Free Racing Manhattan by Terence Blacker Page A

‘Oh yes, there’s you, girly. Muck out Liam’s and Amit’s horses, will you? They’re going racing today.’
    â€˜Excuse me, Angus,’ I call after him.
    He turns. ‘Aye?’
    â€˜I thought I was riding out today.’
    He walks slowly back to me. ‘Third lot. But your friend Mrs Wilkinson won’t be around to look after you. They’ll be off racing by late morning.’
    â€˜Great. Who am I riding?’
    An odd little smile appears on his face. ‘Oh, maybe you can ride Nelly. Let Pete tack her up for you.’
    â€˜Manhattan?’
    â€˜Nelly to her friends. If she had any.’
    â€˜Thanks, Angus.’
    â€˜You’re welcome.’ He reaches for one of the whips which are hanging on a hook beside the saddles. ‘You’ll need this.’
    I’m confused. I have been told by Deej that only lads who are experienced enough to ride work on a horse on the gallops are allowed to carry a whip.
    â€˜Special rule,’ Angus explains. ‘You won’t be carrying a whip normally. But you’ll need it on the mare.’
    There is an odd atmosphere at the yard later that morning. The Wilkinsons have left for the races after first lot. There is more noise and laughter in the yard than usual.
    Another odd thing. I am no longer invisible.
    â€˜What’s going on?’ I ask Deej after he returns from second lot. ‘Why are people smiling at me?’
    â€˜Just do your best on the mare,’ he says.
    â€˜I heard that new lads get a test.’
    Deej gives me an odd look. I sense he would like to tell me more but hasn’t quite got the nerve.
    â€˜We all need a laugh now and then,’ he says. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
    At 10.45, I put on my crash-hat and, feeling a bit self-conscious, I make my way to Manhattan’s box, the whip in my hand.
    To my surprise, Pete has her saddled and bridled already. She seems calmer than when I last saw her. In fact, she is more than calm – she looks half asleep.
    â€˜What’s she like as a ride?’ I ask Pete as I look over the stable door.
    He tightens the girth. ‘That’s for you to find out, isn’t it?’
    I walk into the stable. For the first time, I see how big she is. She must be over seventeen hands.
    When Pete gives me a leg-up, it is as if he is lifting me through the roof. I land in the saddle, heavily. To my surprise, Manhattan shows no reaction.
    Pete leads me slowly out of the stable. The mare puts one foot in front of the other as if every step is an effort for her. Looking down, I feel small and slightly ridiculous. Several of the lads are standing around the back yard, as if waiting for this moment.
    â€˜Off you go then,’ says Pete, taking his hand off the reins.
    I give Manhattan a kick. She plants her feet firmly on the ground. Her ears twitch backwards.
    Come on, girl. Let’s go.
    There are jeers around the yard.
    â€˜What’s up, Barton?’ Pete calls out. ‘Got a problem? We heard you could ride.’
    â€˜Give her one, girl,’ somebody shouts. ‘Bloomin’ freak, Nelly. She’s trying it on.’
    I see Laura crossing the yard, carrying a saddle propped against her hip. She stares ahead of her as if nothing is happening. I slap Manhattan gently on the shoulder with the whip. Now her ears are flat back against her head.
    We’re not freaks, are we, girl?
    The words come from somewhere deep within me. I know how Manhattan is feeling, surrounded by laughing, scornful humans.
    I take my feet out of the stirrups, slide the long way down to the ground. I put down the whip beside the stable door and lead her towards the covered ride.
    When we enter, the six other horses going out on third lot are walking around the outside. Bucknall is standing where Mr Wilkinson normally stands. I lead Manhattan towards him.
    â€˜Having problems already, Jasmine?’ he says, a little smile on his face.
    I