“Okay, that’s a good one. Well done. Now do another. I’ll pass you a band when you’ve done it.”
I divide off another section of mane and Gill remarks, “That’s probably a bit big. You want to aim to get all the plaits the same size if you can.”
“Oh.”
I start again and halfway through my plaiting process, Fancy grabs a bit of hay that won’t come out of the net. She gives it an extra big tug and jerks her head away from me, pulling the hairs through my fingers. I wobble on the stool and Gill’s hand shoots out to take my elbow.
“Ha, ha! Whoa!” she giggles, then goes still and fixes onto something over the top of the pony’s back.
“That’s Nathan and High Time! They must be on their way home. God, he’s been out a long time. He went out just before I left to come here.”
Beyond the boundary rail fence, a pretty bright bay pony with four white socks is trotting along the broad, browned grass verge adjacent to the road. Riding it is that boy from school. He looks very different out of his uniform and I probably would never have recognised him if Gill hadn’t been here with me. Now all the connections click into place like Lego bricks. Gill Owen telling me she lives at Makuti Park, a remark by Timothy not so long ago linking Nathan Owen with Makuti Park (“You’d think, coming from that posh place, that he’d be, like, brighter. My dad says the guy who owns the place has a new car, yet again”) and Gill’s occasional mention of ‘Nathan’s pony’.
I take the abandoned half-plait in my hand again and say, “Oh yeah. Your brother,” thinking that perhaps I’d better leave it there because of what they all say about him at school.
Nathan and the pony have passed the gates and are now out of sight behind the dark green Cypress hedge. Miss Ashton and Gill would never let me ride without a hard hat, but then I guess he can do whatever he likes on his own pony.
She laughs her gurgling laugh. “No, silly. He’s my cousin.”
Ah, maybe that’s why she’s never mentioned him and said what’s wrong with him. Odd that he lives with her, but then Makuti Park is a huge plaas with a massive house. She’s never told me about any brothers or sisters of hers so I reckon she’s an only child.
“Here you go,” she says, holding out a tiny black rubber band. I roll the plaited section of mane and fix it in a ball with the band. It looks cute.
“How many of your cousins live with you?” I ask her. “I’ve got five, but they were born in England and they all live there. I’ve never met any of them, although we get letters and photos from them and my aunts and uncles.”
“Oh, only him. My others live in England too. His parents died, you see, so my parents adopted him. It’s very sad. Haven’t you seen him here before? We both have a lesson together on Sundays. Sometimes jumping, sometimes flatwork, depends really. Right, do one more plait then we’d better let Fancy go out in the field. She’s been very patient. Is that okay? You’ve got the gist of it now.”
Fancy’s given up munching hay and appears to have gone to sleep.
“Does Nathan go to the same shows as you? And win lots of prizes too?”
“No.”
I turn to face her, a bit shocked. She’s a sweet and gentle and merry girl and that’s a very odd tone.
She’s not looking at me. She has one arm over Fancy’s back and is staring at the gates.
“High Time – that’s his pony – could jump the moon, Tessa. But no, he doesn’t ever compete. And believe me, he’s a damned good rider. Much better than me. Much more intuitive than me. A waste. Still, look, let’s finish up shall we?”
I don’t believe that. No-one can be a better rider than Gill.