The Various by Steve Augarde Page A

fitted beneath the frame. Good. She stood back , panting a little, and thought for a moment, trying to get it right. OK, then. The half-blocks made a firm base on the concrete floor, and the jack stood squarely on top of them. The centre of the jack was just below the corner of the frame. It all seemed right. Now she was ready. She looked at the poor animal, lying so still beneath the spiked wheels. Later. She would think of that later. ‘Well, here goes,’ she whispered.
    She fitted the jack handle into position and gingerly began to pump it up and down. The centre of the jack wasn’t moving. Something was wrong. Then she remembered the little tap thing on the side. She’d forgotten to screw it back up. She tightened it as much as she could, and started pumping again. This time it worked. The centre of the jack rose up smoothly and locked beneath the frame. Midge pumped some more and the frame began to lift. It was like a miracle! The frame creaked with every action of the handle, and Midge kept stopping to check that nothing bad was happening. She left the jack, cautiously, and bent down to look at the spiked wheel that had pierced the horse’s wing. It had moved. It had definitely moved. The spikes were no longer so deeply embedded. She pumped the handle again and again, till eventually the whole of the front end of the huge raking machine was well off the ground. She crouched down once more to look at the horse, and saw that the spikes were no longer even touching it. There was a clear space between the machine and the creature beneath it. It had worked! It had really worked! She stepped back, amazed at herself. It was easily,
easily
, the cleverest thing she had ever done.
    Now she had to somehow drag the horse from under the raking machine, and out into the open space of the barn floor, where she could look at it properly. She looked at the floor. It was filthy. And in thinking this, she suddenly realized that
she
was filthy too. Her dungarees were black with muck and grease, her hands and arms were ingrained with the same oily mixture. Her watch, new for her birthday, was in a similar state and . . . what? . . . was that really the time? A quarter to four? She couldn’t believe it was so late. Uncle Brian would be wondering where she could be. He would come looking for her perhaps and oh, this was terrible! But she couldn’t go back to the farm in this state – and anyway, what about the horse? There was so much to do yet! Think. Thinkthinkthink. She had her phone. She could phone the farm and say . . . what
could
she say? . . . that she wanted to stay out a bit longer? No better plan occurred to her, and at least Uncle Brian wouldn’t come looking for her then. She wiped her hands on the seat of her dungarees, walked outside the barn, and reached in her pocket for the mobile.
    The ringing tone went on for a long time.
    ‘Hullo?’ Uncle Brian’s voice sounded bleary. He’d probably been asleep, after all.
    ‘Uncle Brian, it’s Midge.’
    ‘Midge? Where . . . where are you? Are you OK?’
    ‘I’m up at the Summer . . . the pig-barn.’
    ‘The pig-barn?’ He was obviously struggling to comprehend.
    ‘Yes. I came here for a picnic, remember?’ Some picnic. ‘Uncle Brian, I’m having such a lovely time . . . exploring and everything. Do you mind if I stay a bit longer? I’m absolutely fine. It’s just that I’m having such a lovely time.’ She thought of the winged horse, injured, dying perhaps, and it felt so weird to be talking to Uncle Brian.
    ‘Well, as long as you’re safe, I suppose . . . I’ll, um, just do a bit of salad and ham or whatever for tea, and, uh, well that’ll be OK, then. Er, will it?’ Poor old Uncle Brian. It had obviously been a long crib game.
    ‘Thanks, Uncle Brian. Don’t worry if I’m a bit late. I’m not very hungry, and I’m absolutely fine. I’m only playing in the barn.’
    ‘ ’Kay, then. If you’re sure you’re all right. See