall anything Germight have told her about where he lived. But there was nothing. She picked at her dinner. Then she went to her room and sat on the edge of her bed, staring moodily at the horse pictures on the walls without really seeing them. The newest one was a clipping from the newspaper, with the photograph taken the day Dancer got colic at the gymkhana.
Suddenly Suzanne’s eyes opened wide. She got up and went to peer more closely at the newspaper article. Of course! The man who took notes had asked all sorts of questions, including their addresses.
There it was, in fine print in the caption below the picture: Suzanne O’Gorman, daughter of Declan and Phyllis O’Gorman of Stepaside, with her horse Star Dancer, who is kept at High Hill Stables. Also shown is Ger Casey of Morton’s Court, Dublin.
Suzanne ran to the sittingroom where she found her mum reading a magazine and her dad watching the telly.
‘Daddy, where’s Morton’s Court?’ she asked excitedly.
Without looking up from her reading, her mother said, ‘Don’t bother your father, Suzanne. You know he likes to see the nine o’clock news.’
‘But this is important!’
Mr O’Gorman half turned in his chair to look at her. ‘Morton’s Court, did you say? I don’t think I … ah sure, aren’t those the old council flats on the way to the electricity works, out towards Irishtown and Ringsend somewhere?’
‘How far are they from the RDS?’ Suzanne wanted to know.
‘A couple of miles at least, I’d say.’
‘But a person could walk from Morton’s Court to the RDS?’
‘They could, of course. Why, Suzanne?’
‘Morton’s Court is where Ger Casey lives.’
Mrs O’Gorman put down her magazine. ‘In those old council flats? But they’re practically derelict, some of them! Didn’t I read in the papers not long ago that they were due to be demolished?’
‘I need to go over there, Daddy,’ Suzanne said earnestly. ‘I need to find Ger.’
‘That’s on the other side of the city, Suzanne. What’s so urgent about it? Why do you think you have to go all the way over there to find the lad?’
‘Because he hasn’t come to work at the stables for days and I’m worried about him. He might be sick or something.’
‘Did Brendan Walsh ring him?’
‘Ger didn’t leave a phone number, and we couldn’t find one through Directory Enquiries because we didn’t know what name the phone is listed under.’
Mr O’Gorman shot a quick glance at the news, then looked back to his daughter. ‘I think it’s best you let the stable manager sort out his own employee problems, Suzanne.’
‘But … it might be my fault Ger isn’t coming to work. He might think I’m mad at him. But I’m not. Not any more. And I need to tell him.’
Mr O’Gorman switched off the telly. ‘I think you’d better explain the whole thing to us, my girl,’ he said firmly.
Suzanne obeyed. She felt like she was betraying Ger when she told how he had given the ice cream to Star Dancer, but she wouldn’t lie to her parents. She just didn’t bother to mention the magic stone. It would sound silly, she realised. Silly kid’s stuff. Parents got old and forgot there was such a thing as magic.
When she had finished explaining, it was Mrs O’Gorman,surprisingly, who said, ‘Suzanne’s right. I think that boy should be found and told he has nothing to worry about. Anyone can make a mistake. There’s so much to learn about horses and he’s only been around them a short time. I think he’s done brilliantly, really.’
Suzanne’s face lit up. ‘Oh, thanks a million, Mum!’
‘Declan,’ Mrs O’Gorman went on, ‘you said you’d some messages to do tomorrow out in Clontarf?’
‘I need to see a magazine distributor out there.’
‘Then why not take Suzanne with you, and on
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