The Racehorse Who Learned to Dance

by Clare Balding

  They watched an American rider who was a double-leg amputee. With two long whips in her hands, she had trained her horse to respond to tiny flicks as it would have done to a squeeze from the lower leg. She had straps across the top of the saddle passing over the top of her thighs to keep her in position.

  ‘Her upper-body strength is epic. Look how secure she is in the saddle.’ Charlie pointed at the screen.

  ‘I wonder what exercise routines they follow to make them that strong?’ Polly said.

  ‘Cup of tea, girls?’ Mrs Bass came in carrying two mugs. ‘Thought you’d find that interesting.’ She nodded at the screen as she put down the mugs.

  Charlie frowned and wondered what her mother was up to. She had been thinking about how to encourage Polly without pushing her too far. She knew that she had to get the right balance between showing her how much others had achieved without making her feel insecure about her own progress. She needed Polly to feel more confident when they went back to school and not to worry so much about being judged.

  Mrs Bass smiled at the two girls.

  ‘Anything is possible,’ she said as she left the room, leaving Charlie wondering.

  Charlie turned back to Polly. ‘I think we need to invent a new word,’ Charlie said. ‘Diffability.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Diffabilty. You’re not disabled, disadvantaged or disappointed. You’re not dis-anything. You’re different. And that means we have to find different ways to do the things you want to do. You’ve been getting stronger and braver every time you’ve got on Noddy and I genuinely think he knows how to look after you.’

  ‘I know he does. And I love riding him.’ Polly looked out of the window as she spoke. ‘Even if it’s only to walk home to the stables. I watch him learning how to do dressage and I wish it was me on his back. I’d love that more than anything.’

  ‘Joe always said you’d make a great team,’ Charlie said craftily.

  Polly didn’t answer, but Charlie saw something like regret in her eyes. Eventually she spoke. ‘I’d make a fool of myself. If he got spooked by anything at all, I know I haven’t got the strength to hold myself in the saddle. If he bolted I wouldn’t be able to stop him, and how on earth would I convince my parents to let me even try? They’ll barely allow me out of the front door.’

  ‘We’ll deal with that when we have to. I’ve been looking for an instructor,’ Charlie announced. She pulled up a new screen on the TV and started typing in the search bar. ‘And I think this person could work for you and Noddy. She’s called Cecilia Cameron and it says here she has “over thirty years’ experience of teaching adults and children with a range of different requirements”. Look, she’s got an official endorsement from Riding for the Disabled.’

  Polly glanced at the screen and looked away again.

  ‘We can call it Riding for the Diffabled, if you like?’ Charlie suggested.

  ‘That’s not the issue,’ Polly said. ‘It’s just not going to happen. I mean, how would we get there without telling your parents? If we tell them, they’ll tell mine, and that will be the end of that.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, Noddy is happiest here. If we took him somewhere else, he might panic.’

  Charlie knew that it was more likely that Polly herself was insecure about riding in front of strangers.

  ‘I think Noddy is braver than we give him credit for,’ Charlie said gently. ‘I think he will be surprised when he gets there at how much he will enjoy being in front of other people. Miss Cameron is very good. She’s coached people to Paralympic gold medals and all sorts.’

  She stopped talking and left a gap for Polly to respond. When her friend said nothing, Charlie continued. ‘There’s a slot on Wednesday evenings we could get in.’

  ‘My mother is busy on Wednesdays,’ Polly said.

  ‘Perfect.’ Charlie dug Polly in the ribs. ‘We can get you a few lessons and then, by the time she sees you riding, you’ll be doing a full dressage test!’

  Polly bit her lip and stared out of the window. The sky was darkening and tiny drops of rain appeared on the pane.

  ‘Hey, look!’ she shouted, heaving herself off the sofa and moving towards the door. ‘It’s raining. It’s finally raining!’

  The two girls rushed outside to feel the raindrops falling on their hands. They looked at the sky and Charlie grasped Polly’s arms. They leaned backwards, away from each other, so that their faces were turned upwards as they let the rain splash on to their cheeks.

  ‘Rain, rain, beautiful rain!’ sang Charlie, tasting the drops on her tongue. ‘This must be a sign.’

  She pulled Polly to an upright position and locked her in a solid stare.

  ‘The summer is nearly over, and we’ll be back at school next week. You have to see Cecilia Cameron, even if it’s only for an assessment. Please say you will. Please, Polly.’

  She squeezed Polly’s hands and tried to transmit courage and strength through her fingertips.

  ‘OK, OK!’ said Polly, grinning. ‘Anything to stop the death stare! I’ll go. In return, I think you should properly get behind the supermarket idea. Larry’s been working really hard on that blog – he’s taken before and after photos, he’s made a film as well, and I think he and Harry really believe it would be good.’

  ‘Good for Noddy or good for them?’

  ‘Good for Noddy …’ She paused. ‘But maybe good for others as well. It’s a really strong message, honestly it is. You should ask them more about it. It’s not like an ordinary supermarket.’

  Charlie considered. ‘OK. Here’s the deal. If you have a lesson with Miss Cameron, I’ll let Harry and Larry tell me all about the magic supermarket.’

  ‘Deal!’ said Polly. ‘But how are we going to manage the lesson without telling our parents?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ replied Charlie. ‘Leave that bit to me.’

  CHAPTER 6

  Charlie wasn’t looking forward to the first day back at school. She had so enjoyed the summer holidays, being free to work with Noble Warrior and spending time with Polly, watching both of them get stronger. She played with Boris as she followed her brothers down the drive. Boris tried to bite the laces on her shoes and she tried to hop out of the way, laughing as he barked, ran backwards and succeeded in getting a mouthful of laces. He shook his head from side to side with a low, playful growl. She lifted up her foot and he hung on, swinging from side to side.

  ‘Boris, leave!’ she commanded as they reached the end of the drive. He looked up at her to check she was serious. ‘Leave it!’

  After a pause he released his grip and let go of her foot. He wagged his tail and she leaned down to scratch his head. ‘You are the daftest dog in the world!’

  The school bus pulled up bang on time and Harry and Larry bounced on board, high-fiving their friends and running to the back row. Charlie clambered up the steps slowly, turning to wave goodbye to Boris and make sure he trotted back down the drive to the farmhouse.

  ‘All right, my love?’ said Mrs Wheeler the bus driver kindly. ‘It’ll never be as bad as you think it is. Come on, let’s turn that frown upside down!’

  Charlie shrugged and said nothing. She took the seat behind her.

  ‘How was your summer, Mrs Wheeler?’

  ‘It was very nice, thank you, Charlie,’ the bus driver replied as she indicated and pulled away. ‘How lovely of you to ask. And I expect you got up to all sorts of fun and games with those animals, didn’t you?’

  They chatted all the way to school, which helped Charlie forget her nerves. She always hated the first day of term and she knew that she had to steel herself to help protect Polly.

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Wheeler,’ she said as she jumped down from the bus. ‘I really appreciate – you know …’

  ‘Any time, my love.’

  Charlie popped her head back through the door to ask a question.

  ‘Just one more thing, Mrs Wheeler.’ Charlie had had an idea. ‘Can you drive a horsebox?’

  Mrs Wheeler thought fo
r a second.

  ‘I s’pose so,’ she said. ‘Same as a bus, really, but with horses rather than fighting kids in the back. Should be easier, to be honest. Why do you ask, my love?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing, just good to know our options. Thanks so much, Mrs Wheeler.’

  Charlie smiled as she walked towards the school entrance. She spotted Mrs Williams opening the car door for Polly and made a beeline for her so that they could walk in together.

  ‘Hey! Charlie! Hang on!’

  She was stopped in her tracks by a group of girls, all of them tall and athletic. They were everything Charlie wanted to be – fit, confident, self-assured and cheerful.

  ‘You’ve grown over the summer,’ said Helen Danson. She was the goal attack in the school netball team.

  ‘Have I?’ Charlie lifted her chin and smiled.

  ‘Definitely,’ Helen responded.

  Flora Walsh flicked back her long blonde ponytail and looked Charlie up and down. She was the first-team captain, tall and graceful as a gazelle. All the boys walking by looked at her and Charlie noticed one of them staring so hard that he walked straight into an electric car-charging post. Flora had that effect.

  ‘Wanna come and train with us this afternoon?’ she asked casually.

  Charlie’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t believe it. ‘Oh my gosh, yes! I’d love to.’

  ‘Wicked. See you at three.’ Flora walked off, cool as anything – unaware that she had just transformed Charlie’s vision of the term ahead.

  ‘Let’s find out what she’s made of,’ Helen Danson whispered to Flora as they walked away, both flicking their ponytails from side to side.

  Charlie looked round to find Polly, eager to tell her the news. She caught sight of Mrs Williams’s brake lights as the car made its way out of the school car park. She swivelled round and scanned the playground, looking for Polly again. Nothing.

  Charlie ran towards the swing doors and hurled herself through them. She stopped in the reception area, looking around. She listened. She heard screams of girls greeting each other after weeks apart, noises coming from iPhones as people played each other videos from their holidays, and faintly, in the distance, she could hear a clicking noise. She knew that sound. She ran towards it and finally she saw Polly, her crutch clicking on the hard school floor with every stride. Charlie paused, eyes widening as she watched the other students moving out of Polly’s way without even looking at or speaking to her. They were all staring at the crutch.

  Charlie walked quickly to catch up with her best friend and tried not to listen to the snippets of conversation reverberating around them.

  ‘Not allowed out of the house.’

  ‘Apparently, she can’t do any sport …’

  ‘Pol! Wait for me!’ Charlie shouted, her face suddenly flushed with fury. She stared at Nadia, the girl who’d made the comment about Polly not being able to do sport. Charlie knew she was in the netball team already. She had been their most important defender last year, always blocking the opposition, but getting into plenty of trouble with referees for fouls. She was talking to the boy next to her with relish, as if she actually enjoyed imparting this gossip about Polly.

  ‘She’s talking rubbish,’ Charlie said loudly as she walked past them. ‘Nasty Nadia loves to spread gossip, even when it’s totally invented.’ She caught up with her friend. ‘Polly! I was going to walk in with you. Why didn’t you wait?’

  Polly marched on, her crutch clicking on the floor like a metronome. She didn’t answer.

  Charlie tugged at her sleeve and made her stop. ‘Polly, what is it? What did I do? I’m sorry I got distracted, but I ran after you as soon as I could.’

  ‘Ran after me? Lucky you!’ Polly’s eyes glistened. ‘Lucky you to be able to do that. To be fast enough and tall enough and sporty enough that the netball girls finally notice you. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? To be in their gang.’

  Charlie shook her head in disbelief. ‘I’m made up that they asked me, that’s for sure! But it’s not about being in a gang, Polly. They’re not exactly going to replace you as my friend. That’s not how it works!’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Polly spat. ‘I think it’s exactly how it works. Why would you want to be with me when you can hang out with the cool, sporty, beautiful girls? I can hear what they say as I walk by. I see the look in their eyes. They think I’m a freak. Why would you want to be friends with a freak, Charlie? Why?’

  Charlie was completely thrown. She had spent so much time with Polly this summer, had seen her flourish and grow in confidence as well as physical strength. Where had all this anger come from? What had happened between the car park and the corridor that had put their friendship at risk?

  ‘You’re not a freak. You’re my friend and you will be until the day I die! I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I wanted to be at your side when you came in.’

  ‘Why? To protect me – is that what you think? Are you my great defender? The heroine of my story? Do I need Charlie Bass by my side every minute of the day if I’m going to get through school?’

  Polly turned and walked on towards their classroom, her crutch hitting the floor with added force.

  Charlie stood and stared after her. She felt as if she had been slapped hard on the cheek. She looked behind and saw Nadia smirking. Nadia licked her finger, raising it into the air and striking it downwards, as if chalking up a scoreline of 1–0.

  Feeling sick, Charlie followed her friend into the classroom at a distance. When she entered the room she saw there was no space to sit next to Polly as she usually did. Instead, she had to sit two rows behind her. She was in utter conflict. She wanted so much to be on the netball team, but she didn’t want to desert Polly. Why did it feel as if she had to choose?

  She couldn’t concentrate on the lesson at all. Dr Patterson was banging on about evolution and how the human brain was always changing. Something about mobile phones and social media. Blah blah. None of it mattered to Charlie. All her brain was concerned about was her friendship with Polly. How could she fix it? She didn’t want to pull out of netball training. She’d been waiting a whole year to get the chance to be in the same room as the first team and she didn’t think it was fair of Polly to expect her to ditch that dream. There had to be another solution.

  ‘Coding is the key.’ Dr Patterson was wittering on about computer programming and how not enough girls were interested. ‘There are loads of apprenticeships out there, but it seems that most girls don’t believe they have the capability to write code. Look back at history, however, and it will tell you that the great technology breakthroughs were made by women. Back in the nineteenth century, Ada Lovelace designed the first algorithm for a computer. In the nineteen sixties, Grace Hopper designed a compiler – or translator – for the language of programming. Women were often employed as computers, and then when computers were introduced at places like NASA, it was women who worked out how to use them.’

  Charlie saw Polly put up her hand.

  ‘Yes, Polly?’

  ‘Dr Patterson, if women in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries weren’t afraid of computers, why are so few twenty-first-century women developing new programmes to solve modern problems?’

  Dr Patterson pushed her glasses up her nose and inhaled. ‘I have often wondered about that and I believe it comes down to two things – gender stereotyping and confidence.’

  She paused and looked around the room at the boys and girls in their uniforms, sitting behind desks in front of her. Her eyes came to rest again on Polly.

  ‘We are conditioned to behave in the way we think befits our gender,’ she explained. ‘Social media, which I explained earlier can cleverly convince your brain to buy certain products, can also train you to behave in a certain way. Girls, for example, are told they should wear as many different clothes as they can, but if they dare to have a different hairstyle from everyone else …’

  Dr Patterson gazed around the room again. Charlie could see girls tossi
ng their ponytails from side to side. She ran her hand through her own short hair and shrank into her seat.

  ‘As Billie-Jean King, the pioneer of professional women’s tennis, has said – boys are taught to be strong and powerful, girls are taught to be pretty and perfect.’

  Charlie started taking notes in her exercise book. She wrote down ‘pretty’ and ‘perfect’ and then drew a line through them. Dr Patterson was warming to her theme now and continued to hold court.

  ‘Many philosophers far wiser than me will tell you how damaging it is to humanity to expect any one set of people to behave in a regimented and uniform way. It limits their capacity to create and it leads to intolerance. If anyone dares to be different, they are perceived as being weaker and will be cast out from the group.’

  Charlie was scribbling hard in her book. This was interesting. She saw Polly put her hand up again.

  ‘And what, miss, should you do if you can’t help being different? How do you make sure you’re not the one who is cast out of the group?’

  ‘Good question, Polly,’ Dr Patterson replied. She pushed her glasses up her nose again. ‘I don’t have all the answers, but the one thing I would say is, Don’t adapt to fit in. I truly believe we should celebrate difference. If we’re all going to be exactly the same, we might as well be sheep and baa at each other, rather than speak!’ A few people giggled. ‘You can always make yourself useful by being different. Every group needs people with a variety of skills. Every team needs support staff as well as their star striker.’

  Charlie saw Polly nodding and noticed that she too was writing.

  When the bell rang for the end of class, Charlie waited. She knew that all the other pupils would get up as fast as they could and run for the door. Dr Patterson’s lesson had made everyone – boy or girl – feel self-conscious. But Polly couldn’t move that quickly and it was safer for her to wait until the rush had ebbed away.