shape.
It is almost impossible to imagine two people looking more happy.
Sunday 24 October
When we left Grandma at the end of the last holidays, she was all small and frail because she’d been ill and kept forgetting things. But when we arrived yesterday she was at the station with Zoran to meet us, looking a bit thin but otherwise exactly like she always has in her usual combination of pearls and gardening clothes, and not at all like a woman who needs looking after.
Last night at dinner, she sat at the head of the table tucking into Zoran’s beef casserole like she hadn’t eaten for weeks, firing away horse questions at Gloria like, WILL THE BLACK MARE FOAL NEXT SPRING? and SHOULD YOU TRY THE BROWN GELDING ON THE MARTINGALE? almost as loudly as she used to.
Horsehill has become completely horse mad.
Everyone is happy here. Pixie is happy because she says being here feels just like being with her family where she lives in the country in Ireland, and Pumpkin is happy because seeing so many ponies all together is blowing his tiny baby mind, and Twig is happy because when he is here he spends his whole time doing things like investigating natural science stuff like the lifecycle of newts or the nesting habitsof barn owls, and not getting beaten up playing rugby. And Gloria is happy because she loves having so much space for the ponies, and Zoran is happy because he’s always either playing the piano or cooking, when he isn’t running down to the yard to kiss Gloria when he thinks nobody is looking.
Even Mum and Dad are happy, because they’ve stayed all alone in London for some Mum and Dad time, and happiest of all is Jas, who has morphed right back to being a half-wild person with tangled hair who spends her life galloping about on horseback wearing layers of torn multi-coloured jumpers over jodhpurs covered in mud and horse hair.
I am the only person, I think, who is not completely overjoyed to be here.
There’s no Wi-Fi at Grandma’s house (though Zoran says he’s going to change that), and no mobile signal either. The only way you can actually send messages to anybody is using the broadband connection in Grandma’s study, and even that’s not easy because her life’s mission has always been to shoo people outside because ‘nothing beats fresh air and exercise’. I have been checking email and Facebook whenever I can get past Grandma, and this afternoon I took my phone on a walk up a hill to tryto get some reception. I got three bars of signal for about half a minute, but Dodi still hasn’t answered.
What if she never does?
Was it worth sacrificing our whole friendship just because she was a bit bossy?
Grandma came in as I was composing an email to Dodi, to send with a picture of the horses this morning, and asked what I was doing. When I explained, she said that it’s difficult to be friends with someone who is very controlling, that if we were truly friends, then Dodi will forgive me and also that I should stop writing to her but talk to her face to face.
‘But …’
Grandma took my hand off the mouse, turned off the computer and told me to go outside.
I’ve found Marek on Facebook. I want to write to him.
I want to ask, am I right? Is it you? And if it is, why do you do it?
The film I made this morning is pretty. What with the mist and the galloping horsemen, it looks mysterious and almost poetic. I wonder what Marek would think of it. I broke my rule of not sharing my films this afternoon and showed it to Skye when I came back from my walk.
‘Do you like it?’ I asked.
Skye looked out across the paddock to the field where half a dozen horses and ponies were grazing. Gloria and Zoran were walking towards them, hand in hand. The sun was already setting. The sky was darkening, touched with pink and gold around the edges, and our breath was coming out in puffs again.
‘I do,’ he said. ‘But it’s not as good as the real thing.’
I thought a lot of things when he said that.
I
It is almost impossible to imagine two people looking more happy.
Sunday 24 October
When we left Grandma at the end of the last holidays, she was all small and frail because she’d been ill and kept forgetting things. But when we arrived yesterday she was at the station with Zoran to meet us, looking a bit thin but otherwise exactly like she always has in her usual combination of pearls and gardening clothes, and not at all like a woman who needs looking after.
Last night at dinner, she sat at the head of the table tucking into Zoran’s beef casserole like she hadn’t eaten for weeks, firing away horse questions at Gloria like, WILL THE BLACK MARE FOAL NEXT SPRING? and SHOULD YOU TRY THE BROWN GELDING ON THE MARTINGALE? almost as loudly as she used to.
Horsehill has become completely horse mad.
Everyone is happy here. Pixie is happy because she says being here feels just like being with her family where she lives in the country in Ireland, and Pumpkin is happy because seeing so many ponies all together is blowing his tiny baby mind, and Twig is happy because when he is here he spends his whole time doing things like investigating natural science stuff like the lifecycle of newts or the nesting habitsof barn owls, and not getting beaten up playing rugby. And Gloria is happy because she loves having so much space for the ponies, and Zoran is happy because he’s always either playing the piano or cooking, when he isn’t running down to the yard to kiss Gloria when he thinks nobody is looking.
Even Mum and Dad are happy, because they’ve stayed all alone in London for some Mum and Dad time, and happiest of all is Jas, who has morphed right back to being a half-wild person with tangled hair who spends her life galloping about on horseback wearing layers of torn multi-coloured jumpers over jodhpurs covered in mud and horse hair.
I am the only person, I think, who is not completely overjoyed to be here.
There’s no Wi-Fi at Grandma’s house (though Zoran says he’s going to change that), and no mobile signal either. The only way you can actually send messages to anybody is using the broadband connection in Grandma’s study, and even that’s not easy because her life’s mission has always been to shoo people outside because ‘nothing beats fresh air and exercise’. I have been checking email and Facebook whenever I can get past Grandma, and this afternoon I took my phone on a walk up a hill to tryto get some reception. I got three bars of signal for about half a minute, but Dodi still hasn’t answered.
What if she never does?
Was it worth sacrificing our whole friendship just because she was a bit bossy?
Grandma came in as I was composing an email to Dodi, to send with a picture of the horses this morning, and asked what I was doing. When I explained, she said that it’s difficult to be friends with someone who is very controlling, that if we were truly friends, then Dodi will forgive me and also that I should stop writing to her but talk to her face to face.
‘But …’
Grandma took my hand off the mouse, turned off the computer and told me to go outside.
I’ve found Marek on Facebook. I want to write to him.
I want to ask, am I right? Is it you? And if it is, why do you do it?
The film I made this morning is pretty. What with the mist and the galloping horsemen, it looks mysterious and almost poetic. I wonder what Marek would think of it. I broke my rule of not sharing my films this afternoon and showed it to Skye when I came back from my walk.
‘Do you like it?’ I asked.
Skye looked out across the paddock to the field where half a dozen horses and ponies were grazing. Gloria and Zoran were walking towards them, hand in hand. The sun was already setting. The sky was darkening, touched with pink and gold around the edges, and our breath was coming out in puffs again.
‘I do,’ he said. ‘But it’s not as good as the real thing.’
I thought a lot of things when he said that.
I
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