For W.T. Always…
PROLOGUE
The Highland gelding was snow white in colour, and his thick mane fell perfectly, each and every tangle carefully combed out. “That’s better,” the boy smiled, giving the pony a pat. When he was with his horse the boy could forget everything, all of the heartbreak from the last year, all of the worry that lay ahead. Lost in thought, he gave a start as someone came into the stable next to him.
The man was on the phone and clearly unaware his every word could be heard. Keeping as still as possible, his pony’s ears pricked up and the boy felt his blood run cold.
“She’s got to be loaded. She inherited this place!” The man was laughing. “And yet she’s putting everything into this stupid team. ‘Oh, here come the Flying Fillies!’” he mocked. “But the ponies are top quality, and could be worth a lot in the right hands…”
There was a pause, then another peal of harsh laughter.
“Working on it.” The man’s voice was gleeful. “As soon as I persuade her to ditch this dump of a yard and her weird brother. Give me time…”
The stable door banged and the voice faded away. The boy could breathe again.
Placing a trembling hand on his pony’s mane, the boy held his head up high. He would do all he could to protect everything he loved so dearly: the ponies, this yard, his home and his beloved Flying Fillies.
They had an event that afternoon, and as always they would plaster on their smiles. If only those watching knew exactly what it was like when the music stopped.
Chapter 1
Thirteen year old Alice Smalley patted the neck of her red roan pony, Secret, as he stood quietly during a championship class. It had been another successful day for her mum’s show team. Alice loved every one of the horses at Park Farm, the family’s competition yard, but it was Secret who held a special place in her heart.
She smiled as Secret flicked an ear back, as if listening to her thoughts. The bond between the two was unbreakable. Secret had been hard work – he was stubborn and headstrong – but Alice had worked tirelessly training him, and her effort was paying off. Now, at almost six years of age, the future was looking very bright for the talented gelding.
The judge smiled, calling the pair forward into first place. No one was surprised; Secret was a born show pony. He’d inherited the good looks of his dam, Lily, and the flamboyant personality of his sire, Carlamu Rowan. Secret didn’t just trot, he floated. When he entered the ring his eyes sparkled and he lapped up the attention. The bigger the audience, the better he performed.
“Redgrove Secret,” the commentator said over the loudspeaker, “trained and produced by Alice Smalley!”
Grinning, Alice nudged her pony into a canter, Secret’s long strides eating up the ground and his crimson mane flying. The crowd clapped and cheered, full of admiration for the real-life red Pegasus and his talented rider…
“Alice!” Josephine Smalley’s shrill voice cut sharply through Alice’s thoughts, and she jumped, feeling guilty. “All OK?” Josephine peered at her daughter, and then, without waiting for an answer, was back to business. “Come on,” she said bossily, “there’s still Lachlan’s second class to go and you need to hurry. Go, and good luck!”
Alice sighed heavily. She had been completely lost in her daydream. But here she was at the side of the ring, clutching the reins of Porridge, her faithful Shetland. Secret was still out in his paddock at home. He was nowhere near ready for a championship class, and Alice knew it. There were days she couldn’t even get him to walk into an arena, even in hand, let alone canter around one as the winner, and so far every show they had attended to had been a disaster one way or another.
Automatically Alice’s hand touched the curved pink scar on her cheek, as it did whenever she thought about how the little gelding had come to her. If it hadn’t been for Secret, Alice would never have gone near a horse again. The scar would always remind her of her accident with Honey, the worst day of her life. A simple cross-country ride on a crisp Christmas Eve had ended in tragedy after Honey had fallen at a jump and died, and
Alice had been badly injured. It had been no one’s fault; Honey’s big heart had simply given up. Over time the memory had grown easier to live with, but Alice owed Secret everything. Alice gave Porridge a final pat before sprinting off to complete her last ridden class, trying not to roll her eyes. Show days were everything to her mum, and she was always uptight.
Josephine Smalley, Alice’s mum, was a highly respected showing producer, and Alice had played a big part in the yard’s success, winning just about every championship out there. There was a long waiting list of people who were desperate to send her mum their best ponies to train and compete. As a result, Alice always had wonderful ponies to ride. A few riders on the circuit resented this, saying that Alice only had to sit there and collect rosettes, and that it didn’t take any real skill. So Alice was desperate to prove herself both as a good rider and as a trainer, and Secret was her chance. The little roan was hers, and hers alone. But Alice had to admit she was struggling with the spirited red pony.
Moments later, mounted on Lachlan, a magnificent Highland, Alice’s thoughts drifted to her mum. Alice often wished she could have a regular pony club mum, and that they had time for other stuff, like fun rides and cross-country rallies. But ever since Alice’s fall Josephine had been cautious about Alice doing anything risky. Alice often thought back to how alive and free she had felt galloping cross-country on her beloved mare, right before her world had come crashing down. She had very nearly given up riding for good, and it had only been the chance arrival of Secret that had encouraged her back to her true love, ponies.
A few years had passed since then, and Alice had qualified numerous ponies for the Horse of the Year Show and Olympia. Every spare surface in the Smalley’s kitchen was covered with sashes and rosettes. Josephine lived and breathed showing, taking ponies all over the country to compete in flat ridden classes. Her speciality was mountain and moorland classes, where the ponies competed against others of the same breed. It required a huge amount of work to school the ponies to this high standard, and most weekends were spent riding them at the shows.
But Alice was growing tired of the show ring. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy riding the ponies, but showing was never what Alice had been into. Before her fall she had been hoping to join the local pony club. But Alice’s confidence had taken such a knock that it had seemed simpler to help her mum out and concentrate solely on the showing. Now that’s all she did: the same thing week after week.
Alice dreamed about a weekend when there was nothing to do but gallop Secret along a beach. Secret was the reason she rode again, although she was trying to ignore the small voice inside her, which was questioning whether she would ever be able to ride him properly at all. She sighed, nudging Lachlan forward. It was all such a mess!
Chapter 2
Lachlan cantered easily ahead of his competitors. He was one of the best-known ponies in the country, and was heading towards a well-earned retirement in the next couple of years. The big Highland was very special to Alice. Lachlan was the first pony she had ridden after her accident with Honey, and he had taken good care of her.
Smiling, the judge called Alice into first place, to a smattering of applause from the ringside. Pinning the red rosette to Lachlan’s bridle, Alice thanked the judge and set off on a lap of honour. As they cantered around, Alice gave the gelding a deserved pat and wondered how many times they had done this. One hundred, two hundred? She’d lost count. She knew it made her sound spoilt, but winning in the show ring just wasn’t exciting any more.
Alice yawned as she climbed the steps into the horsebox. She had helped Shelley, the yard’s assistant groom, rug up the ponies who
were now munching on their hay nets ready for the journey. Josephine was making herself a cup of tea in the horsebox. It had been a good day and Alice could tell her mum was happy.
Alice hovered in the doorway, her shirt untucked and her boots replaced with trainers. Her hair, white blonde and almost as pale as her skin, was escaping from its tightly wrapped bun, and stray tendrils drifted round her face.
“Mum?”
“Yes, sweetheart?” Her mum was now sitting down with her video camera.
“I just wondered if I could go down to the main ring for a bit.”
“Sure.” Her mum didn’t even look up from the screen, carefully studying Lachlan’s individual show. “But we need to leave at four. Stay on the horsebox side of the ring please, and take your mobile.”
Alice checked her watch. Twenty precious minutes to herself! Sprinting through the line of horseboxes, she weaved in and out of the crowds, heading for the main ring. Flopping down on the grass, panting with exertion, she tucked her long legs underneath her as a familiar drum roll crashed around the arena.
The crowd was buzzing with excitement as the first rider galloped in. A young blonde woman in a hooded cloak, riding side-saddle on a huge grey. Bright feathers adorned the horse’s mane. She was followed by a younger girl with curly brown hair. She stood astride a pair of chunky Dales ponies, who cantered merrily round the ring. Next came a tall sandy-haired man, who drew the biggest cheer from the crowd, particularly the girls. His horse was a gorgeous chestnut thoroughbred. The horse didn’t have a saddle or bridle on, just a simple rope round his strong neck. Alice watched as the rider expertly used his seat and legs to control the powerful chestnut. Her mum would say his talent was wasted, that he should be in the show ring with a seat like that. Alice giggled to herself; she could hear her mum’s bossy voice as clear as anything. Josephine was a real stickler for tradition and turnout!
Then Alice straightened up as the final rider entered the ring. He was a boy of around fourteen and he had such presence that a ripple went through the crowd. His pony was a Highland, like Lachlan, but snow white. He wouldn’t look out of place in the show ring, Alice thought as the pony cantered past her, an elaborate feather plume decorating his bridle. The rider, all in black, stared straight ahead, his dark brown hair brushing his eyes as the pony performed perfect leg changes.
Alice had watched the Flying Fillies display many times at shows up and down the country, and she knew the boy was by far the best rider in the group. He sat perfectly still in the saddle, and the horses he rode performed beautifully. But he rarely smiled, and had a sinister presence. Alice wondered if he was really so moody, or if it was all part of the act.
The team were now performing a scene from a play, each rider in a different role. The blonde girl on the grey pony was the damsel in distress, the sandy-haired boy was a handsome prince, and the girl on the Dales ponies was a court joker. And, as always, the dark-haired boy was the villain. The crowd whooped with delight as the riders galloped across the arena performing daredevil tricks, throwing themselves out of the saddle and vaulting back on and crossing each other’s paths with millimetres to spare. Alice was completely transfixed. It was unbelievably exciting, a world away from the neat and proper show ring. She was so absorbed that she didn’t hear her mobile ringing. Then she jumped as her mum called her name, pushing through the crowd to reach her.
“There you are.” Her mum sounded irritated. “What on earth are you watching?”
Alice stood up reluctantly. The dark-haired boy was in the middle of a perfectly executed vault, and the crowd was going wild.
“What is this?” her mum continued, wrinkling her nose. “What a waste of a super pony.”
Alice frowned as she thought about why she loved the display. It wasn’t just the freedom of the moves and the fun of the performance, but also the obvious rapport between the riders and ponies.
Alice looked at her mum. “Don’t you think it’s amazing? How they ride their ponies like that, and how the ponies respond? It must take loads of work.”
With perfect timing, the boy in black thundered past, practically upside down in the saddle. Surely her mum must be a tiny bit impressed?
“Oh come on, Al,” her mum said. “What we do takes loads of work: getting the ponies moving correctly, looking their best, doing what ponies should be doing. I mean, this is a bit of fun—” she paused, frowning. “But it’s just tricks, circus stuff!”
Alice looked at her mum’s face – her mouth curled in a slight grimace – and sighed. She would never understand.
Glancing behind her as she reluctantly headed back to the lorry, for a split second Alice thought the boy in black was smiling and looking right at her. But when she looked again he was galloping in the other direction. She shook her head. It must have been her imagination.
Chapter 3
Alice climbed into the horsebox cab and settled down next to Shelley, ready for the long journey back home. Shelley was already asleep with Horse and Hound over her face.
After double-checking the map, Josephine put the key into the ignition, looking more cheerful. “Another good day. Well done, darling.” She sounded pleased. “Hopefully the same again tomorrow. It’ll be another long day.”
Alice stared out of the window as her mum continued to talk about the show, wondering what the girls from school would be up to that weekend. She bet they wouldn’t be driving to the opposite ends of the country two days in a row to ride ponies in the ring. Then Alice’s thoughts drifted to the boy in black. Had he really looked at her? Hugging her knees to her chest, she was asleep before the lorry had even reached the road.
Alice’s dad was waiting for them back at the yard. Completely unhorsey, Andrew Smalley was very relaxed about his family’s dedication to showing, even though it meant he barely saw his wife or daughter over the summer. When the lorry pulled into the yard he was tinkering around with a piece of machinery.
Alice adored her dad. He worked in London, but changed straight into overalls when he was home. Alice still wasn’t exactly sure what he did, something to do with finance, but he always said he would rather be mending tractors. A bit like me, she thought, out showing when I’d rather be galloping over the downs!
“Looks like another winning day!” Her dad gestured to the red rosettes, and gave Alice a kiss on her forehead as she jumped down from the cab.
Alice stretched her tired limbs. They still had a couple of hours’ work to get the ponies settled for the night, and the lorry repacked for the morning. Fergus, the head groom, came over to help. He was in his early twenties and lived above the stables. Fergus was like a big brother to Alice and he was just about the only person Josephine really trusted with the ponies, even more so than Alice.
Taking hold of Lachlan’s lead rope, Fergus followed Alice and Porridge to the stables. “How did you do today?” he asked.
Alice smiled, slipping off the Shetland’s head collar and giving him a pat as he bustled into his stable. “All firsts.”
Fergus grinned. “Awesome!”
He gave Lachlan a hug. Out of all the ponies, the gentle Highland was his favourite. He’d been bred by Fergus’s late dad, up in Scotland. Fergus’s brother, Rory, lived nearby and continued to breed a few ponies, keeping their father’s famous Highland breeding lines going.
“And did you get to watch the Flying Fillies?”
Fergus was the only one who knew about Alice’s love for the daredevil riders, and occasionally came with her to watch.
Alice nodded, grinning. She always felt a bubble of excitement when she realised the Flying Fillies would be at the same shows as her. They seemed so glamorous and free-spirited, a world away from her life.
“Introduce yourself one day – you must be their biggest fan!” Fergus continued as he rugged Lachlan up, while Alice tended to Porridge. A low wall divided the stables, meaning the two ponies, the best of friends, were able to keep each other company.
Alice grimaced. “No way. Th
ey’d think I was some kind of stalker!”
Fergus winked. “Well, you said it…” he teased as Alice threw a handful of hay at him, much to his amusement.
After the ponies were settled, Alice went to see Secret. He was out in the paddock, grazing with Tudor, a Dartmoor gelding. Secret ambled over to Alice, nudging her with his soft nose.
Alice smiled at the memory of Georgia Black handing over Secret’s lead rope, both girls crying, and the moment Alice realised Secret really was hers for ever. She leaned against Secret’s side as he carried on eating, breathing in his sweet pony scent. Alice loved him so much that she had presumed training him would be easy, the strengthening of a magical bond, like she had read about in her pony books. But Secret was anything but easy. Although he seemed to enjoy being ridden, his progress wasn’t consistent and it sometimes felt like one step forward and two steps back!
Sighing, she started to plait a section of Secret’s mane. For a brief moment she thought about the dark-haired boy on the Highland and wondered what his life was like. Really amazing, she bet. Full of freedom and adventure. It seemed unlikely their paths would ever properly cross.
Chapter 4
As spring gave way to early summer, Alice remained caught up in the whirlwind of her mum’s busy schedule. Josephine was keen they focus on the young ponies owned by their clients, and was looking for a new show rider to help out. They needed someone who would ride at shows for them and build a relationship with the ponies at home. With her mum’s high standards it was proving difficult to find the right person. In the meantime, Alice was doing all the show riding on her own.
In a few days’ time Secret was going to his very first ridden show, a small country fair. Before Alice had started riding him he had been to quite a few in-hand shows, and had seemed to enjoy the hustle and bustle, his eyes bright and shiny. But even then, actually going into the ring had been a different story. Secret had refused to trot in every single one of his classes, and sometimes he wouldn’t move altogether. It was as if he shut down as soon as he went into the ring. Alice still felt the burn of shame as she remembered a steward at one particular show, an elderly man in a bowler hat, limping behind the pair and waving his spotty handkerchief as he tried to encourage Secret forward. Secret had just yawned and closed his eyes and Alice had come last. She remembered the judge’s words – the most gorgeous pony on the showground, but such a naughty boy!
A New Beginning Page 1