Not Bad for a Bad Lad (5 page)

It took time, just like Mr Alfie had said, for Dombey and me to learn to get along, months of
talking
to him, of grooming him, of exercising him, of just being with him. He never kicked me again, but then I never gave him cause. I never walked behind him again in the stable. I got to know his little ways, and he got to know mine. He grew to be as bold and as bright-eyed as the others, always looking out over the stable door whenever I came into the yard,
waiting
for me.

I made two good friends in that stable yard, two of the best I ever had.

 Dombey and me became like brothers. I was never so happy in all my life than when I was riding Dombey along the beach. Mr Alfie gave me special permission to do that. He told me I should gallop him through the shallows. He needed it, he said. It would be good for him to stretch his legs and build up his strength. Dombey loved every moment of it and so did I. In one way, he was like a little brother to me, because I was looking after him. But then in another way he was my big brother, because he was big. When he pushed me or shoved me or nudged me, it was only gently and only ever in fun, just to let me know from time to time that this little brother was also a big brother too, and I’d better remember it. I
always did.

As for Mr Alfie, well he became the father I never had. And I wasn’t treated any different than the
others
. He was like that with all of us, all the lads who worked in his yard. Just so long as we worked hard, just so long as we did all we could for his ‘gentle
giants
’, then he treated us like we were family, like proper family, and most of us had never had that.

Then one morning when I was mucking out Bella’s stable, Mr Alfie came over to me and said he
wanted a word. He put his arm round my shoulder as we walked away, so I knew something was up, that something was wrong.

“I’ve got a bit of sad news, son, and a bit of glad news as well,” he said.“Sad news first, eh? Best to get it over with quick. Dombey’s been sold, son. They’re coming to take him away in a couple of hours. But the glad news is that if things turn out as I think they will, then he’ll have a good home for life and a job for life – I’d say just about the best job and the best home a horse could have. And that’ll be down to you, son. You’ve made him a happy horse. The rest was inside him already, all his strength, all his kindness, in his blood you might say. But you made him happy, so he behaves himself now, and where he’s going that’ll be very important.”

“Where is he going?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you that, son, not yet,” Mr Alfie said. “It’s all very hush-hush for the moment. They’ve been to see him and they think he’s just right, just the horse they’re looking for. They’re taking him on trial for six months, but if he’s the horse I think he is and he behaves himself, then they’ll keep him. That’s all I can tell you at the moment. Don’t you go worrying yourself about Dombey, son. There won’t be a horse in the land better looked after and that’s a promise.”

I don’t mind telling you that once Mr Alfie had gone I went into Dombey’s stable, sat down in the straw and sobbed my heart out. Dombey came over to me and nuzzled at my neck to try to cheer me up. Everyone in the yard, all the other lads, knew how I felt about Dombey. They’d ribbed me about him often enough, how we spent so much time together that the two of us were practically married. But they weren’t teasing me any more now. They all had their favourites and they knew well enough how bad I must be feeling.

Later that morning in the stable, I gave Dombey one last hug and told him he was going somewhere where he would be happy, but that he was on trial, so he’d got to behave himself. Mr Alfie let me lead him up into the lorry, where I said my last goodbyes. As they drove him out of the yard we heard him give the tailboard of the lorry a thumping great kick. We all of us laughed at that, which was just as well, because I’d have cried again otherwise.

“You will let me know how he gets on, won’t you?” I asked Mr Alfie as I left the stable that
afternoon
.

“Of course I will, son,” he said.

But he never did, because when I got to the yard the next day, they told me that Mr Alfie was off sick and he wouldn’t be back for a while. I never got to see him again. A few days later I had a nice surprise. Mr Roley called me in. They’d decided to let me out early, three months early, for good behaviour. Of course I was pleased as punch about that, over the moon, but I never got to say goodbye to Mr Alfie.

Something very strange happens, I discovered, when you come out after you’ve been locked up. Everyone looks at you, in the street, on the buses, in the shops, as if they know where you’ve been. But do you know what’s worse still? You don’t feel like you belong anywhere. You feel like a stray dog. They gave me a room in a hostel – poky little place, more like a kennel it was. I didn’t know where to go, nor what to do with myself. I couldn’t go home, because they didn’t want to see me any more – I can’t blame them, not really.

For a couple of months I just wandered the streets getting to know all the other stray people – and there’s lots of them out there, believe you me – who were doing much the same thing as me, wandering the streets and wishing the days away. Some of them had been on the streets for years. I didn’t want to end up like them, but I knew that’s the way I was heading and I didn’t think there was much I could do about it.

Then one warm summer evening, I decided it might be an idea to go into the park and find myself a nice park bench where I could spend the night. I was fed up with the four walls of my stuffy little room at
the hostel. I lay there that night looking up at the stars and I remember thinking about Mr Alfie, and hoping he was better, and about Dombey, wondering where he’d gone, whether he was behaving himself and who was looking after him now.

And I was wondering too where Miss West was these days, and whether I’d ever see anything of any of them ever again. I went to sleep. The first thing I heard when I woke up was the sound of trotting horses, lots of snorting and snuffling, and jingling harnesses, and a whinny or two as well. I sat up. I thought I must still be dreaming. But I wasn’t.