Colin Barrett - Young Skins - Stories

Margaret Dory regarded Arm. She had a narrow, taut face and pale blue eyes that made no bones about boring right through him.

‘Douglas. Urs and Jack aren’t here. No, I’m fine,’ she said.

‘Where they gone?’

‘Over to the town farm.’

‘Guess I’ll drop down so. You think that’d be alright?’

Margaret considered Arm’s question. He could see she was thrown by his requesting permission.

‘Well, Douglas, well I’m sure it’d be okay.’

Arm pulled his hand from the weighted pocket and offered a brisk polite wave. Margaret Dory looked at Arm like he wasn’t there.

The cottage was abandoned. The noise of the radio drifted from inside, and the browned flower-husks on the sill shivered dryly in the breeze. Fresh deposits of shit stubbled the trampled track to the main field. Ursula and Jack were by the gate, their backs to Arm. Jack was in his Spider-Man jacket, standing on the bottom rung of the three-beam fence and baying elatedly as the horse and rider completed a stately lap of the field. Arm came up quietly behind him and grabbed at his shoulders, but Jack didn’t so much as flinch. It was as if he was expecting Arm’s touch at exactly that moment, and perhaps he was. The kid was a mystery from every angle of approach.

Arm chucked him on the cheek, very lightly, attempted the same on Ursula. She slapped at his hand and scowled.

‘No offense meant,’ he said.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

‘Your mam told me where you were.’

The rider and her horse were coming over. The rider stepped down from the saddle and approached the fence.

‘Hiiiiii Jack,’ she said, and turned to Arm, ‘the boxer.’

‘How do.’

‘Hi,’ she said to Ursula. ‘You’re Jack’s mom?’

‘Yes,’ Ursula said.

‘Rebecca. I’m the horse lady.’

‘And you’ve met Douglas here?’

‘Douglas? Yeah, he’s been here before. He’s been around.’

Ursula looked at Arm.

‘I’m taking an interest,’ he said.

Jack was reaching towards the horse, outstretched fingers writhing in acquisitive agony, as if the animal was a toy he could pick up. The horse turned to the open field. It twitched an ear and considered the middle distance; clouds in boil about the peak of Nephin. The uncles’ farm was situated in a cloistered ruck of lowland not far from the foot of the mountain, and when he squinched his eyes Arm was convinced he could make out the buildings from here.

‘You want a go, Douglas?’ Rebecca asked.

‘Ah, I’m alright.’

‘Go on,’ Ursula said.

Arm looked from woman to woman, their faces identically resolute, deadpan. Just like that, they had allied against him.

‘Looks like my mind is made up for me,’ he muttered and got up over the gate.

Rebecca laughed and tugged the rein, bringing the horse around.

‘Okay, now, get on up on the side here. . One foot in then throw yourself over. Don’t be afraid to take hold of the mane.’

‘She won’t mind?’ Arm asked.

‘You can tug the shit out of it, it’s fine,’ Rebecca said. She had a calming hand on the horse’s long jaw as Arm futzed to get on.

He toed his left foot into the stirrup on his side and stepped down until the strap went taut. He clutched a hank of horse hair and drew himself up towards the saddle, paddling air with his right leg until he’d groped it down the far side of the horse’s flank. Then Arm was solidly astraddle, and gripping the pommel he pushed himself upright in the hard leather of the seat. In the transition from ground to back the horse seemed to have grown to twice its original size.

‘Alright. I’m going to take you round, at walking pace first,’ Rebecca said. ‘I’ll guide her with the reins, you just hold steady and relax. And don’t fall off.’

‘Look, look at your daft daddy,’ Arm heard Ursula say.

Jack had his teeth sunk in the wooden fence. His eyes flicked dispassionately across the half-horse-half-daddy creature steadying itself in front of him.

Rebecca led Arm and the horse into the patchy turf of the open field. Arm was sent rocking, side to side, on the barrel of knit muscle beneath him. Then the horse began to move faster.

‘Okay we’re speeding up a bit now!’ Rebecca shouted.

Arm watched her bouncing head of curls, saw the crooked white line bisecting her crown where the part in her hair naturally opened. Then the rein was not in her hand anymore. The horse’s shoulder shot passed her. Its stride opened out. Arm bounced and bounced, skewing from side to side in the saddle. He tried to get his head up. Rebecca was gone, somewhere behind him. The reins were a loop of flimsy leather flickering along the side of the horse’s straining head. Nephin Mountain hiccupped violently up and down in the air in front of him.

Arm pressed his face into the long swinging neck. He could smell the velvet mustiness of the creature’s hide, the sweetness of the pulverised grass and black earth as it cut up under the thrumming hooves. ‘Stop,’ Arm was moaning, ‘stop, stop, stop.’

He thought of Fannigan, pale as any apparition, a body riding the current to sea.

They were heading towards the fence on the far side, and it was only at the last moment that the horse banked and swung around in an arc, shooting back the way it had come. Rebecca was standing in the middle of the field, arms up and out, furiously flagging them down. The horse beelined for her and decelerated to a choppy trot.

Rebecca snatched the dangling reins and pulled the horse’s head down. This had an effect as instantaneous as putting a car into neutral. Now the animal ambled at a desultory clip, and after the burst of speed it felt to Arm as if he were floating. He was loose-boned, adrenalised and softly tittering at a high, wretched pitch that sounded like it was coming from somewhere else. The bolt into the wind had driven tears from his eyes.

‘What was that move? You shot off there like the Lone Ranger!’ Ursula exclaimed, her hand on the back of Jack’s neck. He still had his jaws locked into the fence.

‘Fuck, sorry man,’ Rebecca said. ‘She just spooked.’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ Arm exclaimed, to both women.

‘You didn’t mean to,’ Rebecca corrected him, ‘I shouldn’t have had you up there. Normally it’s only me or the kids on her. You smell and weigh like a different species. Sorry, Douglas. Get on down.’

‘It’s alright,’ Arm said, ‘I’m fine.’

And dignified as he could, he poured the shook jelly of himself off the beast.

‘You could’ve broken your neck,’ Ursula mused brightly.

Arm winced at her, then rested his elbows on the fence and tipped his forehead onto his crossed wrists. In the little hollow comprised of his arms and head and chest he listened for his racing heart to come back down to an even keel. Arm knew if he raised either hand out flat in the air it would be shaking. A tear loosed itself from a lash and hit his cheek, running down his skin in a hot stripe.

Rebecca was somewhere behind him, near. Arm could feel her looking at him.

‘You ever get knocked out in the ring?’ she said, as if she was following exactly his thoughts and wanted to change tack.

Arm shook his head where it lay.

‘I didn’t think so,’ she said.

‘Lots of hits,’ Arm said, swabbing his eyes. ‘But I was never truly put out.’

‘I’ll get him home, if you want,’ Arm said to Ursula. ‘I’ll take him up to Supermacs for a Coke and burger first.’

‘Shouldn’t be encouraging him to eat that shite,’ Ursula said.

‘Well. He’s a little boy. They like rubbish.’

Rebecca was patting the horse’s grey face. ‘I got to get this brat fed and watered,’ she announced. ‘We have a convoy coming in from the retirement home just after lunch.’