by Stacy Gregg
As she stood there with her arms around her horse, Issie realised that she had a choice to make. Avery had let the past destroy his career. But she had another chance now, a chance to make things right.
Issie turned back to face Tom, her eyes shining, not with tears but with hope. “Tell Stella to start tacking him up. I’m going back to the truck to get ready.”
As Issie got dressed, there was one last bitter reminder of what she had been through already that day. Her airtech jacket was now discarded, spent and useless. She needed to borrow another one and fast.
When Issie turned up on Marcus Pearce’s doorstep with her eyes still red from crying, he didn’t ask any stupid questions and never mentioned the accident. Marcus had the common sense to realise that what she needed right now was to stay positive about the task ahead. He handed over an airtech jacket. “Hey,” he said. “I’m worried that Velluto Rosso might not pass the trotting-up tomorrow. Do you think Natasha might have a pair of jodhpurs I can wear to distract the judges?”
Issie laughed. “I don’t think she’s designing them for boys just yet.”
A bit of banter with Marcus was just what Issie needed to get her emotions back on track. She had to go into the cross-country start box in an upbeat and focused state of mind. She had to put the past behind her. Her mindset had to be about bringing Storm over that finish line with a clear round and a good time.
In the warm-up area Stella and Avery kept their own worries well hidden as they helped Issie to prepare. Stella was all smiles as she did the last gear check on Nightstorm and gave him the thumbs up for Issie to get onboard.
“Storm’s totally ready to do this,” she said to Issie. “He was so excited he wouldn’t stay still when I was tacking him up.”
Issie adjusted her helmet, tightened the Velcro on her gloves and did a final check on her stopwatch. “Well, let’s not keep him waiting any longer,” she said to Stella. “Let’s do it.”
In the start box the steward held her back, waiting until the voices at the other end of his walkie-talkie confirmed that the track ahead was clear.
“You’re good to go,” the steward said at last. “Are you ready?”
Issie nodded and took up a tight grip on Storm’s reins. The stallion knew it was time – every muscle in his body was tensed as they approached the line.
“On your marks, get set and… go!”
The electronic timer peeped as Issie and Nightstorm shot forward. They were off on the Burghley cross-country and as they took a clean leap over the hayfeeder, Issie urged the stallion on and tried to get his gallop in a strong rhythm. In her mind, she was already preparing for the next jump and the next one. And as she took each one on a perfect forward stride she was counting them down, ticking them off the list. Four fences down, only twenty-six to come…
By the time they reached fence five, the trakehner, Issie could already feel how much stronger the stallion was than Victory had been at this point. She’d been worried that his leg injury and the box rest had affected his fitness, but if anything Storm was fitter and faster than he’d ever been before. They had ridden over a kilometre at a flat gallop and taken some enormous fences and the big bay wasn’t even breathing hard yet.
“Tragedy this morning for Issie Brown with her first ride,” Mike Partridge intoned over the loudspeakers, “but look at the way she’s bouncing back! It has been a textbook round so far on this stunning bay stallion!”
“Absolutely, Mike,” Jilly Jones agreed with her co-announcer. “Just watch how this young girl approaches the fences on a loose rein – it shows her absolute faith in Nightstorm. They’re at fence eleven now – the Elephant Trap – and my goodness, this big bay stallion just made that enormous spread look like a trotting pole!”
They might have been making the fences look easy, but Issie wasn’t taking anything for granted. She rode Nightstorm carefully and precisely into the Cheddar Corner, expertly managing to hold her line through the tight angles of the fences over undulating terrain, and then urging her horse on to the big log and down through the road and back up to jump The Point.
As they came in to the hedge and waterfall, Issie checked her minute marker. Storm’s gallop had been swift and steady, but when she looked at her stopwatch she was disappointed to see that they were precisely on time. If they slowed down in the slightest, or took a long route at any of the jumps then they would finish outside the time for sure.
As they came in to the long gallop that led to the Centaur’s Leap, Issie realised that they would have to take the short route all the way if they wanted to make the time. And that included through The Grove.
She was about to press Nightstorm on to gallop harder, when she felt her left leg suddenly collapse beneath her!
Taken totally by surprise, Issie looked down and saw her stirrup iron dangling from her left foot, the leather trailing below it. Her stirrup buckle must have snapped completely and her stirrup had fallen off the saddle!
Shaking her foot to rid it of the now-useless iron, she tried to figure out what to do. Her left leg had nothing to hold it up. It was dangling like a rag doll.
Still moving at a gallop, Issie looked up ahead and saw the Centaur’s Leap looming on the horizon. In less than two hundred metres she was about to face the biggest fence on the course. And she was riding with just one stirrup!
A jump like that was ridiculously hard to handle at the best of times – but with a missing stirrup it was impossible.
After all Issie had been through, she was forced to admit defeat because of something as basic and stupid as a broken stirrup leather? It was too cruel. Too awful.
They were still galloping and were only a hundred metres away from the jump. Issie needed to pull up if she was going to stop Storm safely in time. She looked down at her left leg, dangling uselessly. She had no stirrup – it was insane to continue!
She gathered up her reins, ready to pull Nightstorm up to a halt. But something in her heart stopped her from pulling back. And not just her own heart but also the heart of this horse who galloped on so boldly beneath her. At that moment, Issie realised she did have a choice. It was risky, it was foolhardy and it was totally crazy. But she was doing it anyway. Taking a firm grip on the reins, she dug both heels into Storm’s sides and urged him on once more – heading full tilt at the fence. She was attacking the Centaur’s Leap with just one stirrup. They were going to jump.
Chapter 14
It was a moment of madness, but it was too late to back out now. Issie was committed to the jump. Focusing her eyes at the top of the hedge she pushed Nightstorm on with her legs. The stallion took a massive stride and flung himself over the ditch. Issie kept her eyes ahead and tried to ignore the chasm beneath them, jamming her knees into the saddle pads to keep her position. A fall halfway over this fence would be catastrophic!
Clearing the ditch and the hedge, Storm landed heavily on the other side. As his hind legs jolted down, Issie was jerked forward. She braced against the kneepads to keep her balance without both stirrups to anchor her.
It wasn’t until Nightstorm had put in a couple of strides and was galloping once more that she realised that they were over. She’d cleared the Centaur’s Leap on one stirrup!
Now that the fence was behind her, Issie knew she had to face reality. There were still more than a dozen fences to come! As Nightstorm galloped on she told herself that she should pull up and retire, but up ahead she could see The Grove looming. Perhaps she could get over just one more fence before she gave up?
As she galloped into the last hundred metres before The Grove Issie thought just how crazy this was. She was about to jump a complex of fences that she had failed to clear when she attempted it on Victory. And she’d had both stirrups that time!
In a way though, having no stirrups worked in her favour. She was so preoccupied with simply staying in the saddle that she didn’t have time to panic or reflect on the past.
She rode at the fence on a bold stride and was forced to
throw her weight back to counterbalance the lost stirrup as Nightstorm popped the bank and then put in a perfect stride and neatly took the last hedge, before picking up his pace again straight away on the other side and galloping on strongly.
“Look at this incredible performance!” Jilly Jones was overwhelmed. “Isadora Brown is riding this course with just one stirrup! How on earth she is managing to stay on over these fences is utterly beyond me!”
Out on the course, the crowds had been alerted to the fact that a rider was surviving the course somehow with just one stirrup. The spectators crowded the barriers trying to get a glimpse of this girl and everywhere Issie went a cheer would rise up as they urged her to keep going.
This is bonkers! I should pull up now, Issie thought as she headed towards the round tops. There’s no way we can handle a combination like this on one stirrup.
But Storm was galloping so boldly, and as she got closer to the fence, it seemed unfair to stop him. She saw a perfect stride a few metres out and pressed on. Hup-one and hup-two! The round tops were behind her and she was galloping on to the next jump, the downhill bounce.
“She’s still going!” Mike Partridge was amazed. “And look at the way she’s riding between the fences too! She’s tucking her leg up and into the saddle so that all her weight is on her knee and the horse is free to gallop. And this horse is certainly galloping hard! I don’t imagine this young rider cares about the time on the clock though – she just wants to make it around this course.”
Mike Partridge was right. Issie had stopped bothering to look at her watch. She remained on the verge of giving up and after each and every jump she told herself that this was enough, that it was madness to continue and that she should stop now before they crashed or she fell from sheer exhaustion. But every time a new fence loomed Storm seemed to come at it on such a perfect stride and everything felt so right. Keep going, the voice in her head was telling her. You’re nearly there. Take him home, take him home…
At the water complex Storm dived in so fast she was blinded by water splash but somehow she pulled him back and set him up again in time for the jump out which was followed by a bounce and then a very narrow flowerbox. It wasn’t the most elegant performance but she stayed onboard. After that there was a tight turn to set her up on a straight line to the 29th fence, The Sofa, and then, before she knew it, Issie was heading for the last fence, The Orb – a round enclosed jump with the words Burghley Horse Trials printed on the banner above the horse’s head.
As Storm jumped through the Orb, she forced her aching left leg up and jammed her knee into the saddle pad so that she could lever herself up off Storm’s back into jockey position for the final gallop over the last two hundred metres. Using the very last vestiges of strength in her tired body, she stayed tucked up above the saddle one last time and urged the stallion on as hard as she could with her hands driving him for home. As they flew across the finish line an enormous roar of support rose up from the Burghley crowd for their one-stirruped clear round. Issie had made it! She was home and she was clear, but there was no way they could have been galloping fast enough to make it home within the time. There would be time faults – there had to be!
Bracing herself for the worst, she looked down at her stopwatch. She’d pressed it as she crossed the line and the timer was fixed on fifteen minutes exactly! Was her watch right? Had she really made it in time?
“Issie! Ohmygod! Issie!” Stella came running towards her and the look on her best friend’s face made Issie realise that there was no mistake. She had done it! They had made the time on the cross-country. It was a clear round.
“A cross-country round that will go down in Burghley history as one of the most heart-stopping ever!” raved Mike Partridge over the loudspeakers.
“Issie Brown has made it home in the allocated time, riding almost half the course on just one stirrup!”
The incredible performance was the talk of Burghley. With just the showjumping round still to come tomorrow, Issie Brown had held her lead and stayed in contention to take out the coveted Grand Slam.
But it was too early for celebrations, and once the excitement died away The Laurels’s team were back in serious work mode once again. The loss of the stirrup meant more than just trouble on the cross-country course. It could also mean disastrous consequences still to come.
“You did a great job staying onboard and getting him around clear,” Avery told Issie, “but it’s not over yet. You were really bouncing around out there and it’s possible that he’s sustained a muscle strain from the ride or gone lame. We could be in real trouble in the trotting-up tomorrow.”
Normally Issie would have been perched up on her stirrups for support to stay off Storm’s back when he galloped between jumps, but because she had lost one stirrup, she had been unable to stop herself from coming down with a thud in the saddle several times on the course. Had she accidentally injured her horse in the process? If he turned out to be lame at the trot-up tomorrow morning he would be ‘spun’ – the judges would eliminate him before she even had a chance to ride the showjumping phase. She needed Nightstorm sound and fit to pass the trot-up with flying colours and compete tomorrow.
“I’m sorry, I can’t guarantee that,” Stella said when Issie visited the stables that evening.
“Storm’s got heat in his lower legs – there’s some tissue damage but that’s absolutely typical after a hard cross-country. I’m changing ice boots on all four legs every twenty minutes. And I’ve been massaging his shoulders and back with liniment. But at the moment it’s impossible to say if he’ll pass the trot-up. Right now, I’d say it’s fifty-fifty. I’m doing everything I can but it’s a case of wait and see.”
Stella saw the mortified expression on Issie’s face. “I wish I had better news, Issie, but I won’t lie to you. Storm had a rough time out there today. If he were any other horse he would have pulled up dead lame – but he’s tough, he’s a fighter. And I’m doing everything I can.”
“What can I do?” Issie asked.
“You can go back to the truck and get some sleep,” Stella told her. “I’ve got things covered here. There’s nothing more you can do to help him right now.”
Issie did as Stella said. She went back to the horse truck with Avery and did her very best to keep her strength up for tomorrow by forcing herself to swallow down some dinner and going straight to bed. But she couldn’t sleep. She lay down in her cot bed in the back of the truck and thought about everything that had happened that day. They’d had a call just before dinner from Kate who told them that Victory had arrived safely in Glasgow and after a thorough examination the vets had declared him a perfect candidate for surgery. The brown gelding was due in theatre the next morning for the three-hour operation.
It seemed that all Issie could do was wait. Wait for Kate’s call after the op, and wait until tomorrow morning when the trotting-up would reveal her future. If Storm was sound, then they would be allowed into the showjumping ring. If not, it would be the end of their dream.
Sleep was virtually impossible under the circumstances. Issie tried her best but by six in the morning, having grabbed only a couple of hours at the most, she gave up and headed down to the stables. Stella was there with Storm, ice-packing his legs one last time.
“How is he?” Issie asked.
Stella shook her head. “I honestly don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve been working on him for most of the night, but it’s going to be touch and go. He’s still a little stiff and his action is compromised. I’m positive that he’s not sore – but I can’t explain that to the judges. They’ll have to look at him and make up their own minds.”
Judging whether a horse is actually lame or not isn’t always easy and it requires an expert eye. In the case of the Burghley Horse Trials it required six eyes. There would be three judges watching as the horses were presented.
The crowds, as usual, were out in force to watch the trotting-up. There was a cheer as Issie stepped up to the line
, ready to trot Storm for the judges, but she found it impossible to muster a smile for the assembled spectators under the circumstances.
She was terrified that Nightstorm would fail. She tried to stay calm when the steward gave her the nod to take her turn.
“Come on, Storm!” Issie jiggled the lead rope and Storm broke into a trot beside her as she sprinted gracefully down the length of hard tarmac, his hooves chiming out alongside her.
At the end of the tarmac strip, she turned Storm and trotted him back once more. As they passed the end of the strip the crowd cheered and clapped. And then there was stunned silence as one of the judges shook his head and called the other two judges over to confer. They stood there in deep discussion, for what seemed like an eternity and Issie could feel her heart racing as the head judge walked over to the announcer’s booth. A moment later, the voice of Mike Partridge came over the loudspeakers, solemn and grave.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I am afraid that Nightstorm has not passed.”
Chapter 15
Back at the ‘hold box’, Avery did his best to keep things calm.
“It’s OK,” he reassured Issie. “Let’s not panic. He’s not spun yet.”
Nightstorm might have failed his first round, but he wasn’t out. The procedure for the trot-up was very exact and at this stage Nightstorm had been turned down by the judges – but that didn’t mean he’d been spun.
The first stage of disqualification was being sent to the ‘hold box’. This was where Storm was now. He hadn’t passed the trot-up but he hadn’t actually failed it yet either. A second inspection would take place, this time with a vet called in to check the horse, and then Nightstorm would be presented to the judges once again. Then and only then, if he didn’t pass a second time, Nightstorm would be spun and eliminated.