Mr Skip

  “Who’s this Mister Skip?” Miss Munroe had said, waving my exercise book in my face. “And what are these drawings, Jackie?” I didn’t even know I’d been doing them. “They’re not even giraffes, Jackie. They’re garden gnomes. What have you got to say for yourself?” I just shrugged. She hates it when we shrug. That’s why I had to stay in at playtime.

  During storytime in the afternoon I was so tired I dropped off to sleep. But even when I was asleep, all I dreamed of was Mister Skip. He was talking to me again, telling me how I’d win all the races I wanted to. After school, after Miss Munroe had kept me behind to tick me off again, I ran all the way back to the lock-up. I don’t know why, but I had this terrible premonition inside me, that I’d find him gone when I got there, that he might have just opened the door and gone, and worse still that maybe someone might have broken in and stolen him.

  As I came round the corner I saw that every one of the lock-ups was shut. So I needn’t have worried after all. But then I opened the lock-up door. He was gone. Mister Skip was gone.

  All sorts of wild thoughts went racing through my mind. First I thought that maybe Mister Skip had really got up and walked out, closing the door behind him. No, that was impossible. Then I thought that maybe I’d imagined the whole thing, dreamed it up in my head: the finding of Mister Skip, the mending of Mister Skip, the talking of Mister Skip. But the paint and the brushes were still there on the table. So it couldn’t be that.

  “Someone’s pinched him,” I said it out loud, and I knew this was more than likely. Things were always going “missing” on our estate – car wheels, lampposts, a whole telephone box once. But whatever had happened Mister Skip had vanished. I sat down at the table and cried my heart out. I had lost more than a plaster garden gnome. I had lost a friend, someone I could talk to. Worst of all, I’d lost Mum’s birthday present, and I had nothing else to give her.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, but it must have been a while, because as I was climbing the stairs up to the flat, I met Mum coming down the other way, coming to look for me. “I’ve been so worried, Jackie,” she cried. “Where’ve you been?”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

  Mum took me by the hand and walked me up the stairs chatting on as we went. “You won’t believe what happened to me today, Jackie. First I had this phone call from your Aunty Mary. Your gran’s been worrying herself sick about that old donkey of hers, that Barnaby. You know that hip operation Gran’s been waiting for all these months?

  Well, the hospital finally called, and said they could have her in right away. But Gran wouldn’t go into hospital unless she could find someone to look after Barnaby. Your Aunty Mary couldn’t have him on account of her having her animal allergy, so she rings me and says will we look after him for a few weeks. I said it was a bit awkward, looking after a donkey, living as we do six floors up in a two bedroom flat. But she wouldn’t listen, you know what she’s like.” We’d just about reached the sixth floor by now and I was puffed out. “And then I thought how much you love looking after Barnaby whenever we go for holidays to Gran’s place, and how you’re always on about having a horse of your own. Well, a donkey’s pretty close to a horse, I thought, and we could stable him in the lock-up, and you could muck him out. You like mucking out, don’t you? We could manage. So I said yes. He’ll be here tomorrow morning, Jackie. Isn’t that great? Then I go down to the lock-up just to check it out – haven’t been down there for years – just to make sure no-one’s pinched the door. And what d’you think I find, Jackie?”

  I knew alright. I knew. “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Someone’s only been in there, in our lock-up. They’ve only been using it as a workshop. And there’s this… you’re not going to believe this...” I am, Mum, I am. “You could’ve knocked me down with a feather. Gave me the shock of my life.” We’d reached the door of the flat by now and she made me close my eyes. “Surprise,” she said, and led me into the kitchen. “Alright, Jackie, you can open them now.” And of course there was Mister Skip sitting on the kitchen table by the tomato sauce, and smiling at me very knowingly.

  “Isn’t he just incredible!” Mum went on. “Finders keepers, that’s what I say. He was in our lock-up, wasn’t he? So he’s ours. Mine.”

  “Yes, Mum,” I said. “He’s your birthday present from me.” And then I told her everything. Well, not everything. I left out the bit about Mister Skip talking to me. After all, that was our private secret. Mum went all weepy on me, and squeezed me so tight I could hardly breathe. As she hugged me there in the kitchen and told me how wonderful I was, Mister Skip was looking right at me and smiling. I longed to ask him if old Barnaby coming to stay had anything to do with his promise that I’d win at the races. But I couldn’t imagine how. I couldn’t ask him either, not until Mum went out later to get us our fish and chips. But when at last she’d gone and I sat down and asked him about it, all he did was smile at me. I decided to tell him about Barnaby, just so he would know. “Listen, Mister Skip,” I said. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if you think I’m riding Barnaby at the races, you can think again. He’s the slowest, sleepiest donkey that was ever born. I know. I’ve known him all my life. All he does is walk. He won’t even trot, and he certainly won’t run. So if Barnaby’s part of your big plan, forget it.” But Mister Skip just kept on smiling.

  “It’s not funny,” I told him.

  “I’m not laughing, Jackie,” he said suddenly. “I smile even when I’m serious. It’s just how I am. And I’m serious about my promises. I always keep them. You’ll see.” And no matter how often I asked him, he wouldn’t say another word. He sat there all the way through supper still not saying a word. And neither did I. I didn’t feel like eating my fish and chips either. I was too worried.

  “You alright, Jackie?” Mum asked me. I said I was just tired and went off to bed early. When she came in later to say good night, I could tell she was really happy with her present. “What’ll we call him?” she said, as she tucked me in.

  “Mister Skip,” I told her.

  “Perfect,” she said. “There’s something about Mister Skip. It’s the way he looks at you, like he’s listening almost.”

  I really wanted to tell her everything, that Mister Skip doesn’t just listen, but that he talks too. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. It would sound so mad, so silly. And hadn’t I promised Mister Skip it would be our secret? It was hard, but I kept my promise and I didn’t tell her.

  “We’ll have to get the lock-up ready for Barnaby,” she went on. “He’ll have to graze with the horses by day and we’ll bring him into the lock-up at night-time.”

  “They’ll laugh at him,” I told her. “Everyone will. I know they will.”

  “He’s a lovely old donkey,” she said. “Course they won’t laugh at him.”

  But they did. Word soon got about that Jackie Dawson’s donkey would be arriving that afternoon, so that by the time the horsebox came half the estate was there, including Marty and Barry and all the Crazy Cossacks. As Barnaby came slowly backwards down the ramp, they were all tittering and laughing. Barnaby had never looked so scruffy in all his life, like a dirty old brown carpet on four hairy legs. His ears were turning this way and that, and I could tell how upset he was getting. I could see he was wondering why they were laughing at him, wondering what this strange place was, wondering where Gran was, where his lovely green fields were. I went up to him and put my arms round his neck. “It’s alright, Barnaby,” I told him. “I’ll look after you. It’s alright. We’ve got a nice stable all ready for you.”

  “Eeeeaw! Eeeeaw!” Marty Morgan chanted, and then the rest of them started up, all the Crazy Cossacks. “Eeeeaw! Eeeeaw! Eeeeaw!”

  That was it. I’d had enough. Now I was really mad. I turned on them and told them just what I thought of them. But I didn’t stop there. “I’ll give you eeeeaw,” I shouted. “I’m telling you Barnaby can beat the lot of you, you and all your fancy horses and
ponies. He goes like the wind, so he does.” I could not believe what I was saying, and nor could anyone else. They were all gaping at me. I mean I never say things like that, not to anyone, and certainly not to Marty Morgan – I’ve never been that brave. But I’d said it. It was like it wasn’t me doing the talking at all, but whoever it was doing the talking hadn’t finished yet. “Not that you’ll dare race me of course. You’ll make up some feeble excuse about girls not being allowed to ride in the races or something. But that’s because you’re chicken, the whole lousy lot of you are chicken.”

  You could have heard a pin drop. And then Marty Morgan said it. “Alright, you’re on. Tomorrow afternoon. Saturday. The big race. The Crazy Cossacks will be waiting for you, won’t we lads?” And away they went eeeeawing and giggling and guffawing, leaving me feeling very stupid and very alone. But then Mum started up and I didn’t feel alone any more. “You just wait!” she shouted. “This isn’t just any old donkey, y’know. This is a Ferrari of a donkey, a Concorde of a donkey. He’s turbocharged, y’hear me, turbocharged!”

  That’s the great thing about Mum. In front of other people she always sticks by me, whatever. She waited till everyone was gone, and then she started on me. “What is it with you, Jackie? Are you mad in the head, or what? Barnaby can’t race. He can’t even run. You know he can’t. He’s just a stubborn old donkey, not a race horse. You won’t get him off the start line. You know what he does if you try to make him do anything he doesn’t want to do, he just sits down.”

  She was right, too. I knew exactly what Barnaby would do if I tried to kick him on. He would sit down like a dog, and there’d be no way I’d ever get him up again.

  “I couldn’t help myself, Mum,” I said. “When they began laughing at Barnaby, the words just came pouring out.” That was the truth of it too. Suddenly I knew how it had all happened. It hadn’t been me speaking at all, it had been Mister Skip. He’d put the words in my mouth and somehow he’d made me say them. Then I began to think, began to hope, that maybe if Mister Skip could make one kind of magic, then maybe, just maybe he could make another kind, and make Barnaby win the race tomorrow. Maybe he wouldn’t sit down. Maybe he’d actually run, run and win. But I knew in my heart it was only wishful thinking, that there was no way Barnaby could possibly win, not in a million years. “You will come and cheer me on, Mum?” I asked nervously.

  “Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away, Jackie,” she replied. “Me and you against the world, right? I’ll be with you all the way, win or lose. And I’ll be cheering too. Louder than anyone. But I reckon we’ll need more than cheering, Jackie. We need a miracle. That’s what we need, a miracle.”

  The next morning early I went down to the lock-up in my dressing gown and fed Barnaby his hay. He ate like a horse. I just hoped he would run like one too. I came back afterwards and ate my own breakfast in silence, Mister Skip watching every mouthful of toast and strawberry jam as it went in. Mum tried her best to cheer me up, but it was no use. I could see it all in my mind. I could hear it all – all their prancing dancing ponies tossing their heads at the start line, pawing the ground, then dashing off into the distance, the Crazy Cossacks’ mocking laughter ringing in my ears, and me miles behind, barely able to get old Barnaby to walk.

  Mum was at the fridge fetching some milk when suddenly and quite definitely Mister Skip began to chuckle. She turned round, so surprised that she nearly dropped the milk carton.

  “What was that?” she said.

  “My tummy, Mum,” I said. “It’s my tummy rumbling. Nerves. I’m awful nervous.” The chuckling stopped, thank goodness, as Mum came back to the table.

  “It’ll be alright, Jackie,” she said, stroking my hair. “Don’t you worry yourself.” Then she sat down and patted Mister Skip on his head. “I do love my birthday present. Always smiling he is, no matter what. It’s almost like there’s three of us now, three of us against the world.”

  I knew it would make no difference, but before I took Barnaby out I groomed him till he looked a little less like a dirty old carpet and a little bit more like a new one. I picked out his feet, brushed his tail, and stroked his ears – he always liked me to do that back at Gran’s. The last thing I did inside the lock-up was to whisper into his ear: “Please Barnaby. Just for once in your life, go fast, go like the wind. Please. Please.”

  Then I led him out of the lock-up, out onto the green where they were all gathering, and I mean all. Everyone on the estate must have been there, and I knew why. They all knew by now that Barnaby was going to run in the big Saturday race and they’d all come for a good laugh. There was always a good turnout for the Saturday race. It was a well-known event. People would come from miles around to see it. But I’d never in my life seen a crowd like this. There must have been hundreds of people milling around, thousands even, and all the Crazy Cossacks’ ponies and horses were racing up and down showing their paces.

  Barnaby just stopped dead. He didn’t like what he saw at all, any more than I did. I smoothed his neck and patted him. “It’ll be alright, Barnaby,” I whispered. But then the Crazy Cossacks spotted us. They were pointing at us and eeeeawing, the whole horrible lot of them – except Barry who, to be fair, did look a bit shamefaced. The whole crowd seemed to be laughing. I felt like turning tail and running. But suddenly Mum was there beside me, leading out Barnaby with me, and all the while she was waving to the crowd like we were coming into the winner’s enclosure at the Irish Derby. Mum was brilliant, utterly brilliant. Very soon they weren’t laughing at us any more, they were clapping instead. Then they were cheering. Barnaby knew it too. He was suddenly enjoying it. He was up on his toes, his ears pricked forward. At one point he even broke into a brief little trot. I could hardly believe it.

  It made me feel a whole lot better too. Alright, so we would come in last, I knew that, but at least people would be cheering us and not laughing at us. That would be enough for me.

  It was my fault that Barnaby sat down. When the race started and the others went galloping off, Barnaby was just left standing. All I did was give him the gentlest of kicks with my heels to get him going. A little tickle that’s all it was. “Go!” I shouted. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have said it. I knew well enough that if you kick Barnaby on, he sits down. He’d done it to me dozens of times when I was at Gran’s place on holiday. But I forgot I suppose, or I just didn’t think. Anyway he sat down, and I slid off the back of him, and sat there on the ground feeling very stupid, and very angry with myself for being so stupid.

  I expected everyone to laugh, but they didn’t. I think maybe they felt sorry for me. Mum helped me up, and said it didn’t matter one bit, that I’d soon catch up with the others. Once up on Barnaby again I took the reins and looked up ahead of me. There wasn’t a horse in sight. I felt like giving up, but something inside me made me do what I should have done in the first place. You don’t tell Barnaby what to do, you ask him nicely. “Please Barnaby,” I whispered in his ear. “Do it for Mister Skip.” Well, that did it.

  It was as if some hugely powerful electrical charge suddenly surged through him. He seemed to stiffen and grow underneath me. He tossed his head like a bull. He pawed the ground like a stallion. He blew and he snorted like a whale. He let out a great eeeeaw that echoed round the estate, and then off he went. I went with him but only just. I clung on round his neck. It was all I could do. Barnaby wasn’t trotting. He wasn’t cantering. He was galloping. He was fairly flying over the ground, his hoof beats thundering.

  I had no time to think about falling off, no time to be frightened. I’d lost my reins by now, so there was no way I could guide him. But that didn’t seem to matter. He knew the way. Within no time I could see the Crazy Cossacks up ahead, and Barnaby could see them too. He didn’t need telling. He was after them. The rush of the wind on my face took my breath away. I was so happy, so exhilarated. I felt like whooping and cheering, but I couldn’t find the voice to do it. And all the time I was catching up with the Crazy Cossacks. Near
er. Nearer. Nearer.

  Not one of them looked back. No-one was expecting me. As I passed the Crazy Cossacks one by one, all they could do was gape at me in sheer disbelief. But Marty Morgan and Barry were still out there in the lead, neck and neck, and were way ahead of me. I was coming up fast, but not fast enough. I could see the winning post now and the crowd leaping up and down, and Mum yelling louder than anyone. I don’t know how I thought of it – because I was far too tired to think – but I breathed into Barnaby’s ear what I hoped were the magic words: “Please, Barnaby, do it for Mister Skip.” They were magic alright.

  Barnaby seemed to slip instantly up into an even higher gear. He may have been puffing and blowing like an old steam engine, but was he going! We cruised past Marty and Barry, and as we passed them I just smiled at them. It was the happiest smile of my entire life, and a smile that stayed with me all the way to the finishing post. I punched the air in triumph. I had it in mind that as soon as Barnaby stopped I would do a Frankie Dettori jump-off. But Barnaby didn’t stop. He charged straight on scattering the cheering crowd as he went, and straight back towards his lock-up. Just outside he stopped very suddenly, too suddenly. I went flying over his head and landed in a pile of bin bags, that luckily for me were full, so that although I was shaken and a bit smelly, I wasn’t at all hurt. I was still lying there in amongst the bin bags and trying to collect my thoughts when Mum and everyone came running. She helped me to my feet and made sure I was alright. We just hugged and cried and hugged some more.

  And she wasn’t the only one hugging me. It seemed everyone on the estate thought I was the bee’s knees. Miss Munroe from school was there. She hugged me too! Who didn’t hug me? Well, the Crazy Cossacks didn’t. Marty Morgan certainly didn’t. Instead they hung around for a while shaking their heads and looking all bewildered and sorry for themselves. Barry managed to mutter a “well done”, which was as good as a dozen hugs to me. He even stayed behind and helped me towel Barnaby down and groom him. Then he said Barnaby could spend the rest of the day grazing with Dasher on the green, if I wanted.