Chances

by Ruth Saberton

  Amber was very positive today and seems settled in her new placement she’ll write, or something like that anyway. She was once daft enough to leave her folder out while she nipped to the loo which gave me time to have a good look at my file. It made The Hunger Games look like cheerful reading and War and Peace seem like a short story…

  Mum’s taking her time. The nurse went to fetch her ages ago.

  I fish my phone out of my pocket and swipe through all the pictures of Chances. He’s doing so well. I ride him every morning for an hour before school with a bleary eyed Drake hollering at me and until the clocks went back I was riding afterwards too. Drake’s leant me a saddle and I’ve marked up a makeshift school in one of our stubble fields. Drake’s also made me a few cross country jumps out of junk I’ve salvaged from the barns. I’ve been pretty inventive and if Chances ever comes across an old sideboard or chicken coop out competing then he’ll be well prepared. I’d wanted Harry to help but he hasn’t seemed that keen to get involved. Yesterday I asked him if he wanted to watch me jumping but he said he was too busy. I wasn’t fooled; he was avoiding Drake. Since Chances has come to Perranview I’ve hardly seen him.

  Chances has settled in beautifully. Life in the orchard with Minty and Treacle seems to suit him. He’s so much calmer, although he has developed a bad habit of jumping out of the orchard and wandering into the kitchen in search of carrots. Last weekend, worried about the wintery weather coming, Maddy and I spent ages clearing out one of the pens in the barn for him but Chances shouted so loudly for Treacle and Minty that we’ve had to bring them in too. Scally is totally devoted to him and spends hours curled up in the straw too. I don’t blame her. It’s cosy place to be and I’ve taking to doing my homework there in the evenings. Writing essays and doing algebra isn’t quite so bad when you’re huddled under a stable rug and listening to the contented munching of horses pulling at hay nets. Kate’s totally in love with Chances and she’s always popping down to the orchard with a handful of carrots while Maddy likes to groom him because, unlike Treacle, Chances doesn’t savage you if you come within ten paces wielding a body brush.

  It’s all working out really well. Chances still puts in huge bucks and I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve come off but everyday I see improvements and I know Drake does too. He’s sparing with his praise but yesterday he said I was ready to come out competing which is the highest praise ever!

  “I’m taking a couple of youngsters for experience and it’ll do you good too,” he’d said. “It’s about time we saw what you two can do over a proper course.”

  I feel a fizz of excitement at this thought. It’s only a local hunter trial but it will be the first time Chances and I have been tested. Emily’s going too on her latest horse, a well schooled grey that doesn’t put a hoof wrong and Drake’s offered me a space in his lorry. I was going to turn it down because I’d rather share a lorry with the Noro Virus than Emily Lacey but Drake’s promised she won’t show up until we reach the event since she always travels in the Range Rover with Malcolm.

  I’m so deep in thoughts about tomorrow that I almost leap into orbit when there’s a touch on my shoulder. It’s the nurse and she’s alone.

  “Sorry, love,” she says. “I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

  “Where’s Mum?” I ask although I already know the answer. It isn’t the first time this has happened. It’s not even the second or the third. To be honest I’ve lost count.

  Mum’s changed her mind. She doesn’t want to see me and although I know she doesn’t mean to hurt me – she’s ill after all – I’m so disappointed I can’t speak.

  The nurse glances nervously at Dogood. “I’m afraid Sara isn’t having a very good day.”

  That’s nurse code for saying Mum’s in a bad way. It’s no surprise to me because this happens a lot but I’ve been so looking forward to seeing her and for a few hideous seconds I struggle not to cry. I know life with her isn’t always easy but she’s my mum and I love her. I wanted to tell her all about Chances and show her my pictures. Mum used to ride when she was younger and I bet she’d love him. She once told me that her family had always ridden. For some reason she’d fallen out with them, something to do with them not liking Dad I think, but now and then she’ll tell me snippets.

  “Sara’s been doing so well too,” Dogood is shaking her head, sadly. “That’s why we thought it would be nice for Amber to visit her. Maybe just ten minutes? She’s come such a long way.”

  There’s an awkward pause as the nurse does her best to think up an excuse that won’t hurt me. Well, there isn’t one and it’s time for me to put her out of her misery.

  “It’s fine,” I say dully. “I understand.”

  I don’t of course, nobody really does, but I try to. I know it sounds callous but I sometimes wish Mum had a proper illness that made sense to everyone. Or something they could see? A broken leg maybe? That would mend easily too.

  Dogood and I trail despondently out of the hospital.

  “We’ll come back, Amber. When she’s feeling better. Maybe next weekend?”

  “Yeah,” I say but in my heart I’m thinking that I don’t know if I can do this any more. It’s like playing an endless game of snakes and ladders and I’m so tired.

  “Can I go home now?” I ask.

  My social worker puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. “Your mum won’t always be this poorly, Amber. I saw her yesterday and even if it doesn’t seem like it, she really is much better. As soon as she’s better of course you can come home. That’s a promise. This isn’t forever even if it feels that way.”

  For once I don’t shake her hand away. In fact, I’m so shocked that I barely even register it. When I said home, it wasn’t Bristol I was thinking of.

  It was Perranview Farm.

  What?

  Since when did Perranview Farm feel like home?

  Chapter 16

  I’ve never felt so terrified in my life. My knees are knocking, my mouth’s dry and I think I might pass out with nerves.

  “Right, that’s your girth nice and tight.” Drake lowers the saddle flap and I slide my leg back. He cricks his neck and looks up at me. “Are you all right, Amber? You’re a really funny colour.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, or at least I think I do because it comes out as a bit of a squeak. The truth is I’m a mass of nerves and have been from the moment we arrived at the moorland farm where today’s hunter trial is being held. I’d not been able to eat a thing for breakfast and when we walked the course I was glad of this because otherwise I’d have thrown it all up. It was all very well for Drake to point out each jump and say each one would be fine, he’d ridden around Badminton and Burghley, but to me each obstacle looked huge and alarmingly solid. There was a tiger trap that made my blood curdle, a hanging log I was pretty certain actually came from a giant redwood, and an enormous wooden chair that must have been borrowed from the BFG.

  “There’s nothing over three feet. Chances will make light work of the course,” Drake’s saying now. He smooths the Arab’s neck and gives me a reassuring smile. “Just don’t let him rush into the fences but at the same time don’t interfere with him either. Set him up for each fence but then let him choose his stride and do his job.”

  My head is bursting with advice and whirling with thoughts. I know Chances can do it – the paddock fence is far bigger than anything out on the course – but what about me? I don’t want to let him down.

  I feel like I’ve landed on another planet and, unlike all the girls with long swishy blonde pony tails, Musto puffa jackets and Range Rover driving mummies, I am most definitely an alien. All the other competitors have been doing this since they were fetlock high to Shetland ponies and they don’t seem at all fazed by it. Take Emily for instance who’d ridden the course in the past and didn’t feel the need to walk it again. While Drake and I tramped through the mud and examined the jumps she stayed in the lorry glued to Snapchat and with her Dubarry boots as pristine as t
he day they came out of the box. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have that amount of confidence.

  “Don’t confuse confidence with arrogance,” Drake had said darkly when I commented. “The going changes every time you ride and there’s a couple of new jumps too. Having nerves is a good thing, believe me. It gives a rider an edge and sharpens you. People make mistakes when they’re over confident. I have terrible nerves every time I compete.”

  I’d found this very hard to believe. I’d spent hours on You Tube watching videos of Drake riding, trying to learn as much as I could from the way he executed a dressage test or rode a grand slam course, and I’d not detected any nerves. His face was set and his focus intent but he rode with utter confidence and determination. If I could ever be a fraction as good, I’d be thrilled.

  But Drake was more than happy to shatter my illusions.

  “Really. I’m vomiting for at least an hour before a class. Ask anyone – Fox-Pitt, Zara Tindall, Emily King – seriously! Anyone you like. They’ll tell you the same. I’m famous for it.”

  I’d felt a lot better for this. My stomach might be spinning like Kate’s washing machine but at least I knew now this was normal. I was also so preoccupied with the class I’d barely had time to think about yesterday’s visit to the hospital. Alan had attempted to talk to me but the last thing I’d needed was his caring and quite frankly patronizing explanation of my mum’s illness. I think out of the two of us I’m the undoubted expert in that area. No, I wasn’t upset. Yes, of course I knew my mum still loved me. No, I didn’t want to try again the next weekend. Yes, I did want to go straight back to Cornwall. In the end I’d bunged my ear buds in, stared out of the car window and ignored him for the rest of the journey.

  Anyway. That was yesterday. Today I’m headed for the hunter trial’s warm up area wearing an ancient rugby shirt of Harry’s, a pair of long black boots Kate found on Gumtree as well as a jockey skull and back protector donated by Drake. I’m not sure where he found them because I’m most definitely not his size but he swears they’re spares. I would have believed him except that I saw the packaging in the tack room bin…

  He’s spent a fortune and he’s paid my entrance too. Why would he do that?

  I’m just on the brink of asking him when we reach the warm up ring where smart riders in immaculate cross country colours are popping their horses over a big fallen log. Instantly Chances is on his toes, dancing sideways and snatching at the reins in pure excitement. There’s no time to talk now; all my concentration is instantly focused on keeping my horse calm.

  “Walk, trot and canter on each rein and then pop him over,” Drake advises. “Nothing more. It’s just to warm him up. Do your best to keep him calm.”

  That’s easier said than done, I think as Chances leaps sideways and tanks down the long side of the warm up area. It takes two circuits before he starts to listen and even then he’s throwing up his head and yanking at the reins. Several times I only narrowly escape breaking my nose and when he puts in an almighty buck I lose both my stirrups. Only the sheer determination that I’m not coming off before we’ve even set a hoof on the cross country course keeps me in the saddle.

  Drake peers out between his fingers. “What are you doing? I said walk, trot and canter!”

  “I’m trying!” I gasp, but it’s like sitting on a grenade that’s had the pin pulled. There’s only one thing for it when Chances behaves like this – I need to get him thinking and that means jumping. As he surges into a bouncy canter I turn him towards the log and he soars over it, easily clearing the jump by several feet. When he lands I keep my leg on, close my fingers on the reins and ride him through the bucks that always come after the first few fences.

  “That’s enough for the warm up. We need you alive for the real thing,” Drake deadpans when I eventually manage to bring Chances back to a walk. He reaches up and closes his fingers on the bit ring, as though wanting to hold onto us both. “It’s time to ride down to the start anyway. Number twelve has just gone through.”

  I’m number fifteen. Instantly my mouth is drier than the sand school.

  “It’s supposed to be fun,” he reminds me. “You look as though you’re expecting to be shot.”

  I would reply except Chances is bouncing with excitement and I’m too busy soothing him to reply.

  “Shh, boy. It’s nearly our turn,” I murmur but Chances isn’t keen on waiting and paws the ground impatiently. Everyone is looking my way, partly because his antics are attracting a great deal of attention but mostly because I’m with Drake. In his cream beeches, black boots and crimson colours he draws all eyes and the pony girls and pony mummies seem to do an awful lot of hair swishing as they pass by. There’s quite a lot of eyelash batting too although Drake’s totally oblivious to all this. Every ounce of his attention is trained upon Chances and me.

  “The first jump is easy but keep your leg on and be ready for the bucking,” he’s saying. “The second is just a simple spread and then after that there’s a long hill so let him have a good burn up and get the fizz out his system. You’ll need to collect him up pretty swiftly through for the third one and ride him straight to the cattle pen.”

  I’m trying to listen but to be honest I can’t process any more information now. My stomach clenches with terror. Have I got time to throw up?

  Number fourteen is waiting at the start. He’s a really smart little black pony accessorized with hot pink saddle cloth, neon pink tendon boots to match his rider’s hot pink cross country colours. Her hair’s even threaded with pink ribbons just like the pony’s beautifully plaited mane. Silver stars are scattered all over the bright fabric and they sparkle in the sunlight.

  I feel very underdressed. Harry’s old rugby shirt definitely doesn’t sparkle and nothing matches.

  “What am I doing here?” I wail.

  “Stop worrying,” Drake soothes. “All the smart kit in the world won’t get that pony round. You mark my words. Just focus on Chances. He’s the horse for the job. You’ll see.”

  Number fourteen is waved through and heads to the first jump, ribbons streaming behind her as she sets off in a blur of pink. It all looks wonderful until the pony slams on the brakes at the eleventh hour and she sails over his head.

  “Told you,” says Drake. “That’s an elimination. It’s your turn, Amber. Good luck!”

  I gather up my reins. This is it; there’s no turning back now. Chances feels like he’s about to explode at any second.

  “Number fifteen?” A tweedy lady with a clip board ticks me off on a clipboard. “Ready to go? Good luck!”

  Chances is jogging on the spot. The instant I shift my weight in the saddle he springs forward and races towards the first jump, a simple fallen log, locked on with pricked ears and a stride that eats the distance in seconds. We’re over it before I hardly realise what’s happening and we fly the spread too before galloping up the hill towards the third jump. I press my knees into the saddle and settle into the rhythm with a smile spreading across my face because this is incredible! Amazing! Breathtaking! Whatever was I worrying about? Chances and I were born to do this! Each jump draws my horse like a magnet and all I have to do is sit tight and release my fingers on the reins.

  It’s magical!

  The next three jumps pass in a rush of cold air and flying hooves, then I have to use all my skill to steady Chances and collect him for the canter downhill. We pop a big brush fence and some tyres then dive through the owl hole into the dark woods.

  “Steady, boy,” I whisper, sitting back as we drop down a bank and squelch through mud before cantering towards the rustic fence at the far side. Drake’s warned me about the soft going here and the take off is already deep from where previous horses have ploughed it up. Coming in fast is asking for trouble so I’ll need to pick the right spot and approach it steadily. Half halting for all I’m worth, I manage to gather Chances up so that he springs over just like a rubber ball. The course then veers sharply to the right where there’s a st
yle followed by the enormous hanging log but Chances clears both obstacles easily and I pat his neck, my heart bursting with pride. This horse makes every jump a joy.

  The course becomes flatter at this point with lots of long gallops punctuated by jumps. There’s a hay feeder, a log house and a roll top and Chances clears them all with ease. He’s settled into a rhythm, no longer fighting for his head but waiting for me to pick the next obstacle and locking on when I let him fly. The gathering of muscle beneath me, the energy and power trembling in that split second before the leap and the rush of air against my face feel like magic and nothing else matters. All my problems fade away as Chances and I fly fence after fence.

  There can’t be many jumps left. I think I counted thirty-four in total when I walked the course and it seemed like a lot at the time but now I’d love more because I could do this forever. There’s a jump that looks like a wedge of cheese, the enormous chair and the quarry’s coming up fast. We have to drop down, leap a ditch and then jump out again.

  “Sit back when you jump in and slip the reins,” Drake said when we paced it out. “But gather them up again as quickly as you can because you’ll have to have him under you and listening for the ditch and then the big leap out. They’ll be on you before you realise it so don’t lose your focus. You can’t afford to mess up any element. And don’t back off either. Leg on all the way.”

  Recalling all this advice, I push Chances forwards and we plunge into the quarry. My stomach’s still somewhere high in the air but there’s no time to find it because the ditch is coming up fast and all that remains is the jump out into the next field and the final timed section.

  It’s a big leap out, three feet at least, and we need impulsion and power for a good jump. I shorten my reins, collect Chances and feel him sink onto his quarters. Up he springs, I press my weight into my heels to fold forward and go with him but something’s wrong.

  Very wrong.