Emma's Equilibrium

By A Wadh

As a child, Emma develops a talent for equestrian sport. She follows her passion and moves from England to Canada to compete at the highest level. Over time though, her great success pales into insignificance next to the overwhelming suffering that she comes to experience in the most brutal forms of betrayal, rape and violence until eventually, when the opportunity arises, she moves to Belgium with her husband, in the hope of a new start.
For a while, normality is restored. Everything appears to be fine – until they come to the realisation that there is a problem emerging within their family. Emma is increasingly troubled and challenged by the worrying traits that her eldest son is developing. She wonders why she encounters the dark side of men repeatedly. The situation worsens until one day, she despairs and reaches for their hunting rifle.
It’s time for an intervention. Just as suffering can co-exist with triumph, sometimes there is hope in despair. An encounter with Death provides answers that allow Emma to better understand her existence. She comes to understand that her life is just one part of a much larger plan and that things tend to happen for a reason. She also discovers that she is right at the cusp of achieving that much-desired state of existence, equilibrium.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Feb 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781785895630

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Emma’s EQuilibrium

A Wadh

Copyright © 2016 A Wadh

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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Contents

Emma 1974

Tutankhamun

Competition

Aunt Annie

Emma

Perfection

The offer 1979

Ian, Hubert, Jacinta, Judith, George 1981

Ian and Emma 1981

The beginning

Ian and Emma:

The end?

Ian 1981

Emma 1981

Ian and Catherine 1982

Emma and Chris 1982

Turbulence 1983

Vancouver

14th February 1984

Los Angeles Olympics1984

Chris and Emma1985

Emma 1986

Brussels 1988

Brussels 1997

Concert Noble 1999

Robert 2003

The party 2005

February 24 2007

The encounter

Epilogue

Fourth of June 2008

Emma

1974

Push harder on your heels, Emma. There’s far too much weight on the front of your feet. And don’t arch your back that much. That goes for all of you girls. It’s all right to relax but it’s important to keep your poise. Definitely no crouching… Please!

The girls were coming to the final part of the lesson: individual rounds of canter.

The twelve-year-old Emma was up first. Julia, her mother, perked up in anticipation as she started with a gentle trot and approached the corner where she accelerated into a canter. The horse picked up pace and although her daughter looked at ease, the speed of the horse had Julia worried: her daughter could just be flung off the horse’s back. A couple of rounds later though, the anxiety had abated. Her daughter and the horse were m-"No daddy, and you know, we all call her the gentle giant. She’s one of the favourites at Wrenfield. It’s actually the first time Ryan let me ride her. I hope he’ll let me do it again!

Mom, for next month, we have to prepare a presentation for our class on our hobbies. Miss Edwards said that we should put some pictures and explanations on chart paper and then speak to the rest of the class for ten minutes."

As long as Jeremy could remember, the first presentation he had made was in senior school around the age of sixteen. And here was his daughter, setting off to make one at the age of twelve. I guess that you won’t have a problem choosing your subject. It will still take quite a lot of work. The most difficult presentations are where you know the subject, because you run the risk of rambling.

Isn’t that the name of the song you keep listening to, Mom?

Jeremy raised his eyebrows in resignation.

I won’t be the only one speaking about horses. There are two other girls who want to do the same. So Miss Edwards suggested that we do three different presentations. One on the role of horses in history, the second one would be on the body of a horse and the third would be on equestrian sports. I wanted to do the second one. The one on history wasn’t that interesting for me. And apart from the riding I do, I know nothing about equestrian sports. I have neither seen a game of polo nor have I ever seen a horse race. All I am interested in are horses themselves.

That’s a perfectly good reason for your decision, Emma. Jeremy could only beam at the simplicity of their daughter’s explanation. Somewhere back in time, he himself must have started off with such innocent logic.

The drive back to Stern Leigh took fifteen minutes. They got out of the car and as they walked to the entrance of the house, they could hear Dotty on the other side of the door barking. She was jumping and wagging her tail wildly as Emma bent down to hug her, Hello, my darling, did you have a good day? She planted a kiss just above her wet snout. Dotty followed Emma into the corner where she took her boots off and then followed her until she stopped short at the staircase with a bark of disapproval: she was not allowed to follow Emma up to her room.

When Emma came back down, she was showered and dressed in her long nightshirt. Dotty got up and followed her into the kitchen and settled down at her feet. But Emma quickly finished her plate, had a glass of milk and went back up to practice her piano. She was working on an extract from Swan Lake and needed to work on a tempo transition. As neither Jeremy nor Julia could read or play music, she had to make corrections herself. When she finished her piano, Emma went to wash her teeth, brushed her hair and tucked herself in. Julia would know when she was in bed and would come up, give her daughter a kiss and wish her: Good Night! She would then switch off the light in her room but leave the door open.

Tutankhamun

Jeremy was rarely home for dinner during the week. But there were exceptions; one such evening, Emma was at the table when Dotty suddenly got up and left the kitchen. They heard the front door open. Hello ladies and I mean you as well, Dorothy. Dotty and Dorothy were interchangeable names that Emma used depending on her mood. She often did the same for horses she knew well. The dog did not seem to mind.

Daddy, you’re home early today. Come, come eat with us. Jeremy kissed his daughter on the cheek and then kissed Julia. I was at a client’s office near Waterloo and it didn’t make much sense going back to the office. I would probably have just made it back for six o’clock. So I took the five fourty-two.

Dad, today I rode Sandy again. She was great!

Did you canter?

It was so easy with Sandy. You know, daddy, I am really happy we came to Stern Leigh. It’s so much nicer than living in London. There I could only go riding once a week, here I can go all the time…

Jeremy gently interrupted. Oh while I remember, next week is the last week of the Egyptian exhibition at the British Museum. All those Tutankhamun treasures are going to be shipped off back to Cairo. Why don’t we all make a family trip to London this Saturday and pay the boy king a visit? Emma, is it ok if you miss your riding on Saturday?

Can we go on Sunday instead? I was hoping to ride Sandy again on Saturday.

Not enough trains on Sunday… go on Emma… Sandy will understand. You could tell her all about the amazing treasures you will see.

*

They took the train from Wrenfield to Waterloo and then a special bus service to the British Museum. They had to queue for twenty minutes and finally made their way through the security into the first room of exhibits. This was the hall with mummified pet animals. Then came the jars with the body organs and then a series of photos showing the discovery of the tomb by Howard Carter.

Not before long, they were in the room of Tutankhamun’s treasures.

Julia held Jeremy’s hand tightly. Once the initial surge of awe had subsided, conversation resumed through hushed whispers, Look at this, it’s hard to believe that these objects on display are over three thousand years old. Tutankhamun’s mask almost has a sixties bob style hair. And look at the features, almost androgynous.

Notwithstanding the extraordinary elegance of these riches, the narrative on the brochure revealed a sorry side to all this splendour: a harsh reminder of the frailty of humans; the divine king who had briefly ruled over a land of such magnificence was a mere boy who died prematurely. He had not left any heirs: the two pregnancies of his wife had ended in miscarriages. His own death had been so untimely that it had resulted in his burial in a makeshift common man’s tomb. The exhibition had a further section on Howard Carter and Lord Carnarvon. While Jeremy was keenly digesting the photos, maps and charts, Julia and Emma stayed back in the jewellery room, transfixed by the mask.

He is beautiful. Emma picked up a leaflet from a heap stacked on a low stool next to the glass case housing the mask. The leaflet was titled, The Golden Mask:

‘The Mask is just under two feet in height and weighs a little over 20 pounds." Emma fixed her gaze on Tutankhamun’s or, more accurately, the mask’s, eyes. These were made of stone and the leaflet explained that they were white quartz with black obsidian; the eyes observe, gently but steadily, through almond shaped openings encrusted with deep rich blue lapis-lazuli. The thick eyebrows run parallel to the contours of the eyes. The inner and outer corners of the white in the eyes have been touched up with light specks of red in an attempt to simulate mortality within a setting of divinity.

The forehead is barely visible under the headdress. The falcon and snake Goddesses oversee all that falls within the field of divine vision. The headdress comprises the same encrusted lines as the eyes and the eyebrows. It is as if a cloth had been placed on the royal tresses, tightened at the forehead and then pushed back. In this instance, the cloth happens to be a sheet of gold. Parallel and symmetric vertical lines rise from the forehead before making their way from the front, straight up and over the head. These then descend on either side, always parallel, until they reach the ears and become horizontal. Rows of lateral stripes continue down the headdress until what would be chest level. The ears, moulded in pure gold, are pierced but without ornaments. The nose, shaped and polished is symmetrical and delicately small. The mouth, full lips sealed to the left, slightly parted at the right, as if they are about to utter a word. The cheeks and chin have been worked and smoothed to tautness. The chin gives way to a hilt shaped goatee. Behind it, a smooth golden neck stands between royal tresses on each side. The neck is bestowed with concentric, ever broader bands of a large necklace: twelve rows alternating between dark blue, brown, dark blue, turquoise and the same again. The colours are encrusted stones and pastes of natural pigments.

The symmetry of the mask has been scientifically proven, which is the least one would expect from a people whose edifices erected thousands of years ago stand proud to this day.’

Emma’s mind was registering the vision in front of her as well as the words on the paper. Her hands wanted to reach out and touch the mask but the glass casing made this impossible. She concentrated, even closing her eyes, to memorize the contours of the face, the look in those eyes, the head stripes and the smoothness of the skin. She opened her eyes and saw Tutankhamun smiling back at her as if to say, Come back whenever you can. I’ll be around for a while.

Julia stayed on in the same room keeping an eye on Emma. Her daughter was but one amongst many, all mesmerised by the gaze of the boy king. Simple fascination had cut across generations.

The security guards discreetly signalled for them to keep moving along. Julia and Emma had to leave the room. The reluctant exit from the main exhibit room released a barrage of amazing, incredible, wow, astonishing. All Emma could do was plead, Mom, please could we go back in?

No Emma, there is a long queue and we stayed there for quite a while.

Yes, but I want to spend some more time with Tutankhamun.

Of course you do, but so does everyone else. One never knows, you may go and see him in Egypt one day. The whole collection is on permanent display at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo.

But Egypt is in Africa. I may never travel so far away from home.

Jeremy had caught up with them, I know how you feel Emma, but your mother is right. Besides, you must be hungry. Now, as you’ve been a great girl what do you say to us tucking into a nice meal in one of the restaurants around the square?

Old Times was a renowned fish and chips restaurant, one of the few that had survived the onslaught of restaurants serving Italian, French and, more recently, food from further afield. The conversation centred on Tutankhamun; there had been many legends about the strange circumstances surrounding his life and his death. It was difficult to explain the celebrity status for someone who had lived thousands of years ago and whose appearance was presumed to be the image portrayed by a metallic mask.

*

They walked down Tottenham Court Road, onto Shaftesbury Avenue, passing Cambridge Circus on their way towards Trafalgar Square. They climbed up the stairs at the Embankment leading up to the footbridge that crossed the Thames; the river was particularly high, a sinuous mass sweeping past under their very feet. They paused to look down but Emma felt scared: she felt like the water was going to reach up and pull her away. She held on tight to her parents’ hands; Julia and Jeremy exchanged a glance and walked on with her. In a few minutes, they found themselves in the spacious concourse of Waterloo station. They walked onto the platform where the train was waiting, found a coach with two empty benches facing each other. Jeremy and Julia sat on one side and Emma slouched on to the seat opposite them.

*

The following morning. I dreamt about him. It was like being in a movie. All around me there were masks instead of human faces. But there was only one mask that was smiling. When I have my own horse, I will call it Tutankhamun.

The enthusiasm for Egypt continued unabated. There were books, posters and even trinkets purporting to be from the Valley of the Kings. Julia had written to an Association of Egyptologists in Cambridge who by return had sent her brochures on what Egyptophiles could procure locally in the United Kingdom.

In ancient Egypt, horses were a sign of wealth and power and were associated with royalty. Unsurprisingly, Tutankhamun had been buried with a riding crop that was inscribed with a comparison of the boy king to the God of the Sun: He came on his horse like the shining Re.

It did not come as a surprise when Emma casually mentioned that she had volunteered to make yet another presentation to her class, this time on another favourite subject. Julia helped out where she could; she took Emma to the local library and helped with the sequencing of the presentation. But the layout and the text were Emma’s work. She did the research and once she had a timeline sorted out, the rest seemed to emerge almost automatically. The whole presentation was supposed to take ten minutes with another five minutes for questions and answers. There was a rehearsal in front of her parents:

Beautiful architecture, dazzling jewels, kings and queens, prosperous people, a great civilisation fifty centuries ago, that was Egypt! Julia felt a surge of pride; this was their twelve-year-old child, passionate and authoritative about a subject that had fired her imagination.

"Youth, beauty and lands to rule

Some called him King, some a fool

The mask smiles and hides the strain

Millennia of a deeper pain

Handsome youth of a special kind

Clearly he sees inside my mind

Maybe he’ll laugh and feel that joy

That comes from just being a boy."

Competition

In preparation for her first regional contest, Emma went shopping with Julia to buy a riding jacket, a new pair of white jodhpurs, a blouse and a white clip-on tie. She already had her own long boots and a felt-topped black riding helmet. When they got back home, Julia set about ironing the clothes while Emma got some black shoe wax and a sturdy brush. She slid her left arm into the boot and with her right hand she dipped the brush into a strangely fragrant shoe polish. What followed were twenty minutes of intense, energetic strokes where bristle met boot: a matted musty grey gave way to a glossy black You should join the army, Emma. That is fantastic. Ah, don’t forget! Only put on your outfit and boots at the last minute! Otherwise, your white breeches, the lovely jacket and these immaculate boots could get dirty before you even start.

The morning of the competition, Emma got up, had a shower, brushed her hair, tied it back in a bun and put a hairnet around it. She wore an old pair of riding breeches and a worn grey turtleneck; however, she was still in slippers when she came down to breakfast. When she saw that Julia had arranged her outfit and boots neatly by the entrance door she walked over and examined them. She turned and saw her parents already seated at the kitchen table. An expectant air hung over the family as Emma, disguising a surge of excitement, wished her mother a cheerful, Morning, Mom and then turned to her father, Morning, dad.

Do you have everything you need, Emma?

Yes, Mom.

Do you want me to iron anything? Are your boots ready?

Yes, don’t worry.

We should get there early so that you can prepare your horse.

Yes, Dad. We can go now if you want. I am ready."

Are you sure?

Yes, Mom.

Checking and double-checking were the lot of anxious parents. The one who should have been nervous was focused, confident and relaxed; unlike her parents who felt squirms of jelly twisting in their stomachs.

Breakfast done, mother and daughter bade farewell to Jeremy. He would stay at home to clear up some paperwork that he had brought back from the office. Julia would call him once she knew when Emma would be on.

At the stables, Emma enquired about the horse she had been allocated and set off to prepare Singer. According to the programme on the bulletin board, dressage would kick off events. Julia went over to the bar and called Jeremy. Emma will start dressage at around two. There are eighteen riders. They will then need to set up the obstacle course. The competition should start around four. Do you think you’ll make it? Great. She’s on a horse called Singer. No I don’t think she’s ever ridden it. No, she’s not nervous. And even if she was, it doesn’t show. Actually, I think I’m more nervous than she is. Do you want me to call you after the dressage? Okay, be here by four, great! Bye.

To someone as uninitiated as Julia, following the technical details of Emma’s dressage was not that obvious. She assumed that her daughter had not made any glaring mistakes. There were four more riders after her. As it turned out, she came third out of eighteen; the organisers quickly set up a podium. Julia went over to Emma and kissed her cheek, Congratulations darling that was great. You must be very proud.

Thanks, but I lost some points hesitating during the side step. Anyway, there’s still the obstacle course. I better go and prepare for that. Is daddy coming?

He’ll be here.

Okay, I’ll look out for him.

Jeremy arrived just in time. Emma saw her parents and smiled. This time round she was the first rider.

The tannoy blasted, Emma Lodge on Singer!

Going from standstill to a canter, Emma approached the first set of cross bars, clearing them with a couple of feet to spare; she continued straight on to the horizontal bar; again, an easy clearance. Emma then turned right, almost at a right angle and approached another cross bar: clearance. She turned yet another ninety degrees to the right and headed back in the direction of where she had started. She rode forty yards, picking up speed as she approached the parallels. The bars seemed very high. Emma and Singer took off clearing the first bar. They were still airborne as they crossed the second when one of the hind hooves clipped the bar. It moved but stayed put. Emma did not look back but knew that she had got lucky. She then took a sharp U-turn and raced towards the series of three obstacles, clearing each one with an accomplished sense of fluidity. And there it was: a flawless run. Jeremy and Julia were on their feet cheering loudly, oblivious of the looks they were getting from other parents.

One minute four seconds, no penalty deductions.

There was only one other girl who did the course without penalties. As coincidence would have it, her time was exactly the same as that of Emma: tied for the first place at her first attempt. The podium was set up again. Emma and the other girl shared the small square platform reserved for the first place. They both had their arms around each other’s shoulders. The number two spot was empty and the number three place had one girl. This was Emma’s first ever first place. Her smile was aimed at her parents although her eyes seemed to be looking beyond them.

Jeremy and Julia both agreed that competitions, although stressful, were exciting, especially if you went home with a medal. They would probably have survived a trophy-less afternoon, but that would have involved consoling their daughter as well as coming to terms with the fact that there were other riders who were even better than Emma.

The motives to move from London had never been very clear at the time, but it had seemed like the appropriate thing to do. However, moments like this provided justification if any were ever needed: their daughter was in the process of becoming a good rider and that alone should have been a good enough reason.

Even Julia seemed to be coping well. Yes her life did revolve around Emma, her school and her riding. She hadn’t quite taken to the local social scene but then she had never had huge social needs. Her best friend from London, Annie, was often on the phone to her and every now and then she would come over to spend the day.

Aunt Annie

Emma was upstairs in her room when she heard her mother talking in a tone that was more animated than usual. By the time she had walked down, Julia had got off the phone to her husband. She looked at Emma, Emma, Uncle Andrew has died. It was quite sudden.

What about Aunt Annie? Is she alone? Should we ask her to come and stay here with us?

You really think like a grown up, Emma. That is exactly what your father and I have asked Annie to do. And you know what? She’s accepted. It will only be for a while but it will be good for her to get away from that flat in London.

Only for a while? She’s your best friend and has no family apart from us. She can stay in my room for as long as she wants.

*

Annie was lodged in the guest room next to her goddaughter’s room and shared the bathroom on the landing with Emma. Jeremy installed a hooked latch on the inside to avoid accidentally disturbing Annie. The guest room was comfortably appointed. The bed had a metallic frame with bronze railings instead of headboards and footboards. There was a thick mattress set on a mesh of springs. The height of the frame and the thickness of the mattress meant that climbing into bed had a literal connotation.

At breakfast,