by Leigh Hutton
She instantly recognised Lorcan O’Connor’s deep, intense brown eyes and sandy blonde hair, and his green jacket with the green, white and orange Irish flag stitched to the arm. He did seem more serious, and, harder, than the soft-spoken, gentle lad she’d once known. He was taller and broader, too, but not as hot as Dallas. She mentally kicked her butt for thinking such a thing, but she couldn’t help it. Oh, how she missed her man.
Lorcan studied her face for a second and smiled tightly, but his attention was obviously elsewhere. A tall, skinny redheaded girl was bouncing beside him, clutching his arm. ‘I was added at the last moment,’ he answered in his Irish lilt.
The girl’s oversized handbag swung from her arm as she slapped Lorcan on the chest with her French, fake nails. ‘We bought Charming for him!’ she squealed.
Lorcan’s cheeks went pink and he looked away, towards the stadium, his eyes checking each person as they passed. ‘This is Pixie,’ Lorcan said, without looking at either of the girls. ‘Pixie Allan.’
Ebony glanced at the girl, ‘you sure look like …’
‘My dad’s Todd Allan,’ she said, looking up at Lorcan. ‘I get recognised all the time! I think it’s my eyes.’
They did have the same, bright blue eyes and round, welcoming face. Todd Allan, the actor, played the perfect, jolly Santa Claus in a series of hit movies that were released when Ebony was a young girl, back before she’d lost hope that Santa Claus existed. One could only go so many Christmases without presents before the magic wore off.
‘Pix and I met at Cannes,’ Lorcan said. ‘She’s the star of a new reality TV show, I’m sure you’ve seen it.’
‘Ah …’ Ebony rarely had time to watch TV, but the girl had caught her attention with what she’d said. Charming; she was sure she was referring to the incredible chestnut mare whom CeCe had ridden so well in Florida.
‘Sorry, Ebony,’ Lorcan said, his eyes on the crowd. He grabbed Pixie by the hand. ‘Great to see you but Pix and I are in a hurry to meet her father and some of his friends.’
‘That’s cool,’ Ebony said, smiling at Pixie. ‘Good luck.’
Lorcan turned to her, his clean-shaven face twisted in confusion.
‘In the World’s, Lorcan,’ Ebony said. ‘Good luck on Monday!’
He raised his eyebrows, then nodded quickly. ‘You too.’
‘Ciao!’ Pixie said over her shoulder, as Lorcan dragged her off and through the crowd of riders.
Ebony wasn’t sure why Pixie, who by her twangy accent was clearly from the southern states of America, had used ‘ciao’ as her chosen farewell. They weren’t even in Italy. But she shrugged it off, and looked down at the shiny toes of her riding boots, thinking quickly over her conversation with her old friend.
And around it goes, Ebony thought, shaking her head. Lorcan lost Poseidon, CeCe lost Charming, Lorcan gained Charming, CeCe will soon have someone new …
Maybe, Ebony found herself thinking, there is a God, like Winnie always says, or some force out there, keeping us all going in our direction. Like our divine protector of show jumping… It felt nice to think so, to believe that there was more to life than just her and Lorcan and Pixie and their horses and every other living thing in the planet all scurrying about trying to survive.
In regards to her sport, she wasn’t sure how she felt about its cyclical nature, but she did know one thing for certain: that you weren’t in the fray if you didn’t have coin.
Ebony and the other riders were ushered by event staff into a large, glass-faced waiting room to watch the beginning of the ceremony.
The sun was setting, casting a prism of brilliant colour across the stadium and the thousands of fans packing its stands. A large stage had been erected at one end of the field, and a full orchestra was playing for the crowd. Opposite was a castle built as a replica of the Mont Saint Michel, with its lit-up spike like the Eiffel tower at its highest part, and an archway entrance for people to pass through.
A beautiful French woman dressed in designer black stood up at the lectern and officially opened the games. Out came two-dozen French riders on gleaming, black sport horses, who swept across the pitch and through the castle, to perform a routine with all the grace and precision of a team of ballet dancers. Ebony recognised the stylish French rider, Andre Dufour, with his dark curls and lightening bolt smile.
Golden Cinderella carriages pulled by dapple-grey Percherons followed, with the coachman and most of his female passengers dressed in full 17th century attire; the ladies in poof-y ball gowns, with piled up hair and pretty fans in hand. France’s top female riders; Bridgette Aubert (show jumping) and Vanessa Planet (dressage) rode along, too, carrying ornate fans, and dressed in their breeches, jackets and black riding helmets. It was a rendition which Ebony imagined would have even done Marie Antoinette proud.
The official event mascot followed along behind. He was a fluffy bay with a wide smile and the innate ability to travel solely on his two hind legs. Clyde, as the horse was called, was sporting a lovely green polo shirt with the event logo and waving gleefully at the crowd.
A pristine white dressage horse and rider danced a beautiful routine accompanied by a flock of female dancers, in skintight leotards. Representatives of all eight disciplines of the games had their turn, with Andre popping over a green hedge in front of the castle to highlight the show jumping. Dignitaries did their laps in carriages of their own, waving to the crowd. A marching band in designer suits finished off, and led the riders from the remaining forty nations who would compete into the stadium.
Night had fallen, and the stands were cloaked in darkness. The power of the lights were blinding as Ebony marched alongside her countrymen.
Her heart was pounding, and despite the music and noise in the stadium, seemed to be the only sound she could hear. She’d finally made it. She was finally here.
It would have been perfect; being at the World’s and representing her country, if only Luther wasn’t walking right behind her, and too close for her to be comfortable. She could literally feel his eyes burning through the back of her skull as they made their way around the stadium.
‘Et ici, ils sont!’ The announcer boomed, to a roar of applause from the crowd. Foghorns blared and French flags waved wildly from all corners of the stadium.
‘And here they are!’ A female announcer, with a British accent, translated.
Flags of more nations than Ebony thought to exist on the planet waved in the stands, with fans holding up signs bearing the names of their favourite horses and riders — so many for the great Germans, French, Spanish, Swedish, Belgian, Brazilian, and Saudi Arabian competitors and their legendary horses.
She even saw ‘Ebony SH!’ and ‘MONSTER!’ on a few in the Canadian, and American, fan areas.
‘Qui va devenir le meilleur au monde?’ The male announcer asked the crowd.
Abia appeared from the darkness and linked arms with Ebony. She smiled, happy to be distracted from Luther, still close behind them and complaining to Trey at the top of his lungs about the ‘ostentatious display’.
Ebony snuggled against Abia, and was suddenly overwhelmed by a hot happiness and pride — if only Cecile were there, in the bleachers, to see her now. To see Ebony and Monster competing for her. The girls waved at a group of red and white Canadian supporters, screaming and flying flags from the front row.
The loudspeaker crackled to life, and Ebony turned into the darkness, to wipe her eyes. It was the woman’s turn to translate: ‘Welcome to Caen the planet’s equine elite!’ she said, to a thunder of applause. ‘Who do you think will become the best in the world?’
At their chateau after the opening ceremony Ebony, Abia and Winnie were sitting on Ebony’s huge bed, drinking Abia’s green tea with honey and reviewing the map of the course for round one on Monday. They’d just received a text from Jasmine, who was devastated to be at home, but whom had perked up considerably when Abia had put her in charge of her youngsters and helping the grooms feed up and care for the
horses, as she was on her summer school holidays.
Ebony looked up suddenly from studying the fences on the page. ‘Hey, has anyone seen Annika?’
Winnie shook her head.
‘Wasn’t she supposed to be staying here?’ Abia asked.
‘At least we know it’s been paid for,’ Ebony said, thank you to the Canadian Show Jumping Team. Then she shrugged. ‘Mr. Prince probably found her a castle.’ The girls all sniggered, and went back to discussing the course.
Winnie piped up. ‘I ’ave gosseep!’
‘Well,’ Ebony said. ‘Spill, señorita!’
‘I see Clancy thees afternoon and he tell me Princess Manteena booted from the Bree’tish team.’
‘Can they even do that?’ Ebony asked.
‘They can when you fail a random drug test,’ Abia said. ‘It’s been all over the papers in the UK; that she’s been going off the rails. Wouldn’t be surprised if this was the end of her career.’
Her and Marcus together, Ebony thought, but she wouldn’t dare say it aloud, out of respect for Abia’s feelings for him, and because she still considered Marcus to be her trainer. ‘I wonder what will happen to Poseidon?’ she asked instead. And the cycle begins again … She shook her head. The great horse will find another great, or average, rider. And so on … All she could hope was that Poseidon managed to find someone who deserved and appreciated him. She also prayed that she would be lucky enough to hang on to Monster.
‘Well,’ Abia said, rising from the bed. ‘Lights out, girls.’ She grabbed them both by the hands. ‘And don’t you go sneaking to Clancy’s hotel, either.’ She looked at Winnie, who blushed madly, and smiled. ‘Let the World’s begin!’
Before Ebony would ride Monster into the ring for round one, they’d have the opportunity to do a 90-second trial run in the stadium around practice jumps.
It was Sunday afternoon and they were last in for Canada. Ebony would have been more nervous about how her horse was likely to react to the setting if the atmosphere hadn’t been as relaxed and casual, with riders taking their time and letting their horses have a good look at the ring and its obstacles. There were no more than a few hundred fans in the bleachers, the sun was shining from a clear blue sky and Monster was edgy but not crazy from nerves.
There were eight stunning jumps, including a straightforward vertical-to-oxer combination, each fence featuring a different highlight of the region, from a pastel paint palette to a flower garden oxer and French restaurant planks, complete with a table and a waiter off to the side holding a tray of breads and fancy cheeses. Ebony took it slowly, trying to calm Monster and giving him a look at the elaborate jumps, and finished with a full circuit of the intended course: fast into the first vertical, half halt before the restaurant planks to slow Monster down and set him up on the perfect stride, rounding the final corner to the combination, and she let him have his head, which he thought was awesome, galloping on and bounding over the vertical, two quick strides, then launching out over the oxer, his front legs tucked up tight under his chin, then his hind end flinging up into the air. Ebony was beaming with a smile and feeling confident as she trotted Monster from the ring, back to Winnie and Abia, to discuss how good he’d gone and how it would be a whole other ball game for round one tomorrow.
Come Monday morning and Ebony was far from calm. She woke in a cold sweat at midnight after having a nightmare about forgetting her course, then Monster dying of colic, and a bloodied, headless ghost drifting out at her from her closet in the chateau. Her first nightmare in a while. She headed straight to the ring, before sunrise, to review the course for round one and get her mind off her disturbing dream. The official course board had been erected to the side of the d’Ornano stadium, where the fences for the opening round of show jumping had now been set.
Ebony never normally had a problem remembering her course, no matter how long or complex. She’d always been good with numbers and math at school. At Spruce, for example, the derby course which remained unchanged year-to-year seemed permanently burned into her brain and even new courses for the other big classes in the International ring only took her a few looks at the map and a walking to remember. But the nerves of the World’s must’ve been getting to her, as here, on the foreign soil of a country she’d always wanted to visit at the biggest horse show in the world, Ebony was feeling like a rookie well out of her depth.
The fences on the page in front of her blurred together, their numbers switching places and running amok in her mind, like she was doomed to be riding in circles as she had in her nightmare. The courses of the World Equestrian Games were notorious for being among the most difficult in the world, with colossal fences set on tricky angles with tough distances between each fence. Merely remembering the course should be the least of a top rider’s worries; keeping track of the strides, lengths and sticking to key lines meant the difference between being crowned the world champ or going home the loser.
As Ebony looked past the board to the sea of colourful, towering fences set on the green soccer pitch, she dropped her head and her stomach started doing back flips. It would be the toughest course she’d ever attempted, consisting of twelve jumps including six oxers — set nearly as wide as they were tall — and three terribly technical combinations. It was tighter and more restrictive than Monster liked, nothing at all like the huge, open grass rings of Spruce, where he’d really excelled. She could only imagine how impossible the course for the finals would be, not that she had a hope in hell of making it that far.
‘God, if you’re available,’ she said quietly, squeezing her gritty eyes shut to give them a rest, ‘please help me remember this course!’
Monster was hot and tow-ey in the warm-up ring as Ebony attempted, with a few strong half halts, to get his attention long enough to take him over a practice fence. It didn’t help that Luther and Lutweig, who’d been drawn to go straight after Ebony, were cutting them off at every opportunity.
Luther shot her a slippery grin after swinging across from the right, galloping down and stealing her fence, just when she’d finally managed to get Monster to turn at the bottom of the ring and aim at the middle vertical.
‘Hey!’ Abia yelled from beside the fence, tossing her arm in the air. At least she and Samurai were nearly last in the order, so her and Ebony were able to help each other in the warm-up ring.
The other riders and trainers glared at Luther, and this helped to put Ebony at ease. No one liked him; she couldn’t let him get to her.
She bit her bottom lip and patted Monster on his sweating shoulder. She’d never seen her little horse looking better, she thought to herself, as she trotted him across to the rail so Winnie could clean his face and she could check her girth. His body was ripped and fit, his coat blossoming with dapples, his black mane glistening, free from tight braids — he’d tossed his head, as usual, until she’d pulled them all out after she and Winnie had attempted to braid him at the barn. His tail was full and cut in the neatest line, just below his hocks, ears forward, eyes clear and glistening. He’d woken up on the right side of his stall this morning, and just wanted to get out there.
When the ring steward called Ebony and Monster, Ebony rode him straight over with a firm hold of her reins, to take up their position waiting behind two Americans: Colt Brennan and his lovely palomino, Film Star, and Dougie Chamfer and Octavia. Dougie ignored her, but Colt nodded and smiled. Freshly sponsored by a couture fashion label, all of the U.S. Show Jumping Team’s horses had the label’s logo clipped into their rumps, and stitched onto their saddle pads just beside the American flag and their competition number.
Ebony smiled back and gave Colt a thumbs up, but had to quickly collect her reins to keep Monster from plunging into the boards — he’d tucked his rear end and shot to the side.
‘Watch it, Agony!’ Dougie hissed from in front.
Ebony didn’t have time to glare. She whipped around, her blood freezing in her veins; she was staring straight into the white, bull-headed face o
f Lutweig, whom Luther had parked so close he may have even rammed up Monster’s hind end. She heard Luther’s shrill, dramatic laugh, and opened her mouth to scream at him. But she shut it again. Colt was being called into the ring and Dougie moved up to the gate. No, she said to herself, I must remain calm … For Monster’s sake.
She took a deep breath, secured her bottom lip between her teeth, and moved up close to Dougie, willing the gate to open and the safety of the ring to accept her and her precious horse.
The lights in the corridor burned down on them. She could feel Lutweig’s breath against the back of her neck. She fixed her eyes on the gate at the end of the corridor, praying for the bar to swing and for it to open. The last thing she needed was for Monster to kick Lutweig; the horse was so much bigger, Monster would surely injure a leg.
She shortened her grip on the reins, but had to release them, when, with the extra pressure, Monster took a step back. Baffled, she dropped the reins, and looked down at his head. Monster had one ear forward, on the arena, and one ear back, listening for her instructions. So unusual for him, as he normally heeded only his own directions. He wasn’t pulling, nor did he seem stressed.
A roar from the crowd within the stadium echoed through the corridor, and Ebony snatched for the reins, expecting Monster to take off. But he stood still, both ears pricked forward, and he squared up his stance. It was the most focused she had ever seen this horse. Ebony’s jaw dropped with surprise; she’d known he was happy today, but was still expecting a bit of fight.
Just as the gate opened to accept Dougie, Luther’s head groom — huge and dubious — stalked down the corridor and bumped Monster’s jaw with his elbow. Again, Monster seemed to shake it off. His eyes remained on the stadium, and he took a step forward, now pulling with his head. This horse was ready to go, finally, with his mind firmly on his job.
Maybe being so near to his ancestors, the birthplace of his grandfather and so many of his blood relatives, was giving him strength, Ebony thought. Like he’d finally found his place of peace, and finally, truly, trusted a human again. Her.