Leap of Faith (17 page)

‘Okay. I'd better be off.' Tiffany's voice shattered her reverie and brought her back from the sadness threatening to swamp her.

‘Good luck,' Jessica and Steve said in unison.

‘Thanks,' Tiffany said cheerfully, and leapt into the saddle.

They watched as she trotted off and then got back into the car. Despite feeling a little self-conscious, Jessica pulled out her knitting. She was no longer doing it out of enjoyment, only determination to get the project finished.

As she watched Tiffany warm up and then enter the arena for her first test, Jessica had to fight to stop herself rocking in time with Brandy's stride. She had a habit of ‘back-seat riding', moving this way and that, clenching her thighs and lower legs, curling and uncurling her hands as if tightening and releasing the reins – most horse people did. Today, though, she had to be different. She wasn't meant to be interested. But even the relatively green Beau would have held his own among these horses. If only she was interested enough in dressage as a sport on its own. Could she make herself be interested? She doubted it. Not now. Anyway, she was only being swayed by feeling left out – her competitive nature was trying to take over. She was on another mission now.

‘Are you missing being out there?'

She looked down at her hands. They were busy knitting. Was Steve just making conversation or had he noticed her back-seat riding?

‘Hey? Oh. No. No way.' It wasn't an outright lie. She was missing being part of the action, striving, doing her best, pitting herself against the other riders, making her dad proud … ‘I certainly don't miss the nerves,' she said.

‘I never got why you'd put yourself through that.'

‘No, I know you didn't. Sometimes I'm not sure I did either,' she said with a laugh. Another lie. Of course she knew why she regularly put herself through hell emotionally and physically – bloody Jeff Collins. She was really starting to resent him. Annoyance surged again. She wished she was at home, alone. The need to express her anger – throw something, yell, scream – was overwhelming. She wanted to shout at him, at the memories of him, to leave her alone, that dying meant he no longer had a voice, could no longer control her. But the larger-than-life Jeff Collins wasn't one to be quiet. He'd been such a big presence for her, more than just a father. Hopefully, without the horses bonding her to her memories of him he would fade into the background and she would get some peace. Oh how she wished she was pregnant and had that to distract her.

She vowed to be a whole lot kinder to her own child if he or she chose to ride horses. That was another thing: Jessica's child would have the choice she hadn't. Another jolt of disappointment passed through her. She ignored it and focussed on watching Tiffany make her way around the arena doing okay movements – okay but not great. Jessica would have encouraged her to push Brandy into a tighter frame. But Tiffany wouldn't ask her opinion and Jessica wouldn't offer it, despite the frustration at what she could see almost killing her. They'd agreed early on to disagree and not let their views interfere with their friendship. Jessica knew she was bossy. She couldn't help it. Luckily she was nowhere near her father's level. She bloody well hoped not, anyway! If she were, she wouldn't have had any students. Though she did still subscribe to the ‘make that damned horse do it' school of thought rather than just having fun and enjoying the sport as seemed to be more the approach these days. The cost in time, fuel, equipment, etc was too much for it to be all about fun. She was beginning to see Tiffany's point, however, that it was no different to people going on holidays: a lot of expense for a head full of memories and a few hundred photos. It was the experience, the journey, not necessarily how well you did, that counted, though winning was fun too.

Jessica gritted her teeth.
Damn you, Jeff Collins, you did not have it right! I will not be the tyrant to my child that you were to me
. She sighed, rested her knitting on her stomach, and looked down.

‘Are you okay? You're not feeling sick from the painkillers are you? Are you hungry?' Steve said, looking at her with concern.

She smiled at him. ‘No, I'm fine. All good, thanks. Except for just realising that I far too closely resemble my mother – and about twenty-five years too early!' She suddenly recognised that was exactly what she was doing. Theresa Collins had always sat in the car and knitted, crocheted, or completed a crossword while Jessica rode and Jeff kept a close eye on proceedings. ‘Oh God, too funny. Kill me now,' she said, laughing. It was the first time she'd genuinely laughed for ages. It felt good, but was fleeting.

‘I'm keeping well away from that one,' Steve said, grinning cheekily. He leant over and pecked her on the cheek before returning to the book on his lap. Jessica resumed knitting while staring straight ahead, watching Tiffany ride.

There was a knock on Jessica's window, startling them both. They smiled and nodded politely to Amanda Smith, dressage club president and general busybody.

‘Hi Amanda,' Jessica said.

‘Don't tell me you've crossed to the dark side,' Amanda said with a smirk.

‘No, just here to watch Tiff. Actually, I've sold the horses. Haven't you heard? I'm out altogether.'

‘Oh. Really? I thought I heard something along those lines, but I didn't believe it. I said, “No, that can't be right.”'

‘Well, it is. Better believe it,' Jessica said, forcing brightness.

‘God, I'd never thought I'd see you knitting!' Amanda cried, as if only just noticing what Jessica was doing.

Jessica stayed silent, rather than retort rudely.

‘What are you going to do with yourself?'

‘I'm not sure, I'll worry about it when I'm out of plaster and my ankle has healed.'

‘Oh, of course. How's it going?'

‘Getting there.'

Amanda's name was called over the PA system along with a message for her to return to the office.

‘Well, that's me. See ya.'

‘Bye.'

Several other people came by during the afternoon – some kindly asked after her health or murmured with sympathy about her accident and timing regarding her squad selection, others had a dig at her for selling up her horses, while others still remonstrated with her for not giving them first right of refusal. Thankfully by then Tiffany was there to step in and say the sale was her doing.

Jessica had managed to stay pleasant to all, but by the time Tiffany had been presented with her two seconds and two third-place ribbons and they were ready to leave, she was exhausted, depressed, and was silently vowing to never venture out in public again. She so did not miss the cattiness and nosiness so many excelled at. Had it always been like that, or was it that she was a lame duck and they were picking on her because she was considered weak?

‘Tiffany did well considering she said she hadn't had much chance to practise,' Steve said as they made their way home.

‘Hmm. She seemed happy with how she went.' Jessica would have been very disappointed with seconds and thirds.

Jessica woke feeling excited, but also a little apprehensive. Today her life would finally get back on track – her cast was coming off. She really hoped her leg would be healed okay. Her last two weeks in plaster had seen her relatively pain free and able to hobble around the house without the need for crutches. She'd spent long stints outside sitting with shards of sun cutting across her one bare leg and hands, knitting frantically, trying to finish the scarf before her plaster came off and her life could start again. She'd decided she wanted a clear demarcation point between the dreadful six weeks with her broken ankle and the rest of her life – hopefully a wonderful new phase.

Jessica had laughed when she'd presented Steve with his scarf, telling him he'd better take good care of it because there wouldn't be another one – ever. She hated the bloody thing; hated knitting full stop. She still liked the colour – so did Steve – and had to admit she'd done a pretty good job for a first attempt: there were no holes, the edges were nice and straight all the way along, and both ends were the same width. But never again.

He'd teased her good-naturedly, saying, ‘Oh and here I was thinking I could count on you to keep us through the next drought with your new cottage industry.'

It had been a rare moment of lightness between them, Jessica realised with a bit of a jolt. It wasn't that they'd argued or stopped making love or being affectionate, but now she thought about it a little deeper, there had been a shift in their relationship. Was it the seven-year itch, as she had feared, or was it solely of her doing? If she had to put her finger on it, she would say Steve was ever so slightly wary around her; as if he was being guarded with his words and actions. This made Jessica sad. And, yes, it was her doing. She had changed since breaking her ankle and giving up the horses. He was merely responding to her.

She thought she'd done a good job of hiding her true feelings, but clearly not a good enough job. Even sadder was the fact she didn't know how to bring him back to her, how to put things right between them.

She pictured his eyes lighting up when she told him she was pregnant with their first child, and felt a little better. But she didn't have that news to share.

Oh, well, at least today she would be properly back on two feet and they could return to some semblance of normality. Jessica ignored the voice in her brain telling her that there was no normal to return to – horses had been her normal.

Her ache for the horses and sadness at seeing the empty paddocks and lifeless stable yards hadn't improved; if anything it had become more pronounced. She'd just got better at hiding her emotions. Well, she figured she must have, as Steve no longer looked sideways at her with a slight frown as if wondering when she was going to crack and melt into a puddle of tears. He'd seen her survive Tiffany's dressage day and that had been a big, confronting step. And while she'd been shaky, she'd got through it okay. She just had to keep on putting one foot in front of the other, keep moving forwards.

Jessica thought the pain tablets probably went a long way towards keeping her together. She'd stopped taking them at night not long after the accident and had been carefully rationing them for use during the day. She hadn't been in any serious pain since the first few days, but the slightly dreamy, pillowy feeling that hung around while under their influence was something she was unwilling to give up. Soon she would have to, though; she had just a couple of tablets left. Perhaps if she did physio when she got the plaster off she'd be justified in asking a doctor for more pain relief. Part of Jessica hoped she would be refused and forced out of her slight addiction. Another part, an even bigger one, was terrified of having to get through without this additional support.

She sighed. She had to believe that everything would work out, as Tiffany was always saying – she really had no choice.

Perhaps without the codeine she wouldn't feel so down, so physically heavy. The only thing that had kept her getting out of bed in the mornings was maintaining her façade and not admitting she'd made a terrible, hasty mistake giving up Prince and Beau. She'd come so close to crumbling, but the thought of ‘Then what?' seemed to stop her.

A number of times she'd sat down to try to write a simple letter to Eventing SA explaining her situation, but hadn't managed more than the date, her address, her member number and
Dear Sir
. It didn't matter – the original letter had called for responses in three months, and news would have made its way right around the horse industry – her withdrawal in writing was a mere formality.

The dogs had even decided she didn't need them anymore, and had started spending most of their time outside again. She still often marvelled at how they'd quickly become house pets in her time of need.
Don't tell me they don't share human emotions
, she'd said to herself more than once while shaking her head in wonder at them. Laurel and Hardy too had become subdued, as if in sympathy, since the horses had left. They still wagged their tails, but their silly grins didn't seem as wide and carefree as they once had. Jessica suspected she was reading signs that weren't there.

She really hoped she'd be back to normal straight away once out of plaster; she wasn't sure she had the inclination for masses of physio. She'd read on the internet that one of the best ways to get over an ankle injury was to just walk – one foot carefully in front of the other. That was what she'd do, and worry about physio later if need be.

Last night she had put the right shoe – the mate to the one she would wear – by the front door so it wouldn't be forgotten. It had come to her in a flash as she was cleaning her teeth – she'd go in wearing one shoe, but come out needing two. How embarrassing if she came out with one bare foot! She wondered how many people had left the hospital and crossed the car park with a bare, cold foot.

Steve had also insisted on propping the walking stick her father had needed after a fight with one of the young horses beside the door. Jessica wasn't sure they had to go that far, but accepted she didn't know what to expect. They needed a fact sheet on what happened after getting out of plaster, she thought, staring out the window – deliberately looking at the large dam and catchment away from where horses once stood.

They were going to a little café in Hahndorf for lunch afterwards, which would be nice, but would also signal the end of Steve being with her during the day. She often found herself wondering how he used to manage to fill his days out on the property or in his sheds. She never quizzed him on it – it was a deliberate attempt to not be like her mother, who had practically interrogated her father most nights when he came in, demanding to know how he'd spent each minute of his day away from her.