Racing Manhattan by Terence Blacker

there’s a mulish look in her eye. Pete tugs downwards at the reins, and she jerks her head up in alarm.
    As he leads her into the stable, he calls over his shoulder, ‘Stay out, if you don’t want to get hurt.’
    As Pete reaches for the girth, Manhattan arches her neck and bares her teeth. Swearing at her, Pete manages to get the saddle off just before Manhattan kicks forward, the hind leg only narrowly missing him.
    â€˜Cow-kick, they call that,’ Pete says grimly. ‘And she’s a cow, all right.’
    Angus walks over and stands beside me at the door. ‘Look and learn, lassie.’ He nods in Pete’s direction. ‘This is how you handle a difficult racehorse.’
    I want to point out that I’ve just handled a difficult racehorse pretty well, but I don’t. ‘Yes, Angus,’ I say.
    Pete is trying to reach Manhattan’s bridle. He has managed to unfasten the throat-lash, so that he now just has to take the top of the bridle and slip it off her head.
    But Manhattan is having none of it. She holds her head high, and she is so tall that Pete is unable to reach her. The more he curses, the more she throws her head in the air.
    â€˜Sort her out, Pete.’ Angus is irritated that the lesson is not going as well as he planned. ‘It’s the only way with mares.’
    â€˜Could I have a go?’ I ask the question quietly.
    â€˜This isn’t the Pony Club, lassie,’ says Angus.
    â€˜I know.’ I draw back the latch on the stable door.
    Pete glances towards me, then at Angus.
    To my surprise, the head lad nods. ‘Let her make a fool of herself, Pete. If she gets hurt – well, we warned her.’
    Pete pushes his way past me. Watched by the two men, I walk slowly into the stable and stand beside Manhattan, my hand on her neck, murmuring quietly to her.
    OK, Manhattan. This is the part where you don’t show me up.
    She stands still, her neck tensed. She trusts no one.
    You know what? I’ve got a carrot in this jacket.
    I reach into my pocket. There’s the tiniest flicker of interest from Manhattan’s ears.
    â€˜Waste of time,’ Pete says from the stable door.
    Angus says nothing.
    I hold the carrot in the palm of my hand, near Manhattan’s head. She can smell it, but at first is too proud to take it from me.
    We stand motionless for a moment. Then, slowly, Manhattan takes the carrot and crunches it, more relaxed now.
    â€˜Grab the bridle – her head’s down,’ says Pete.
    I remain motionless, for a few seconds.
    While Manhattan is looking for another carrot, I run my hand up her neck and tug at her ears, then rest it on the top of the bridle. Waiting until she has finished her carrot, I slip it off slowly, then pat her neck.
    That’s my girl.
    I look towards the door. Angus has gone. Pete is staring hard at me.
    â€˜Like her, do you?’
    â€˜I’ve never seen a horse like her.’
    â€˜Enjoy her while you can. Any day now she’ll be taken away to the vet. One-way ticket. The bullet. They’re putting her down – it’s been decided.’
    â€˜What?’ I look at Pete to see if this is one of his nasty jokes. It isn’t.
    â€˜Ask the others,’ he says. ‘She’ll be dog meat soon.’
    There is a sick, empty feeling in my stomach. ‘But why?’ I try to sound as careless as he is, but my voice cracks.
    â€˜She’s useless. And dangerous. The owner won’t breed from her with that kind of temperament. Nobody likes her in the yard.’
    â€˜I like her.’
    Pete makes a pistol shape with his hand, puts it against the side of his head and pulls the trigger. ‘Boom! Dead as mutton,’ he says. With a little laugh, he walks off.
    Manhattan stirs and looks towards me, expecting another carrot.
    No. It can’t be true.
    Too.
    Beautiful.
    To.
    Die.

C OME IN, NUMBER NINE
    THE NEXT MORNING , I get a surprise. My name is on the