Samphire Song (10 page)

‘That’s what he thinks of our makeover,’ says Rachel, smiling. Samphire looks at us with wide eyes full of mischief. ‘Maybe it’s time to have a hot chocolate and a bite to eat before we regroup?’ she suggests.

‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘Breakfast! Great idea.’

It’s a tradition at the stables that Sue cooks a fry-up for the workers on Sunday mornings. I’ve mucked out four horses since arriving at eight o’clock, and hosed down the yard. I’ve also managed to give Rambo an
extra special groom. I can see him tossing his mane in his stable, proud of his makeover! It’s ten thirty now and my stomach is aching with hunger – maybe that’s why I was all fingers and thumbs with the plaiting. I’ve already learned one important lesson, though. Samphire does not like his tail being brushed or pulled about. As we close the stable door after us, he seems to be muttering under his breath.

‘I heard that,’ I tell him. He turns and stretches his graceful head, nuzzling my outstretched hand. His tongue rasps over my palm, leaving a trail of slimy saliva. It’s either his idea of a kiss or an attempt to locate some pony nuts. ‘Thanks, Sam. I’m coming back, so don’t think you’re off the hook.’

Rachel and I wolf down the fried egg, bacon and sausage sandwich, which Sue hands us on paper plates as we enter the tiny kitchen at the back of the office. We’re the last to join the breakfast gang. Grace, Ellie and Ashleigh, who are taking their GCSEs next summer, are perching on the office desk, their hands
cupped round steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

There’s a welcoming fug of steam and heat in the small space. Only a short time ago, I would have taken my food and gone somewhere else to eat, not wanting to feel the odd one out among the ‘cool’ crew. Thanks to Rachel, I’m feeling more a part of things here. Having Samphire has given me a new status too. I’m an owner now, not just a volunteer, and I work to pay as much of his livery as I can.

I’m licking the tomato ketchup off my fingers and my eyes are focused on the notice board, which has several pieces of paper pinned on it. Some relate to feeds for the horses, with special asterisks for those on medication. There are lists of rides booked for today and the coming week and a thick health and safety document hanging on a string from a drawing pin, which we’re supposed to learn by heart. At the bottom, in the right-hand corner, there’s a flyer about the Oakhurst cross-country race in the new year.

‘Why don’t you go for it?’ asks Rachel, observing
my gaze. ‘Take Samphire through his paces.’

‘Do you think we’re ready?’ I ask, anxiety mixed with sudden excitement.

‘It’s a few weeks away. I can help you prepare,’ replies Rachel, eyebrows raised, willing me to agree.

‘Wow,’ I say quietly, considering the enormity of the challenge of taking Sam over a two-mile course with more than twenty testing jumps.

‘Say yes,’ encourages Grace. ‘He’ll get a rosette just for looking beautiful.’

‘OK,’ I hear myself whispering. ‘As long as he doesn’t have to have a plait!’

I’m riding my bike as if propelled by rocket fuel, pedalling along the lane that leads to my house. Water droplets from the recent shower splash on my head and neck from the overhanging branches. My tyres swish through the sheet of liquid, splattering mud on to my boots and jodhpurs.

The afternoon air tastes damp. My nose breathes
in the musty fungal fragrance of mulched leaves and earth, decaying bark and the black water of the still stream by the verge, which is steaming gently like a potion in a cauldron.

Winter sun is poking at the soil with its long, straight fingers, making the stagnant ground stir with new energy. I think Samphire has done the same for me. I’m riding up our path now, desperate to tell Mum and Ed about the race. I lean my bike against the garage and run in big bounds to the back door. I kick off my dirty boots on the mat and pull down the handle at the same time, eager to get into the kitchen. There’s no sign of life, or the tea and cake that are usually on the table at this time.

‘MUM! TEDDY!’ I yell as I run through the Aga-warmed room to the hallway.

I jump as I crash into Mum, with her finger to her lips. She’s on the phone. Her face looks drawn and tired. Ed is sitting on the stairs, holding his favourite teddy. He’s a strange grey colour. His lips
are translucent and the rims round his eyes are purple. His breathing is wheezy and his shoulders are hunched forwards, making him look very small.

‘Thank you. Yes. We’ll come straight away,’ says Mum, into the receiver, before pressing the ‘end call’ button and replacing the phone on its cradle.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask, breathless from adrenaline and sudden fear.

‘Ed’s got to go to hospital, Jodie,’ explains Mum, quietly.

‘Thing is,’ says Ed. ‘There’s blood in my wee.’

Chapter Nineteen

‘Did you bring your magic wand, Stick?’ asks Ed, quietly. He is lying in a bed in the medical assessment unit of the hospital, with tubes coming out of his arm and his chest. The machine that is pumping fluid and painkillers from a suspended clear sac into his body bleeps every so often. His blood samples, taken when we arrived, are being analysed. Mum is with the doctor.

‘You won’t need a wand, Teddy,’ I tell him, squeezing his small hand a bit too hard. ‘I’m going to get Doctor Who to take you home in the TARDIS.’

‘That would be cool.’ He grins. ‘Maybe he could take me to the future where no one gets kidney disease.’ Ed isn’t quite meeting my eyes. I notice that his face is puffier than when we arrived two hours ago. It also has a yellowish tinge, matching the flowery curtains that
are pulled around his bed, giving us some privacy in the busy ward.

‘These are a bit like those tablecloths Dad used to make us tents in the garden. Do you remember?’ I ask him, nodding to the screens of fabric dotted with daisies and bees.

‘A.C. was so mad that we were using them as walls for our fort,’ Ed responds. A.C. is our abbreviation for Auntie Connie. ‘Madeiran lace,
hand-made
,’ he says, imitating her earnest and put-out tone.

Mum says that her older sister’s heart is always in the right place, but her affections lean more towards creatures in distress than young children.

‘So, Edward,’ continues my brother, still mimicking A.C. ‘Just think to yourself, “Bother! Life has dealt me a bad hand, but I’m going to say fiddle de dee and make the best of it.”’ He pulls one of her serious faces, eyes wide and nostrils slightly flared, like a sheep. We’re both giggling. Ed’s a bit breathless. I pass him a glass of water from his bedside table.

‘You’re going to be all right, Teddy,’ I reassure him. ‘Maybe you just need some more blood. You did a lot of running around with the plane yesterday.’

‘Can I see the pics again?’ asks Ed. The camera is still in my pocket. I always carry it about in case I want to take a photo of Samphire, which I do, pretty much every day. I click it into life and scroll back through the shots of Sam rolling on his back in the frost this morning, trying hard to get the padded winter coat off. Ed sighs and tuts.

‘Hang on,’ I tell him. ‘There, found it.’ I pass the camera to him so that he can see himself holding his prized Spitfire with Mum. I lean forwards and help him zoom in so that he can look at their big smiles.

‘Quite good looking,’ he comments, nodding.

‘Big-head!’ I tease.

‘The plane, Whinny, dur,’ he replies, with a pained expression. His gaze focuses on the frames as he clicks between them. For a moment, he seems lost and sad.

‘We’ll take it flying again really soon,’ I say. Ed just shrugs.

Mum appears through the curtains. She sits carefully on the edge of the bed and takes a little breath before speaking.

‘OK. Well, they think we’re going to need to go to London for more tests. You’re not showing up for infection, but the doctors here have been speaking to the specialist kidney team and they want to take an organ tissue sample to see what’s going on. They’re making arrangements to transfer us in an ambulance.’ Mum touches Ed’s arm lightly and gives him a big smile. ‘They are the top team in the country. We’ll be in good hands.’

Ed gives her a single nod to let her know he’s taken in the information.

We all sit in silence for a moment. Then Mum looks at me. ‘Jodie, I’m going to ask Auntie Connie to come and take care of you, just while Ed has his tests and until we know what’s happening.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ I announce, shocked that she could think otherwise.

‘The ambulance can only take one other passenger,’ explains Mum gently. ‘And there will be a lot of waiting around up there. Samphire needs you here. I’ll tell you everything that’s happening. I think we’ll be back before you know it.’

‘Can I stay with Rachel?’ I spurt out. My brain is in panic mode. I can’t bear to think of being separated from Mum and Ed. The idea of A.C. flying down in a flap from Scotland and ‘taking care’ of me fills me with complete dread.

Mum considers this. ‘I could ask Rachel’s mum if you like,’ she says. ‘Hopefully, it will only be for a couple of days.’

I give Mum Rachel’s number. She takes her mobile off to the nearest corridor away from the ward where phone calls are allowed.

‘You get to miss school,’ I say to my brother, making out I’m jealous.

‘The Evil Ice-Woman will track me down,’ Ed replies.

‘We won’t tell her,’ I promise.

There’s a tear sliding slowly down Ed’s right cheek. ‘Something in my eye, Stick. Got a tissue?’

I feel in my pocket and find a crumpled, used one, which smells of horse. I tear off a corner and pass it to Ed, who stares at it, perplexed.

‘What am I supposed to do with that? Take a shrinking potion and blow my nose?’ Ed tuts again before lifting the bed sheet towards his face and rubbing hard, removing all traces of blubbering. ‘Probably just an eyelash,’ he says, not meeting my gaze.

Chapter Twenty

Everything is dark. I’m surrounded by flickering, warm hair. My head is buried deep into a grey horse-flank. My eyes are closed. Samphire is standing very still, staring at the full moon. From far away, he must look like a ghost-horse in the mist, rising from the frost-rigid field. His left rear fetlock is tilted, the tip of his shoe resting on the ground. We breathe in unison. I imagine seeing the world through his eyes. I want to think of nothing but food for my belly, a warm shelter, an open trail to explore and the freedom of the winds.

There would be no images of blood and tubes and machines. No charts and pills and fluids. No acrid smell of bodily functions, anti-bacterial soap and cleaning agents. No doctors in huddles, comparing notes.

Mum called and said the London hospital is very
modern with bright paintings on the walls and a brilliant play area with computers. Ed is in a small ward of eight kids. She can sleep next to him on a special pullout bed. They’ve had some tea and everyone is really friendly.

‘When will you be home?’ I asked, at least four times.

‘We’ll see the medical team in the morning. I’ll know a bit more then,’ she replied. ‘Jode, I need you to email my feature to Rupert at the magazine, can you do that? He’s getting one of the editors to finish it off.’

‘Yup,’ I reply. ‘I’ll ask Rachel’s mum if we can stop off at home. I’m sure she won’t mind.’

‘Thanks. You’re brilliant. I’m sending a hug. Here it comes . . .’

My phone is buzzing. There’s a text:
Stick, am so glad u r not on the pullout bed. Cld not stand the snoring. Top hosptl. There r planes on my duvet + a jet mobile. Howd they know??? Played snap 4 money wiv drs. I won £2. I have to wee in cardboard thingie. Theres a kid here clld Ravi. He got 1 eye. Hope u r OK. bfn :) xxx

Ed never sends kisses. He must be really scared.
My chest tightens at this thought and a lump forms in my throat. Before I know it, my nose is streaming. I reach for a tissue and find the crumpled bit from earlier. Just seeing it makes me want to cry, but no sound comes. Samphire turns his head and looks at me with unblinking eyes. Then he nuzzles my hand, my neck, my cheek. He’s trying to comfort me. His whiskers are quite spiky and tickle my face. I’m smiling now, although my ribs are hurting with sadness. I lean against Sam and let my cold fingers text a reply:
Sleepg w S in stable. Don’t tell Mum. Kidding! Going home w R soon. Will b strange. Hurry up + get better lol xxx
ps when u were little u weed in bin so cardboard thingie no prob!