‘I think she’s gone. Is she gone?’

I can’t see you. I can’t see.

You’re not sick at all, you’re a fucking chancer, you really are, it’s all those colourful mad vitamins your mother’s giving you, and that fish oil, eat the fucken fish and don’t mind taking it in a tablet, what sort of shite is that, don’t be such a cunt, there’s too much work for doing and you acting like a cunt, your brothers are out there already, hands frozen off them, and they don’t have this sucky moody face on them, what in the honour of Christ is wrong with you? Animals don’t feed themselves, you know?

My mother intervenes, whispers something.

OK, OK, well, drink up a bit of tea and put on a coat and come out, I’ve a horse for you to ride.

He whispers something back at my mother, he’s angry now and she has her head hung low. She has lovely hands and she smiles at me with her thin lips. I think she mouths that she loves me, or maybe she’s saying to unload the washing and hang it out.

And maybe two, but we’ll have to saddle up the young Cloverfield colt and see if he takes to you, and sure then we can have another mug of tea. Your mother will ready us something. And maybe you’ll lie across the new yearling then? Lovely crossbreed, jays, he’s a lovely keen little motor on him.

I can’t see.

I leaned my body halfway across the neck of the young yearling, my pelvis on his withers, to eventually prepare his back for weight; he began to dance and push himself forward on his two outstretched front legs, eventually arching downwards and lifting his back up fast like a cat, he bounded forward and hurled me off, blowing out hard, terrified, as he propelled me into the sky. I fell down on the flat of my back, after coming down on his neck first, breaking my fall, the mane hot, blood spurted from my nose. Something prodded through my T-shirt. The horse escaped over the high wall, in desperation, and flipped over it, just toppled, head first, injuring himself. He cut his hock and a big knee came up, soon a second big knee. They never go down, two big knees. Unsellable. Ruined. Father caught me by the hair at the nape of my neck, to show me what I had done, how I am ruining him, Father. I will be the ultimate ruination of him, and I cried out, sorry, and shook, tried to tell him to leave me alone. He lifted my head from the hair at the nape of my neck, twisting it around his fist, and banged my head forwards off a rusty barrel, over and over. The clangs seemed to come from the next field over, like a church bell in an Italian city. And lifted and banged it again, spraying blood, until my head whooshed and I didn’t feel any pain at all. I see his teeth and shaking lips, quivering, the sun was going down behind his shoulder. Red. Red sky at night. Delight. The colt blew over the wall at me, apologetic, his big wide brown eyes, head down. He had given in and I could mount him. But I passed out. The wet sand heated up all around me and was warm. I was so grateful for passing out.