by Leigh Hutton
It was by far the largest indoor arena Ebony had ever ridden in, with the exception of those at Spruce Meadows.
The ceiling seemed to not even touch the mirrored walls. The jumps, multi-coloured and set in the middle of the ring reflected in the mirrors, gave the space an Alice in Wonderland feel.
Faces watching her from a long row of windows high on the far wall caught Ebony’s eye, as well as two riders on huge Warmbloods coming towards her. The lounge, staff room and offices occupied the far end. These were places she would avoid, where all the other riders would hang out, and all the ‘BS’ would go down. She preferred to be with her horses.
Gallant’s heart rate was rising, as he took it all in, nostrils flaring. He quickened his step and swished his tail. He’d seen it all before, but it was still exciting. Her heart was pounding. The movement of his wide shoulder beneath her, his strength, sending streams of energy up through her body. Charging her. He moved with purpose, still, after so many rounds jumped, and fences cleared. She could feel his strength and power. The freedom of his spirit. She felt incredibly awake, and alive.
‘Agony Scott Harris.’
She knew the nasally, pompous voice from a mile away. Mantina Fairbone, or Princess Mantina of York, as she insisted was her title.
‘I think Tackle box is a better name for the freak now,’ added Dougie Chamfer. Mantina looked across at the plump boy with his woman’s hips and man boobs and raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘Look at her face!’ Dougie said. ‘She’s got even more metal in it.’
‘Oh!’ Mantina dropped her reins to clap. ‘Tackle box — how perfect!’
Ebony glanced from one to the other, matching their glare. ‘Aren’t you two late for couple’s counselling?’ she asked.
Mantina made a yuck face. ‘Good one, Tackle box.’ Then her eyes lit up. ‘Glad I ran into you actually, new girl. My people will be in touch about signing a confidentiality agreement, as all the staff here have to.’ She smiled sweetly, then guided her million-dollar mount towards the exit of the arena.
‘I won’t be signing anything,’ Ebony replied.
Mantina glanced back over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes.
‘I don’t think Agony is the type to engage in gossip, Mantina.’
It was Marcus. Ebony looked up at the sound of his clipped, deep voice. He’d just entered the arena from the rooms at the back and was moving quickly towards them. Dogs yapped in the lounge, most likely Marcus’s little herd of wayward Jack Russells. Ebony had seen the three of them tearing around the shows, before they were banned for stealing ribbons off a barn banner and leaving strips of multi-coloured fabric all over the show grounds.
Marcus really was stunning, she had to admit. Tall, lean, his golden hair as unruly as he and his roving eyes as wide and deep as pools of honey. She’d made a pact to herself long ago never to have a crush on a coach, it was just too cliché, and no way to get to the top. ‘Slutty’ girls on the circuit aspired towards such relationships, and would quickly become known by everyone. Not her.
Marcus dismissed the other riders with a quick wave of his hand. ‘You’re done, Chubbie. Your Royal Highness.’
‘What did you just call me?’ Dougie’s naturally red cheeks went maroon and he puffed up like a blowfish.
‘Dougie, clean your ears out,’ Marcus snapped. ‘I mean, what else would I call you?’ He muttered, then laughed at his own joke.
Mantina seemed to ignore the gesture, and kept her frighteningly pale, grey eyes on Ebony. She was slight and fair, with freckles across her nose and light blonde hair, died strawberry blonde. Which, on her, looked very orange.
Ebony held her glare. ‘I won’t be around her enough to find out anything, that’s for sure.’
‘You certainly won’t.’ Mantina raised her pointed chin and smiled coyly at Dougie, before swinging her majestic bay, Crown Jewel, in a tight circle and back towards the barn.
‘She’s not here much,’ Marcus said to Ebony, before the princess had reached the corridor and out of earshot. ‘Splits her time with her tosser British trainer. And she’s never seen with us at international shows, would be bad for the British image if people knew her family found me to be the best in the business — huh!’
‘HA, HA,’ Mantina said, raising her middle finger without looking back.
The backsides of the gleaming horses disappeared into the corridor to the barn.
Marcus moved briskly for the raised, wooden viewing platform in the centre of the arena. ‘Back at ya, darlin’,’ he yelled. He leapt up the stairs, grabbed a can of Red Bull out of the clear-glass bar fridge, which sat next to his black, Hollywood ‘Director’ chair, and took a seat. ‘My mid-morning kick, can’t think without it.’ He cracked the can. ‘Ahhhh. Now—’ He took a long chug— ‘What am I doing with you?’
‘Warming us up, then sending us down the combination?’
‘HA!’ Marcus threw back his head, then returned quickly to his drink. ‘You won’t be touching a fence today.’
Ebony’s eyes narrowed, and her hands curled more tightly around the thick rubber of her reins. Gallant sensed her tension and lifted his head. He turned his shoulders, as if to shield her from the trainer in front of them.
‘You’re sloppy, and I won’t have sloppy riders in my stable.’
‘What was that?’ Ebony’s head tilted to the side and she squared her shoulders; battle stance.
‘You haven’t been listening to any of your instruction. I can’t totally blame you — Luther is a fool and the others aren’t much better. But it hasn’t served you well.’
Ebony’s chest swelled and the anger roiled and boiled within her as Marcus knocked back what must have been left of his drink, crushed the can in one long, slender hand, then chucked it without looking at a green garbage bin in the corner. Clink, the can met its own kind. He sat forward and clasped his hands in front of him. ‘You, Miss A-GO-NY, have been surviving on pure talent. Your own, and that of your old campaigner there. Now, you need to work. Hard. We’ll also need a few new horses — Annika and your other backers are gonna have to step up to the plate if you want to make the World’s. I’ve got my eye on some new horses for you. Bucko there’s on his last legs and certainly won’t make the Summer Series, and Johnny Boy — although I respect his style, of course, and you two do make a beautiful pair …’ His eyes surveyed her quickly from cleavage to thigh. ‘He’s much too tempestuous to rely on.’
‘You freaking ar—’
‘UH,’ Marcus stopped her with his hand, ‘won’t be having any of that. Now lose those stirrups. We’ll be working on the flat today, and until your seat is up to par. Can’t go bigger until your basics are up to scratch.’
Ebony gritted her teeth, and glanced away. What was going on? She’d always prided herself on her position and strength in the saddle, who is he to speak to me like that? He has no idea what my life’s been like.
Gallant, sensing her nerves fraying to frying point, dropped his head and rested his hind leg. ‘Okay, Ebony, give it up,’ he seemed to say. ‘It’s Marcus Frank. You’re not going to stuff this up.’
Ebony took a long, rough breath and dropped her hand to stroke his wide, strong neck. He sighed, and so did she. Then she lifted her right leg out of the stirrup and with a shaking hand unhooked her stirrup. Then the left. She chucked them at the platform, they landed in a poof of soft sand just before the wooden steps.
A thin smile played on Marcus’s handsome face, then he tensed his jaw; back to business. ‘C’mon, I charge by the hour, remember,’ he tapped his watch, ‘get that old timer going in a circle down that end, do you think he can manage a brisk trot?’
She spurred Gallant a little too hard, and he jumped with fright.
‘There is some life left in the old bugger, after all!’ Marcus clapped his hands.
‘That joke’s getting a little old already, don’t ya think?’ Ebony said, before moving Gallant forward into a trot.
Marcus grinned. ‘Yep, I was r
ight,’ he said, clearly pleased. ‘It’s going to be fun having you on my team.’
Ebony shook her head. She anticipated the burn that would soon be creeping up the insides of her legs. She hated flat work, especially without the aid of her stirrups. Too slow and boring. But Marcus could have a point.
★
‘Annika, you are such a dear!’ Paisley Chamfer shifted her fat hips close enough for her belly to spill into Annika’s narrow lap on her gold, monarch-inspired lounge suite.
Ebony knew the loud American’s voice from the practice ring and around the shows. She stalked past in the hallway, noticing about four more women poised on the pristine chairs and sofa sets in the stupid formal reception room.
‘Oh! Ebony, darling!’ Paisley must have spotted her. ‘Do come have a chat!’
Ebony picked up her pace and was turning the corner to the stairwell when Annika screeched at her: ‘Ebony — NOW!’ Then a touch more sweetly. ‘We have news for you!’
‘Crap,’ Ebony said, loud enough for the women to hear. She paused, feeling the coolness of the handrail — of freedom — against her skin. Her foot was airborne to take the first step when Annika said, much too sweetly: ‘It’s about Gallant!’
Ebony turned immediately, her stomach dropping with sickening dread. After a full day at the barn, and a soup and sandwich from the Tim Horton’s drive through on the way home, she was ready for bed, and hoping for a decent night’s sleep. She might even have the energy to get some drawing in; she’d love to sketch Gallant as she’d seen him that afternoon, settling down for a snooze in his new stall of his new home. But the sweetness of Annika’s tone was menacing, and couldn’t be avoided. Please, don’t let this be bad news …
‘Sit here, next to us.’ Paisley patted the third cushion of the three-seater sofa, positioned against the back wall of the room and looking out at the other seating. Ebony didn’t look at the other women, she didn’t even know their names. They were society ladies Annika was doing her best to woo, including a few mothers of riders and sponsor’s wives.
The sickly sweet aroma of wine and clashing, expensive perfumes made Ebony want to hurl. She kept her eyes on the multiple glass bottles on the coffee table and told herself to breathe. This is not good.
‘The ladies and I are meeting to discuss our upcoming gala dinner and fundraiser for the Calgary Animal Shelter,’ Annika said. ‘Such a worthy cause, don’t you think?’
The ladies cooed in agreement.
‘And the topic of Gallant came up,’ she continued.
‘Why?’ Ebony’s lip curled into a sneer.
Annika laughed lightly, and then shrugged her shoulders. Many of the women smiled with sympathy, as if to say: ‘ Teenagers.’
‘Marcus was telling me that we’re going to need a new horse for you, and, well, I’m-working-on-getting-the-funds-together …’ Annika was intentionally discreet in how she said it. The women in the room and their husbands and families shared much of the area’s greatest wealth and owned many of the best horses. A huge part of the show jumping game was finding someone rich enough to buy your mounts. Cecile had so many contacts from her career and being raised among the city’s aristocracy, she was excellent at finding sponsors to pitch in for Ebony’s rides. Johnny was owned by one of Cecile’s companies and an electricity magnate. Tootsy Roll was totally owned by a clothing company, who liked to use her in their billboard ads. Gallant had been owned solely by Cecile, and Ebony assumed, now by Annika.
After Cecile’s death, Ebony had been told by a stranger in a suit that she would be moving to Annika’s place. Just as she’d arrived with her boxes of clothes, Annika had shoved her into her guest room and simply said: ‘Such a pity, isn’t it? Well, you will live here with me and you will ride my horses.’ It was the only information Ebony had as to what had happened with Cecile’s estate.
Paisley turned her shiny face and all of her double chins towards Ebony. ‘I’ve suggested to your mom that we trade!’
Ebony flinched at Annika being associated with the word ‘mom’.
‘I’ve always loved the great old boy,’ Paisley continued, taking deep breaths to accentuate her words, ‘you know, he used to live at our barn, before Gary sold him to Cecile. I was so angry at him — I’d always said I wanted him for Dougie and for me to ride as he’s just such a dear, but, well, water under the bridge! He can finally come home, to me!’
‘No way in hell!’ Ebony’s hands balled into fists and she jumped up from her seat.
Annika laughed, shrilly, evilly, and looked directly at Ebony.
Her eyes turned down with a fake, mocking pity. ‘He isn’t yours to give away!’
‘Oh, he is.’ Annika settled back on the lounge. One of the women stood and clasped a manicured hand around a bottle of red. She speared it with the corkscrew and popped the bottle with the aggression and strength of a farrier shoeing a tricky horse. The woman carefully filled each glass, then her own, before settling demurely into her seat.
‘Cecile’s Will clearly stated that all the horses were left to my control,’ Annika said. ‘Speak to my lawyers, if you don’t believe me!’ She threw her hands in the air and sent an exasperated look around the room. The women all laughed.
‘I thought you’d be excited.’ Paisley was vibrating with the emotion herself, practically salivating, probably at the thought of getting her hands on Gallant. ‘He can come down, retire at our farm in California, and I can ride him every day! Dougie will keep a special eye on him when he’s home, too. And as soon as Timmy Tucker is sound, he’ll be coming up for you — shouldn’t be more than a few weeks!’
‘You’re going to trade Gally for a lame old sway back who hasn’t shown for over a year?’ Ebony started to shake. She could hardly see; Annika looked blurred and demonic in front of her. Nightmares, of Gallant disappearing into the woods, flashed in her mind. You should have known, a voice said within her. Everything you love gets taken away. Tears ran, cold, down her cheeks. ‘Are you insane?!’
‘Please don’t be upset, Ebony,’ Paisley said, reaching for her hand.
Ebony shoved it away.
‘Ebony! Apologize — NOW!’
‘It’s okay, Annika,’ Paisley’s face had gone pale. Her large body stilled and she looked up at Ebony. ‘Maybe we can forget it, hey? Ebony clearly doesn’t like the idea—’
‘Nonsense!’ Annika said. ‘It’s a brilliant idea, isn’t it, ladies?’ The room remained silent.
Annika laughed, a little uneasily, but much more comfortably when all the others, with the exception of Paisley, joined in.
‘Now, let’s get back to the matter at hand.’ Annika turned her body away from Ebony and addressed the corkscrew assassin. ‘Which venue have you secured for us, Eloise?’
‘Bitch,’ Ebony spat. She felt like destroying Annika. But there were too many witnesses. And she was way too wild to keep it gentle. Evil friggin’ cow! She ran from the room, straight to the back yard. Red flooded her vision. Annika didn’t care, it was clear to her now. She didn’t care if Ebony had the best horse for her to win on. Didn’t even really care if she won, not now, now that she was in the inner circle. She only cared about what those rich women thought and how she could get further into their hearts and into their pockets. Ebony was nothing, meant nothing. The business she and Cecile had spent years building, her career and those of her horses, would easily fall. Annika was going to take it all and there was nothing Ebony could do about it.
Her body was burning hot and weak with shivering, shaking, rage. She’d already lost Cecile, there was no way she could live without Gally. He’d been like a father to her. The thought was too much. The horrible people she’d been faced with, too much. Everything that had happened to her, TOO MUCH. She was going to snap. She needed release.
Straight to the backyard, Ebony ran. The back door shut behind her with a loud bang. Icy night air hit her face, froze the streams of tears running down her cheeks. She found a shovel, resting against the garden shed in th
e far corner of the back yard. The skin of her hands stuck to the metal as she grabbed it, but she didn’t care. The pain of her flesh seemed to ease her pain inside.
She screamed with fury as she swung the shovel at the side of the shed. ‘ARRRRRGGHHHHHH!’ Then an ear-splitting CRACK.
CRACK …
BANG.
Lights flicked on in houses all round her. Dogs barked. Residents, no doubt were considering calling the cops. Then hesitating, she imagined, as they looked out their windows, saw the ‘punk teenager’ from next door, and went back to their lives.
Gallant was gone by Christmas.
The day the horse transporter with California plates arrived, Ebony locked herself in his stall. She pushed her body up against the door and wouldn’t let the grooms in to collect him.
‘What’s this chick’s deal?’ asked the Chamfer Farm’s groom.
‘Please, just geeve her a min’nute,’ Winnie said.
‘We’ve got a schedule, man.’ He raised his Ed Hardy trucker cap and ran a hand through his dark, greasy hair. ‘Je-sus.’
Someone reefed on the door.
‘Back off!’ She screamed. ‘He’s not going anywhere!’
Ebony knew this day was coming. Annika had reminded her of it every time she’d managed to track her down. But the knowledge hadn’t made it any easier. She felt helpless, paralysed. Drowning in darkness. No matter how much she yelled or cussed Annika out, it made no difference. It was like Annika was deriving pleasure from her pain, sick cow. There was absolutely nothing that Ebony could do. She would lose her Gallant. She felt like she was letting Cecile down and this was the worst feeling of all.