“I don’t know what to do, Sal. I’m at my wit’s end.”
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I was sitting in the pub with my best mate, having a quick drink after work and pouring out my troubles. “Since Steve lost his job,” I continued, “all he does is stare at the TV. He hardly says a word, like all the life has been sucked out of him.”
“Surely it can’t be that bad?”
“It is. We never talk. We argue a lot. We always used to be able to discuss things together, but this past six months....”
“What about seeing someone, like marriage guidance?” suggested Sal.
I shook my head. “Steve won’t see anyone. I’ve tried, believe me, but, I feel like a stranger, walking on eggshells.”
“It must be awful,” said Sal sympathetically.
“It’s hard enough paying the mortgage and the bills on one salary. Still, at least I’ve got a job.”
“Maybe that’s part of the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you’re paying for everything, Steve probably feels useless. I bet he feels bad about not being able to look after you like he used to.”
“You could be right. But what can I do to help him?”
“Try to be supportive, I suppose. Show him you understand how he feels.”
“I thought that’s what I’d been doing all these months.” I felt fed up. “Fancy another drink?”
“I’m not sure. It’s getting late.” Sal glanced at her watch. “Damn, it’s ten already. We’ve missed the bus. We’ll have to wait for the last one, now.”
I shook my head. “That won’t be for an hour. I told Steve I’d be home by half past. I’ll walk. It’s not far.”
“You really shouldn’t, not alone,” said Sal disapprovingly.
“Don’t be such an old woman,” I retorted, “I’ll be fine.”
But after ten minutes of walking along dark, dimly lit roads I had second thoughts. Steve and I lived on the outskirts of town, in a little terrace we’d bought three years ago. It had been in a mess, but Steve had done wonders, renovating it. That was before he was made redundant. We used to go for walks in the park nearby but now all the free space had either been built on or was waiting to be built on. Passing by a field that would soon become a building site, I became aware of shuffling sounds. Was someone following me? I froze, wishing fervently that I’d listened to Sal. Steeling myself, I turned.
My heart stopped thumping when I realised I was not being pursued by an axe-wielding maniac. Instead, I laughed, relieved, to see the outline of a horse in the field, rubbing itself against the fence. Then I stopped smiling. Even through the thin slivers of moonlight I saw that he was too thin, ribs poking through. As I stared, horrified, the first flakes of snow started to fall.
When I got home, Steve was slumped in front of the TV, snoring softly. I brushed my lips against his forehead and tucked a blanket around him. His eyelids flickered but he said nothing and I went quietly upstairs and slipped into the cold, empty bed.
To save money, I walked to work the next morning and going past the field, I saw the horse was still there, huddled under a bare tree, his back to the wind. The ground was frosty and hard, and any grass that might have survived was covered in a fine layer of snow. The poor creature stared blankly into the distance, his eyes dull. Feeling helpless I walked away.
“We should do something, Sal,” I insisted, as we took our tea break in the works canteen.
“Like what?”
“Rescue him, of course.”
“But he must belong to someone.”
“Then whoever owns him should be shot. He’s starving.”
“Don’t get involved, Kylie,” warned Sal. “You’ve got enough problems to deal with.”
But the poor neglected horse occupied my thoughts all day. Later that night, I tried to talk to Steve. I began hesitantly. “There’s a horse that’s been abandoned.”
There was no reaction. I tried again. “This horse, Steve, I don’t think he’ll last the month.”
Still nothing.
“That horse will die if he’s left much longer.” My voice was rising, agitated.
“Well, you’d better ring the RSPCA then,” snapped Steve. “Leave it to the authorities. That’s what they’re paid to do. That’s their job. Unlike me, they have a job to do. It’s not our problem. Don’t we have enough to worry about?”
He stared at me angrily, his eyes hard and resentful.
“I’ve already called them. They’ve been phoning round, trying to find a temporary home for him but all their centres are bulging at the seams with stray animals of all descriptions. It’s always worse after Christmas. Maybe we could take him in.”
“For god’s sake, Kylie! Where would we keep a horse? Where would we get the money to feed it?”
“It would only be for a little while. Just until -”
“Forget it,” he repeated, looking away. “You’re being ridiculous.”
Ridiculous or not, early the next morning I returned to the field. I was determined to save the horse, whatever he said. I’d never defied Steve on anything big before and I felt nervous inside but this was too important to leave things as they were. And I was tired of feeling helpless.
By now it was snowing heavily. The horse was not in his usual place under the tree and for a moment I felt relieved, thinking his owner had come for him at last. Then I spotted him lying in the ditch, his neck outstretched, clearly very ill. Feeling sick myself, I knelt down beside him and laid a hand on his cold neck. He was still breathing but I could see in his eyes that he’d given in. “You mustn’t give up,” I told him again, the wind stinging my face. “You have to fight.”
Finally, after lots of encouragement, the horse began to move and with a huge effort he scrambled to his feet.
As soon as Steve heard hoof beats in the back yard he rushed outside, his face screwed up in anger. But I was ready for the explosion and I no longer cared.
“You stupid cow,” he began. Then he saw the state the horse was in and his expression changed.
“I’ll get some blankets,” he said calmly. “You’d better call a vet.”
I think we were both convinced the horse would die, despite everything we did. We followed the vet’s instructions and took turns to keep watch. Steve did a wonderful job on the garden shed, converting it into a temporary stable. Actually, he hardly left the horse’s side.
“We can’t keep him, you know,” Steve told me.
“I know. I found a rescue centre that can take him at the end of the month.”
We were in the shed-stable with our invalid horse, who Steve had named Arnie. I was refilling the hay net while Steve shook out some fresh straw. The horse had made great progress over the past three weeks. He was a real fighter, the vet said.
Gently stroking Arnie’s ears, Steve said, “He’s a nice horse. I’ve quite enjoyed these past few weeks, looking after him together.”
“Yes. Me too.”
“You didn’t give up on him, did you? Or us.” Before I could answer he continued, “I might go down to the Job Centre again tomorrow. Probably a waste of time, of course. But I’ll give it a go.”
“Something will turn up, love, I just know it,” I told him proudly. “It’s just a matter of time.” I squeezed his hand and he leaned over and kissed me.
When he was satisfied that the straw was deep enough he said, “Shall I make us a cup of tea, then?”
Author bio
A horse lover since a child, author Jane Ayres is donating all royalties from her popular Matty Horse and Pony Adventures to Redwings Horse Sanctuary, who provide safe and secure homes for over 1200 horses, ponies, donkeys and mules.