Strider only misbehaves when he thinks he’s in a race; Prima shies at her own shadow, prancing and skittering at the slightest excuse.
I pat her glossy neck. ‘You’re safe with me, Prima. Don’t stress so much.’
I’ve ridden her almost every day for two weeks, ever since I came back from Canberra. As it’s Saturday and the paddocks at the farmhouse are buzzing with people, I was going to rest her today. But Joel had drawn up a timetable and scheduled a ride. He’s not only taken on a self-appointed role as Prima’s trainer, he’s helping with the other thoroughbreds too. I didn’t want to let him down.
He’s leaning against the fence, watching our measured circuits of the paddock. ‘You’re doing okay,’ he says.
‘Thank you, boss.’ I smile. ‘Time for one more round?’
He looks towards the farmhouse. ‘Some guy is waiting for you.’
Even though I’ve been expecting Matts, seeing him ramps up my heart rate. He’s standing outside the small paddock where we work with the ponies, leaning against the gate with his forearms casually draped along the top. Archie is mounted on Freckle and one of the volunteers is leading him around. Lollopy has finished his tasks for the day and is angling his head through the wire on the gate.
Matts’s shirt is dark blue. His jeans are black. He lifts a boot to the bottom rung of the fence.
I lean low to pat Prima’s neck. ‘He’s early.’
‘What’s he want?’ Joel asks.
‘Matts is the reason you’re looking after Prima this week.’ I undo the buckle on my helmet, loosen Prima’s rein and kick my feet out of the stirrups, ready to dismount. ‘We’re going up north for the environment comm—’
Archie, upset that his session is over, screams at the top of his lungs.
Prima leaps into the air, all four legs off the ground. My hat falls off, hits her in the rump and bounces to the ground.
Another scream, even louder than the first.
Prima takes off at a gallop.
Pitching forward in the saddle, I scrabble for the reins. I search frantically for the stirrup irons. One. Two. My heart thumps in time to the thunder of her hooves as I sit deeper in the saddle, yanking the rein to the left as I try to pull her round. Prima, her neck extended, the bit between her teeth and the wind beneath her tail, ignores every one of my signals. The ground is a blur of greens and browns. My eyes water. When hair whips around my face, blinding me, I lift a hand and swipe it away.
‘Sapphie!’ Joel calls.
The paddock is a few hundred metres long with a wire fence and a gate at the end of it. The gate is higher than the fence but easier to make out, with a metal bar across the top and another one underneath. I’ve jumped that height before, but on level ground with horses that knew what they were doing. Prima is unlikely to have done anything but work on the flat.
She’s too close to the fence to pull up. And if she goes through it, she’s likely to get tangled in the wire, fall and break a leg. I throw all my weight to one side and yank on the rein again, forcing her off balance and changing her trajectory. I crouch low over her neck. The gate looms ahead of us. Prima sees it. She tenses.
‘Jump, Prima!’
Her hindquarters bunch under her and she jumps, flying long and high to clear the gate. She plants her front legs on the ground, finds her balance and careens down the track towards the creek. Gravel and dirt, kicked loose by her hooves, flies high into the air.
‘Prima!’
She finally responds to the pressure of my legs and my hands on the rein, slowing to a canter before we reach the creek. When I turn her, she slows to a trot. The farmhouse roof with the rooster on the top comes into view. I lean forward and stroke her neck. Her sides heave; her flanks are wet with sweat. She’s toey and shaky.
‘That was no good.’
Joel, breathing hard like Prima, opens the gate we jumped only minutes ago. Matts isn’t puffing. He’s standing to one side, arms crossed and lips tight.
‘You scared the shit out of us,’ Joel says, closing the gate and securing the chain after we pass through. ‘Why didn’t you bail out? That’s what you do when Strider bolts.’
‘Strider slows down without a rider on his back. I don’t know that Prima would. I was afraid she’d get caught up in the fence.’
A flock of cockatoos flies out of the grey gum. Their screeching would usually upset Prima, but she’s far too exhausted to care. One of the volunteers has let Sonnet into the paddock. When he trots towards us, Prima pricks her ears. I kick out of the stirrups and slide from her back, pulling the reins over her head and handing them to Joel.
When I push back my hair, the tangles get caught in my fingers. ‘Do you mind giving her a drink and rubbing her down?’
‘No problem,’ Joel says.
‘If she’s calm tomorrow, saddle her and lead her around. Act like nothing happened. I’ll ride her again next week.’
‘No worries,’ he says, waiting until I’ve loosened Prima’s girth and kissed her nose before leading her away.
I retie my hair in a ponytail and wipe my hands down my jeans. When I look up, it’s into Matts’s eyes.
‘I’d better get cleaned up.’
He’s uncrossed his arms but his jaw is still clenched. ‘She could have killed you.’
I take a step back. ‘No, I …’ My voice isn’t as steady as I’d like it to be, and my hands are shaky so I shove them into my pockets. ‘Anything can happen with kids around. I shouldn’t have ridden her today. It was my fault.’
We’re almost at the fruit trees when he steps in front of me, cutting me off so suddenly that I almost bump into him.
He holds out his hands, palms up. ‘You take risks, Sapphie.’
His fingers are long and clean. Mine are sticky and grimy but I thread them through his. ‘You were early,’ I mutter.
A silver scar in the shape of a cross. A worried, serious mouth. Grey eyes like storm clouds.
‘You hung up on me,’ he says.
‘You said my father has a different agenda than you. Asking about Hernandez blurs the lines.’
‘You didn’t give me a chance to explain.’
‘Miss Brown! Are you coming?’
Matts looks over his shoulder before facing me again. I free my hands and wipe them on my jeans before lifting a thumb to smooth the crease between his brows. ‘I’m sorry.’
Besides growling a little, he doesn’t respond. We walk side by side towards the farmhouse.
Archie, his scruffy blond hair wild about his head, and Mary, her hair tied neatly in a plait and a two-toned pink azalea flower behind her ear, sit next to each other on the steps of the verandah. When Archie bounces to his feet, Mary jumps up too. She grasps Archie’s hand and tugs. They walk towards Matts and me.
‘Say what Barney told you to!’ she hisses.
He yanks his hand free. ‘I know!’ He walks past me, turns and walks back. ‘I have to shut my mouth or I can’t ride because you’re going to kick me out and I can never come back not for the rest of my life. I won’t do it again.’
‘Archie.’ I bend my knees so we’re the same height. ‘Thank you for your apology. Did Barney say I’d kick you out? That wasn’t right. What I think he meant to say was that the horses will be much happier if you think about their feelings, as well as your own.’
‘I wanted to stay on Freckle.’ He holds out his hand and shows me his watch. ‘I had twenty more seconds to go.’
‘Sometimes we have to accept that we can’t have what we want—even if we think it’s the right thing to happen.’
‘Corey said I had to get off.’
When Mary bounces on her toes and raises her hand, I hide a smile. ‘Yes, Mary?’
‘Next Saturday, Archie can explain to Corey what happened, and ask for twenty seconds more.’
‘That’s a good idea.’ I turn to Archie again. ‘Freckle doesn’t mind if you shout, because he’s used to children. It’s the other horses who might get scared.’
‘They don’t like it,’ he says. ‘Prima ran away.’
‘You shouldn’t ever shout,’ Mary says primly. ‘Ever, ever, ever.’
I smile. ‘It’s okay to shout sometimes, Mary.’
She turns to Matts. ‘You were at the youth centre, weren’t you? Do you remember me? I’m Mary.’
‘Your pony’s name is Mischief.’
‘Yes.’ Mary beams.
Matts looks around. He frowns. ‘Where is he today?’
She tips back her head and laughs. ‘He doesn’t come here!’
With Mary, he pretended to be serious. With me, it’s genuine.
A black and gold butterfly hovers over the azalea bushes. There’s a butterfly in my stomach as well, nervously dodging and darting.
Five. Whole. Days.