Kitty

Chapter 1Moving Home

1

1974

‘Kitty,’ her mother called from the stable yard, ‘come back here right now! You are not to go near that pony again today. I’ve told you twice!’

‘But why can’t I go with you and the boys?’ Kitty stomped her little riding boot on the cobbles and stuck out her bottom lip.

‘Because.’

‘That’s not an answer!’ Kitty bellowed, hitting the leg of her jodhpurs with her crop.

‘Well, it’s all the answer you’re going to get, my little love. Now go into the house and scrub up and ask Marjorie for some tea and sandwiches. We won’t be too long.’

‘But, Mum, Marjorie smells of dog and even though you say you won’t be too long, I know you will. It’s not fair! I ride better than Ruraigh, just ask Daddy, and Hamish is a crybaby. And I never cry!’

Her mother rubbed her brow, the soft leather of her riding glove squeaking across her fair, freckled skin. ‘For the love of God, Kitty, why do you have to question everything! Why can’t you for once just do as I ask, just once ?’

Kitty shrugged inside her Fair Isle sweater and wondered the same thing. She knew her mum, always keen to be doing something, was constantly saying, ‘To sit idle is a waste of a day, a waste of a life, and who wants that?’ Not Kitty, that was for sure. Her fidgety nature meant she completely understood her mum’s need to be on her way, but her mum appeared to have forgotten how much Kitty hated having her wings clipped. And it felt horrible.

She might have only been seven years old, but Kitty knew that her compulsion to query everything was not something her six classmates shared. She had overhead Miss Drummond saying to the priest, ‘That young Kitty Montrose, she has wings on her feet and the devil on her tongue – it’s a full-time job trying to coax her into staying in her chair!’ This description had filled Kitty with happiness, though she suspected the other girls in her class would have been upset in her place. With wings on her feet, she now knew she could outrun Ruraigh and Hamish, her cousins, no matter that they were a whole one and two years older than her. They might have known words she didn’t, occasionally teaching her the odd one, but she wasn’t going to let them beat her at everything, no way.

‘I’m meeting everyone on the ridge – we’re going for a hack, and I’m already late.’ Her mother sighed. ‘We want to catch the last of the light.’

‘Please, Mum! I love riding up there,’ she whined.

‘Well, you shouldn’t love riding up there, it’s way too steep for your pony, and the weather comes in quickly. It’s not safe.’

‘If it’s not safe for me, how come it’s safe for you?’

‘Because I’m a grown-up. And remind me, why am I still here having this conversation?’ Her mum walked forward, leading the tall horse.

‘But Daddy said I was a natural,’ Kitty said in desperation.

‘Your dad’s an idiot!’

Kitty knew her mum didn’t really think he was an idiot. She watched the two of them after supper each evening, sitting in the library while she played in front of the fire. Her dad would rub her mum’s toes as they drank cocoa or whisky and giggled, sometimes whispering when they thought she couldn’t hear.

She stuck her chin out and pulled her most endearing face. ‘Please, Mumma!’

Fenella Montrose ignored her pouting daughter, stepped up onto the mounting block and swung her leg over the muscled back of Ballachulish Boy. ‘Go and find Marjorie. I shan’t tell you again, you wee scamp!’ she shouted, but with a flash of love in her eyes and the twitch of a smile around her mouth. She gathered Balla’s reins loosely, making the lightest contact between her hands and the bit, then clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and gently squeezed his girth with her lower legs. Horse and rider walked serenely out of the yard.

A ball of rage swirled in Kitty’s tummy as her cheeks turned pink.

‘Kitty? Kitty, hen?’ Marjorie called from the deep front porch of their vast grey house, Darraghfield. ‘There’s soup, sandwiches and cake when you’re ready!’

Late afternoon was Kitty’s favourite time of day. As the sky turned purple, softening the outlines of the deep glens and rolling Highland hills around them, the lights of the main house would come on one by one, reminding her of an advent calendar with each little window opening to reveal a secret.

‘Kitty! Kitty!’ their housekeeper called, her tone becoming more exasperated.

Using the shadows, the little girl wove her way across the cobbles, darting this way and that to stay hidden, looking back over her shoulder until she felt the scratchy straw of Flynn’s bedding underfoot.

‘Sshhhh! Flynn, we’re on a secret mission.’ She held her finger up to her lips and told her pony not to make a sound. ‘We’re going to follow Mummy and her friends out and come home before them and they will never know we’ve been gone. Don’t worry about Marjorie, she can watch Crossroads in peace in the kitchen.’

With her two red plaits bouncing up and down, Kitty trotted Flynn across the cobbles, out of the yard and along the lane. She looked up at the darkening sky and breathed in the late-afternoon air, which was heavy with moisture and the sweet scent of moss. With a wide smile of satisfaction, she walked her pony across the field; clumps of tall thistles and lichen-covered rocks littered the wet grass, making the going a little tough along the sharp incline. Bending forward, she patted her pony’s flank with the flat of her palm. ‘You’re such a good boy, Flynn! I love you.’

At the top of the field they broke into a canter and it was only when Kitty looked back down the sweep of the bank towards the house that her smile faded. It was further away than she’d anticipated and suddenly the path wasn’t where she thought it would be. She’d forgotten that this side of the ridge fell into darkness first, as the sun dropped behind the towering conifers along the summit.

‘It’s okay, Flynn. Don’t be scared, boy. We’ll just go down very slowly and go home – we’ll be back on the lane before you know it. I think it’s too late and too dark for a baby pony like you to be out all on your own.’

Kitty’s heart was beating loudly and droplets of sweat had broken out above her lip. Her hands felt clammy against the reins and in the half-light the trees and hedgerows harboured the sinister shapes of monsters and ghouls. The two of them went forward with caution; Flynn’s steps were hesitant, and Kitty’s breath came in short bursts.

‘Don’t be scared, Flynn!’ She swallowed. ‘It’s only the dark and we’re nearly home. We’ll get you settled and I’ll go and watch TV with Marjorie in the—’

Kitty didn’t see the large red hind and her baby feeding on the lower slope of the field, but Flynn did. He whinnied, bucked and raised his two front legs, skittish on the slippery bank, before throwing Kitty down hard.

It was a shock to view the world from such an odd angle when only seconds before all had been well. She screamed as she tumbled. A pain in her arm drew all her attention as she lay on the grass, finding it hard to catch her breath. Flynn, now free of his rider, raced off as fast as his little legs would take him, in the opposite direction of the house. She heard his canter fade into silence.

Kitty cried loudly, glad at first that no one was around to hear. Then she fell into some kind of sleep, the soft moss and grass as her mattress, the damp earth soaking her clothing and the crescent moon peeking at her from behind the dark bruise of dusk.

*

‘Kitty!’

The call was faint to start with. She thought she might be dreaming, but the uncomfortable ache to her body told her she was awake. Slowly opening her eyes, she tried to sit up, but the pain in her arm and shoulder made moving impossible.

‘Kitty!’

It was louder this time, closer, and then came beams of light, swinging up and down the field from powerful torches. She raised her good arm and flexed her fingers as best she could before replying quietly, ‘Here,’ and then again, louder, ‘Here!’

‘Kitty!’ There was an almost hysterical edge to her mother’s voice. ‘Oh, sweet Lord above!’

She closed her eyes and heard the flat, heavy thud of footsteps running across the ground to where she lay, accompanied by shouts and the metallic jangle of lanterns and torches. Her body softened a little. They’d found her.

‘Oh, darling! Oh, my baby!’ Her mother sobbed. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No,’ she managed. Even in her dazed state she knew to lie so as not to make her mother any more anxious.

‘Now, Kitty Montrose, what have you been up to?’ Her dad’s soft, calm tone made her smile, despite her discomfort. His big bald head, and hands as wide as pans came into view as he crouched down beside her. Just knowing he was there made everything feel a whole lot better.

‘I wanted to ride with everyone up on the ridge, and…’ Her face scrunched up as the left side of her body throbbed.

‘There now.’ He smoothed her wispy fringe from her clammy forehead. ‘You need to breathe and try and relax your muscles, and remember that you’re a warrior, like your mum.’

Kitty nodded. She never forgot. A warrior, like my mum. It made her special. Strong.

‘Let’s get you inside and warmed up.’ Her dad bent down and Ruraigh swung the torch over her form.

As the beam of light fell across her left arm, her mother screamed. ‘Oh my God! Her arm! Stephen, will you look at her arm!’ Then came the sound of Hamish being sick into the grass.

‘Don’t look down, Kitty.’ Her dad leant in close and spoke firmly, yet calmly. ‘Keep your eyes on my face and we’ll get you to the hospital and they can patch you up and you’ll be good to go.’

She could hear the fear in his voice, and despite being told not to look, he had piqued her curiosity. She lowered her eyes and stared at her arm. It looked odd to say the least – it was broken, clearly, and stuck out from her body, twisted at a very awkward angle. It was scary to see something so familiar so bent out of shape and, strangely, once she’d seen it, it hurt even more. ‘Fuckaduck!’ she screamed, before giving in to tears of fear.

Despite the dire circumstances, Ruraigh laughed and Kitty wondered what was so funny about the word that he and Hamish had taught her only yesterday.