Pony Jumpers- Special Edition 1- Jonty

by Kate Lattey

  Frankie went to the tack room and came back with a contraption that he called a ‘lunging system’, something I hadn’t realised you needed to lunge a horse, but which Frankie swore by. It was a complicated system of ropes and sheepskin and pulleys and buckles, but he put it on with a practiced ease and then gave me a crash course in lunging. I had to admit, that once he got going, the chestnut horse had never looked so good.

  “That’ll do him for today,” Frankie told me after about fifteen minutes.

  “But he’s just starting to get the hang of it,” I argued.

  “He’s using muscles he’s not used to working,” Frankie replied. “Give him any more than that and he’ll be so sore in the morning that he’ll buck you straight off.”

  I grinned as I told the horse to halt. “I’d like to see him try. Woah now, OJ. Stand.”

  “What’d you just call him?”

  “OJ. Short for orange juice, because of his colour.” I walked over to the horse, gathering in the lunge line as I went. “Not very original, I know, but it’s a lot nicer than what Ken calls him.”

  “I’m sure that’s not hard,” Frankie said wryly. “Okay then. OJ it is.”

  I thought I’d already learned a lot from riding at Ken’s, but with Frankie around my education increased a hundredfold. The first time he saw me on a horse, he pretended to pass out in horror, then gave me a half hour lesson the likes of which I’d never had in my life. Apparently everything I did on the horse was wrong, from the way that I sat (not straight enough) to the way that I carried my hands (too low) and even where I looked (down, instead of straight ahead). My lower leg was too far forward and my heels weren’t far enough down, and I was “about as effective as a goldfish” in the saddle. He did commend me for my good balance and independent seat, but shook his head at my unorthodox aids and transitions.

  “You do know that you’re supposed to sit to the trot before you ask the horse to canter, right? Why am I even asking you that, of course you don’t. Did anyone actually teach you to ride, or did you just learn by not falling off?”

  “The second one,” I said with a grin. “Though I’ve done a bit of falling off, too.”

  “I bet you have. Well you learned to stay on, at least. So I guess that’s one thing you can do right.”

  Frankie got evidence of my stickability later that the afternoon, when I was riding a young liver chestnut that had turned up a few days earlier. He was an ex-polo pony that had been sacked after developing a rearing habit. The owners had sent him to the hounds, but Ken had a contact at the kennels who would send him anything he thought was worth giving another chance to. I’d named the pony Last Chance, but nobody had told him that he was on his final warning, and he gave me a masterclass in rearing that afternoon.

  “Jesus, hold on,” Frankie cried as Last Chance went up in the air for the third time in a row, going higher each time until he was almost vertical.

  I flung my arms around his neck and gripped tight, remembering clearly that day at Pony Club when I’d slid off Taniwha’s rump and determined not to let that happen again. At least I had a saddle on today. Last Chance touched down again, trembling, and I reached forward and stroked his neck to reassure him.

  “Don’t bloody pat him for that! What’s wrong with you?” Frankie said in disgust.

  “I don’t think beating him up is going to work either,” I pointed out.

  “Well, no.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you quick on your feet?”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you asking me to dance?”

  “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re not my type,” Frankie said. “Too scrawny by far. I’ve got a plan, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

  I wasn’t sure either, but I didn’t have a better option, and Frankie swore it would work. He attached the lunge rope to Last Chance’s bit, then told me to ride him forward. We both braced ourselves, but to our surprise, the pony walked on willingly, and picked up a trot when asked. I was prepared for him to go up, and kept my hands light and my body slightly forward, and for once Frankie didn’t correct me. Not at first, anyway. But as Last Chance trotted quietly around on the end of the lunge line, Frankie’s attention shifted from the pony back onto me.

  “You can stop looking down, the horse is still there,” he told me. “And sit up for Christ’s sake, it’s giving me scoliosis just watching you right now.”

  I rode Last Chance on the lunging circle, concentrating hard on keeping my hands low and back straight and heels pushed all the way down. My legs started to cramp, and I started talking to distract myself from how much it hurt.

  “Hey Frankie, can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Oh God. What now?”

  “What’s your beef with God?”

  “Who?”

  “You heard me. You’re always throwing his name around, but you don’t seem like a religious type. So what gives?”

  “That’s a very personal question, Jesus.”

  “Well you’re about to attempt to kill me, Mary and Joseph,” I reminded him. “So humour me while you’ve got the chance.”

  Frankie laughed, and told me to make a transition to walk. Last Chance shifted smoothly to the slower pace, and I looked over at Frankie, waiting for an answer. He sighed, then flicked the lunge whip in Last Chance’s direction. The pony tossed his head and trotted on.

  “Nothing against him,” Frankie said eventually. “As fictional characters go, he’s got longevity at least.”

  “How do you know he’s fictional?”

  He lifted one hand and waved it out to the side in a gesture of hopelessness. “Look around at the world we live in. If God does exist, he’s one sick bastard.”

  “Maybe he’s just testing us.”

  “Maybe you’re just testing me. I didn’t realise you were such a zealot.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “I’ve just got an open mind.”

  “Well good for you. I, on the other hand, have…”

  But I didn’t get to find out what it was that Frankie had, because at that moment I felt Last Chance baulk slightly under me, and I knew what it meant.

  “He’s going up!” I warned Frankie, holding tight as the pony stopped abruptly and reared, waving his forelegs in the air.

  The ground was a fair way below me, but I held my breath and bailed out like I’d been told to. I landed on my feet and moved quickly to the fence as Frankie ran around behind the pony and pulled back on the lunge rope. Last Chance’s eyes went wide as he wobbled, almost losing his balance, but a second later Frankie released the tension on the rope and the pony dropped back onto his front feet. Last Chance stood stock still, trembling and wide-eyed, and I went to his head and rubbed his big white star reassuringly.

  “Sorry we scared you, mate,” I said. “But you can’t keep doing that. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “And here’s me thinking we were trying to stop you from getting killed,” Frankie said wryly as he came up to Last Chance’s head. “Hop back on, let’s see if it worked.”

  “Does it usually?” I asked as I remounted.

  Frankie shrugged. “Fifty-fifty. Some of them just need to be given a fright, when they lose their balance and think they’re going to go over backwards, and it cures them of trying again. Others it doesn’t make a difference to, and you have to flip them all the way over before they learn. Even then, sometimes it doesn’t stick. I guess we’ll find out which one he is soon enough.” He unclipped the lunge rope from the bridle and patted Last Chance’s sweaty shoulder. “Come on mate. Be a good lad, and we’ll find you a nice home with a teenage girl who’ll kiss you all over your face and give you all the treats you can eat.”

  “That’s the dream,” I told the pony, and Frankie pulled a face.

  “Maybe for you.” He looked at his watch and shook his head. “Jesus, time flies. How is it four o’clock already?”

  “Is that all? My stomach thinks we skipped dinner hours ago,” I told him, and he grinned.


  “Get this pony ridden and I’ll drop you home, save you the bus fare. You coming back tomorrow, or are you too busy with Sunday school?”

  I grinned at his teasing as I picked up Last Chance’s reins and nudged him into a walk. The pony moved forward tentatively, still a little shaky after his scare, and I ran my knuckles gently down the crest of his neck.

  “I’ll be back.”

  “Good. Because I’ve got a hell of a lot more I need to teach you.”

  LETDOWN

  “Hey Frankie, can I ask a favour?”

  He sighed. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times – you’re not my type. Would you let it go already? You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  I grinned at him as our horses ambled along the raceway side by side, cooling off after a schooling session in the arena. Several weeks had passed since Frankie had first arrived at Ken’s, and I’d learned more about training horses in that time than I could ever remember learning in my life. I rode several horses each day, often after Frankie had schooled them first so that I could sit on the finished product and understand what we were trying to achieve. The horses were all still fairly rough around the edges, but they were improving at a rate of knots. Every week, I learned more; and every week, I became more and more impatient to get Bonfire back to the yard and start working with him again. So when Ken repeatedly put off going to pick him up, I decided to bypass him entirely and ask Frankie for help.

  “I need a horse transported,” I told him.

  Frankie frowned, looking at me sideways. “Whose horse?”

  “Mine.” He just blinked at me for a moment, so I clarified. “Bonfire. The horse Ken gave me before you got here.”

  “Oh.” Frankie seemed startled. “Right.”

  “You know where he is, don’t you?”

  He slowly shook his head, averting his eyes. “Uh, I’m afraid I don’t.”

  That surprised me. “Ken said he sent him off to a friend’s place to run over the hills and put some weight on him,” I explained. “He said he’d bring him back here when he was ready, but it’s been weeks and I’m getting impatient. But you know where the farm is, right?”

  I grinned at him, wanting him to understand, but Frankie just sighed.

  “Jonty,” he said, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I knew things were serious when he called me by my name. “You didn’t really believe him, did you?”

  I pulled the horse I was riding to a halt and stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  Frankie stopped OJ and shook his head at me. “There is no farm. You really think that if Ken had access to a place like that, he’d still be keeping all his own horses cooped up on this patch of dirt?”

  I swallowed hard. “Then where is he?”

  “He went to the hounds the day after you rode him. He’s long gone.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “You’re lying.”

  “Why would I?” Frankie asked sadly.

  “So when Ken said he’d give me a horse in exchange for working here…”

  “He lied.”

  I didn’t know what to do. I looked down at the reins that were clenched in my fists, and I felt the black horse shifting nervously underneath me, picking up on my tension.

  “How long have you known?”

  “Since the day after I met you.”

  “And you never told me?” I was incensed, and Frankie looked guilty.

  “Sorry mate. I should’ve, but I thought you might take off, and I didn’t want to do all the work around here on my own.” He was smiling, but it was tentative, and I knew he was only half joking.

  “What makes you think I won’t just leave now?” I asked him.

  “Where else are you going to get an education like this?” Frankie asked me, nudging his horse back into a walk.

  I sat mutely in the saddle as the black horse followed OJ, my mind reeling in disbelief. Part of me had always thought that it was too good to be true, but I’d convinced myself to trust Ken. As the horses walked on, all of the plans I’d made and hopes I’d had for Bonfire disappeared, and I felt bitter and used.

  “I trusted him.”

  “That was your first mistake,” Frankie said. “Sorry kid. I should’ve told you sooner, but I thought you’d figure it out eventually, or Ken would eventually fess up.”

  I just grunted a response, unable to put my feelings into words. We rode the horses back to the stables and untacked them, then hosed the sweat from their coats. The black horse – his stable name was Nig, but I could never bring myself to call him that – was looking sleek and strong, a far cry from the thin, scruffy creature he’d been when he arrived. But all I could see when I looked at him was Bonfire, and how beautiful he could’ve become.

  “If it makes you feel any better, the horse was probably buggered anyway,” Frankie said, apparently reading my mind. “From what Ken told me about him, it sounds like he was a ball of nerves and constantly exploding. He’d probably have killed you.”

  “I could’ve fixed him,” I blurted out angrily.

  “Maybe,” Frankie conceded. “Or maybe he was in a lot of pain, which was why he behaved the way he did. Maybe it was something that could have been fixed with months or years of treatment, and thousands of dollars, or maybe it was something that was never going to be able to be resolved. Whatever the case, it’s over now.”

  “Yeah all right, rub it in a bit harder, why don’t you?”

  “Okay, okay. Tell you what. Let’s feed up early and go into town for a bite to eat, then I’ll drop you off home. Save you getting the bus, how’s that sound?”

  My stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and despite my irritation I nodded.

  “Only if you’re buying.”

  Sitting under the fluorescent lighting of the Chinese takeaway, I shovelled noodles into my mouth, focusing on the food so that I didn’t have to think about the disappointment that was still eating away at me. Frankie ate more slowly, watching me.

  “It’s not the end of the world, you know. I can get you another horse.”

  I paused with my plastic fork halfway to my mouth. A glob of sweet and sour sauce dripped onto my lap, but I ignored it.

  “Could you really?”

  “Of course. It’s the least Ken could do for you, after that stunt he pulled with Bonfire. Tell you what. I’m going up to the track next week to look at some sacked racehorses. If there’s anything there worth having, I’ll bring it back for you.”

  “Can I come with you and help choose?” I asked eagerly, but he shook his head.

  “You need to go to school, get yourself an education.”

  I groaned. “I don’t want an education. I want to ride.”

  “That’s what I said too,” Frankie told me. “And look where I ended up.”

  I swallowed the mouthful of food. “Why did you? End up at Ken’s, I mean. You’re a good rider and a great trainer. Couldn’t you get a job somewhere else?”

  “I did for a while,” he said. “Where d’you think I went off to? I’ve left before, several times, but something just keeps drawing me back.”

  “Like a moth to a flame,” I suggested.

  “Like a fly to a muck heap,” he corrected me bitterly. “But since I’m here, I might as well do something worthwhile.”

  “Like find me a horse.”

  Frankie laughed. “You’ll get your horse, don’t worry. And in the meantime, I’ll make sure Ken starts paying you. That’ll get you a horse of your own sooner than anything else. Because if there’s one thing he hates, it’s giving people money, and he’ll do just about anything to avoid it.”

  I chewed thoughtfully on a gristly piece of sweet and sour pork. “So if I got a horse, he wouldn’t pay me?”

  “No. The horse would be payment, and then you’d work to earn its keep.”

  I thought about that for a while, pushing the noodles that were left around the plastic container.

  “In that case, I think you’d bett
er hold off on finding me a horse.”

  Frankie looked at me. “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” My family was broke, and whatever money Ken could be forced to part with would make a difference to us. “I can’t afford another horse anyway, and I’ve still got Taniwha at home.”

  “Good old Taniwha,” Frankie said, smiling as he set down his chopsticks. “I’m looking forward to meeting this pony that I’ve heard so much about. C’mon, finish your food and we’ll get out of here.”

  LIES MY PARENTS TOLD ME

  “I’ll do it Nate, I swear to God. I’ll take the kids and leave you behind!”

  I jumped up onto the front step of the cottage and froze at the sound of my mother's voice. It was mid-August, had been raining all day, and was still coming down heavily in the pitch dark. Raindrops battered against the corrugated iron roof as I leaned against the door frame and pulled my muddy boots off, tired from a long day of riding, but still exhilarated from the successful jumping lesson I’d had that afternoon.

  “You think I’d care if you left?” Dad yelled back. His voice was slurred slightly, and I knew he’d been drinking. All the elation drained out of me as I listened to his angry voice. “You think I'd give a damn? You can piss off out of here, see if I'm bothered. But you’re not taking my kids anywhere. They stay with me.”

  “Like hell they do. You think I’d leave them here with you? You’re an unemployed drunk!”

  There was a heavy thud, and the floorboards shuddered under my feet as I grabbed the door handle and pushed the door open. My parents were facing off in the middle of the living room with an overturned kitchen chair lying between them. A bottle of liquor dangled from my father’s fingertips, and I glanced towards the door to my sisters’ bedroom. It was shut tight, but I had no doubt they were wide awake and listening to every word.

  “And whose fault is that?” Dad demanded.

  “Not mine!” Mum cried. “And it's not theirs, either.”

  Dad took a step towards her, then another until they were standing face-to-face. He leaned in towards her, slowly lifting his free hand with his fist clenched tight.