The Horse Dancer (44 page)

‘Ah, Jesus, Jackie, I think he’s snapped it.’ She heard the despairing voice in the lorry. Blood was dripping down the rubber mats and on to the cobbled yard. She watched it spread in oily ovals around each stone.

‘Give him the sedative anyway. It’s not going to make any difference to him if he has, and if he’s borderline it might just keep him still long enough. Where’s the bloody vet?’

‘Here.’ Jackie gestured to Sarah. ‘Try and hold that up.’

Sarah climbed up on to the back and grabbed the bottom of the partition, which was badly buckled. Her hands slid along its base, already slick with blood. She stared out at the yard, trying not to look at the horse alongside her.

Jackie was ripping at the needle’s plastic covering with her teeth. She unscrewed the bottle top, thrust the point into the neck and pulled the plunger, then handed it further back inside the lorry. Sarah jumped as a rear leg kicked towards her.

‘You okay there, sweetheart?’

She nodded mutely. The two men were soaked in blood; a sickly slick swam around the horse’s rear, its movement leisurely, ominous, almost pulsing. Sarah saw that her jeans, her jacket, were already smeared with it.

‘Easy, fella, easy there now.’ The Irishman was soothing the horse. ‘There. His eyes are closing, Jackie. I think that one’s done it. But I can’t get to the leg until we’ve got the partition out.’

Sarah’s back hurt, but she couldn’t tell them. She glanced up as headlights swung into the yard, blinding her, then heard a car door slam, wet footsteps. A red-headed man was running up the ramp, his case already open. ‘Ah, hell, this doesn’t look too pretty.’

‘We think he may have done his leg, Tim.’

‘That’s an awful lot of blood. How long’s he been bleeding like this?’

‘Minutes. I’ve tourniqueted the off fore, but it took a hell of a crack when he went down.’

The horse’s legs were still now, save for the odd feeble kick. Sarah watched the vet crouch, his back to her, and begin his examination. His actions were obscured from view by the Irishman, and the part of the partition that had not yet collapsed.

‘I couldn’t tell you how he did it. He panicked when we unloaded the yearling, went up and somehow got his front leg over the top. When he pulled backwards he dragged the whole lot down on himself. It happened so fast, I can’t believe it.’

‘Never ceases to amaze me the trouble horses can bring on themselves. Come on, let’s get this partition out so I can take a better look at him. You girls take the back end, and we’ll pull him towards us and free the front.’

Sarah braced herself, sweating now, conscious of the curly-haired woman beside her who was puce with effort. Her jacket smelt of blood and cigarette smoke. Finally the huge central partition was released. They angled it, removing it carefully from the lorry, carried it down the ramp and stood it against the side.

Jackie wiped her hands on the front of her jeans, apparently heedless of the marks she left there. ‘You all right?’

Sarah nodded. Her own jeans were dark red.

‘Come away,’ the woman said. ‘Nothing you can do now. We’ll go into the office. I’ll put some tea on. You want a cup?’

The thought of hot tea was so tempting that Sarah was rendered briefly speechless. She followed Jackie into the little office and sat where she was told. The grey plastic chair was streaked immediately with the blood from her clothes.

‘Rotten ruddy business,’ Jackie was saying, as she filled the kettle. ‘We only lose a couple a year, but it gets me every time. It’s not Thom’s fault. He’s one of the careful ones.’ She glanced behind her. ‘Sugar? It’s good for shock.’

‘Yes, please.’ She was shaking. She had caught a glimpse of the horse when the partition had gone: he had looked like Boo.

‘I’ll give you two. I’m having two. Bloody horse.’

A large whiteboard hung on one wall with some fourteen horses’ names entered on it. Documentation, Defra guidelines and a list of emergency numbers were pinned beside its. Various hauliers had struck cards to the wall, beside the odd Christmas card and photographs of unnamed horses. Sarah recognised Jackie beside one.

‘Here.’

She accepted the tea, grateful for the warmth of the hot mug in her chilled hands.

‘I’ll wait until they come out before I do theirs. If he’s saved, they’ll be a while yet.’

‘Do you think he’ll live?’

Jackie shook her head. ‘I doubt it. Never seen a horse get itself in such a tangle. He must have bashed his leg hard to buckle the partition like that. And those thoroughbreds have such weedy legs . . .’ She sat down heavily behind the desk, and glanced up at the clock. Then she looked at Sarah, as if seeing her for the first time. ‘You’re late to be riding. Not from round here, are you?’

‘I – I was told to come to you. I need a stable for the night.’

Jackie scrutinised her. ‘You off somewhere?’

Sarah took a sip of her tea. She nodded. If these last months had taught her anything it was to say as little as possible.

‘You look very young.’

Sarah met her eye. ‘Everyone says that.’ She forced a smile.

Jackie opened a big book in front of her. ‘Well, we can certainly do you a stable. Looks like we’ll have one spare, after all. What’s your horse’s name?’

‘Baucher,’ Sarah said.

‘Passport?’

Sarah reached into her rucksack and handed it over. ‘All his vaccinations are up to date,’ she said.

Jackie flicked through it, scribbled a number and handed it back to her. ‘We’re twenty-five a night, hay and food inclusive. Hard food is extra. You tell me what he needs and I’ll sort it out.’

‘Could we stay a couple of days? I need to sort out the next part of my journey.’

Jackie fiddled with her ballpoint pen. ‘Stay as long as you like, sweetheart, long as you’re paying. Just leave me a number where you can be contacted.’

‘Can’t I stay here?’

‘Not unless you fancy a bed of straw.’ Jackie sighed. ‘Aren’t you booked in anywhere?’

‘I thought this place was for people too.’

‘We don’t do humans, sweetheart. It’s not worth the hassle. The drivers tend to sleep in their lorries, and the others stay in one of the B-and-Bs. But I can give you a number if you like. Here.’ She pointed at a list on the wall. ‘The Crown can usually do you at short notice. Forty pound a night with an en-suite. Kath’ll look after you. She’s quiet this time of year. I’ll give her a ring.’

‘Is it far?’

‘About four miles up the road.’

Sarah’s shoulders slumped. She was silent for a few minutes while she forget to get her voice under control. ‘I rode here,’ she said finally, her voice muffled by her collar. ‘I haven’t got any way of getting there.’ She was so tired. She couldn’t go any further. She would beg this woman to let her sleep on the office floor.

A muffled shot rang out.

They looked up. Jackie pulled a packet of cigarettes from a drawer in front of her, removed one with a flick of her wrist and tamped it on the desk. She waited a moment before she spoke again. ‘Did you just say you rode here? From where?’

Sarah’s pulse was still reverberating with that shot. ‘It’s . . . complicated.’

Jackie lit the cigarette, leant back in her seat and took a deep drag. ‘You in trouble?’ Her voice had hardened.

Sarah was familiar with that tone. It was the sound of someone assuming the worst of you. ‘No.’

‘That horse yours?’

‘You saw his passport.’

The woman was staring at her.

‘My name’s on it. Look, he knows me. I’ll make him call to me if it helps. I’ve had him since he was four.’

The vet was emerging from the lorry, his case closed.

‘We’ve got a spare room at the back. Twenty-five quid and I’ll throw in a bit of dinner, seeing as you got stuck in with us. I’ve promised Thom I’ll sort him out tonight so another at the table won’t make much difference. But,’ she leant forwards, ‘I’m keeping you off the books. There’s something not quite right here, I’ll put you up, but I don’t want to get involved.’

They were interrupted as the door opened. The two men walked in, filling the little room. The Irishman shook his head.

‘Ah, shame,’ Jackie muttered. ‘Here, sit down, Thom, I’ll do you a tea. And you, Bob. Sit next to . . .’

‘Sarah,’ she said. She kept her hands around her mug, fearful that if she said or did too much she might lose the chance to stay.

‘Fracture in front and a severed artery. Poor boy had no chance.’ The Irishman’s face was bleached with shock, smears of red on his skin where he must have touched it without realising. ‘Tim never even had time to sign his papers. He’s got a mare foaling. One in, one out, eh?’

‘Ah, sod the tea.’ Jackie slammed the lid down on the kettle. ‘This calls for a drop of the medicinal.’ She reached for the other drawer of her desk and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid. ‘Not you, though, Sarah.’ Her eyes flashed a warning.

She had guessed her age, Sarah thought. She wouldn’t be implicated in more than she had to be.

Sarah kept her head down. ‘I prefer tea,’ she said.

 

 

 

Despite the rain, she was already outside the office, awkward in her smart suit and heels, pacing the pavement with small, impatient steps. As soon as she saw his car, she ran to it, briefcase and handbag thrust under her arm. He felt relieved: there was still some part of Natasha that he understood. He smiled as he leant over to open the passenger door, and she climbed in, disregarding the horns sounding from the traffic behind them. ‘I thought you—’

‘Don’t say anything,’ she interrupted, jaw set, hair slick with rain. ‘And as soon as we’ve found her you and I don’t have to deal with each other again. Okay?’

Mac’s smile died on his lips. He had been about to pull into the stream of traffic, but he paused. ‘Thanks, Mac, for swinging all the way across town to pick me up.’

‘You want me to thank you? Okay. Thanks, Mac. Can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this little outing. Is that better?’ Her face was flushed with anger, dots of colour on her cheeks.

‘You don’t have to come, you know. You made that quite clear.’

‘She’s my responsibility, too. You made
that
quite clear.’

Mac’s patience was already at a low ebb. ‘You know what? This is hard enough as it is without dealing with your crap. If you want to come with me, fine, but if you’re going to be like this, I’ll drop you at the house now. We’ll go in separate cars.’

‘Dealing with my crap? Have you any idea what I’ve had to drop to come and look for her? Or what this has just done to my reputation?’

‘Nice to see you again.’ Natasha jumped as Cowboy John thrust his head through the gap between the front seats. ‘Just thought I’d remind you folks that you have an audience.’ He resumed lighting a cigarette.

She turned to Mac, open-mouthed.

‘He knows about horses,’ he explained, ‘and he’s known Sarah since she was a kid.’

When Natasha said nothing, he added, ‘You going to sort the horse out once we find them, Tash?’

She rummaged in her handbag. ‘So, where is she? Have you heard anything? I’ve got to be back at work as soon as possible.’

‘Yeah,’ Mac muttered, at last swinging the car out into the traffic. ‘Because you’re the only one with a real job, after all.’

‘I’m in the middle of a big case, Mac.’

‘Yeah. You said.’

She swivelled in her seat to face him. ‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning all you’ve done is go on about how difficult this is for you. How this is disrupting your life. How
I
have disrupted your life.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘But it’s accurate. Have you considered the possibility that any of this might be down to you?’

Cowboy John sat back and tilted his hat over his face. ‘Oh, Lordy.’

‘
Me?
’

The traffic was terrible. Mac stuck his right arm out of the window, forcing his way into another, equally sluggish queue. ‘Yes. You,’ he said. Perhaps it was because he felt as if he had been driving in circles all day. Perhaps it was fear of where the girl was. Perhaps it was just the sight of Natasha, prim in her neat suit, forever treating him as the enemy, the guilty party, a convenient whipping boy. ‘You were the one who walked out, Natasha. You were the one who signed up to look after her, then decided it was all too difficult.’ He sensed the outrage in her silence, but he didn’t care. ‘You think you’re the only one who’s been inconvenienced here? I’ve had to cancel jobs, and John here has better things to do.’

He wrenched the wheel and whizzed up the inside lane. The car felt as if it was shrinking around him. ‘Maybe if you’d stuck around, put Sarah before your own hurt pride, we wouldn’t be in this mess.’

‘You’re blaming
me
for this?’

‘I’m just saying you played a part.’

She was shouting at him now: ‘Well, who brought his girlfriend home and paraded her around in front of Sarah in her underwear?’

‘I didn’t parade her around!’

‘She had almost nothing on. And I walk into my house – our house – and there’s this bloody prepubescent glamour model smirking at me in her knickers!’

‘I like the sound of your house,’ said John.

‘You think that was nice for Sarah to see? When we’d been playing happy families around her?’

‘Oh, don’t pretend
that
had anything to do with Sarah going.’

‘Well, it hardly made for a harmonious atmosphere, did it?’

‘I said I was sorry.’ Mac thumped the steering-wheel. ‘I told you it wouldn’t happen again. But, come on, it’s not as if you didn’t have your boyfriend in our house, right? In my bedroom.’