Nightstorm and the Grand Slam

by Stacy Gregg

  “All the same,” Avery said. “I think we should walk the course one last time.”

  Tom Avery had been Issie’s instructor since she first started riding at the Chevalier Point Pony Club. She knew better than to argue with him. And so, she dragged herself up off the sofa in the horse truck and pulled on her boots.

  “Let’s go then.”

  The cross-country course began in the main stadium with the flower bed. From there a broad blanket of grassy track led on to the brush, the quarry and then the Huntsman’s Close complex which involved a tricky combination and a very acute angle on a corner fence. The lake complex and a broad wooden tabletop fence came after that, and then the trickier narrow obstacles that required precision riding – two round tops and the intricate farmyard fences. After that, the horse had room to gallop until they reached one of the biggest fences on the course. The Vicarage Ditch was a massive obstacle. The ditch itself was almost three metres wide, with a hedge and solid wood rail set into the middle of it, placed at an odd angle.

  “So how are you going to face him up to this? Will you turn straight towards the rail?” Avery asked as they walked towards the jump.

  Issie frowned. Avery knew exactly how she planned to attack this fence. They had talked it over three times already!

  “I’m going to ignore the ditch and take a straight line at the rail,” she said tersely. “It’s a big jump so I’ll really put my legs on to get a strong canter into it, but Storm and Victory are both fit and they should have loads of energy…”

  “…Maybe too much energy,” Avery cut her off. “The last thing you want to do is rush it at a gallop and risk mis-timing and crashing into the rail…”

  “Well, obviously!” Issie said. “I…”

  But Avery had turned his back on her and was now walking the perimeter of the ditch. “I’ve decided that the best thing to do is to avoid the Vicarage Ditch entirely. If you take the long route here you don’t have to jump it, you can go around and take the two offset hedges instead…”

  Issie couldn’t believe what she was hearing!

  “Tom, that’s the alternative route! If I avoid the Ditch it will take me three times as long!”

  “I know that,” Avery said, “but it’s the safer option.”

  “Not if I want to win!” Issie replied. “The long option will add at least ten seconds and that would kill my chances of coming in under the allowed time. I’ll be penalised.”

  “A few time penalties is better than twenty faults from a refusal,” Avery argued.

  “A few time penalties is all it will take to lose me the competition!”

  Issie was stunned that her trainer was suggesting this change at the eleventh hour.

  “You’ve never suggested that I take the soft route before. It’s always ‘go straight through!’ So why the sudden change? Why are you acting so weird?”

  “I told you.” Avery looked distressed. “It’s better to risk the time faults.”

  “No,” Issie shook her head. “It’s not…”

  “Yes, it jolly well is!” Avery snapped. “It’s better to risk the time faults than your horse’s life!”

  The words hung there in the silence between them. Issie now understood why they were out here standing on the cross-country course, with her instructor in a complete meltdown. This wasn’t about her. It wasn’t even about Victory and Nightstorm. This was about Avery and something that had happened long ago. She’d been a fool to forget what this jump in particular meant to him. Back in the days when Avery was competing, the Vicarage Ditch was known as the Vicarage Vee. It was this fence that had ended her trainer’s professional eventing career. He had fallen here on his horse, The Soothsayer. Avery had come away with minor cuts and bruises, but The Soothsayer had not been so lucky. The horse’s life had ended when he broke his leg attempting this fence.

  Avery had never spoken to Issie about the accident – in fact he never spoke to anyone about what happened that day. It must have been so painful for Avery to be here now, reliving the agony of that moment all those years ago when he lost his beloved horse.

  “I’m so sorry,” Issie stammered. “I wasn’t thinking…”

  Avery’s voice was choked with emotion. “I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I made,” he said.

  “I get that, I really do,” Issie said gently. “But you’re trying to change history. Even if I take the safe route on Victory and Storm, it isn’t going to bring him back.”

  She looked her trainer in the eyes. “The alternative route is too slow and I will lose if I take it. You have to let me take the risk and jump the Vicarage Ditch.”

  Avery sighed, admitting defeat, “When exactly did you become the smart one in our relationship?”

  Issie smiled. “Oh, please! If I’m the smart one then we really are in trouble!”

  Avery put his arm around her shoulder. “Come on,” he said, “let’s go back to the truck. I think you know exactly what you’re doing. Straight through the big jumps all the way to home.”

  They kept the conversation purely on practical matters as they walked back to the truck. This wasn’t difficult since there was still so much to prepare for tomorrow. Francoise was running a last-minute check on their tack and equipment. And Stella was down at the stables with both the horses, bedding them in for the evening.

  Victory and Storm had both been allocated stalls in the main Badminton House stable block, a stately stone building constructed around a quadrangle courtyard. The main stables took 45 horses, almost half the contingent who were competing over the period of the three-day event, and the loose boxes were beautiful with high ceilings and elegant flagstone floors. They were also high maintenance and Stella had spent most of the day down there, mucking out and replacing Victory and Storm’s bedding, organising their feeds and water troughs.

  She arrived back at the horse truck at the same time as Issie and Tom, her curly red hair scraped back beneath a cheesecutter cap, which looked like it had been stolen out of Avery’s closet. Her jodhpurs were covered in straw and muck, which she made a half-hearted attempt to brush off before she stepped inside the kitchen of the horse truck and collapsed on one of the bench seats.

  “Ohmygod!” Stella groaned. “I am exhausted and starving. When is dinner?”

  “Dinner,” Avery told her, “will be on the table shortly.” Stella looked pleased until he added, “…just as soon as you cook it.”

  In the end, all four of them pitched in to make spaghetti with tomato and tuna sauce and a green salad on the side.

  “Carbo loading for tomorrow,” Stella told Issie as she dished up a second helping of pasta onto her plate.

  “I don’t need to fuel up,” Issie insisted. “Victory and Storm are the ones who’ll be doing the hard work!”

  “They’ve already had their dinner,” Stella said. “I gave them their feeds before I left the stables. Victory bolted his down as usual, but Storm wasn’t really that hungry.”

  There was something about this comment that rang alarm bells for Issie. Storm was a greedy sort, known for snuffling his feed down in five minutes flat and nickering for seconds.

  “Was he OK?” Issie asked Stella.

  “He was a bit tense,” Stella admitted. “You know, after the dressage test, and being somewhere new. He was walking around his stall when I left him, taking little bites of his feed and then wandering away again.”

  Issie looked up from her plate. “Maybe I should go check on him?”

  Avery shook his head. “Issie, you’re worrying unnecessarily. Storm is fine, finish your dinner.”

  It had been the strangest day. Never in her wildest dreams had Issie expected to be in such a strong position after the dressage phase. Her test on Victory had also put her right up there in contention, sitting in eighth place on a score of 39.5.

  The real test of courage and ability would come tomorrow. She had put on a brave face in front of Tom and argued that she had to take the Vicarage Ditch head-on. But
underneath her bravado, she was worried about her horses too.

  She had never lost a horse on the cross-country course, but that didn’t mean she didn’t understand Avery’s pain. She had suffered the same heartbreak – many years ago now – when she had the accident with Mystic.

  It had been the day of the Chevalier Point Pony Club Gymkhana, Issie’s first-ever competition. Mystic, her beloved pony, had been a total star all day long. The little swaybacked dapple-grey was getting on in years, but he was still a keen jumper and they had just taken out a ribbon in the showjumping class when it happened.

  Chevalier Point’s resident brat, Natasha Tucker, furious that she’d failed to take first place, had thrown a tantrum and used her whip to take a swipe at her poor pony, Goldrush.

  Issie had looked on in horror as the terrified Goldrush backed away from Natasha to escape and barged into Stella’s horse Coco and Kate’s gelding Toby, who were tied to a nearby horse truck. The next thing Issie knew, the ponies had pulled loose in fright and bolted, along with Goldrush, heading for the pony-club gates.

  As people began to run after the horses, trying to divert them before they reached the main road, Issie realised they’d never catch them in time on foot. But maybe she could stop them on Mystic.

  By the time she caught up the ponies were on the main road. Issie had taken one look at the cars whizzing past and then made the fateful decision to follow them. Every moment that the ponies were on that road their lives were in danger, but if she could ride around and herd them back, she might be able to drive them on to the gravel road back to the pony-club grounds.

  Her plan worked. She had managed to get the ponies to safety and she was just about to get off the road too when she heard the deep low boom of the truck horn.

  As Mystic turned to confront the truck, rising up on his hindquarters, he threw Issie off his back. The last thing she remembered was the sickening screech of the truck tyres and the horrific sound of her pony’s terrified whinny. Then her helmet hit the tarmac and everything went black.

  In the hospital she woke up with her mother beside her bed, and it was only then that she discovered what had happened. The grey gelding had thrown her clear but it had cost him his life. Mystic was dead.

  In the weeks that followed Issie became consumed by grief. Her loss overwhelmed her and she never thought she would be capable of loving another pony ever again.

  And then Avery had brought her Blaze. He was working for Horse Welfare and the chestnut mare was a rescue pony that had been placed in his care. When Issie caught sight of the emaciated, terrified mare at the River Paddock she didn’t have the heart to turn her away.

  Slowly, the broken-spirited mare and the broken-hearted girl began to heal each other and Issie fell in love with Blaze. But she never forgot Mystic. In her heart, she never let him go and the bond between her and the grey pony proved to be more special than Issie had ever imagined.

  When Mystic first turned up to help her – alive and real, a flesh-and-blood pony and not some ghostly apparition – Issie should have been astonished, but instead she accepted his presence straight away. She had wished so hard for him to still be there with her, that when he actually came back she never questioned it. They were meant to be together.

  In the years that followed, whenever Issie or her horses were in trouble, Mystic would come to her. He was her guardian, her protector and her secret.

  While the horses had luxury accommodation at Badminton, Issie and her team weren’t quite so well off. Their horse truck was comfortable enough to live in for a few days, but it was a little cramped with four people in it. Avery and his wife Francoise had the double bed in the cavity above the driver’s cab, Stella had created a makeshift bed on the banquette seat next to the kitchen table, and Issie was out at the back in the part of the horse truck where the horses themselves usually travelled, on a camping cot bed. It wasn’t exactly the Plaza Hotel, but it suited Issie just fine. She loved the sweet smell of horses and the quiet chirp of crickets right outside as she lay there, trying to get to sleep.

  With the cross-country starting at seven-thirty in the morning, an early night was crucial. As Issie had two horses to compete, the organisers had split up her two rides at either end of the day. Her early start was on Storm. The big bay was due in the ten-minute box a little before eight a.m. Victory was her second ride, with a late allocated start time of one-thirty p.m.

  Although Nightstorm wasn’t due in the box until nearly eight, their day would start much earlier. Stella would be up and grooming him before sunrise and Issie would be down at the stables not long after that. After the exhausting day she’d just had, Issie desperately needed a good night’s sleep. Of course, just when you need it most, that’s when sleep refuses to do the business. For almost an hour she lay in her cot bed, thinking about the day’s events. She was finally beginning to relax, could feel drowsiness overwhelming her, when she heard hoofbeats.

  Convinced that the sounds were nothing more than echoes from the stables on the other side of the competitors’ park, she ignored them and tried once more to sleep. But in a moment of clarity she sat up, suddenly wide awake. The hoofbeats were too close. They couldn’t be coming from the stables.

  And then she heard another sound, quite distinct. It was the soft nicker of a horse and it was right outside!

  Padding over to the back of the truck in pyjamas and bare feet, Issie pushed open the canvas flap at the rear by the ramp and peered out. It was dark, but there were a few lights on in the competitors’ park, providing enough illumination for her to see. There was a horse standing just a few metres away.

  Eventing horses tended to be solidly built and at least sixteen hands high. By comparison, the swaybacked grey pony in front of her was tiny, no more than fourteen hands. He stared at her with coal-black eyes, standing so still that he looked like a marble statue. Then he shook his long mane and the statue was suddenly alive and impatient. The gelding gave a snort as if to say, ‘Come on! What’s keeping you? Let’s go already!’ Issie couldn’t believe it.

  It was Mystic.

  Chapter 3

  Mystic stamped a hoof impatiently against the gravel and looked up at Issie, his dark eyes making his intent quite clear. They needed to leave now.

  “OK, wait!” Issie ducked back inside the canvas flap and hunted frantically for a pair of boots. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t think straight – the fact that Mystic was here now meant that one or both of her horses must be in real trouble. She began to panic. They needed to go now!

  There was a sound of hooves and Issie looked back to see Mystic pushing his muzzle through the canvas flap to look for her. She could see his nostrils flare as he sniffed for her. “I’m coming!” she insisted. She unearthed the boots from beneath a pile of coats and pulled them on and pushed her way back out through the canvas flap. Mystic was standing close to the ramp so that Issie could use it as a mounting block. She vaulted on expertly, not worrying that the pony had no saddle or bridle. She had always ridden Mystic like this. She remembered the very first time when they had taken a midnight ride to the pony club from her house. It had been terrifying at first, trying to bounce along bareback at the trot without anything to cling to. But Issie was a far more accomplished rider now. Her natural balance was so honed she relied on her seat alone. Not that it was far to fall anyway if she had come off. Compared to being on big, sixteen-two hand horses like Nightstorm and Victory, the grey pony felt very low to the ground. It had been a long time since Issie last rode Mystic and she was suddenly aware of how much she had grown. She was far too big for him – but Mystic didn’t seem to mind. As soon as he felt her weight settled on his back he set off at a brisk trot, weaving between the horse trucks. Issie wrapped her hands in the pony’s coarse mane as Mystic trotted his way through the twisting maze of vehicles, heading towards the Badminton House stable block.

  It usually took about ten minutes to walk from her truck to the stables, but in a matter of a few minutes
the grey pony was pulling up to a halt in the shadows outside the stately stone buildings.

  “Good boy!” Issie gave him a slappy pat on the neck and then slid silently to the ground. The grey pony knew he could only take her this far. There was a watchman at night on the gates so she’d need to go alone from this point.

  As she ran towards the stable block, Issie cast a glance back over her shoulder at Mystic. She had hoped to catch one last glimpse of his snowy face in the darkness but she should have known better by now. The grey pony was already gone.

  As she ran through the entrance gates the security guard dropped the magazine he’d been reading and shone his torch on her.

  “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” He put out an arm to stop her as she tried to race past.

  “I need to get to my horses,” Issie said. She was trying to stay calm, but it wasn’t easy. Her mind was flashing back to that night in Chevalier Point all those years ago when Storm was stolen. He had been just a colt at the time and the ordeal had been terrifying. Now, Issie was worried that it was happening once more. Had someone come to take her horse? She couldn’t stand to go through it again.

  “ID tag?” the guard said.

  Issie lost her cool. “I’m wearing pyjamas! Does it look like I have my tags on me?”

  The guard looked closely at her. “So what’s the big hurry about?”

  “I need to get to my horses.”

  The guard looked unimpressed by this vague explanation. “I’m sorry but without tags… hey!”

  Before he could say anything more, Issie had ducked under his outstretched arm and was running through the courtyard towards the stable block.

  She entered the corridor of the stable block and ran down the row of stalls. Victory was there! She could see him through the bars on the top of the door to his stall. He seemed to be totally fine.

  “Hey, you!” Issie could hear the guard running up the corridor behind her but she ignored him and continued on to the next stall.