Pony Jumpers- Special Edition 1- Jonty

by Kate Lattey

  “Bloody hell.”

  I could hear Ken swearing as I pushed myself into a sitting position, and looked around. The horse was standing in the corner where he’d tried to stop before, his sides billowing in and out as he struggled to catch his breath. Ken was walking towards me, his cell phone held up to his ear.

  “You alive?” he called to me.

  My shoulder and back ached, but I was okay. I stood up, nodding.

  “Yeah, I’m all right.”

  “Bloody mongrel horse,’ he repeated, stopping where he was and starting to speak to someone on the other end of the phone.

  I was relieved that he didn’t seem to be blaming me for what happened, but I was disappointed that I’d fallen off. I’d thought that I was pretty good at sticking on, but the bay horse had just proven in no uncertain terms that I was dead wrong. But I wasn’t ready to quit yet. Murray had told me that if you fall off, you get back on. End of story. I don’t think it even occurred to me that I shouldn’t try.

  I walked up to the horse, sidling along the fence as he shifted his hindquarters anxiously towards me. I reached his head, and gently stroked his shoulder. The horse flinched away from my touch, and I could see his whole body trembling.

  “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know you didn’t mean to get scared. Let’s try that again.”

  I walked around the other side of the horse, grabbed the stirrup and remounted. This time, instead of forcing him out of the corner where he wanted to stand, I leaned forward and stroked both sides of his neck, talking to him quietly under my breath. I knew from my experience with Taniwha that it was the bond between horse and rider that created trust, and I wanted to get inside this horse’s head. I knew instinctively that he wasn’t a bad horse, he was just afraid, and had been misunderstood. I knew what that felt like, not to be given a chance, and I wanted him to have a shot at a better life, and an opportunity to forget whatever pain he’d already lived through.

  I leaned forward until I was lying on the horse’s neck, stroking him and talking to him the whole time. Ken was still jabbering on at the other end of the arena, ignoring us both. I rested my cheek against the gelding’s bristly mane, and he let out a deep sigh. I felt his body soften and relax, and I sat up slowly, still stroking him with one hand. I looked around to the right and nudged him with my left leg, and the horse started to walk along the edge of the sand arena.

  “You need a better name,” I told him, because I was running out of things to say. “A proper name that will suit the horse you could be someday. What d’you reckon?”

  The horse blew out through his nostrils, and I guided him in a circle at the top end of the arena, avoiding Ken, who was leaning on the gate with his back to us and hadn’t even noticed that I’d got back on. I cast my mind back to the Black Stallion books that I’d devoured over the years, sure that The Black had a bay son somewhere down the line. Flame was the chestnut, but what was the bay horse called…

  “Bonfire,” I said aloud as I remembered, and the bay horse flinched at the sound of my voice. “His name was Bonfire.”

  It seemed fitting, and I was pleased with my choice. I stroked Bonfire’s neck again, then saw Ken pocketing his phone, and knew he was about to turn around and see me. I wasn’t sure how he would react, but I knew that if he started shouting, Bonfire would lose his mind again. I shortened my reins a fraction, feeling Bonfire’s head lift and his body tense up as I did, then spoke softly to the horse before closing my legs around his sides.

  He didn’t even trot this time, just went straight into canter, and for three strides I felt that impressive surge of power that I’d found so addictive when I’d ridden Misty. But unlike Misty’s springy, contained energy, Bonfire’s power was out of control, his body wild and raging beneath me.

  “Woah, mate,” I told him.

  One of his ears flickered back in my direction, listening to my voice even as he braced himself against my aids, and my heart lifted.

  Then Ken shouted across at me, asking what the hell I was doing and was I a complete idiot, and I turned my head to look at him, and Bonfire exploded again. This time I didn’t even stay on for the first buck, just went catapulting through the air and narrowly missed landing on the post and rail fence. Bonfire took off at a gallop, stirrups and reins flapping, around and around the arena without stopping. Dazed from my fall, I crawled under the railing to avoid his stampeding hooves, and watched him bolt around the small enclosure. I harboured no resentment towards him, even then. I just felt sorry for him, and wondered if he could ever be taught to relax.

  Ken walked over to me and leaned against the railing.

  “You’re a damn fool, boy.”

  I squinted up at him. “Got guts though.”

  A slow smile appeared on Ken’s weathered face. He had bright blue eyes, and I caught a flash of the younger man he’d once been, before life had hardened him, and turned him gnarly and bad-tempered. I resolved then that I would never become like that, no matter what setbacks I faced. Life could be hard, I knew that already, but there was no reason to take it out on other people, and never on animals.

  “Yeah, I suppose you do,” Ken conceded.

  Bonfire had slowed to a trot, and was taking huge, elevated steps across the far side of the arena with his tail in the air. I still thought he was the most beautiful horse I’d ever seen, and despite my aches and bruises, I just wanted to get back on and try again.

  I stood up, and climbed back through the fence. Bonfire stopped, and gave me a wary look. I felt like I was in a movie, during one of those montages where the wild stallion throws his rider time and again, but eventually they start working as a team, and soon they are galloping off across wild pastures. My imagination flared as I took a couple of steps towards Bonfire, until I felt Ken’s hand come down hard on my shoulder.

  “You’re not getting back on that horse.” I turned and looked at him, and he shook his head. “Not without a helmet. Shouldn’t have let you get on him at all. You fall off again and crack your head open, and your parents will be down here tearing me to shreds!”

  “They won’t, I swear. They don’t even know I’m here, and I won’t tell.”

  Ken just shook his head again. “Not today.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  He chuckled. “Give it a couple of days, eh? You’ll be sore as hell tomorrow, I’m willing to bet. Come down on the weekend, if you’re still mad enough to try and ride old Meataxe. I’ve got a couple others you can have a sit on first, before it kills you.”

  “Okay. And his name’s Bonfire,” I told Ken.

  “Is that right?”

  “Yep.” I walked over to Bonfire, who snorted nervously at my approach, but stood still and let me catch him. “Come on, mate. Let’s get that saddle off you.”

  Ken was right – I was stiff and sore the next morning. The old couch in our living room that doubled as my bed wasn’t too comfy at the best of times, and I tossed and turned all night. I was tempted to go back to Ken’s that afternoon, but he’d said not to come back until the weekend, so I caught the bus home and dozed the afternoon away on the back lawn, letting the warm sun ease my aching joints.

  I was still sore on Saturday morning, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me from heading back over to Ken’s. I’d been thinking about Bonfire almost non-stop since the first time I’d seen him, and I had formed a plan in my head to try and get Ken to give him to me, in exchange for tidying up his yard and riding his other horses. He clearly didn’t like Bonfire anyway, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than work outdoors and ride the challenging horse. It was a win-win situation.

  Or so I thought. I got there early to find the stabled horses kicking impatiently at their stall doors, but there was no sign of Ken – or of Bonfire. I walked up and down the line of horses, looking suspiciously at the rangy chestnut horse that was in the box I’d returned Bonfire to only a day and a half earlier. I decided to at least give the horses a biscuit of hay each, and they settled to m
unching on that while I grabbed a broom and started sweeping the yard, determined to make a good impression on Ken.

  I’d finished sweeping and was topping up the horses’ water buckets when he finally made an appearance.

  “You’re early.”

  “Well, you didn’t say what time to come,” I pointed out to him as I shut the door on the chestnut horse and waited for Ken to notice the freshly swept concrete.

  “Not this early,” he grumbled. “Feed them at this time once and they’ll be expecting it every morning. Have you mucked out yet?”

  So much for being impressed. Ken made the feeds while I finished watering the horses, then made a start on the stables. The chestnut gelding’s bedding was sodden and dirty, but I found a big pile of fresh shavings out the back by the muck heap, so I took most of the old shavings out and bedded the box down cleanly. I’d just got finished and was moving on to the second box when Ken saw what I was doing.

  “What do you think this is, the Taj Mahal? These horses aren’t racing now, they don’t need to be pampered. Take half those shavings out, he doesn’t need all that. Now get this box done while I ride this bugger,” he said, leading a dark bay horse out of a box further down the row.

  I ground my teeth, but got to work on the empty stable, which was even dirtier than the first one, consoling myself with thoughts of Bonfire. Ken shoved a battered old helmet onto his head, led the horse over to a large stump that doubled as a mounting block, and swung up onto its back.

  “I’ll be back in an hour, and I expect all those boxes to be done by then,” he told me. “Then you can ride that black horse for me.”

  I looked at the tall black horse as Ken kicked the dark bay down the raceway towards the back of the farm. Mucking out was hard work, but it would be worth it soon enough.

  The black gelding was tall and sweet-natured, and the exact opposite of Bonfire to ride. Instead of being wild and unpredictable, he moseyed around the arena like he was in a perpetual daydream. I had to use my legs constantly to keep him moving, and if I stopped pushing him on for a second, he would dribble back down to a walk and close his eyes. I was sweating like mad by the time I’d managed to get him to canter around the arena twice without breaking into a trot, but Ken seemed pleased with him.

  “He’ll make a good ladies’ horse, that one,” he said as I allowed the horse to come back to a shambling trot.

  “He’s dead to the leg and lazy as hell,” I told Ken, and he grinned at me.

  “Exactly. Perfect for some nervous old bird who thinks she wants to ride but mostly just wants something to groom for hours before taking a leisurely stroll every other weekend.”

  I had to admit that the black horse would probably enjoy that life. After him, I rode the rangy chestnut, an opinionated grey that pulled like a train and made my arms ache, and a sensitive little bay mare who had a bad habit of snatching the reins out of my hands if I relaxed them for a second. Then Ken went to have some lunch while I fed more hay and skipped out the boxes, and ate the sandwich I’d brought along. I’d brought an apple too, which I’d been saving for Bonfire, but when I asked Ken which paddock he was in, he told me that he’d sent him off to a friend’s place to run over their hills for a few weeks and let down properly from racing.

  “He needs to put on a bit of weight and learn to relax a bit. He’s fresh off the racetrack, and too wired by half. The break will do him good.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, but I was sorry not to have the chance to bond with the horse.

  “When will he be back?”

  Ken shrugged. “When he’s ready. Now are you going to ride that red horse for me or not?”

  My stomach rumbled impatiently as I glanced at the lowering sun, then had a brainwave.

  “What’s in it for me?”

  Ken’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not paying you, if that’s what you think. I didn’t offer you a job, remember? I offered you a chance to ride.”

  “Yeah, that’s true,” I conceded. “But I haven’t just been riding, have I? I’ve also mucked out all your stables and swept your yard. I’ll keep doing that, and riding your horses, if you give me something in return.”

  Ken chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. “What is it that you want?”

  “Bonfire.”

  He looked startled. “That killer bay horse?”

  “He’s not a killer. He’s misunderstood.”

  Ken snorted. “Christ, boy. You’ve got a lot to learn. But fine. You come down on the weekends, do the yard and ride the horses I tell you to ride, and when old Bonfire’s ready to come back, he’s yours.”

  “And I can keep him here, and keep working in exchange for his board and feed,” I added.

  Ken frowned. “You’ve got some bloody cheek, you know that? Yeah, all right. But shoeing and vet bills are all yours.”

  I nodded. “Deal.”

  I held out my hand to him, and we shook on it. And just like that, Bonfire was mine.

  FRANKIE

  A few weeks later, I was walking up Ken’s driveway when a small red sports car came shooting up behind me, almost knocking me into the hedge. I leapt out of the way just in time, and turned to glare at the young man behind the wheel.

  He slammed on the brakes, spraying me with gravel, and he looked as shocked as I was. He pushed a pair of sunglasses up into his thick red hair and gawked at me.

  “Oh my God! Are you okay? Jesus, I almost killed you.”

  I stepped out of the hedge, my heart racing. “I’m all right. And it’s Jonty, not Jesus,” I told him.

  His mouth curved up into a smile as he looked me up and down. “I know who you are. You’re the boy who’s been riding for Ken while I’ve been away.” My face must have fallen, because he laughed. “Don’t worry, there’s room around here for both of us. You can still ride the feral ones. Jump in.”

  We were only around the corner from the stables, and it would’ve taken me less than thirty seconds to walk there, but I couldn’t resist the chance for a ride in the flash car. I pulled the passenger door open and slid onto the leather seat, slightly awestruck and wondering what someone who had a car as nice as this was doing working for Ken.

  “Nice ride.”

  He grinned at me. “Thanks. I’m Frankie, but I’m sure you’ve worked that out. Ken’s probably mentioned me.”

  “No,” I said honestly. “He hasn’t.”

  Frankie raised his eyebrows in surprise, then laughed. “That old bastard always pretends he hasn’t missed me. But he does, trust me.”

  He parked behind the tractor shed, and popped open the boot of his car to reveal an Aladdin’s cave of tack. The time I’d spent lingering around the local saddlery was put to good use as I managed to identify most of it, though some of the tangles of ropes and buckles were beyond me. Frankie loaded me up with as much as I could carry and told me to put it in the tack room. The horses banged at their stable doors and whinnied as I walked past them, demanding their breakfast, so I dumped Frankie’s gear onto the mouse-eaten armchair and went to make up the feeds.

  I was almost done when his head appeared in the doorway, grinning at me.

  “You are a hard worker, aren’t you?”

  I stuck my hand in one of the buckets and mixed it up, then kicked it across the floor towards him.

  “Black horse on the end.”

  Frankie laughed. “Nice try. That’s your job. I only get paid to ride.”

  “Lucky you,” I said as I mixed the next feed. “I don’t get paid at all.”

  “Then you’re a fool, letting him take advantage of you like that,” Frankie warned me, his expression sobering.

  I shrugged as I straightened up. “Well, I got a horse out of it,” I said, explaining about Bonfire as I mixed the rest of the feeds, stacking the buckets as I went. “So I’ll get something out of it in the end.”

  “Hmm. If you can make the horse rideable,” Frankie said doubtfully.

  I straightened up and looked him in the eye. “
I can.”

  Frankie just raised his eyebrows, but didn’t seem convinced. “Well then. I guess we’ll see.” He looked down at the bucket at his feet, then sighed as he picked it up. “Black horse on the end, you said?”

  Having Frankie around certainly livened up the place. He chattered away to me as we worked, washing and clipping first the black horse and then the dark bay before Frankie decided to ride the chestnut gelding. He pulled him out of his stable and looked at him disparagingly, then shook his head at me.

  “Jesus, he looks like a toast rack.”

  “I already told you, that’s not my name,” I reminded him. “And he’s gained weight since he’s been here.”

  “Not enough for me to feel okay about riding him,” Frankie said decisively, which made me feel bad in turn because I’d been riding the horse for weeks. “Maybe I’ll get you to lunge him instead, and try my luck with that grey.”

  “Uh…”

  Frankie raised an eyebrow. “You do know how to lunge a horse, right?”

  I shook my head, and he rolled his eyes skyward.

  “Jesus, what do they teach kids at Pony Club these days?”

  “I wouldn’t know. And if you’re trying to get me to call you God, it’s not going to happen.”

  Frankie roared with laughter as Ken’s back door slammed shut, and he came striding across the yard towards us.

  “About time you showed up,” he said to Frankie in his usual irritable way. “I was expecting you weeks ago. Had to find myself a new rider in the meantime.”

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Frankie said cheerfully. “I’ve clipped the two dark ones, but I’m not riding this until it’s had a few more pies. I’m just about to teach your new rider how to lunge him though, so he can at least build up a bit of muscle.”

  “Bloody waste of time, that’ll be,” Ken muttered, walking off again.

  Frankie grinned at me. “He only talks like that because he can’t do it. And he knows that he needs me to get his horses schooled enough to sell, because nobody in their right mind would pay money for a horse that’s only been ridden by Ken.”