by Amanda Wills
Poppy flung her arms around her dad and he ruffled her hair. ‘It was Caroline’s idea,’ he said. ‘And your mum would definitely have approved.’
Chapter Twelve
Poppy spent the twenty minute journey to Redhall Manor trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. She knew any nerves would be transmitted to the pony she would be riding.
‘Don’t worry, once you get started you’ll be absolutely fine,’ said Caroline, as they pulled into the yard.
As they climbed out of the car a woman’s booming voice ricocheted off the walls of the stable blocks, which lined three sides of the yard.
‘Sam! Why is Murphy still in his stable? He should have been turned out half an hour ago. And that hay still needs soaking!’
A boy not much older than Poppy appeared from an open door and scuttled across the yard, disappearing into a stable opposite. Hot on his heels strode a woman in jodhpurs and a quilted jacket, her grey hair covered by a headscarf. She stopped when she saw Poppy and Caroline.
‘Hello! I’m Bella Thompson. Mike’s told me all about you, Poppy, and of course I know Cloud of old,’ she bellowed, pumping their hands vigorously.
‘I wanted to thank you for everything you did at the pony sales. I don’t know what would have happened if Dad hadn’t met you there,’ said Poppy.
‘A beautiful pony with a long life ahead of him would have ended up as dog food. We were bidding against the knackerman, after all. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Anyway, let’s not dwell on such gloomy thoughts. Are you all set?’
Poppy nodded.
‘You’re going to ride Red Rose. Rosie for short. She’s tacked up and waiting in her stable. At least I hope she is. Sam!’ she yelled. ‘Have you done Rosie yet?’
The boy poked his head over the stable door. ‘Yes Gran, she’s all ready. I’ll bring her out.’
‘My eldest grandson,’ Bella explained. ‘He’s a good boy at heart but he’s a terrible daydreamer. He’s on another planet most of the time.’
The boy shot them a rueful look and led a pretty strawberry roan mare out of the stable. ‘I’ll hold her while you get on,’ he said, pulling down the stirrup leathers.
Poppy grabbed her skull cap, placed her left foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. Rosie was at least a hand higher than Flynn and much narrower than the rotund Dartmoor pony. The butterflies re-appeared with a vengeance.
‘We’re in the indoor school today. This way,’ said Bella. Rosie followed her owner obediently towards the door of the school before Poppy had a chance to try any of her aids.
‘Rosie is a New Forest pony. They make great riding school ponies because they can turn their hand to anything, whether it’s polo, gymkhanas, jumping or dressage. I bred Rosie myself. I still have her dam, although she’s retired from the school now.’
By now they had arrived in the indoor school. The walls of the floodlit steel-framed building were whitewashed and Poppy noticed the dressage markers A, K, E, H, C, M, B and F painted in black at ground level.
‘So, how much riding have you done?’ Bella asked.
‘I only started at the beginning of the summer. I’ve been riding my friend’s Dartmoor pony. She gave me some lessons at the start and we’ve hacked out a lot but that’s about it. I’m sorry, I don’t feel that I know very much at all really,’ Poppy trailed off.
‘No, that’s good. It’s the riders who think they know it all that are the hardest to teach. By the time they come to me they’ve usually picked up so many bad habits it’s almost impossible to re-educate them. Never apologise for wanting to learn, Poppy. Right, I’d like you to walk Rosie around the school on the right rein please.’
Poppy gathered up her reins and squeezed her legs gently. Rosie responded immediately and started walking clockwise around the school. Her stride was much longer than Flynn’s and Poppy tried to sit as deeply in the saddle as she could.
‘A good rider has a feel for their horse. Good balance is vital,’ said Bella, watching her appraisingly. ‘Relax your arms, Poppy. They look like they’re glued to your sides. You need to keep the contact with Rosie’s mouth but I don’t want you looking like a robot.’
Poppy tried to relax her arms, her eyes fixed on Rosie’s roan ears.
‘Look ahead, Poppy, not down at Rosie. That’s better. I want you to sit tall in the saddle. Imagine someone’s tied a balloon to your head and grow taller from the waist up. Right, change rein diagonally from M to K and at F I’d like you to ask Rosie to trot.’
Poppy had just passed H. Used to Flynn’s strong mouth and laidback attitude to schooling she started tugging her right rein at M, aiming for the diagonal. Rosie gave a couple of shakes of her head and flicked her tail in displeasure.
‘Don’t yank at her reins, she has a soft mouth, Poppy. You should use each of your legs and hands when turning. Your inside leg creates impulsion and your outside leg controls the pony’s hindquarters. Use your inside hand to ask her to bend and guide her direction and your outside hand to control the amount of bend and impulsion. Does that make sense?’
Poppy nodded.
‘Right. Let’s try again when you reach F. I want you to change rein from F to H. As you are preparing to turn you should look in the direction you want to go. Put a light pressure on your inside rein. This will warn Rosie that you are about to ask her to turn. Keep your inside leg on the girth and your outside leg just behind the girth and when you’re ready ask her to turn with your inside hand and squeeze your legs. You want Rosie to bend with her whole body, not just her neck. That was much better. When you’re ready ask her to trot.’
Poppy squeezed with her legs and Rosie started to trot.
‘Sit for a few strides until you feel her rhythm change then you can start to rise. Keep your hands nice and still and keep a light contact with Rosie’s mouth. Very good, Poppy. Slow to a walk at K and I’d like you to change rein on the diagonal again from H to F.’
As she walked around the school Bella kept talking. ‘A transition from trot to walk needs to be ridden just as positively as walk to trot to keep the pony’s impulsion. Maintain your contact on the reins and sit for a few strides before you ask her to walk. When you are ready apply pressure to the reins. Make it firm but don’t tug. Sit up tall and deep in the saddle and squeeze your legs so her back end doesn’t trail and you bring her quarters under. You can give her a slightly longer rein once she’s walking but you must maintain contact and impulsion.’
For the rest of the hour Poppy practiced her transitions from walk to trot and back again under Bella’s eagle eye. Once she started using her aids correctly Rosie proved herself a willing and responsive ride. At the end of the lesson Bella gave the pony a pat and smiled at Poppy.
‘Well done. You’ve a lot to learn but you have a natural balance and, more importantly, you listen. Having the right attitude is what’ll help you become an accomplished rider, Poppy. Same time next week?’
Poppy floated back to the car and on the journey home gave Caroline a minute by minute account of the last hour, forgetting that her stepmother had watched the whole lesson.
When she finally stopped talking Caroline said, ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it so much. Listen, I’ve had an idea that I wanted to run past you.’
Poppy was silent as her stepmother outlined her suggestion. As far as Poppy was concerned it was a no-brainer.
‘It’s a great idea, Mum. I wish I’d thought of it myself,’ she said.
The minute the car had crunched up the Riverdale drive she raced around the side of the house to see Cloud.
‘I rode a mare called Rosie who’s about as big as you. She’s lovely, though not as perfect as you, obviously. I’m already learning loads, Cloud. We did transitions from walk to trot today and next week Bella said we might try a canter. You know all this stuff already, of course.’ Poppy pictured Caitlyn and Cloud flying over a brightly-painted show jump but she pushed the thought aside. ‘I’ll keep going until I’m as good as Caitlyn,’ she w
hispered into his mane.
Chapter Thirteen
At the weekend, Caroline insisted on popping into Flint Cottage to see Shelley on their way home from the supermarket.
‘I’ve got a bag of clothes Poppy’s grown out of and I wondered if they’d be any good for Hope,’ said Caroline to Shelley when she answered the door.
‘Oh, thanks. Have you got time for a quick cuppa?’
Shelley was wearing her blonde hair loose around her shoulders and she’d swapped her trademark leggings and denim jacket for a pair of skinny jeans that looked brand new, shiny leather boots and a fitted checked jacket. Funny, thought Poppy. It was exactly the kind of outfit Caroline wore.
‘You look great. New hairdo?’ Caroline asked as she followed Shelley into the kitchen.
‘Yeah. Thought I’d treat myself. Hope’s moping in her room, Poppy. Honestly, she’s as miserable as sin. Perhaps you can cheer her up.’
Hope’s bedroom was little more than a box room at the back of the house, overlooking the overgrown back garden. The only furniture apart from the bed was a chipped white melamine bedside cabinet and a matching bookcase. The magnolia walls were bare apart from the occasional scuff mark and the faded red curtains clashed with the fuchsia pink duvet cover and the threadbare green carpet. Poppy pictured her own bedroom at Riverdale. Twinkling fairy lights over a wrought iron bedframe, walls covered in her favourite horse posters and a patchwork blanket, knitted by Caroline, on the end of her bed. Hope’s room, by comparison, felt unloved. Much like Hope herself, Poppy thought.
‘It’s not as nice as your room,’ said Hope, reading her mind.
‘Don’t be silly, it’s a great room,’ Poppy lied. ‘And look at the view from your window. You can even see the moor.’
Hope sat on the end of her bed while Poppy investigated her collection of pony books. She was impressed. There were dozens of tattered Pullein-Thompson, Ruby Ferguson, Patricia Leitch, Elyne Mitchell and Monica Edwards novels as well as a stack of more modern books.
‘Wow, you’ve got loads more than me.’
‘My dad used to get them for me. He was always looking in charity shops and car boot sales and bought anything with a horse or pony on the cover because he knew I’d love it. He always said his best find was this one. It only cost him twenty pence at a boot fair.’ Hope reached for a hardback book of short stories and gave it to Poppy.
As she flicked through the pages she yelped.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Hope.
‘Nothing, just a paper cut.’ They both watched as a drop of dark red blood oozed from the pad of Poppy’s right index finger. ‘I don’t suppose you have any plasters?’
‘Yes, there should be some in the bathroom cabinet. Help yourself.’
The bathroom was at the top of the stairs. Poppy could hear Shelley and Caroline chatting in the kitchen below. She wound a piece of toilet roll around her finger, holding it in place with her thumb while she opened the door of the bathroom cabinet. There was the usual jumble of lotions and potions: antiseptic cream, eyewash, indigestion tablets, cotton wool and a couple of packets of painkillers. Poppy found a small box of plasters tucked between a can of shaving foam and a packet of razors. She took one out, threw the now blood-stained piece of toilet roll in the overflowing bin and stuck the plaster on clumsily with her left hand.
At the top of the stairs Poppy paused to listen to Shelley and Caroline.
‘I think country life must be agreeing with Hope. She looks so well,’ Caroline was saying.
‘Whaddya mean?’ Shelley answered sharply.
‘Oh, only that she has more colour and she’s put on a bit of weight. She seems to be thriving.’
Shelley made a noise that was somewhere between a harrumph and a tsk. Poppy cocked her head so she could hear the reply. Shelley’s tone was reproachful. ‘The oncologist did say Hope would feel a lot better once the final dose of chemotherapy was out of her system. He told us to make the most of this time because it would be the calm before the storm.’
‘Of course. How tactless of me. But actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. Poppy’s started having riding lessons at Redhall Manor and we were wondering if Hope would like to join her.’
‘Riding lessons? Why on earth would Hope want riding lessons?’ Shelley scoffed. ‘There’s no way I’m forking out for that.’
‘We thought that after all she’s been through it would give her something positive to focus on. And there’s no need to worry about the cost. I spoke to the woman who runs the riding school yesterday and explained about Hope. Bella’s read all about the appeal in the Herald. She said she would waive the cost of Hope’s lessons. In fact she insisted on it. She’s brilliant with beginners. Poppy is having lessons every Thursday evening from five until six. I can pick Hope up and drop her off home afterwards. I told Poppy not to mention it to Hope just in case you thought it wasn’t such a good idea. Have a think and let me know.’
‘For free you say?’ There was a pause as Shelley considered the offer. Poppy crossed her fingers. ‘Oh OK, if it’s not going to cost me anything, why not? Don’t look a riding school gift horse in the mouth, that’s what I say.’
Poppy could hear Shelley titter at her own joke as she turned and headed for Hope’s room.
‘All sorted,’ she announced, holding up her finger to show Hope the plaster. ‘And I know I should probably wait until your mum tells you but I can’t. You know how desperate you are to learn to ride? I’ve got some news.’
Chapter Fourteen
The week dragged slowly as Poppy counted the days until her next riding lesson. They picked up Hope on the way. She was quiet on the drive to Redhall Manor, which Poppy put down to nerves. Dressed in Scarlett’s hand-me-down jodhpurs and black jodhpur boots and an old quilted anorak of Poppy’s, Hope stood awkwardly when they arrived at the riding school.
Sam was nowhere to be seen but Bella was tacking up a chestnut Dartmoor pony slightly smaller than Flynn but no less wide of girth.
‘Hello Poppy! And Hope, I presume? I’m Bella. Pleased to meet you, dear. I’m so glad you could come. This is Buster. I thought he’d be perfect for you.’
Poppy noticed a dull flush creep up Hope’s neck. It must be hard when everyone thought you were a charity case, she thought. But still, no-one in their right mind would turn down free riding lessons with the indomitable Bella Thompson.
‘Rosie’s in her stable, Poppy. I’d like you to have a go at tacking her up for me while I get Hope started. The tack room’s the last door on the left.’
Once Bella had found Hope a skull cap that fitted she checked Buster’s girth, pulled down his stirrups and showed Hope how to gather her reins in her left hand, place her left foot in the stirrup and swing into the saddle. While she talked Hope through the correct riding position Poppy walked the length of the yard to the tack room. It was a long, narrow room with a small window at the far end. One wall was covered with saddles on red racks. Hanging below each saddle was the corresponding bridle and above was a small wooden plaque showing each horse or pony’s name. Poppy breathed in the heady mix of leather and saddle soap.
‘Rosie’s saddle is the last but one on the end,’ said a voice, making her jump.
Sam was standing in the doorway, an empty bucket in one hand, a muddy headcollar in the other.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he added, dumping the bucket on the ground and lifting the lid off one of the metal feed bins.
‘You didn’t. I was miles away,’ she said, watching him deposit a scoop of nuts into the bucket. ‘Bella’s asked me to tack up Rosie. I’m used to tacking up my friend’s pony but I’m not sure how to do Rosie’s martingale.’
Sam pushed his blond fringe out of his eyes and grinned. ‘She does have high standards, does my Gran. I’ll show you if you like. You make a start. I won’t be a minute.’
Poppy found Rosie’s saddle and bridle and let herself into her stable. The mare turned to watch her, her pretty roan head sti
ll as Poppy undid her headcollar. Poppy, determined to make a good impression, was suddenly all fingers and thumbs. How annoying, she thought crossly. She tried to ease the snaffle bit into Rosie’s mouth but the pony, sensing her hesitation, clamped her teeth shut and refused to accept the bit.
‘Come on Rosie, there’s a good girl,’ Poppy encouraged, clicking her tongue hopefully. But the pony’s mouth remained stubbornly closed.
She became aware of Sam’s head over the stable door. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been watching her futile attempts.
‘Rosie’s a great pony but she can be a bit of a moody mare sometimes, especially when she’s in season. Would you like me to try?’
‘No, I’m alright thanks,’ Poppy muttered. She took the bridle in her left hand again and held the bit to Rosie’s mouth with her right hand. This time, as if sensing her resolve, Rosie opened her mouth obligingly and Poppy brought the headpiece over her ears before she had a chance to change her mind. ‘There.’
Poppy watched as Sam placed the neckstrap of Rosie’s running martingale over her head then slipped her girth through the loop on the other end. He unfastened the reins and fed each end through a ring of the martingale before buckling the reins back up. He worked quietly and efficiently and when he finished he gave the mare’s forehead an affectionate rub.
‘Have you ever heard the saying, ‘You can tell a gelding, ask a mare, but you must discuss it with a stallion’? My Gran uses it all the time.’
Poppy shook her head.
‘I prefer working with mares. They are more temperamental for sure, but when you find a mare you click with she’ll go to the ends of the earth for you.’
‘Do you have your own pony or do you just ride the ones in the school?’ asked Poppy, suddenly curious.
