Star Dancer (13 page)

SUZANNE O’GORMAN WAS PICKING AT HER FOOD AGAIN
. Her parents exchanged worried glances across the table.

‘Do you not like your dinner?’ her mother asked. ‘It’s your favourite, fish fingers.’

‘I do like it,’ said Suzanne. With her fork, she arranged the little golden sticks of fish into something resembling a log obstacle on a cross-country course. But she didn’t eat them. She just gazed down at them.

‘Did you like that grey horse Anne Fitzpatrick brought you to try?’ her father asked. Then, smiling at his wife, he added, ‘Anne says he’s safe as houses.’

‘Summer Rain? He’s nice.’ Suzanne pushed the fish fingers into a different arrangement.

Her father went on, ‘And Brendan Walsh says he knows a man down in Tramore who might be interested in Star Dancer for his wife. She wants to learn dressage.’

Now Suzanne looked up. ‘I don’t want to sell Dancer,’ she said. Her voice was bleak and flat.

‘But what about the grey horse?’

Suzanne dropped her eyes. Her mother saw the first tear slide down the girl’s cheek and drop onto the golden crust of a fish finger.

‘Oh Suzanne, pet,’ said Mrs O’Gorman. ‘This is too big a decision for you to have to make.’

‘It isn’t too big a decision. And I’ve made it. I want to keep
Dancer. If we sold him to some man in Tramore I’d probably never see him again. And neither would Ger. Ger loves him too. I don’t want anyone else to have Dancer. He’s
mine
!’

Mrs O’Gorman stood up and began clearing the table. She was frowning in thought. Then she said to her husband, ‘Come on inside and help me get the pudding ready. We need to talk.’ She shot him a meaningful glance over Suzanne’s head.

When Ger next arrived for work at the stables, he went to the pasture to see Dancer even before checking in with Brendan Walsh. He was relieved to find Dancer still there, with the other horses, in the big grassy field.

But Summer Rain was still in the stables, in the loose box that had belonged to Dancer.

Ger stuck out his tongue at the grey horse. Then he was sorry, and took him a carrot. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he told him.

The days were growing shorter, the dark was closing in. Often Ger walked to and from the bus in the rain. Anne began giving the riding lessons in the indoor school. Taking his lesson with other children, and grown-ups as well, Ger felt as if Morton’s Court was very far away. Here he was with people who liked him and trusted him, who cared about horses. He loved the smell of the dampened sawdust and the golden glow of the overhead lights. ‘You’re doing great,’ someone would tell him in passing, commenting on his improvement, and the warm feeling it gave him could make him almost forget his troubles…almost.

Suzanne was taking lessons on Summer Rain. ‘Is your family going to buy him?’ Ger asked, though he really didn’t want to hear the answer.

‘I begged my parents not to sell Dancer,’ Suzanne replied.
‘Now Mr Flannery’s bought Summer Rain, for re-sale, as an investment. I still wish we could buy him, but not if it means losing Dancer.’

Buying and selling horses was one of the ways the stables made money for its owner, Ger knew. Mr Flannery would sell the grey horse on at a profit, if not to the O’Gormans, then to someone else.

The next time Ger went to the pasture to visit Dancer he was surprised to find Mr Flannery at the pasture gate with Anne Fitzpatrick. He heard only the end of their conversation: ‘And get Dancer out of the pasture,’ Mr Flannery was saying.

Ger ran up to them. ‘What’s going on? Is he worse?’

‘He’s doing fine,’ Anne assured the boy. ‘His leg is healing well.’

‘But you were talking about getting rid of him.’

‘We talk about horses all the time,’ Mr Flannery said. ‘What we decide has nothing to do with you, my boy.’ He was a big, square-built man who smelled of shaving lotion and money. Ger decided he hated Mr Flannery. Mr Flannery owned a farm and a stables and could buy any horse he wanted.

Meanwhile, the man was giving the boy a slow, measuring look. ‘This is the young lad, is it?’ he asked Anne.

‘Ger Casey,’ she agreed. ‘He is.’

‘Hmmm.’ Mr Flannery continued to study Ger. ‘Tall for his age,’ he said at last. Then he turned and walked back towards the stableyard, with Anne beside him.

Ger found Brendan Walsh in the hay barn, muttering to himself as he re-stacked some heavy bales. ‘There you are!’ he said when he saw Ger. ‘The very person. Come and help me.’

‘Brendan, what was Mr Flannery doing with Star Dancer?’

‘How should I know?’

‘They’re going to sell Dancer, aren’t they? And Mr Flannery is in a hurry for him to go, to make room for more horses.’

Brendan stopped work and straightened up, rubbing his aching back. ‘Your imagination runs away with you, lad. I haven’t heard anything about Star Dancer leaving, and I’d be the first to know, I’m the stable manager.’

‘But he’s being sold. I know he is!’

Brendan rocked back on his heels and peered at Ger from under the brim of his cap. ‘In the horse business, horses are bought and sold all the time, Ger. You have to accept it.’

‘But Dancer’s special.’

‘They’re all special,’ Brendan said gently. ‘And they all need your care. Get along and give the ponies fresh water, and stop fretting over things you can’t change.’

Ger wanted to smash something. He wanted to hit out at someone. He wanted to steal something and sell it and make enough money to buy Star Dancer. He wanted to steal Star Dancer and run away on him and live with the Travellers where no one could ever find them and …

Instead he went to the stable and began giving fresh water to the ponies.

That was the real world. It wasn’t the way he wanted it, but that was the way it was. There weren’t going to be any flags flying or crowds cheering. Or Star Dancer.

But he couldn’t bear thinking about Star Dancer.

For the rest of that weekend he avoided the pasture. He threw himself into his work harder than ever. He mucked out loose boxes and cleaned the toilets and stacked hay and carried pain
inside him like a glass of water he was afraid to spill.

On Sunday evening, Brendan Walsh and Anne Fitzpatrick watched from the doorway of the barn as he trudged off down the road.

‘Poor scrap,’ Anne remarked. ‘From what Suzanne’s father says, Ger hasn’t much of a home to go to.’

‘And didn’t I have a worse one?’ Brendan replied. ‘But it’s like a horse race. The start doesn’t matter. It’s the finish that counts.’

One evening Suzanne’s parents called her into the sittingroom. The telly was turned off, she noticed. ‘We have something very important to talk to you about,’ said Mr O’Gorman. His face told her it was serious.

‘Is this about Dancer?’ she asked, suddenly worried.

‘It is about Dancer. It’s selfish to keep him as things are, Suzanne. Can you not see that? Someone else could be enjoying him as a dressage horse. He has a whole life to live. But not as an event horse, which is what you really want. I know it’s hard, but you must think about this. And decide what’s best. Whatever you decide now, we’ll support you and that will be the end of it.’

The days were dragging for Ger. In a way he was glad he was in school. If he had been out with Anto and the others he would definitely have got into trouble, trying to forget about Star Dancer. At least in school he had lessons to keep his mind occupied.

One of his teachers had noticed the sketches he was doing. ‘What are these, Ger? Drawings of barns?’

‘Stables,’ Ger replied. ‘I like to sort of … sort of imagine how I’d build them, if I was building stables for myself. See this door here? I’ve put the hinges on the other side, see, so it wouldn’t stick out into the aisle and maybe injure a horse. And …’

Ger went on explaining his ideas. The teacher bent over him, hearing the spark of excitement in the boy’s voice.

‘These are good, Ger. You’ve a talent for drawing, did you know that? And for visualising structure. Did you ever think about being an architect someday?’

‘Wha’?’

‘An architect. There’ll be a lot of new building in Dublin in the next twenty years, Ger. You could do worse.’

An architect. Ger felt dazed. Didn’t you have to go to university if you wanted to do stuff like that?

Becoming an architect was as foolish a dream as owning Star Dancer.

He stared down at the drawings in his notebook, then crumpled them up with an angry gesture.

When Ger got to the stables the following weekend, Brendan had a lot of work waiting for him. Hunting season meant the horses and ponies who rode with the hunt needed to be prepared. Their tack must be checked and worn parts replaced. Ger was kept busy all day Saturday. It was late in the day before Brendan finally told him, ‘You can go take your riding lesson now, if you want.’

When Ger took a safety helmet from the row of helmets hanging in the tackroom, he noticed that Suzanne’s was also missing. She must be in the indoor school herself, then. She would be riding Summer Rain. She was riding him all the time now.

Mr Flannery’s car was parked at the end of the indoor arena. It was a big shiny Merc, definitely an Enemy car.

Suzanne was inside on the grey gelding. Mr Flannery was standing beside her, talking to her. And Anne Fitzpatrick was with them, holding the reins of another horse. They looked up as Ger
entered. ‘Come on,’ Anne called, ‘we’ve been waiting for you.’

Ger was staring at the horse she held. ‘We?’

‘Me and Star Dancer. The vet says he’s sound enough for a little easy riding now, on soft footing like that in here. So you’re going to take your lessons on him from now on. We’ll find out if you really have any talent.’

It was too much for Ger to take in. He looked from Anne to Mr Flannery, to Suzanne. ‘But I thought … I mean … hasn’t he been sold?’

Suzanne couldn’t hold back the laughter any longer. ‘Oh Ger, he has been sold! Mr Flannery bought him. My dad talked to Anne, and Anne and Brendan told Mr Flannery how hard you’d been working and how good a rider you were becoming, and …’

‘And I agreed to buy Dancer for my stables,’ Mr Flannery interrupted, ‘so we would have a school-horse for talented youngsters to learn on. Star Dancer’s going to stay right here, Ger. Anne and Brendan have convinced me it’ll be good for business. Star Dancer’s already got the stables some nice publicity, and there’s a growing interest in dressage.’

‘So you can learn dressage on Dancer,’ Anne told Ger.

‘And my parents will be able to afford to buy Summer Rain for me,’ Suzanne added breathlessly.

Her eyes were filled with golden stars. Or it just might have been the reflection of the lights hanging from the ceiling of the indoor arena.

‘Come on, Ger,’ Anne said. She sounded impatient, but she was smiling. ‘Don’t stand there with your mouth open. You’ve made a beginning these past months, but you have bags to learn if you’re serious about riding.’

‘I am. I am serious!’ Ger managed to say, gulping around the huge lump that was suddenly stuck in his throat.

Anne held out the reins to him. ‘Then let’s get started. Tonight you begin practising riding without stirrups. It’s the best way to improve your balance and give you a secure seat on a horse. You must have those before you even think about learning dressage.’

Dancer pricked his ears and looked straight at Ger. Ger had no doubt the horse understood every word.

Feeling as if he was in a dream, the boy walked forward. But when his hands closed around the reins, he knew they were real. The leather was clean and soft. He had soaped those very reins dozens of times.

This was the real world.

He bent one knee so Anne could give him a leg up. Star Dancer stood like a statue as Ger settled gently into the saddle.

The boy looked down on shining brown shoulders and a proudly arched neck. ‘Star Dancer,’ he murmured.

Ger gathered the reins in his fingers. He felt the horse come alive under him, waiting for his command.

Overhead, the first drops of an autumn rainstorm spattered on the roof. But to Ger Casey they sounded like flags flapping in the wind, and a great crowd cheering.

He smiled to himself. Somehow he was very sure that Star Dancer could hear them too.

MORGAN LLYWELYN

Morgan is a writer of internationally best-selling books. She lives in Ireland but grew up in Texas, where her first great love was horses. She took up riding at a young age and be came a very skilled performer. She was shortlisted for the American Olympic team and took part in the trial, missing a place on the team only by a fraction of a point!

Since then she has spent most of her time writing books.