Gill sits up, pushing her straw hat back up off her face and onto her head and reaches for her Malawi shandy.
“Aptitude tests? Like, psychometric tests? We did those, I think. A friend of mine who was all set to go into the estate agent business like her dad got told she should never even dream of a career in anything to do with sales and marketing. How did you do?”
I turn my head and squint at her in the sharp sunlight from under my own hat. I’ve warmed up a bit now, but we’ve got to come to terms with the fact that it’s no longer swimming weather. I’m not keen, like Jess. I only do it in summer.
“Honestly? I don’t have a clue. The logical tests were straightforward – either you know the answer or you don’t – but there were other questions, designed, we were told, to find our hidden strengths. I just gave the answer I reckoned would show me in the best light. I thought I was being clever, but then when Mrs McGovern got me alone during the individual discussion time afterwards she said my aptitudes are – how did she put it – diverse, as far as careers are concerned. So she asks me what career appeals to me. I mean, seriously Gill, I’d been rather hoping she would tell me what I wanted to do. So I mumbled something about working with horses, like you, and that was obviously the wrong answer. She acted like she was so disappointed it made me feel like a complete idiot. I walked away with a bunch of leaflets on accountancy, cartography, computer studies, nursing, teaching and, get this… air traffic control. I can do what I want. Isn’t it great? What a fat lot of bloody use when I don’t know what I want. None of them sound appealing, except for veterinary nursing perhaps. I think I’ll join the Foreign Legion. Do they let women in now?”
She snorts and has to put her glass down on paving slabs quickly to avoid spilling the shandy. “Tessa my love, I don’t think you’re the right type. Have a word with my dad. He’s out of town at some site or other but he said he’d be home round about four and it must be nearly that now. He knows someone who’s an employment consultant in town, who might be able to tell you more about different careers. This guy deals with all sorts of people in all sorts of fields. What do your parents think? Haven’t they discussed it with you?”
“Well of course they have, and so have all their friends over time. What-do-you-want-to-be-when-you-grow-up? is a question I’ve been asked so many bloody times I’ve given up bothering with genuine answers. The parents are lining me up for junior school teaching. Probably my own fault for never claiming any particular vocation and for showing a desire to teach my teddy bears and other animal toys anything I was learning at the time. Now with O Levels around the corner Mum’s got me some brochures for Teacher Training College. By the results of those tests today it looks like it’s an option. Not.”
“You wouldn’t want to teach then? So what about university?”
“Me, teach kids? I’d end up getting done for murder. As to varsity – maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think I’m capable of doing distinct careers that come out of a university like medicine or law or engineering so it would just be a case of doing a BSc in some subject I fancy then try and find a career to suit it. But I’d rather have more certainty. I have no idea Gill, honestly. It’s worrying me now.”
That day she first told me her plans for a career with horses was the day I got jolted into realising that there would be life after school. And jolted into realising I should’ve realised it. Now the time has come to panic.
The sun’s starting to slide towards the tops of the gum trees along the western edge of the garden. My swimming costume isn’t going to dry any further. I lift myself up on one elbow.
“Vet nursing appeals most. It might lead to working with horses. It seems to involve getting a job in a surgery that provides training. Or, I could join the Grey’s Scouts couldn’t I? They take on quite a few women as re-mount riders.”
She drains her glass. “The army? Funny you should say that though because we’ve heard there’s a possibility Nathan will be able to get posted as a riding instructor when he’s fit enough to go back. Not as a career for you though. You’re better than that. And what if they don’t carry on with the Grey’s in peace time?”
“Peace time? Will there be? I’d like a bit of that.”
Another Viscount down back in February – this time with the loss of all on board. Numbers of insurgents up significantly. The past seven years have cost an estimated twenty-seven thousand lives and there’s no guarantee Muzorewa’s victory in the April elections will bring about the end of the conflict. Dad says Margaret Thatcher’s on our side and is going to sympathetically solve all our problems, but she won’t. She isn’t on our side. The fighting won’t end until the Patriotic Front are in power. Zimbabwe-Rhodesia is not the ultimate destination for this country. It’s temporary. Nothing with a name like that should be allowed to last anyway.
Gill starts rolling up her towel. “Dad’s here. I heard the car. It’s time to go in anyway. I’m freezing now.”
My sentiments exactly.
We change in her room and she lends me a jumper. I can hear Charles whistling in his tuneless fashion somewhere down the corridor.
“Let’s go find Dad. Have you got time? Are you seeing Danny tonight?”
“Not tonight. Only tomorrow. He’s actually agreed to go to the races. Jess and Gordon asked us because they’re going with some of Jess’s family. It’s very strange. Neither of them are interested in horses, but then I guess it’s the betting that attracts.”
“Ah, probably. Jess and Gordon are still an item then. Are they sleeping together yet?”
What?
“Um…”
Gill’s walking ahead of me, laughing. “You mean you don’t know? You should ask her. See what she has to say for herself. You might be surprised.”
Ask her how? They’re not. Jess wouldn’t do that. Would she? No.
Charles is on the patio, dragging his lounger to the last sunny spot near the front edge.
“Yo, Tessa! What’s new?”
“Where’s Nathan?” Gill asks. We sit together on the edge nearest the pool.
“He’s staying up in Bindura. They’re pouring the first lift for the last silo tomorrow so he needs to be there for that.”
She shrugs. “Oh okay. Tess was talking about going to the races and I’m thinking I might go along tomorrow too. Tammy’s dad’s got runners in most races and I can get into the trainers’ circle with her. I haven’t been for ages. I was also thinking Nath might like to go so it’s a shame he’s not about. Sherrie will be there…” She breaks off and behind me Charles guffaws.
She catches my eye and prompts, “Sherrie Fletcher?”
Oh, her. I know. I’ve met her a couple of times. Pretty, with blonde curls.
Jess isn’t sleeping with Gordon. She’s my best friend. She’d’ve told me.
Gill squirms round to face Charles.
“So, Dad, listen. Tessa’s had to do some career aptitude tests at school and they’ve shown up that she can be anything from a road sweeper to an astronaut so she’s completely confused and wants advice. Can, whatsisname, Steve… Steve is it? The recruitment guy. Can he help?”
“Astronaut? What? No, Gill, that’s stupid.”
Moira steps up onto the far end of the patio, pruning shears in one hand and says, “Hello love, where’s Nathan?” so the conversation is repeated and Charles tells her he didn’t win the Gwelo sewage treatment works extension contract. She makes sympathetic noises and asks him some questions I don’t register.
Jess was as adamant as I was when we swore we’d never let any guy persuade us to get into bed before rings got on fingers. When was that – three years ago? We were raised to be good girls. No babies and no reputations. Save yourself for your husband. This is Rhodesia, Mum says. We have morals the rest of the world should envy.
It’s getting late.
Moira’s vanished indoors. Gill looks at me looking at my watch and leans backwards, tilting her head towards Charles, who’s shifted the lounger a bit further away, chasing the sun. “Come on Dad. Will you call Steve for Tessa?”
“Tessa,” says Charles. He sits on the edge of the lounger, leans forward, elbows on knees, his huge hands clasped together. “I can speak to Steve Young at Top Ace Recruitment on your behalf, no problem. But listen to what I have to say before you decide whether you want me to or not. You see, your career dilemma isn’t that much of a dilemma if you’d care to hear me out.”
That expression on his face? That’s smug. He does smug when he’s delighted to be withholding some gem of information his listeners want or need.
I offer a very cautious, “Yeees?”
Gill knows as well. She’s more direct.
“Dad? Come off it. What are you plotting?”
“I can offer you a good job, Tess. A job that starts with book-keeping but could lead to much more and a hand in the running of the business. Scope to get involved in every aspect of my company. It can be as interesting as you want to make it. Don’t look so puzzled, sweetheart. It’s true – I’m offering you a job. Well, not right now of course. I should say I’m offering you the opportunity to come along and see if you want a job with me.”
Gill twists her head from Charles’s direction, to mine and back again so rapidly she’s in danger of dislocating something. My jaw is on my knees. He’s loving this.
“My accounts department is run solely by a good lady called Megan Trent. She also does general admin, keeping everything where it should be. You know Megs, don’t you Gilly? She’s hyper-efficient and is a stickler for detail and she makes it all work but she’s well over sixty now and her husband is an invalid. He’s suffered a stroke and will soon need constant nursing. Megan works mornings only now to give her a chance to attend to their own affairs in the afternoons. So I’m pretty sure old George Trent’s civil service pension and other investments will keep them well provided for and I don’t know how much longer she’ll be with us. I think you might be the ideal person to be her assistant, eventually take over her role and also become generally involved in the company. What do you think?”
What do I think? Is there really an answer to that?
“Don’t decide here and now.” He raises a forefinger then taps it against his temple like both Gill and Nathan do. “Go away and sleep on it. Talk to your folks of course.”
If he knew what my pulse was doing he’d be calling an ambulance. But I love him. He’s taken me from quandary to security in two minutes.
He’s right though. I can’t make a decision like this in a snap. And anyway, words of advice from teachers over the years are rearing up now to disappoint me with cold common sense.
“I was hoping to do some kind of college training. And I’ve got my O Levels at the end of the year.”
Now I’ve probably blown it. He wants someone straight away. He won’t wait, and so I’m back to Square One.
But he beams and claps his hands onto his thighs. “Excellent idea! What about a course in book-keeping then? Find out about these day-release things. You know, where you go to college on one day a week? Book-keeping, typing, business studies, economics…”
He gestures expansively. “I may even get you doing stuff on the construction side of my company, on the job so to speak.”
Now we’re getting silly again. Might as well pursue the astronaut idea.
“I don’t think I’d be any good at that sort of thing.”
“Mmm. You never know. Nathan can tell you all about the construction sites. I’ve got him going out on his own now to supervise the grain silo contract at Bindura. He still struggles a bit with some of the physical stuff like getting into and out of excavations and being on his feet all day, but he’s making excellent progress on the whole. He’ll be pretty much fully fit eventually.”
He carries on speaking. Something about the administrative procedures involved in running a civil engineering contracting company, but it means nothing to me. Come on, put the brakes on your racing, fantasising imagination. Don’t get ahead of yourself or you’ll jinx this.
After a couple of minutes I realise he’s talking about Nathan again.
“I want him to take over as Contracts Manager eventually so I’ve just bought a Toyota Land Cruiser for him. I admit I used to have doubts, but he’s turning out to be a real asset. Mature. And a decision maker. I really think I can make something of him. You don’t drive yet, do you?”
“No. I’ll be sixteen in September and Dad’s promised to send me to a driving school straight after my birthday.”
Total independence is like a beautiful mirage on my horizon. Assuming, that is, Dad buys me a car. But if I have a job…
“Well, never mind. You would only be starting the job next year anyway. Right? Well I’ll have to give you a formal interview if you want to go on with this. Nothing to worry about, but it’s ethics. Talk it through with your folks and let me know?”
“I won’t have my O Level results until January next year,” I remind him and he draws his head back slightly with that are-you-being-serious? face on.
“You’ll do okay. You’ll call, yes, and let me know about getting an interview sorted?”
I wish I had his faith in me.
*
Out in the yard Gill grabs me and, with hands on each other’s shoulders, we impulsively perform a sort of polka, to the intense – if confounded – amusement of the grooms.
“I haven’t got the job yet,” I gasp as we finally break hold near the tack room, but she’s undaunted.
“After work you can come back here and help me school horses. You’ll see – the Owen family will exploit you to the full.”
She plonks down suddenly on the mounting block and pulls me down beside her.
“Hey. Have you thought any more about getting another horse?”
A second horse, ready for entering Adult classes once I get to eighteen. It’s the right time to start looking, and of course I’ve thought about it. Never got any further than thinking. Couldn’t face asking Dad to spend even more money on horses for me. But now, today, it’s not difficult to guess where Gill’s thoughts are heading.
A car and a horse. And this is without knowing how much I’m even going to get paid. What’s next? A ten-bedroom mansion? I’m blissfully oblivious to what Dad pays for Induna’s keep, his shoes, his vaccinations and the endless replacements of rugs, tack, fly fringes and headcollars that are standard in horse keeping. Moira said once that horse ownership is all about standing in a muck heap and burning twenty dollar notes. I need to shake myself up and get a grip on things.
She’s talking about the type of horse I’ll need. Across the other side of the yard, Induna pokes his handsome head over his half door and the guilt washing over me is crushing. It’s like I’m plotting some despicable act of betrayal or treason. He’s the best pony a girl could have, but Gill’s been trying to convince me that I’m outgrowing him, that he simply is not substantial enough to take me through the Adult grades. I know this, but I can’t come to terms with it yet.
“Stroller was only a pony.”
“What? Stroller? He got to the top Tessa, yes, but he was one in a million. Much as you love Indie, he’s not going to be the Stroller of the 1980s.”
I must not contemplate pushing Indie on over big show-jumping courses just to suit my own ends. He’d throw his heart into it, I know, but I could break him and then how would I feel?
So what will happen to my beautiful bay pony? He’s got years left in him to compete at the level he’s reached so I have two choices as I see it. One, put him out on loan to a younger junior rider or, two, carry on at this level myself and forget about being more ambitious. Oh, and there’s a third option. Retire him from competition but keep him and get another horse anyway.
Yeah, money again. Horses are expensive pets. Nathan’s long outgrown High Time, but she’s a mare and has made her contribution to the family’s breeding business with two foals so far. She has a job and a home for life.
You grow up, you get these decisions.
You get to know things. Gill and Tim used to spend nights together at his flat in town, Rhodesia or not. Gill’s not a wanton, immoral girl. There was no showing off, no daring me to be shocked, just an assumption that I knew that’s what people did. But Jess? No, she’d never sleep with Gordon, or anyone.