The Riverdale Pony Stories Box Set (Books 1-6)

by Amanda Wills

  Hope nodded. They watched Charlie scouting for rocks which he was using to build his own cairn, a scaled down version of the mound of rocks at the top of the Riverdale tor.

  ‘Do you mind if I ask you something, Hope?’ Poppy asked. With Shelley safely two hundred and fifty miles away in London it was the first time she’d felt able to tackle the subject. Hope didn’t answer so Poppy ploughed on. ‘The day we first met you and your mum in the village shop, I heard you telling her that you didn’t want to do something anymore. What was it?’

  Hope was silent.

  ‘Is she forcing you to do something?’ Poppy faltered. It sounded crazy even thinking it. But she was worried something was wrong. ‘Is she…hurting you?’ she finished lamely.

  Hope shook her head vigorously, leaving her wig even more lopsided.

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ she whispered.

  So there was something, Poppy thought. But what?

  Hope was quiet for a beat. When she spoke her voice was a monotone. ‘I don’t know what to do. After the last time she promised me it would never happen again. But she was lying.’

  ‘Lying about what? I can’t help unless you tell me, Hope,’ said Poppy.

  Hugging her knees to her chest Hope turned to face her friend. Tears were streaming down her face and there was a look of such despair in her eyes that Poppy was momentarily lost for words.

  ‘You’ll hate me if I tell you, Poppy. You all will.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, of course we won’t. You can trust me. I promise.’

  Hope took a deep breath, about to speak. But before she had a chance to form any words Charlie dropped a large rock on his big toe. Distracted by his howl of pain Hope fell silent. Charlie was hopping around on one foot. Poppy could quite cheerfully have dropped the biggest rock she could lift onto the other one.

  ‘You were saying?’ she said to Hope, trying her best to ignore her brother.

  But Hope had wiped away her tears and her face was giving nothing away. Poppy knew she had missed her chance. The shutters had come down again and there was no way Hope was going to tell her what was wrong.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cloud’s third X-ray after two months of box rest finally brought some good news.

  ‘He looks a different pony, Poppy. You’re doing a brilliant job,’ said the vet, casting an eye over the Connemara. It was true. Cloud’s ribs had all but disappeared and the hollows in his flanks had filled out. Although he kept half an eye on Chester, who loved coming along to keep him company, he looked around with interest at the row of kennels and didn’t flinch when the vet X-rayed his foot. Poppy felt immeasurably proud of him.

  The hairline crack along his pedal bone was still visible – but only just.

  ‘Another three or four weeks in his stable and I think we’re there,’ said the vet, to Poppy’s delight. ‘How’s he coping with box rest?’

  ‘He’s bored out of his mind,’ admitted Poppy. ‘I spend as long as possible with him but I’m at school most of the time. He has Chester for company but hates it when Chester’s in the paddock and he’s left behind in the stable.’

  ‘Try putting a carrot or apple on a string and hanging it from the roof. It’ll give him something to nibble on. Or hide some Polos in his hay. Some people put shatterproof mirrors up in the stable so horses on box rest have something to look at. It sounds silly but it might do the trick. But the good news is I don’t think he’ll be stuck in there for too much longer.’

  When Poppy and Hope arrived at Redhall Manor for their lesson later that week Bella had some exciting news.

  ‘You’ve both been doing so well with your flatwork that I thought we might try a bit of jumping. We’ll start very slowly and see how it goes.’

  Poppy flew into the tack room, nearing colliding with Sam, who was on his way out with Buster’s tack.

  ‘Sorry!’ Poppy said breathlessly. ‘I didn’t see you.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ he replied with a grin. For a moment Poppy forgot why she was there and gazed around blankly.

  ‘Rosie’s tack?’ asked Sam helpfully. ‘It’s at the end on the left, where it always is.’

  ‘Yes, alright thanks. No-one likes a smart Alec,’ she muttered, brushing past him, her face an unflattering shade of puce. Honestly, why were boys so annoying?

  Bella was waiting next to three evenly-spaced red and white painted poles in the centre of the indoor school as Poppy and Hope rode in on Rosie and Buster.

  ‘First we need to shorten your stirrups a couple of notches. Then we’re going to start with some trotting poles,’ she said. ‘Trotting over these will help you learn to keep a well-balanced position that will stand you in good stead when you learn to jump. Buster’s a bit lazy so you’re going to need a lot of impulsion, Hope. But Rosie loves jumping, Poppy. Your problem will be holding her back.’

  After half an hour Bella, satisfied with their positions, put a low cross pole at the end. Poppy went first. Used to Flynn’s lackadaisical approach to jumping she was unseated when Rosie flew over with a foot to spare.

  ‘You’re hanging onto the reins, Poppy. Your balance needs to come from your legs and your seat. Keep a good contact with Rosie but don’t be heavy-handed.’

  ‘Sorry,’ mouthed Poppy, as she struggled to right herself and ease Rosie back into a balanced trot.

  Hope proved a natural and was soon popping Buster over cross poles and cavalettis as though she’d been jumping for years. But Poppy struggled and by the end of the lesson her back ached and her arms felt as though they’d been pulled out of their sockets. Her face was the picture of dejection when she dismounted.

  ‘Chin up, Poppy. I’m sure you’ll get there in the end,’ boomed Bella from the other side of the yard. It wasn’t exactly a vote of confidence, Poppy thought miserably. Sam was filling water buckets from the tap outside Rosie’s stable and she felt her face grow hot. Trust him to have heard how useless she was.

  Poppy didn’t see his sympathetic smile as she passed – she was too busy looking at her feet. She untacked Rosie as slowly as she could and by the time she let herself out of the mare’s stable Sam was thankfully nowhere to be seen.

  She fared no better the following week. She was unseated every time Rosie jumped. The harder she tried not to lose her balance the more tense she became and the more Rosie acted up.

  ‘You’re leaning too far forwards,’ shouted Bella. ‘Push your weight down into your heels so your lower legs don’t tip back when Rosie jumps.’ But Poppy’s back felt wooden and any connection she’d had with the roan mare during flatwork was long forgotten.

  ‘Poppy, watch the way Hope stays balanced and keeps her hands steady as Buster approaches the jump. See how supple she is. She is going with the pony, not working against him. Don’t worry if you can’t anticipate where Rosie is going to take off, that’ll come with practice. At this stage I just want you to relax and go with her. Enjoy it!’ Bella commanded.

  Poppy sat deep in the saddle and squeezed Rosie into a canter. She was determined to show Bella that she was as good as Hope. As they approached the cavaletti she remembered not to hang onto Rosie’s reins. But the sudden dropped contact in the last stride before the jump confounded the mare, who sloped her shoulders and stopped dead in her tracks. Poppy, on the other hand, flew over the jump and landed in a twisted heap on the floor. The impact knocked the wind out of her and for a few long moments she lay in a ball struggling for breath as Rosie careered delightedly around, throwing in a couple of bucks for good measure.

  Caroline, watching the lesson from the small spectators’ area, cried out in alarm and ran over to her stepdaughter, who was lying motionless on the ground. By the time she reached her Poppy’s diaphragm had stopped going into spasm and she’d managed to gulp a few lungfuls of air.

  ‘Only winded,’ she groaned, as Caroline held out a hand and pulled her to her feet. Sam appeared from nowhere and called softly to Rosie, who slowed to a stop and stood meekly for him. He led the mare
to Poppy and held out her reins.

  ‘It’s always best to get straight back on,’ he advised.

  Poppy dusted down her jodhpurs and grabbed the reins. ‘I do know that,’ she said ungraciously, putting her foot in the stirrup. Unfortunately as she sprang onto Rosie’s back the mare’s saddle slipped and, with a howl of frustration, she ended up on the floor again, her backside bruised and her pride well and truly dented.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the next morning Poppy was beginning to see the funny side of it all and had Scarlett in stitches on the school bus as she described her riding lesson from hell.

  ‘Honestly, Scar, I couldn’t have been any worse if I’d tried. I was terrible,’ she wailed.

  ‘Wish I’d been there to see it,’ Scarlett giggled.

  ‘I’m glad you weren’t,’ said Poppy fervently. She paused. ‘I suppose what I’m most fed up about is that Hope is a natural. She just seems to get it.’

  ‘You’ll get it too, don’t worry,’ consoled Scarlett. ‘Forget about Rosie and jumping for a while. Why don’t we take Blaze and Flynn up onto the moor for a picnic tomorrow? It’ll be fun.’

  They set off just after ten, saddle bags filled with sandwiches, sausages rolls and Pat’s homemade flapjacks. The sun shone weakly in a cloud-studded sky the colour of faded denim. Black-faced sheep skittered out of their way as they skirted the Riverdale tor and headed deep onto the moor. Flynn felt round and reassuringly solid after Rosie and Poppy felt herself relax.

  ‘Why do I let myself get so uptight?’ she asked Scarlett when they finally stopped for lunch beside a narrow stream.

  ‘You’re a perfectionist,’ answered Scarlett, passing Poppy a ham sandwich. ‘The trouble is, if you set your standards too high you’re setting yourself up for a fall. In this case both metaphorically and literally,’ she giggled.

  ‘Ha ha, very funny. I just want to be the best I can be for Cloud. Caitlyn was such a good rider I’m bound to be a disappointment to him,’ Poppy replied.

  Scarlett was quiet for a moment. She wished Poppy could see what everyone else could – that she was kind, loyal and brave. ‘You mustn’t compare yourself to other people, Poppy. If you want to be a better rider then do it for yourself, because it’ll make you happier, not because you want to be better than Caitlyn or Hope.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Poppy, unconvinced.

  ‘I mean it. Everyone’s different. You, for example, are rubbish at cooking, whereas I am a brilliant cake baker and probably should audition for the next series of the Great British Bake Off.’

  ‘Hey, that’s a bit harsh! You were the one who used plain flour remember,’ Poppy grinned. But she thought about what Scarlett had said as they rode home. Perhaps her friend was right. Maybe she shouldn’t be so hard on herself.

  They were ten minutes early for their next lesson at Redhall Manor and while Caroline and Hope plied Buster with Polos Poppy went off in search of Bella. She started with the tack room but that was empty, so she crossed the yard to the indoor school. The doors were closed which suggested Bella was giving a lesson. Poppy let herself into the spectators’ area and sat down to watch.

  The indoor school had been transformed into a mini Hickstead with a course of brightly-painted show jumps. A mixture of uprights, spreads, a double and a wall were all at least 100cm high and to Poppy looked enormous. Bella stood in the middle as a boy on a black pony cantered around the edge.

  ‘Right, assume you’ve had a clear round and have made it into the jump off,’ boomed Bella. ‘Let’s see how fast she can fly.’

  The pair approached the first jump, a rustic oxer. The pony’s ears were pricked and the boy sat quietly as they cantered up to the jump, his hands light and his shoulders straight. It was only after they had cleared it with centimetres to spare that Poppy realised the boy was Sam, riding his Connemara mare, Star. She watched as they flew over a gate and swung around to jump the double. Sam turned the mare on a sixpence and she soared over a wall before turning to another oxer which they also cleared with ease. Sam whooped and lent down to pat the mare’s neck as she slowed to a walk.

  ‘Nice job, Sam. If you can do that at the weekend you’ll make mincemeat of the competition,’ said Bella. As she strode over to her grandson she saw Poppy watching. ‘We’re holding an affiliated jumping show here on Saturday,’ she explained. ‘People are coming from across the west of Devon to compete. Obviously as a riding instructor I should tell you that it’s the taking part not the winning that matters. But it will be good if Sam can win a couple of ribbons for Redhall. It’s a great advertisement for the riding school.’

  ‘No pressure then Gran,’ grinned Sam, as he dismounted. He ran up the stirrup leathers and loosened Star’s girth a couple of notches. ‘Although she’s jumping out of her skin at the moment.’

  Poppy, who had been wondering ruefully if she’d ever reach Sam’s standard of riding, remembered Scarlett’s words. Everyone was different. Some people were excellent at jumping, others were better at baking cakes. She, on the other hand, was pretty damn good at falling off. She smiled to herself and said graciously, ‘Lovely round. Good luck for Saturday.’

  ‘Thanks. Maybe you’ll come along to watch?’

  ‘’Er, not sure. I’ll have to ask Caroline. Shall I go and tack up Rosie?’ she asked Bella.

  ‘Yes please, Poppy. I’m going to put these fences right down to about a foot and we’ll see how you both get on jumping a course shall we?’

  Poppy made a conscious decision not to try too hard. She pretended that Rosie was solid, dependable Flynn and that they were jumping cavaletti in the field at Ashworthy with no-one watching them but a few sheep. The New Forest mare sensed that her rider was more relaxed and settled to the task without a quibble. Soon they were popping over the fences as easily as Hope and Buster. Poppy still found it hard to judge Rosie’s strides but Bella reminded her that it would come with practice. By the end of the lesson she felt immensely cheered. Perhaps she would be able to master this jumping lark one day after all.

  Caroline was happy to drive them all to Redhall Manor for the horse show. Scarlett had already agreed to go and Poppy couldn’t wait to tell Hope. She cycled to Flint Cottage, leant her bike against the rickety fence at the front of the house and rang the bell. Hope answered the door and smiled when she saw Poppy on the doorstep.

  ‘Is your mum out?’ asked Poppy hopefully

  ‘No, she’s upstairs re-decorating her bedroom. She’s bought some new furniture which is due to arrive next week. She wanted to get the room painted and the new carpet in before it arrives.’

  ‘Is she going to decorate your room, too?’ said Poppy, picturing the scuffed magnolia walls and chipped melamine furniture in Hope’s cheerless bedroom.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so. She hasn’t mentioned it.’

  What a surprise, thought Poppy.

  ‘Anyway, the reason I came over is that Scarlett and I are going to Redhall Manor this afternoon to watch the jumping and we wondered if you’d like to come?’

  ‘I’d love to. But I’d better ask Mum. Won’t be a minute.’

  Poppy waited awkwardly while Hope disappeared upstairs. She picked up a handful of letters from the doormat. Several were addressed to the Hope for Hope Appeal c/o Flint Cottage. A brown envelope at the bottom of the pile was for a Mrs M. Turner.

  Hope bounded down the stairs, grinning. ‘Mum says yes as long as Caroline doesn’t mind picking me up and dropping me off.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Poppy, handing Hope the letters. ‘Looks like that one’s for the old lady who used to live here. I thought she died ages ago,’ she observed.

  The grin slid from Hope’s face. She grabbed the envelopes and dropped them on the kitchen table as if they were hot to the touch.

  ‘You alright?’ Poppy asked, surprised at Hope’s sudden change of mood.

  ‘Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Just asking. Anyway I promised I wouldn’t be long. I’d better go. We’l
l pick you up at two.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Poppy hadn’t realised the size of the show until they drove up to the entrance of Redhall Manor and saw the number of horse lorries and trailers parked on the hardstanding next to the main yard. While Caroline found a place to park the girls gawped at the goings-on around them. Everywhere they looked there was something to see. A girl with a long blonde plait down her back was bending down to undo her chestnut pony’s travel boots. A boy dressed in white breeches and a black jacket was leading a strikingly handsome skewbald cob down the ramp of a trailer. Elsewhere people were re-plaiting manes, tying stocks, grooming and tacking up.

  ‘This brings it all back,’ said Caroline, who had finally found a space to park. ‘I used to love going to shows with Hamilton. We never went to one quite this big though.’

  As they headed towards the indoor school a girl about their age rode past them, scowling. She hauled her grey pony to a halt outside a smart sky blue lorry, dismounted and flung the pony’s reins at a harassed-looking woman who was grooming a dark bay mare tied to the side of the lorry. ‘He totally misjudged his stride in the double and knocked down the spread,’ the girl announced in a clipped voice.

  ‘Never mind,’ soothed the woman. ‘Let’s hope Barley can do better.’

  ‘I sincerely hope so. Where is he?’

  ‘In the back of the box. I’ve tacked him up so he’s ready to go.’

  Scarlett nudged Poppy. ‘That’s Georgia Canning. She went to my old school until her parents came into money and moved her to Beresford House.’ Seeing Poppy and Hope’s blank faces Scarlett explained, ‘It’s this really posh girls’ boarding school on the other side of Okehampton.’

  The friends watched Georgia stomp up the ramp of the deluxe horse lorry and appear two minutes later dragging a flashy palomino behind her.