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I fought the lump in my throat, blinked away the tears that threatened. Like I hadn’t cried enough already.
A night in my own bed sucked bad. I’d never realised it was lumpy on one side. Lumpy and a little too soft. Cold, too. It was cold in bed without Carl and Rick.
Everything was cold without Carl and Rick.
Losing the dream of Jack’s yard was shitty enough, and I’d cried, a lot. But Carl’s big revelationhad hit like a car wreck, a big-arsed truck ploughing into my small town dreams. A big splodge ofwhat the fuckon my cute little life plan.
What life plan?
Plan A — rent Jack’s yard, Katiefy it and make itpretty and smart, fill it with happy kidswanting riding lessons. Smile and congratulate myself on completing life plan at age twenty-two.
Plan B —
There was no plan B. There had never been a plan B.
Samson slowed on the brow of the hill, stretched out his neck and snorted. I gave him a pat, ruffled his mane, and he slowed further, his hooves clop-clopping as he dropped to a walk. I leaned back in the saddle, listening to the songbirds. I really fucking loved it here. I could stay here forever, Samson and me.
My phone bleeped and I dug it out of my pocket. My heart did a little stutter at the prospect it was one of the boys, but it wasn’t. It was Mum.
I’m sorry about the yard, Katie, but maybe it’s for the best. You’ve got a real shot at making something of yourself at your dad’s, an actual career, Katie. It’s not so bad, sweetheart. Really it’s not. x
Her words were nothing new, I’d heard them last night already as I’d cried until I was a sniffly mess.
It really was so bad.
I shoved the phone away.
She just didn’t get it. Couldn’t possibly get it.
I turned Samson off the main track and headed deeper into the woods, where the undergrowth was wilder and the trees were thicker. We explored those hidden areas of the woods we’d conquered like explorers back when he was fresh and green, and it was all so exciting. I felt it all over again. I loved it all over again.
It’s amazing how that happens, how something feels so much sweeter when it’s hurtling towards the end of its time. Bittersweet.
Were Carl and Rick like that? Is that why life around them felt so powerful? So all-consuming?
Did I love Carl and Rick so much because it was supposed to be temporary? Nothing but a six-month foray into a life between two men?
“What are we going to do, boy?” I said, and Samson’s ears flicked in my direction. “Just what the hell are we going to do?”
Eat a big bit of hedge was his answer.
That would have to do for now.
We trekked for hours, reliving our early days, following every path and every turn, cantering along every straight. We waved to the cyclists we’d come to know so well, listened to the same old dogs barking as their owners called their names.
I soaked it all in, as though this one ride could sustain me for all time, its memory enough to stave off the pain of losing this place I’d come to know so well, love so much.
Acceptance. Maybe this was the beginning of acceptance of a cruel sleight of fate. Pipped to the post by a bank who couldn’t wait just a few cruddy months longer. Assholes.
Samson was loose-limbed and happy as we headed back onto the yard, but me not so much. A few months from now and this would really be over. New people here, people with their own dreams for the place, probably so different to mine. I felt defeated as we walked past the farmhouse, defeated as I stared at Jack’s empty parking space, already a morbid omen of what was to come.
The lump in my throat was back, eyes hot and a little itchy, stomach twisting and empty.
Until there was Rick.
His car was by my trailer, silver and shiny against the dull metal shell of the barn. I squeezed Samson on, headed over to it, but Rick wasn’t inside.
My heart was thumping at the thought of him, the unmistakeable fizz of excitement overriding my misery. But I was nervous, too. Really nervous.
