The Prize

by Stacy Gregg

  Kennedy shook her head. “You have to say please. Otherwise I’ll get my boyfriend to put you on Fatigues again.”

  Georgie felt the guilt welling in her stomach. “Trust me, that’s the last thing anyone wants.”

  Kennedy narrowed her gaze. “What do you mean by that?”

  In the aisle behind Georgie the last rider finally boarded the minibus and Kenny put his foot down. The bus gave a sudden lurch forward and Georgie gratefully sidestepped Kennedy and her questioning and took a seat.

  Horse dung is a metaphor for my life, Georgie thought ruefully as she rolled up her shirtsleeves at Blackwell’s yard and set to work forking lumps of poo into the wheelbarrow.

  Yesterday Georgie had been furious that Dominic Blackwell had unfairly given the job of head girl to Kennedy. Today, she felt so bad about kissing Kennedy’s boyfriend that mucking out the stalls felt like what she deserved.

  Like most horsey girls Georgie found the warm grassy aroma of horse dung faintly appealing. But at Dominic Blackwell’s place the stench overpowered her. She seemed to spend her afternoons knee-deep in it, digging her way out while Princess Kennedy did no yard work at all.

  The final straw that afternoon came just after Georgie had finished the marathon task of mucking out and refreshing the nine boxes and sweeping out the central corridor. She finally had everything done when Kennedy swept in on her horse alongside Blackwell chatting and laughing and when Blackwell dismounted and flung his reins mindlessly at Georgie, Kennedy imitated him and did the same thing!

  “Hey!” Georgie was stunned. “I’m not your groom, Kennedy.”

  “Not yet,” Kennedy said. “But if you play your cards right, maybe I’ll give you a job when you leave school.”

  And at that moment, Georgie stopped feeling guilty. She was wasting time worrying about hurting Kennedy Kirkwood’s feelings – Kennedy didn’t have any. Hadn’t Conrad admitted that Kennedy was only dating him because he was a prefect?

  It was time to pull herself together. Kennedy may have taken the first round of the apprentice – but this battle was far from over. Georgie was ready to make a comeback.

  For the past week at Allegra Hickman’s yard, Alice Dupree had noticed a change in her riding. Alice came from a long line of showjumpers and eventers – and she felt most comfortable in a jumping saddle with her knees tucked up high into the roll pads, her seat tilted forward in two-point position.

  Alice owned a dressage saddle but she’d never really liked riding in it. She hated the way the saddle’s long, lean flaps and deep-bucket seat seemed to lock her into place on the horse.

  “You have a forward seat,” Allegra Hickman had told her on that first day when she rode Virtuoso. “Showjumping has ruined your position – but I can fix it again.”

  Allegra walked over and grabbed Alice’s leg by the ankle.

  “Your foot,” she said, “should be here, not here.” She shoved the ankle back and twisted it. “And the knee needs to open off the saddle and relax. That’s it! Better!”

  Allegra put her hands on Alice’s hips. “Now imagine your hips are a bucket and there is water inside them. Which way is your water tipping?”

  Alice thought about this. “Forward.”

  “Well, straighten up!” Allegra said. “Keep the water in your imaginary bucket. Sit perfectly upright. Now take hold of this.”

  Allegra passed Alice a slim wooden stick. “Tuck it behind your back. That’s right!”

  Alice threaded the slim bit of wood so that it passed behind her back beneath her shoulder blades and was held secure in the crooks of her elbow when her hands held the reins.

  “You’ll ride with this bit of wood until your back is no longer bent like a banana,” Allegra told her. “It’s going to hurt at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

  This was a phrase that Alice heard a lot of that week. Allegra said the same thing when she made Alice ride without stirrups. Or when she made her ride with one hand tucked behind her back, or her knees held out off the sides of the saddle or, worst of all, wearing weighted Dyna-bands that made her muscles stretch and strain.

  As far as Alice could tell, the pain never got any less. But by Friday she realised that her posture was erect, that her back was ramrod straight, her seat was deep and her legs were long.

  “Now,” Allegra said, “you’re beginning to look like a dressage rider and the real work can begin.”

  The routine at the Hickman yards had become second nature to Alice. She would arrive and set to work straight away, doing a quick muck-out of the loose boxes before tacking whichever horse Allegra had chosen for her to ride.

  Allegra spent an hour each day giving Alice a dressage lesson. It was a luxury for any apprentice to have so much time devoted to them and Alice knew it.

  “I learned to ride dressage under the great Magda van der Camp,” Allegra told Alice. “Everything I know, I learned from her. It’s our role as riders to pass on our knowledge to the next generation.”

  After her lesson with Allegra was over, Alice would have a lengthy list of stable chores to get through. She would tack up all of the horses that were listed on the stable whiteboard for Allegra to ride that day. There were usually two or three of these in the afternoon schooling session and Allegra would work each horse for about an hour. Once Allegra was finished, Alice untacked each horse and scrubbed the concrete stable block floors, polished the tack and did the grooming and rugging up for the night. Then Allegra would have a brief chat about the day with Alice before Kenny arrived to pick her up in the minibus.

  By the end of Friday, despite the mammoth workload, Alice had an extra spring in her step. Her lesson that day on Virtuoso had been better than just good – it had been amazing. She had ridden a flying change in the arena – something she had done many times on showjumpers, changing their canter lead to prepare for a jump, but never quite like this before. With Allegra barking orders at her about placing her legs one way and then the other she had cantered the big, black stallion across the arena and he’d flung his front legs out in mid-stride, swapping legs so seamlessly that, as Allegra said, “if you were riding in a real Grand Prix test you would have just earned yourself a nine for that movement!”

  She had been so fired up by her ride that Alice whipped through her chores in record time. Allegra was schooling her advanced-level mounts today, and Alice wanted to watch her ride Esprit, a stunning but volcanic liver chestnut gelding.

  Alice rugged the last of the horses and then walked briskly through the stable block and along the pathways until she reached the little shelter with the wooden seat and plopped down to watch.

  Allegra trotted Esprit around the arena, on a loose rein at first allowing the big liver chestnut to stretch his neck low and deep and round. Alice watched with fervent admiration as the great trainer began to collect the liver chestnut up, driving him harder with the legs and shortening the frame of the great horse. He looked so lovely with his tail swishing from side to side as she rode, the rhythm of his strides as regular as a metronome, his knees lifting up in a beautiful exaggerated trot.

  And then, suddenly, the tail began to swish a bit more than it ought. It was a sign that the horse was under pressure, that he was unhappy.

  Alice cast her eyes to the front end of the horse and noticed that something very strange was going on. Allegra Hickman had been riding Esprit so that his neck arched beautifully, but now the horse’s outline had changed. Allegra was being hard with her hands and forcing the horse to arch his neck in an unnatural way, stretching it so much that his chin almost touched his chest. The horse was curled up as tight as a seashell and his tail was swishing back and forth as he tried to show his discomfort. But Allegra didn’t seem to notice – or if she did, she was choosing to ignore the horse’s complaints. She kept his head screwed down in the severe arched position and then began to twist it, keeping it tucked to his chest but now making the horse canter with the head bent hard to the inside on one rein and then hard to the outside
on the other.

  Watching the display, Alice felt more and more unsettled. Allegra couldn’t keep riding poor Esprit like this. Every muscle in the horse’s neck and back must be aching by now.

  But Allegra didn’t stop. She kept the horse overbent at the poll so that his chin was almost tucked up against the poor creature’s forelegs. After another fifteen minutes of being ridden like this Esprit seemed to be barely able to breathe. He was choking with a hideous froth on his lips, his eyes glazed and ears flat back as he submitted to the cruel hands that held his head.

  Alice knew what she was witnessing. It was a riding method that had once been famed for getting amazing results in the dressage ring – but the controversial technique was considered so inhumane and cruel that it had been banned in competitions throughout the world after a public outcry. Never in Alice’s worst dreams did she think she would see it being ridden in real life. Certainly not by the woman who, until a moment ago, she had respected and trusted. But she couldn’t deny what she saw before her. Allegra Hickman was using rollkur.

  Chapter Eight

  The Badminton House girls were at their usual dinner table when Alice joined them. She flung down her tray and threw herself into the seat next to Georgie.

  “What’s up with you?” Daisy asked.

  “Nothing,” Alice said unconvincingly. She picked up her cutlery and then changed her mind and put it down again.

  “What do you guys think about rollkur?” she asked suddenly.

  “I think it’s gross!” Daisy said.

  “It’s been banned, hasn’t it?” Georgie asked.

  Emily looked puzzled. “What are you talking about? What’s rollkur?”

  “I mean it’s illegal, right?” Georgie asked.

  “Totally,” Daisy agreed.

  “Uh-uh,” Alice shook her head. “The FEI banned riders from doing it at competitions in the warm-up arena, but there are no regulations about riders doing it at home.”

  “Hello?” Emily was losing patience now, “Are any of you going to tell me what you’re on about? Is rollkur a piece of riding equipment? A breakfast pastry?”

  “It’s a style of dressage riding,” Georgie said, “where the rider forces the horse’s head into an unnaturally low position so that they overbend their necks and tuck their chin all the way down to the bottom of their chest.”

  Emily winced. “Why would you do that? It must hurt them!”

  “Some of the most famous dressage competition riders in the world do it,” Alice said. “They claim it doesn’t hurt if you do it right. I mean, they would never hurt their best horses on purpose.”

  “Yeah, right!” Daisy scoffed. “I’ve seen pictures of horses being ridden in rollkur and it looked like torture to me.”

  Georgie nodded, “You’d have to be a total monster to do it.”

  Emily looked across the table at Alice who seemed to be growing more and more upset. “Why did you want to talk about rollkur, anyway?” she asked.

  Alice was about to speak, and then she changed her mind. She stood up and picked up her tray.

  “Alice?” Emily frowned, “What are you doing? You only just got here!”

  “I… I’m not hungry,” Alice said. “I’ll see you guys back at the boarding house. I’ve gotta go.”

  Georgie had tried so many times to call Riley, but he was never home – or he wasn’t answering his phone. He never returned any of Georgie’s messages.

  “Give him time,” Alice insisted without realising the irony. This was Riley’s biggest complaint – that Georgie didn’t share her time with him. Although she had to admit that he had a point. Her days were full from the moment she woke up and headed to the stables to ride Belle in their early morning jump-schooling sessions. Then she had morning classes at school and the afternoons spent doing hard labour at Blackwell’s yards until Kenny picked them up in the minibus again and got them back to Blainford just in time for dinner. After that, there was just enough time to fit in a gruelling two hours worth of homework before collapsing into bed. When exactly was there time for a boyfriend?

  Georgie was exhausted. She had just finished two hours of maths and English homework and was in her pyjamas about to get into bed when she heard the tap on the window. It sounded like a pebble against the glass. When a second pebble struck, Georgie walked over to her bedroom window and saw Riley standing on the lawn.

  “Hey Georgie!” Riley smiled up at her as she pushed the window open.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed. “You’ll get me kicked out of school!”

  “You’d better let me in then,” Riley said, “before someone sees me.”

  Georgie looked around her messy bedroom. Her towel was hanging off the end of her bed and she grabbed it and poked one end out the window.

  “Hang on to this and climb up,” she told Riley. The window was only a metre and a half off the ground outside and Riley had no trouble scaling up the wall and scrambling inside.

  “This is fun,” he said as he straightened himself up and took a look around. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”

  “I’m pretty sure I don’t remember Juliet using a bath towel in the version we studied,” Georgie said. It seemed strange having a boy in her room. Even stranger when that boy was Riley and the last time she’d seen him he’d driven off in a huff.

  “I’ve wanted to talk to you all week,” Riley said, “but I’ve been working late at the stables every night and there’s a nine o’clock cut-off for the phones here so I couldn’t get through. Tonight I was driving home and I couldn’t stand it any longer. I figured I’d just swing on by and tell you my news…”

  Riley cast his eyes around the room and his expression changed suddenly when he saw the poster above Georgie’s dressing table.

  “You have a Justin Bieber poster in your room?”

  Georgie panicked. “It’s not mine. It’s Alice’s.”

  Riley seemed to accept this excuse and grinned. “Guess what? Marco qualified! We’re through. We’re going to be racing in the Firecracker!”

  “Ohmygod!” Georgie leapt across the room and hugged him hard. “Riley that’s so cool! I’m so happy for you.”

  Riley hugged her back. “I’m really sorry for freaking out at you like that the other day, Georgie. I know I said some awful stuff I didn’t mean. I’m just under so much pressure at the moment.”

  “I know,” Georgie said, “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t,” Riley let her go and she saw now just how serious his expression was. “The Rainmaker totally whipped Marco in the Hanley Stakes and we’re up against him at the Firecracker. In the Hanley, we were in the lead all the way in the home straight and then that black horse seemed to come out of nowhere. He beat Marco by three lengths – it was like we were standing still. We have to find a way to beat him.”

  “Does your dad have any ideas?” Georgie asked.

  “Dad’s got enough on his plate,” Riley said. “There’s all this stuff that’s been happening at the farm. The bills have really been stacking up lately. It’s not cheap running racehorses and the books haven’t exactly been balancing for a while. My dad’s too proud to say anything to me but I know he’s been selling off horses to cover the debt. That’s why this race matters so much to me. If Marco and I could win the Firecracker then I could put the money into the farm with dad – maybe even become his business partner.”

  Riley met her gaze. “I’ve got a lot riding on this, Georgie, and I need you.”

  It had always been Georgie that needed Riley – it had never occurred to her that he might need her too.

  “The race is a month away,” Riley said, “Saturday the 23rd at three in the afternoon. You can come to it, can’t you? You’re my good luck charm.”

  “Totally,” Georgie’s cheeks were flushed with excitement. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

  Riley looked really pleased. “I’ll get you tickets. You can sit with my mom and dad in the owners’ stands,” he told her. �
�And bring Alice and Daisy and Emily too if you—”

  “Shhh!” Georgie held up her hand to silence him. There was the sound of footsteps right outside.

  “Ohmygod. The housemistress!” Georgie hissed. “I am in so much trouble if she finds you in here.”

  In a panic, Riley flung himself across the room and hid behind the door, as the handle turned and it swung open.

  “Oh thank god it’s you!” Georgie said as Alice walked in.

  Alice looked confused. “Who else would it be?”

  “I thought it might be the house mistress,” Georgie said. Then she reached out and swung the door shut and Alice leapt back in shock.

  “Riley! What are you doing in here?”

  “I came to see to Georgie,” Riley said. “We had some stuff to talk about.”

  “Oh!” Alice suddenly looked anxious. “Oh, well… that’s great… because talking is good. That’s what I said to Georgie. I told her that she should tell you.”

  Riley was confused. “You did?”

  Georgie shook her head. “No, Alice. I don’t think this is what you think it is…”

  But Alice was babbling. “I mean it was all Conrad’s fault – and anyway it didn’t mean anything. It was just a stupid kiss.”

  Riley’s eyes widened. He turned on Georgie. “You kissed Conrad?”

  Alice realised too late what she had done. “Ah… sorry! I thought you said you’d talked!”

  Riley’s face was stony. “So when exactly were you going to tell me about Conrad, Georgie? When you dumped me for him?!”

  “No!” Georgie was horrified. “Conrad was just a mistake. You and I had had that stupid fight and you told me you wanted a break and I had Fatigues and it… it just happened.”

  “I tell you I want some time out and half an hour later you’re making out with that creep?”

  “Not making out! It was one pathetic kiss and it wasn’t my fault!”

  Georgie was beside herself. “This is why I didn’t tell you because I knew you would think it meant something more. It doesn’t matter.”