Contents
Cover
Walker Books Australia Logo
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Acknowledgements
About the Authors
How They Write
About the Dream Rider Series
Dedication
Copyright
Dream Riders: Storm Blurb
Dream Riders: Storm Cover
One
Even before I opened my eyes I knew that today was going to be my dreams-come-true day. Today I would be meeting Bona Vita, the horse of my dreams; the horse that was going to make everything I’d been through worth it. I wouldn’t call him Bona Vita, though. That was his show name. I was going to name him something special, something that would pop into my mind the moment our eyes first met. I’d call his special name and he’d canter across the fields to me. I could picture it, vividly. I’d climb on his back and together we’d move off, tall across the grass, his neck arched, ears twitching, tail swishing, his thick black mane plaited tightly, with ribbons rippling in the breeze. It would feel as if the whole world was just waiting for us to explore it, together. It would be amazing. I threw the covers off and jumped out of bed. Today was going to be a great day.
At breakfast I tried to give Dad a chance to share in my excitement.
“I’m getting my new horse today,” I reminded him, as I poured us each a bowl of muesli. “I’m going to Mum’s house this afternoon to meet him for the very first time!”
“That’s right, I forgot,” he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.
“Forgot?” I gasped, making my best crazy-amazed face at him. “This is the biggest, most amazing thing to ever happen to me! How could you forget?”
“Oh Frankie, I’m sorry,” he said, ignoring the cup of English Breakfast tea I’d just set down in front of him and opening a can of Diet Coke. He was still dressed in his pyjamas, even though in ten minutes he was meant to be leaving for work.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I said quickly. “I was just trying to be funny by exaggerating. You know, like a joke?”
“We haven’t even sorted out your jodhpurs yet, have we? I’ll bring them home from work this evening.”
“It’s fine,” I said, trying not to snap. In our old life, before we moved here, he would have been packing me a yummy lunch and asking me funny, horse related-questions. He would have been the one encouraging me to eat a healthy breakfast and whipping up enthusiasm for the new day.
“Things are going to get better for both of us, I can just feel it,” I said, putting my hand on his and smiling encouragingly.
“I’m sure you’re right,” he said, giving me a weak smile back.
I started whistling a cheery tune as I got up to clear the table. It felt wrong to be having such a gloomy breakfast on such a glorious day. Because it really was glorious, I decided, as I looked out the window while I did the washing up. The sky was blue and the air was crisp. One good thing about moving to the country from the city was that I’d become more aware of all the seasons. Now it was winter, which in a sub-tropical climate like this one is actually the nicest time. Not too hot. Not too glary. Not too rainy. It was just right.
“Bye Dad,” I said, kissing him on the cheek as I picked up my backpack and handed him his wallet and car keys.
“Bye Frankie. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” When my dad smiles his cheeks crinkle up and his eyes go all soft and warm. The only time he does it anymore, though, is when he’s looking at me. “And this evening, the next time you see me, I’m going to be the proud owner of a horse!”
“Wow,” he said, smiling even more broadly now.
“Wow is right,” I said, skipping out the door.
“That’s it? That’s my horse?”
Mum and I were standing at the edge of the paddock next to her new house. She was staring at me, bug-eyed. It’s how she looks when she’s panicking.
“There’s been a … a change of plan,” she said.
“There sure has. That’s not my horse. That’s a … a barrel.”
All I could see was his long grey tail, covered in burrs and seeds, his shaggy grey coat, and his stomach, rounding out impressively over short stocky legs. This was not the horse of my dreams, the soulmate and best friend who would make me feel at home, no matter where we were or what we were doing.
“That’s a pony,” said Mum.
“What happened to Bona Vita?”
Mum’s friend at work, Pam, was moving to the city for work, and had to find new homes for her horses. Mum had offered to take one, and Pam had said we could have Bona Vita. I’d seen a picture. Bona Vita, it said, in black, official-looking writing underneath a photo of a big, glossy, graceful bay. I knew immediately that I was going to be glossy and graceful, riding that horse.
“Pam said one of the other nurses at the hospital offered to take him and her daughter is an experienced rider. Pam didn’t want to disappoint you, darling, but she decided that Bona Vita would be happier there, and that we would be better off with Zen.”
“Zen?”
He had been standing with his nose buried in the grass, eating, as if he wasn’t aware of our existence, or at least not the slightest bit interested, but when I said his name he looked up and turned his head towards me. His mane was salt-and-pepper coloured, and his ears flecked with little dollops of grey. His dark eyes met mine. “Have you brought something for me to eat?” they seemed to be saying. “If not, then, goodbye.” He put his head down to the grass again.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
“What do you mean, what’s wrong with him? There’s nothing wrong with him. Pam’s a lovely woman, and I know she wants you to love pony club.”
But Pam – I knew because Mum had told me – adored her horses and always put them first. If the good horse was getting the good rider, what was I getting? I’d hardly ever ridden before.
“Pam said Zen’s older, and more experienced,” said Mum. “She says he’s bombproof. I don’t think he’ll need as much work or as much careful handling. She said he’s easygoing.”
“Bombproof means he’s boring,” I said flatly.
“It means he’s safe. He won’t hurt you, or anyone else, and he’s a lovely beginner rider’s pony, Pam said. He’ll be perfect for pony club.”
Beginner rider. It’s true. I’ve only ever actually ridden a horse a couple of times, which is nuts considering how crazy I am about horses. Living in the city, I never had the chance. But I don’t want to be a beginner rider. I want to be the girl flat-out galloping across a field of green on her horse. I want to be the rider at one with her mount; a force of nature, like a wave, like a storm, like a tree in the wind. On this horse – correction: this barrel – I’ll just be Frankie, sitting like a lump of mashed potato on top of her old-and-over-it pony.
“I’m not going to pony club on this horse.” Somehow, doing the thing I’d been dreami
ng about for so long, on the horse I hadn’t been dreaming about, felt like the last straw.
“Frankie! Come back!” Mum called as I stormed back to the house.
“I’d love to go back!” I muttered, under my breath.
I hadn’t even wanted to move here. I was perfectly happy living in the city. I loved our tiny terrace house and I loved living in the middle of the bustle and excitement. You couldn’t get a bad iced chocolate, there was always something good on at the cinema, and my entire wardrobe came from the second-hand clothes shops up the road. No single item of clothing ever cost me more than nine dollars. Beat that on eBay! But Dad was always complaining about the pollution and Mum hated the aeroplane noise and the traffic.
It had always been their dream to move up to Byron Shire, which is famous for its laid-back way of life, its quaint little towns and beautiful, wild beaches, and last year Dad found a job as a lecturer at the university nearby. Mum found a neat little house for us on the edge of Mullumbimby, a small town fifteen minutes’ drive away from the coast, and we moved.
No one seemed to care that I had to leave all my friends and my school. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating slightly. They cared, but not enough to change their minds. “You’ll love it, you’ll see,” said Mum, every time I tried to tell her how I felt. She was excited – excited with an edge of desperation that seemed to get even sharper after we moved. It was as if she was desperate for us all to be happy.
We weren’t.
Mum and Dad didn’t last six months living their dream life in their dream house before they split up and Mum moved out. Six months after that she fell in love with Viv, her pottery teacher, and now she had moved in with Viv and her daughter, Eloise, on their country property just outside of Mullumbimby, leaving me to try to keep things cheerful with Dad.
That’s the trouble with dreams, I was beginning to realise. When you have a dream you have something to hope for. But when you finally get your dream, what you’re in for is a massive disappointment. Like this horse.
“We should never have moved here!” I said, sitting down at Viv’s kitchen table. I didn’t want to cry, but tears were leaking down my cheeks.
“Why?” said Mum gently, sitting down next to me. “Because nothing would have changed if we’d stayed the way we were?” She put a glass of orange juice down in front of me, along with a pile of Vita-Weats spread thickly with butter and Vegemite – my favourite, but I was too upset to eat.
“Frankie?” Mum put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed tight. “Things would have changed whether we moved or not. I wanted to come here because I thought it would make us a happier family. I know! I was wrong!” she added quickly, before I could point out the obvious. “But we couldn’t keep living the way we were either.”
“Why not?” I whispered.
“Your dad and I haven’t been happy for a long time. We always loved you, of course, but we didn’t like our life.”
“I know you thought the cafes were too expensive,” I said, “and Dad hated not having a backyard.”
“Frankie, you know it wasn’t that,” said Mum. “It was that we weren’t happy with each other. And we tried really, really hard, and it broke my heart that it didn’t work out.”
“It doesn’t seem broken!” I burst out. She had already hung her favourite painting of the Owl and The Pussycat on the wall, and I could see the bowl she’d made in Viv’s pottery class sitting on the counter, filled with pears. She was already decorating, and she’d only been living here a week.
“My heart broke a long time ago. And all this time I’ve been trying to find a way to fix it without leaving your dad. Moving up here was just a part of that, but none of it worked.”
It’s just so hard because you’re happy now, and he’s not, I wanted to say, but I didn’t.
“How’s he going?” she asked quietly.
“He’s fine.” I knew Dad wouldn’t want me to tell her he was spending all his time on the couch in his pyjamas, living on Diet Coke.
“I want him to be fine,” said Mum. “He will be fine. We just have to give him time. I still care about him, you know, Frankie. And what we both want most is for you to be fine.”
“I am fine!” I snapped. “I just don’t want this stupid horse.”
“Darling, you’re lucky to have any horse. Remember all those years you dreamed of having one? And this horse is ours for the next month, anyway, because Pam’s away, and she’s got enough on her plate without me bothering her about Zen. She’s coming back for a visit next month, though, and when she does, if you still don’t like him, I’ll see if she can find him another home.”
“And then can we find me a better horse?” I wiped my eyes and looked up at her.
“On one condition.”
“What?” I asked warily, expecting her to say be nicer to Viv, or eat my vegetables, or don’t say rude things about her leaving Dad.
“I want you to start pony club tomorrow, just like we planned, and find out if you’re really serious about this whole horseriding thing.”
“Of course I’m serious!” I’d been dreaming about going to pony club since I was a little girl.
“This is our chance to see if you and pony club are the right fit.”
“We are the right fit,” I said. “I just never dreamed of going on the wrong horse.”
“I would like you to make sure.”
“I am sure that I’d much rather go when I have the right horse,” I said stubbornly.
“You know, you haven’t even ridden him yet. I want you to go now.” Mum could be even more stubborn than me when she felt like it.
I sighed. “Okay.” Suddenly I heard a ripping sound coming from outside. “What was that?” I exclaimed. I had a horrible feeling that I knew.
“Oh no.” Mum looked embarrassed. “Pam warned me about this.”
“Seriously?” I said. “You’re making me go to pony club on a farter?”
We both started laughing in horror at the thought of it.
Two
The day I found out there was a pony club in Mullumbimby was the first day I could imagine being happy here. It’s not that I didn’t like the kids at my school, but I’d been there for nine months and I still hadn’t made any real friends. Not like the ones I’d left behind – like Lily, who I talked with on the phone for an hour every Sunday; or Jo, who I always had lunch with at school, laughing our heads off at nothing; or Kai, who’d been my best friend for years.
No one at my new school was mean to me – most of the kids were actually pretty nice – but there was no one I felt especially close to. There was no one I could call on the weekend, or share secret jokes with at school, let alone a best friend.
I was glad Mum had convinced me to get started with pony club anyway, I decided the next morning as I got out my bike. Pony club was where I was going to meet my real friends – doing something I loved with a group of girls who loved it too. Sharing a passion is important, Mum says, and everyone knows the most passionate girls are horse girls.
The Mullumbimby Showground, where pony club was being held, is a ten-minute bike ride, halfway between Viv’s place, in a rural area called The Pocket, and Dad’s sunny brick house on the edge of Mullumbimby. Lots of people love Mullumbimby, because it’s quaint and characterful – not my words. It has lots of brightly painted wooden houses, organic food markets and yoga studios, side-by-side with doctors’ surgeries and shops selling tractors and farm supplies.
The Pocket, on the other hand, feels a bit like a secret. Not that many people have heard of it – not even some of the locals around here – and when you come over the ridge of the hill and go down into The Pocket Valley it feels as if you might be entering an enchanted realm. There’s just one pale dirt road, which winds past paddocks and sleepy old farmhouses with big verandahs, past patches of thick rainforest and forbidding-looking properties with high fences and “no entry” signs written on them in huge writing. It’s probably the quietest place I have ever been
, apart from the birds, who seem to screech and sing twice as loudly as the ones in town. It rains a lot there, as well as getting a lot of sun, so the grass grows thick and lush, and the flowers and trees all seem bigger and brighter than anywhere else. There’s just one corner shop that sells eggs, and bread and ancient movies on DVD, but otherwise if you need anything you have to go into town.
The roads between Dad’s place and the Showground are paved and smooth, and perfect for bike riding, but even though I rode as fast as I could, I was somehow still late.
“There you are!” called Mum as soon as she saw me. She was standing beside the arena with Zen, who was all saddled up and ready to go. “I thought we were going to get Zen ready together.”
“I’m sorry. It took longer than I thought to get organised.”
“Where’s your dad? Why didn’t he drive you?”
“He’s not feeling well,” I said, improvising quickly. The truth was, ever since they broke up, Dad had been avoiding her. He didn’t even like talking to her on the phone.
“Why aren’t you wearing your new jodhpurs?” she asked.
“Dad picked them up from The Horse’s Whiskers, like you said to, but then he forgot to bring them home from work.” He had always been absent-minded, but without Mum there to write things in his diary for him, he’d become even more so.
“Honestly!” said Mum, and then she took a deep breath and squeezed her lips together, as though there was a lot more she wasn’t going to let herself say.
We just have to give him time, I thought.
While Mum adjusted Zen’s girth straps, I looked over to the centre of the arena, where a group of horses stood in a circle, facing each other, their riders beside them. Emphasis on horses – they all looked huge, especially compared to Zen. There were sixteen of them, I counted, and two instructors, a man and a woman, beautifully mounted on matching bay thoroughbreds.
All the girls were dressed in dark jackets, white shirts and jodhpurs, and they all looked neat and fresh. Wearing Mum’s faded old riding jacket and my jeans, I felt rumpled and ratty by comparison. I didn’t even have a white shirt. It had been a toss-up between my favourite red-and-white striped T-shirt, or the white one I’d worn to school yesterday, which was dirty. I’d decided to go with the stripes, which now I realised was a mistake. Sure, it was clean, but now I was going to stand out even more.
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