I’m fine now because I remember everything in detail from the time we arrived at Andrew Fleming Hospital A&E, although that journey’s gone missing as well. The hospital scene is all there – the X-ray room, bright lights, bustling humanity, the bed in the ward where the nurse told me I’d broken a couple of small bones, the setting of this hideous plaster cast and the news that I was to be kept in hospital overnight for observation of suspected concussion. And today too, everything’s been crystal clear. It’s just bloody annoying I’m being forced to stay here on the settee instead of doing normal stuff.
Danny presses the enormous bouquet of red roses and carnations into my arms and kisses my forehead. I make room for him among the pillows and rugs and he nestles up against me, touching my cast with tenderness and looking as if he thinks I’m about to die.
I tell him not to fuss. Tell him it was a bit of concussion, but my head’s fine and the wrist will be as good as new in four weeks’ time. I’ve been lucky so far, to be fair, I add. I’ve bitten the dust many times – it’s an occupational hazard – but I’ve never hurt anything except my pride and only suffered the odd scrape or bruise or stiff muscle.
“There’s a maxim I read somewhere, some time ago, which states that gravity is the law that catches up with all horsemen, and horsewomen, sooner or later.”
“Tessa, that’s not funny. You are my life, do you know that?”
“I…” I swallow my laughter.
“I worry about you, with all your riding. I’ve never said because I know you love it so much, but… maybe you don’t realise. I guess I was hoping this little incident – and fortunately it is only a little one – might make you realise how dangerous horse riding is, Tessa. Hasn’t it given you a fright?”
“Um, what? No. I mean… A fright? No. Why? Danny, how well do you actually know me? Of course I know it’s dangerous! I’m not an idiot. Safety is the first rule when it comes to dealing with horses and I learned that when I was knee high to a grasshopper. I’ve spent hundreds of hours learning about horse psyche and trying to perfect my riding technique in order to minimise the risk of having some sort of accident or injury. If you want to be involved with horses you have to accept that it comes with its hazards. It’s not the only risk sport in the world. You’ve played rugby. If I’d been that frightened I’d never have been eventing in the first place. Come on, please don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”
He’s refusing to meet my eyes so he won’t know just how bloody angry I am. He fiddles with the pink paper bow binding the flowers together in their plastic sheath. I’ve run out of things to say so I sit and wait for him to apologise. He doesn’t. He says he can’t bear the thought of me being hurt again so would I consider giving it up? For him? For us?
There was that day, not so long ago, when my take on our relationship hit a rock and swung off course so dramatically it could never get back. I’ve ignored this with dedication ever since. Until now. My involvement with horses was the rock.
He’s got no idea how much I want him to un-say what he’s just said. Or how much I want to believe I didn’t hear it.
“You do realise I drive and I walk across roads in town and I stand a reasonable chance of being hurt doing these things as well?”
He says I should just think about it, and there’s something in his tone that states his utter conviction I will do just that. He prattles on, a bit breathless, with some earnest plans for the future, of visions of where we might try living in South Africa, with me in one piece. The chilly shadow lays itself across me, and him, the roses and the carnations and it’s here for good this time. I’m numb. Horrified, even.
He doesn’t notice my despair or see the shadow or feel its touch. When he leaves, he smiles, laughs and pets me, kisses me – long and on the lips when he’s sure none of the rest of the family are anywhere near – and tells me he’ll call me soon.
I lie back on my pillow and clutch the flowers to my chest under a crushing sadness and sense of loss. It’s just, as they say, a matter of time.
*
I’m wandering about in the garden when Mum calls out that Gill’s phoned. She’s on her way over. The dressage is finished.
“Come back inside, Tessa,” Mum instructs. “You should be resting. Look, will you be okay for a little while? Me and Dad are going to nip over to the Parsons’s place then we’ll pick up Dad’s new plants from the nursery. Just say, and I’ll stay here. Dad can get the plants after work tomorrow. Rosie should be home from Maria’s fairly shortly anyway.”
“No, no! Go!”
Good God, I’ve only got a broken wrist. I haven’t had a heart attack and I’ve had far too much rest already today. I’ll at least survive until Gill gets here.
I grab my pillow and my book and lie on the carpet by the French doors to catch a patch of winter sun. After fifteen minutes my concentration fails me. I transfer myself to the verandah and itch with impatience for twenty minutes before I see her Alfa Romeo approaching up the hill. When she pulls in and parks in front of the closed gates, I’m there to open them.
She pokes her head out of the driver’s window. “What are you doing up?”
“Don’t you start.”
There’s a movement inside the car; she’s not alone. The passenger door opens and Nathan emerges, still dressed in his white shirt, white breeches and black leather boots, although he’s discarded his tie.
“I’ll do that,” he says, taking the gate latch from me and waving me aside. “I’m glad to see you bounce okay anyway.”
Happiness. Overwhelming. How does a depressing day like this one turn a corner so unexpectedly and become so perfect?
“I’m fine! Just fine. That much better even now good friends are here. I only wish someone would tell me what the hell happened.”
Gill drives up to the house and as I watch Nathan close the gates behind her I wonder who first thought of white as a suitable colour for horse riding clothing. The backside and inner thighs of his breeches are a dull browney-grey, there are some horse feed/hay type stains on the outside of the left knee and his shirt has a large dark grey blotch on the back. Gill will tell me what happened, he says, making shooing gestures at me. Then he goes, “Hey, what do you mean, what the hell happened, when it happened to you?”
In the kitchen I fill the kettle and select three of the new smoked glass mugs Mum got last week. Gill perches on the edge of the table while Nathan fights his way out of his boots on the doorstep. I dump three dessert-spoonfuls of tea into the pot, then point the spoon at him.
“So come on, how was the dressage?”
He reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt and withdraws a red rosette. Holds it up. Grins. Widely, joyfully, like a grin should be. It creases all the way up his face and threatens to close his eyes but he’s keeping them focussed on me from under that dark forelock.
Gill launches into a tale of how ecstatic the judge was and how he wrote these glowing congratulations on Nathan’s score sheet, throwing her hands around her head to imitate this judge’s excitement and narrowly missing Nathan’s left ear. He ducks. I’m listening, but I’m still taking in that grin.
“Don’t exaggerate, Gill,” he sighs.
“Well you got two nines and the rest were sevens and eights, boyo. They want to see you back in the future, they said. Bravo looked gorgeous, Tessa. D’ya need a hand there?”
She starts to lift herself away from the table edge but I wave her back.
Nathan switches the tracks. “But you asked what happened to you. Don’t you remember?”
“Kind of. But not all of it. Only after I got this.”
I wave the clunky wrist at him and instantly regret it, tuck it back against my body. Might take a couple more of those horse pills with my tea.
Gill makes a decision, gets up and eases me out of the way to take possession of the kettle, pot and mugs.
“Well the first we heard of your prang was an announcement over the PA system that there had been a fall at jump number whatever and that it was rider number fifteen. To be honest, Dad and I took very little notice. We were fetching those Fantas we had in the cooler bag, ready for when you finished, and talking, and it was George who butted in and said, ‘Ah! Ah! You are not listening, you two! That man is talking about Miss Tessa! She has fallen and you must both go now, now. Zvino, zvino! Mhanyisa!’”
She’s put the tea pot down and is waggling her hands frantically in front of my face in what is a very plausible imitation, and accent, of an agitated George seeking to attract attention to himself. I recoil, laughing.
“So we abandoned any ideas of collecting cans of Fanta and we took off like greased lightning, but no-one at the starting box could tell us much. Then someone confirmed that you’d retired and were returning with one of the jump-judges and that’s when we saw you coming up the hill on Encore with Mr Rayleigh-Barnes leading him. We both agreed it was a bit like Mary and Joseph. You know, riding on a donkey into town?”
“Well I’m glad you found it so amusing, presumably after you knew I was okay. And by the way, I have no designs whatsoever on Mr Rayleigh-Barnes and Encore is not a donkey!”
“Of course, hun. We got you off the horse and you told us your wrist was sore and when we looked at it, it was all swollen and starting to turn blue. You insisted on trying to unsaddle Encore and we had to physically restrain you. Don’t you remember that?”
I’m trying, but she could be making this up, for all I know. I shrug, shake my head. We sit down at the table together and Nathan says, “Eish. That’s not good.”
He’s looking about him – first around at our kitchen, then lingering on the doorway that leads to the hallway, passage and living rooms. Not nosiness, just pure curiosity. Of course – he’s never been here before.
“You talked a lot. In fact you seemed quite compos mentis so we thought you were fine, but you can’t have been with us at all, were you?”
“I remember being back at your place, but then I was here. Like I got teleported or something.”
Gill leans forward and peers into my face. “Dad took you in the Merc. God, I thought you’d remember that. You went on and on about how you like that car. Tessa, are you sure you’re all right now?”
Enough of me, really. I mean, it’s nice to know everyone cares so much, but I’m bored with my Saturday. I butter the two of them up with a bit more reassurance and manage to steer the conversation round to Nathan’s Saturday instead. And he’s keen to talk. He tells me how Piet managed to secure a mount for him in one of the races and he describes the horse – a chestnut three-quarter-bred that was not considered to have much of a chance and was only being run for the fun of a day out.
Gill nudges me and cocks her head at him. “God, he rode a blinder, Tess. Got up for second place! The trainer couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t even put a bet on his own horse. This one here came home with a wad of bank notes in his pocket because he did bet on himself. All that race-riding preparation you did with the Fletchers paid off, didn’t it?”
Nathan’s warm brown eyes are focussed on something behind me. “I am so very glad I put in that training. Sherrie’s dad was a big help with advice and letting me ride some of his horses on the gallops. It’s the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done on horseback but the position takes some getting used to. And I was only riding in a training saddle so not as short as the jockeys themselves. I did wonder if I’d be able to do it, given the high strain on the thigh muscles. My right leg definitely isn’t what it used to be and I guess I’ll never have the full strength back, but it held up. Mick du Preez wants me to ride for him again. On a better horse next time.”
Gill’s nodding. “Well the more race riding you do, the stronger the muscles will get, even the damaged ones. So yes, I think we’ll all go to the next one at Eagle’s Down Farm. It’s in September, but I can’t remember the date. You up for it, Tessa?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be as good as new by then.”
Bombarding me in equal measures are relief that neither my parents nor Danny are around to be involved in this conversation and disappointment that I’ve missed out on something here. But there’s no reason on this earth for me to have been invited to watch him galloping racehorses at the Fletchers’ yard. I didn’t even know he’d been there. I’m sure John Fletcher had no qualms about putting a rider like Nathan up on some of his string.
We talk about the race meeting a bit more, and what I should expect at the September one, then Gill announces that she still has to school Star Point so they’d better go.
“Not so fast,” says Nathan, snapping his fingers together in front of her face. “Come on. Out with it. Tell her what you’ve been itching to tell her, or have you forgotten?”
I blink. Look from one to the other. Gill goes, “Oh yes,” in a small voice, then takes a deep breath.
“We’ve set a date for the wedding. The twentieth of December. It’s a Saturday. The ceremony will be held at Piet’s farm, followed by a buffet supper and dancing.”
She holds up a hand as I open my mouth.
“So then we had to make up a wedding party. Piet took me completely by surprise when he asked Nathan to be best man, but I’m thrilled and so’s Nathan. Piet also asked if his cousin Sally – who’s twelve – could be a bridesmaid. I agreed, of course, and then it was my turn to choose. There’s only one person I want to be my chief bridesmaid. Now Tessa, all you have to do is say ‘Yes’.”
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”
I could tell her that ever since they got engaged I’ve hoped… But she probably knows. We embrace, we do a bit of a jig around the kitchen, we do a high five, me using my good hand. There’s a moment when I think Nathan wants to high five me, but it’s gone and he’s just sitting there watching us like he’s studying the amusing and little-understood antics of another species.
“What about Tammy for God’s sake?”
“She won’t be here. Didn’t I tell you? She’s going to work at a stud in Kentucky from September. But if she was able to attend the wedding I’d’ve had you both, don’t worry.”
“Well don’t keep me in suspense, Gill. Come on. Tell me what colour I’ll be wearing.”
“Well, Mum and I found this poky Indian shop way down Manica Road where we unearthed a heavenly ivory satin for my dress and a deep bronze coloured satin for the bridesmaids. I’ll show you the swatches next time you come over. Have you got some paper and a pencil?”
I nick Mum’s shopping list pad from the miscellaneous drawer and one of Rosie’s pencils from the case she’s left in the dining room. Gill sketches her dress design ideas on the pad: a long veil for herself with identical lace on her bodice and sleeves, a high waistline, similar lace covered bodices for us bridesmaids. She spins the pad round to me and glares at Nathan.
“Don’t you dare tell Piet any of this! You know the rules?”
He shakes his head, holds his hands up, palms outwards.
“I haven’t quite found the right lace. But I will. We’ve commissioned a friend of Mum’s who’s a professional dressmaker. Mum will do the flowers. She’s very artistic with floral arrangements. We’re going to have yellow and cream roses, something in white and also orange – possibly marigolds.”
My mind whirls around all these colours and designs and forms a picture. A perfect picture.
“There’s such a lot to plan, I suppose.”
“Well us girls do tend to have these ideas from quite an early age, don’t we?”
She glances at me sideways. “Come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t planned your perfect wedding?”
Of course I have.
“Yes, and it’s all lilac and powder blue. But I’ve got quite a few years to wait yet.”
“Aha!” She rubs her hands together, the diamonds on her ring glittering in a multitude of colours in the late sunlight that is diffusing across the room. “When you and Danny get married I’ll be your Maid of Honour!”
No. Not that crushing sadness and the sense of loss. I can’t let it come back in. I snatch up the three mugs.
“More tea, y’all?”
Gill – you have no idea that you’ve saved my day by turning up and re-channelling my dismal little mind and giving me something tangible to look forward to – something I can throw my heart into with you. We’ve always done horses, and I love that so much, but now we’ve got a wedding to plan. And what a treat to see you and Nathan together so much these days. You’ve grown up with each other of course, but now I’ve been getting visual evidence of what that must have been like. Evidence that he really is a part of your life. A part of life, full stop. I want you both to stay here with me.
But you’re going.