by Sofia Grey
She rode him in, cantering round the perimeter of the course, waiting for the signal to start. I watched intently. Although we’d walked the course from every angle and identified what we thought to be the problem areas, a rider could never actually tell until they started.
The second bell rang, and Clare circled round to the first jump. Brutus, still unsettled by the previous horse, made a wild leap that would have unseated a less experienced rider. Bev and Danny stood next to me, and we all groaned together as Brutus tipped a pole on the third jump.
“Four faults,” I murmured, keeping my fingers crossed hoping she didn’t amass any more. We cheered as she cleared the final jump and trotted back into the collecting ring.
“Can you believe my luck?” Clare was visibly disappointed. “Watch out for the double, it’s trickier than it looks. The second part is nearer than you think.” Bev threw a rug over the sweating Brutus, patting him all the while as the P.A. system announced Clare’s score. “Bugger.” She hugged her horse. “How many more until Sam goes in?”
“Seven.” I was doubly nervous now. “I’ll get him.” He behaved like an angel in the practice ring, bouncing over the jumps in a bored fashion, completely unbothered by the noise and bustle around him. I sent up a swift prayer hoping he’d stay this calm in the ring.
“Time to go.” Bev waited with me until the P.A. system announced our names. “Good luck,” she called out, as we trotted into the ring and saluted the judges. Taking a deep breath, I cantered Sam in a wide circle, and waited for the second bell. I had a fleeting thought of Jon, what was he doing now? The bell rang, and I concentrated as we made our way to the start of the course.
The first jump was enormous. In reality, it was probably the lowest, but it still looked huge. Sam, like Brutus, took the first jump with a wild leap, clearing it by over a foot. Knowing he felt excited, I tried to slow him. We needed to take care with these jumps. I had to make sure he didn’t tire too soon or lose control. It would be a fine balancing act. Pulling him up by degrees, we approached the double Clare had warned about. Over the first part, two quick strides, and I kicked Sam hard into the second half. He cleared it easily. He tossed his head, as if to say, “I don’t know what the fuss is about,” and responded to me better than ever before, spurred on by the crowd and by my own excitement.
Fences flew by. Over the water, the wall, the vicious brushwood fence, down a tiny slope, and over the poles at the bottom. We were on the final straight. It was tempting to let Sam have his head, but I restrained him, concentrating on jumping each one clear. I held my breath over the last. I could have sworn he rapped the top pole with his front hooves, but it stayed in place. The crowd cheered, and I saw Bev waving and dancing in the collecting ring, Sam’s rug in her arms.
“You did it, well done.” She was ecstatic. “You’re in the jump off!” Clare and Danny both materialized then, slapping Sam on the flanks and feeding him lemon sherbets, his favorite. My horse snorted a few times and stood nonchalantly, as though this was an everyday occurrence.
Clare dragged me back to the stands to watch the other riders, and we settled onto the wooden benches, still chattering about my round.
“Time for me to go. Here, take this.” Danny passed his camera to Clare. For a moment, I’d forgotten his qualifying round was taking place at the same time in another arena. He took Mark with him to act as groom, since Bev and Clare were staying with me. I stood up to give him a hug and felt momentarily surprised when he pulled me into his arms in a tighter, rather more intimate embrace, than I was used to from him. He held me tight, kissed me briefly on the lips, winked at me, and strode off. I stared after him. What the hell was that all about?
Clare had caught it all on Danny’s camera, laughing at his antics. Colette gazed at me, a frown wrinkling her brow. I took my hat off and scratched my head, puzzled, then sat with Clare and watched the next riders.
15.2 Anita
There were six other clear rounds. I watched them all with a growing sense of panic, undecided whether or not I wanted to go to the toilets to be sick. Clare tried to reassure me, but I grew more tense by the minute. The person I really wanted there was Jon, but he would probably be equally occupied at the moment. I debated running to the payphone to call him. No, he’d be busy and wouldn’t appreciate the interruption.
We had a ten-minute break before the jump off, while the course builders rearranged the course. I spent the time walking Sam round, partly to stop him from cooling down completely and partly to keep him calm and quiet. When the speakers announced that competitors could walk the revised course, Clare came with me and we set off round the course again.
“Shit. Look at the height of the wall.” It was easily four inches higher this time. Four jumps had been raised, two removed, and the order of jumping had changed, introducing a couple of sharp new turns.
“Watch out for this one,” advised Clare, as we approached the fourth jump. “Now that awful brushwood is out, you’ve got two ways to get to this fence. The safe way is outside the hedge, or you can risk a shortcut inside it and possibly save a couple of seconds. You need to watch your step though; you could end up completely off balance and in a tangle on the ground.”
“We’ve been practicing our turns.” I weighed the options and decided to take the shortcut. Yes, it would be riskier, but every fraction of a second counted in a timed jump off.
As the last competitors trailed out of the arena, we listened to the speaker announcing the jumping order. I was to jump third out of nine.
Clare had more experience at this level of competition, and she tried to advise me on strategy. “The problem with going early is you don’t know what time you have to beat. You can go slow and careful and get a clear, but risk being slow and getting time penalties. Or you can set a cracking pace and charge around, going more for speed. But remember, a slow clear will beat the fastest four faults.” She gave me a hug. “Good luck, hun, you’ll be fine.”
As I was in third, we elected to watch the first two from the collecting ring. The first competitor, a local girl on a huge bay thoroughbred, blew Clare’s strategy right out of the water. A clumsy-looking horse, he appeared to amble around the course, with a deceptively fast clear round.
I moaned. “One minute, twenty. I may as well pack up now.”
“Rubbish.” Clare was brisk. “All set?” She tightened Sam’s girth, kissed his nose, and patted my leg. “Did you hear that? The second one, Smith, had eight faults.”
She slapped Sam on the rump and we were off. I squeezed him into a smart trot, and we entered the ring again. Waiting for the second bell, I circled Sam as last time, and concentrated on relaxing into the saddle. My tension would upset him. He’d be able to pick it up, and I needed him to respond to my every request.
The bell rang. This was it.
Over the first, second, third. No problem so far. I could tell Sam was enjoying himself. His ears were pricked forward, tail flicking, and his head was tossing as he surged forward. This time, I didn’t try to restrain him or to slow his natural fast pace. I decided to let him do the work, and I’d just guide him in the right direction.
As we approached the fourth I took Clare’s advice and sharply corrected Sam, running him inside the brushwood. The first rider had gone outside, and this was where I could make up some time. Sam objected. He felt unbalanced and desperately tried to correct himself in time. He popped in an extra stride before the jump. My heart plummeted—too close. I braced hard for the refusal. To my amazement, he miraculously recovered and—doing a funny bucking sort of maneuver—he leapt over the fence. I closed my eyes, unable to watch as he lurched over—clumsy, but clear.
Letting out my breath in a huge gasp, I regained control and guided him to the double that had caused so many problems already. Over the first part, two quick strides—and clear. Not many left now. Over the water, the now huge wall, and back down the long straight. Kicking Sam into a flat-out gallop, I leaned low over his neck, jockey style, ur
ging him on. Sam could see the last jump; I hoped he’d understand he had to clear it. If he wasn’t happy, he might swerve out at the last moment.
“Come on,” I muttered. I had no time to check his speed. He felt unbalanced again, not surprising, but up he went. I held my breath again, heard the familiar rap of hoof on pole and waited for it to fall. I shot past the finish line before I dared to turn and look.
If I had any doubts, the crowd dispelled them. Roaring and clapping their approval, the speaker could barely be heard over the noise.
“Our second clear round, with a superb time of one minute, fourteen seconds. That will surely be hard to beat.”
Pulling Sam to a ragged stop in the collecting ring, I was besieged by Clare and Bev. Leaning forward, I hugged my darling horse, choked with emotion, tears running down my face. I slipped down from the saddle while Bev took Sam to cool him, then I wandered in a happy daze for a minute or two while Clare clapped me on the back and hugged me again.
“He was marvelous! So fast.”
“That last fence, I thought you were going to gallop straight through it!”
“The fourth one…”
“Inside the brushwood. I told you it would work.”
“I don’t know how he got over that one.” I was suddenly serious. “He is going to be so much better than I thought.”
Clare grinned, happy for me. “It’s all your hard work that’s paying off. Now let’s go and watch the last riders. You were fast, bloody fast, but it’s not all over yet.”
The fourth and fifth entrants had finished by the time we reached the viewing stand, but neither had gone clear. Colette had vanished. Mark said she watched my round, and then went to watch Danny compete. Sitting on the bench, I was congratulated by the first rider, a friendly girl who admired the way we’d handled the brushwood inside track. Biting my lip with nerves, I settled to watch the others. There were two more clears, but slower than me, then one slow clear that incurred time penalties for taking too long.
Next to last was a young man on a bouncy, wiry black gelding.
“Watch out, this one looks good,” murmured Clare, as the horse bucked and plunged, waiting to start. “He was fast the first time, now he knows he has to beat your time.”
“I can’t bear this!” I covered my eyes as the gelding stormed through the course, clearing every jump. “Is he up on the clock? I daren’t look.”
“Yeah. Up two seconds.”
I opened my eyes again and watched in silence. Up four seconds now.
“Four seconds,” I breathed. “He’s got it.” Turning away in disgust, I heard the crowd suddenly groan.
“Four faults!” Clare crowed in delight, before clapping her hand across her mouth. He’d knocked the top pole from the final jump, the same one that had almost fallen for me. “One more to go,” Clare grabbed my hands, and we sat watching the last entrant.
The last rider unfortunately had a refusal at the fourth fence. He was completely off balance on the approach and unable to recover as Sam had. Before I knew what had happened, Clare whooped in delight and total strangers were shaking my hand and slapping my back.
“Come on!” Clare dragged me out of my seat. “You need to get back on Sam.”
I stared, frozen. “But it’s finished.”
“The prize giving, dummy.” She hauled me down to the ring, virtually pushed me into the saddle, and dispatched me back into the arena. A charming Duchess presented me with a big silver cup, a giant red rosette and sash, and a very welcome check.
It was all a blur. I thanked the Duchess, shook hands and made some small talk. The crowd cheered and clapped, and I sat on Sam, tears trickling down my face. I had spent every spare penny, and almost every spare minute, on my wonderful horse, and he’d repaid me in spades.
I came to with a start, hearing a giggle behind me, only to realize that Sam, taking advantage of my inattention, was busy tucking into a pot of pink geraniums. Grinning, I waved my cup aloft and eased Sam away from the flowers to where Danny waited to take our photo.
He was thrilled. Having gone clear in his qualifying round, he had an hour or so before his jump off, and he’d watched me collecting the cup. As I dropped out of the saddle, he swept me off my feet, hugging me close while he took a selfie on his phone. That was fine, but the kiss that followed was a bit much. I wriggled free and stared at him, but he just winked.
“Well done, lovey,” he said. “All that practice was worth it.”
I forgot my confusion. This was Danny, my almost-brother; he’d worked as hard as I had to get to this point. I squeezed his arm and then went back to the stands. There was no sign of Colette, but Mark waited for us with ice creams and drinks. Bev went to sort out Sam, and we laughed and relived the final rounds all over again.
It was a truly brilliant afternoon. The only thing that marred it was not being able to speak to Jon, but I’d call him again when we got home. In the meantime, we had Danny’s round to watch, as well as our fun competition.
We met up with Colette to watch Danny’s final round. If I thought the competition had been fierce in my contest, it was much more demanding for Danny. All but one of the riders went clear. It was all down to timing. Danny went second, with the fastest time so far, and we had to watch a further eight riders busting a gut to beat his time.
He sat with us in the stands, holding Colette’s hand tight. Only two to go and he was still in the lead. Only one more to go.
Yes!
We threw our hats in the air and danced round him, cheering and hugging. This time, he pulled Colette to him and kissed her hard, as he celebrated with her in his arms.
Clare and I took part in the fun competition. It consisted of riding each other’s horses, while wearing fancy dress, over three small jumps each, then repeating the course the other way around. It was hugely funny, especially since we had no choice over the costumes; they were drawn at random. We were dressed as mermaids, with our tails trailing over the backs of the saddles, making it impossible to use our stirrups. Our sides ached from laughing so much.
If only all our shows could be as excellent as Charrington had been. Two big wins to take home and a bucket-load of memories and photographs.
15.3 Colette
I wished I knew what Danny was playing at. I swore he had something to do with those pictures of Anita and me in the newspaper. He took the bloody photos, after all. Yet he acted all innocent when he read the article. And how convenient to buy the Daily Comet in the first place.
Then there was all that stuff with Anita. He snogged her for fuck’s sake. In front of me. She didn’t seem overly impressed, but he did it twice.
Was he playing with me? Maybe I was right in the first place. The reason he was so jealous of Jon was that he wanted Anita. And maybe I was just a way of passing time until he reeled her in.
So the question was, did I put up with this half-life, making do with what I could get of him, or did I hold my head high and walk out? I wished to God I knew.
15.4 Anita
It took ages to get the horsebox loaded, the caravan packed up and ready to travel, and all our shopping and prizes stashed away. We’d spent a small fortune at the numerous market stalls, buying dashing new headcollars with velvet browbands, souvenir T-shirts, and a variety of mugs and trinkets for the juniors back at the yard.
Eventually we were ready to leave, apart from one last ice cream each, and one each for the horses. The inside of the horsebox felt pleasantly cool. They had haynets and fresh water buckets and would be comfortable for the three-hour journey home. It was hot in the cab though, and we settled into our seats with some happy grumbling. Danny drove the horsebox again, with Colette and I sharing the cab, while the others went in Mark’s car, pulling the caravan. Clare took the trophies, and they were safely wrapped in a picnic blanket in the car.
We’d only been on the road for an hour, singing happily along with the radio, when the early evening news came on. Danny went to change channels, but I held
out my hand.
“Hang on, I want to hear the sports round up.”
A look of irritation flashed across his face, but he left the radio on, and we all listened. The news was typical for a quiet Sunday evening, and I waited impatiently for the sports news.
The presenter read out some golf and cricket scores, and then finally the motor racing results from Belgium.
“It was an action-packed weekend for British Formula 3 motor racing at the Spa-Francorchamps circuit in Belgium. In the hotly contested Championship Class, first place overall went to Daniel Jerman, second was Andrew Tozier, and third on the podium was Fabian Duprez. The current favorite, Jonathan Craigowan, was scratched from Sunday’s race due to his injuries in Saturday’s multi-car pile-up. His teammate Pedro Orveila is still in critical condition in hospital. It’s not known at this stage whether Craigowan will be completing the rest of the season. And finally, the weather forecast.”
Colette gave my hand a squeeze, but I hardly felt it. Multi-car pile-up? Scratched from Sunday’s race? It felt like a vise around my chest. Each word squeezing tighter until I couldn’t find my breath. I stared blindly out of the windscreen. Tears blurred my vision, and I wiped them away with shaking fingers.
Why didn’t I listen out for the sports news yesterday? Or buy a newspaper today? I’d been so busy with my own life, I hadn’t given his any thought. How badly was he hurt? It must be bad if he couldn’t race today.
“I need to ring him,” I whispered. Danny had already dug out his mobile phone and handed it across.
Jon’s number went straight to voicemail, as it had all weekend. I dug through my purse for the number of his parents’ house, written on a scrap of paper. That line was permanently engaged. I’d no other way to contact him.
My stomach churned with a dread I’d never known before. I’d have gone home early if I knew. If I’d bothered to check the news. I sank my head into my hands. It all came back to if.