by Fiona Walker
‘We’ll give the higher-level horses a break.’
‘In the middle of the season?’
‘Why not?’
‘What will the owners think?’
‘I don’t give a fuck. You’re coming with me to Germany.’
‘I am not!’
Beccy was mortified to be witnessing the Beauchampions at one another’s throats, the thin veneer on their marriage cracking. Lough had charged between them like a cavalryman.
‘I’m not leaving you here with that bloody Kiwi nearby,’ Hugo raged.
‘For Christ’s sake, Hugo. We’ve been through this!’
Beccy observed the exchange with mounting panic. It seemed only a matter of time before Tash and Hugo blew apart, just as her own life was finally starting to make sense. She couldn’t let it happen.
Hugo’s face gave nothing away, but his voice was infused with the acid of suspicion. ‘He’ll be over here as soon as my back is turned.’
‘Of course he won’t!’
‘Please stop this!’ Beccy interrupted with a shriek. ‘I’ll do whatever you tell me to.’ She demanded their attention, knowing her face was turned up to maximum red yet again, but not caring. ‘Just tell me what to do.’
They stopped arguing and turned to stare at her as though they’d forgotten she was there.
Hugo spoke first. ‘Go and get some rest: it’s been a long day. I think you should go to bed.’ Clearing his throat, he stood up and chivalrously walked her to the door, his voice softening. ‘Take no notice of us, darling. We’ll sort this out. Well ridden today.’
Nodding mutely, Beccy retreated to the stables flat to replay the day in her head, one of the best she could ever remember despite the row and the final brush-off. She hadn’t let herself down. She’d shown she could compete against the best in her class. She’d felt a part of the team and the family. And then Hugo had sent her to bed, sounding just like her late father. But he had only wanted to protect her; they both did. All was forgiven.
Climbing into bed, she lay awake, reliving every second of her cross-country round, determined to make them proud of her.
As the Beauchamps got ready for bed the argument rattled on, Radio Four droning unheeded in the bathroom while Tash finally ran her longed-for bath.
‘I just don’t see how we’ll get any time with the children,’ she pointed out. She’d studied the planner again before going upstairs, taking in the punishing schedule ahead, its dawn starts, dusk homecomings and nights spent away from home.
‘You won’t.’ Hugo marched in from the bedroom to clean his teeth. ‘My mother and Verucca can look after them.’
‘Or perhaps we can bring them along?’ she suggested, appalled at the idea of seeing them so little.
‘Impossible on this schedule. We’re hardy going to see each other as it is.’ He plunged his toothbrush into his mouth and gave her an angry look in the mirror, marking an end to the debate.
Tash understood why Hugo was being so controlling. All of Lough’s target events were still written on the year planner they’d pored over, mapped out long before everything changed, and the new schedule was carefully structured to avoid Lough and Tash competing at the same trials unless Hugo was present. The only exception was while Hugo was away in Germany. He didn’t trust her.
Leaving the taps running and heading into the bedroom to fetch a towel, she spotted his mobile phone lying on the bed and felt a snagged nail of resentment scratching at her.
She had no idea whether Hugo could be trusted either, camped out in the lorry parks two or three nights a week with carousing event riders, then heading to mainland Europe for almost a month with just Beccy as abstracted chaperone. What if V joined him there?
She paused and picked up the phone. Given a window of opportunity to check the evidence at last, and by now such a whiz with technology, she was scrolling his messages in seconds. Everything from V had been deleted.
The phone suddenly leapt to life in her hands, playing Mozart’s Horn Concerto Number Four, the ringtone assigned to British chef d’equipe Brian Sedgewick. He must be calling with the news of the shortlist for the European Championships team, straight after that evening’s selectors’ meeting.
Tash panicked as she realised Hugo would be out of the bathroom in seconds. Thrusting the phone hastily into his jeans pocket she sprang away from the bed.
At the same moment, he appeared through the door in just his boxer shorts.
‘Where is the bloody thing? I left it right here.’ The phone stopped ringing. He started rooting through his clothes.
‘I’ll just jump in that bath while it’s still hot!’ Tash belted off, face flaming.
Two minutes later she let out a yelp of alarm as Hugo lifted her clean out of the water. The look on his face told her that he definitely wasn’t about to accuse her of snooping at his texts.
‘I take it you’re on the shortlist?’ She laughed breathlessly.
‘Am I?’ He kissed from her throat to the rise of her breasts. ‘It’s gone clean out of my mind. I’ll have to call Brian back to check.’
Shortlisted for the British team, Hugo’s riding and sex drive immediately lifted a few notches, as it always did when he was presented with an opportunity to defend national honour.
Two days later at the Chatsworth trials, baking in the ongoing heatwave, they celebrated top-ten dressage scores with a moonlight flit from the lorry park to the centre of the famous maze, where Hugo drenched her in champagne and drank from every hollow before they rode one another home with breathtaking speed. Mistrust still raged between them and they couldn’t yet get close to opening their hearts, but their bodies were another matter.
Tash understood that he was laying claim to her in the only way he knew how. She longed to talk through it more, to share the sense of it, but while the sensation was so good she didn’t dare break the spell.
First out on the course and galloping into the dazzling morning sunlight the following day, Hugo saw a long stride at a new fence to the competition that year, a suspended tree trunk over a fast-running stream. Backing off, unable to see exactly what he was being asked to jump, Oil Tanker put in a half stride that left his front legs on the wrong side of the big log. His body rolled sideways over it and crashed down on to Hugo as they were both pitched into the stream.
Moments later, the horse trotted away unscathed. Hugo didn’t get up.
That he escaped with just cracked ribs was a small miracle, but it didn’t stop him being in a furiously bad mood about it all when he was finally discharged from Chesterfield’s accident and emergency unit. First, because he would be laid off until a week before he departed to Germany, meaning he’d miss the final training session with the British squad and put any team place in doubt until he could prove himself fit to run. Second, because Tash had withdrawn from the competition to rush to the hospital.
‘You need the mileage,’ he complained.
‘You could have died!’
‘Falls like this come with the job.’
‘Remind me to look for a new job,’ muttered Tash, who had seen exactly how bad the accident looked on the CCTV screen in the rider’s tent.
He turned and fixed her with a steadfast gaze. ‘On the contrary, you’ve just been promoted.’
‘What?’
‘You’ll need to take over my rides while I’m laid off, of course.’ In an instant Tash was back in the big league.
The following week’s Tilton International Three Day Event in Suffolk was Tash’s biggest challenge since returning to competitive riding. Run over a notoriously twisty course, it was the qualifying ride she needed to get back to four-star competitions, postponed after her withdrawal from Belton Park and failure to complete at Chatsworth – and now she was competing not one but two horses in the advanced class. Hugo wasn’t allowed to drive for three weeks and could earn more money coaching at home but he insisted on coming along, partly because he knew Tash would need moral support, and partly because Lough
would be at Tilton.
From the moment they arrived Hugo guarded her closely. Having not seen Lough since he’d left Haydown, Tash kept her distance, terrified what bumping into him might trigger. She daren’t gaze into that wishing well of thought and hope, however much she longed to just see that he was okay. At the competitors’ briefing they sat on opposite sides of the marquee and didn’t look at each other once, but Tash was so acutely aware of his presence it was as though they were locked in a wardrobe together.
She knew she had to concentrate on her riding. Her nerves were back in force, and having Hugo around was a mixed blessing. He offered endless support, but he always advised her as though he was riding the horse himself, and because he was a far stronger, more attacking rider, his tactics were at odds with what she felt she could handle. At the top of her form, she had always thrived on Hugo’s positivity and drive, that unrelenting competitive streak, but while her nerves remained so frayed, she responded better to a quiet, easygoing voice.
Dressage was always her strong suit, and she was well placed after the first day on both Vixen and her own favourite mare, River. But battling her terror demons as best she could in the cross-country, she rode too defensively, mistrusting poor Vixen and hauling her around several alternatives when she could have easily tackled the faster direct routes and kept her rhythm. The mare ran out twice, both times entirely down to pilot error.
‘For God’s sake take the handbrake off. You’re much better than this, Tash,’ Hugo snapped afterwards. He was trying to help, and Tash knew her riding was embarrassingly below par, but his exasperation just added to her fear.
She fared slightly better on River, but her anxiety still meant that she took too many pulls and clocked up expensive time faults that slipped her down the order and earned her another telling off from Hugo as Beccy led the horse away to wash off. ‘Your sister here rides with more conviction.’
Heading back to the stable lines, Beccy glanced up to see Lough in his customary black cross-country colours chatting to the Australian Mick James. Just for a second Lough caught her eye, and Beccy felt the blush rush up through her as instantly as litmus paper dipped in sulphuric acid.
Beccy hated staying overnight in the horsebox with Tash and Hugo; it made her feel like a cross between a gooseberry and a referee. They had strange, stilted conversations charged with sexual static. Beccy hardly slept at all, clutching Karma to her side in her narrow bunk and listening to the occasional calls of nocturnal wildlife and misbehaving event riders outside.
She felt incredibly sorry for Lough, who’d been walking around looking absolutely miserable, although he was riding better than ever and leading two of the three sections. Beccy longed to say something to him, even if it was just to wish him good luck, but was too embarrassed, and too wary of bumping into Lemon.
She knew from Faith, who was at the trials grooming for Gus, that Lough was already transforming Lime Tree Farm’s fortunes, with new owners and potential buyers calling all the time, and that he and Gus worked surprisingly well together when they were at home. But Faith also said that it was like having an unexploded bomb on site, and one that never stood still long enough to disarm. Some days he rode from five in the morning until seven at night, only pausing briefly to change horses.
Lying awake in her bunk in the early hours of show-jumping day, she switched on her phone and read through the texts Lough had sent all those months ago when he’d thought she was Tash and she’d been too swept away by her Cyrano de Bergerac fantasies to care.
Are we still talking? she messaged now.
Later that day, Tash took River clear around the show-jumping track. She was too far off the pace to finish in the prize money, but was relieved to get their four-star qualification back, and a pat on the back from Hugo that felt like a benediction.
Lough won all his classes. He didn’t reply to Beccy’s text.
On the long drag from Suffolk back to Haydown, Hugo sat between Beccy and Tash, his feet up on the dashboard, trying very hard not to tell his wife how to drive the lorry, which she was handling as nervously as her cross-country rides. He knew he’d over-egged the pep talks and needed to rein in his enthusiasm to get her back to top form, but he believed that he had quite the best apologetic gesture up his sleeve.
‘Now that you can ride at four-star again, you can tackle Luhmühlen.’
‘I’ve told you, I’m not coming to Germany before Jenny’s wedding.’
‘It’s only an extra week if you fly out for the event.’
Beccy had discreetly unplugged her earphones in order to listen in, noticing that her stepsister’s eyes were flashing their whites with fear.
‘Forget it. You saw how much I froze yesterday.’
‘So unfreeze.’ Hugo’s tone remained upbeat, but there was impatience underlying his words.
‘I’m going to Bramham that weekend. We agreed.’
Aware that Lough was entered for Bramham, Beccy braced herself for more sparring, but Hugo sprang a surprise.
‘I’m taking you on holiday after Luhmühlen.’
‘Holiday?’ The word was alien to Tash at this time of year, but it still made a smile spring to her face.
‘You missed out on France last autumn.’ He kept his tone light, but his eyes practically burnt two holes in the windscreen. ‘There are a few days to kill before the wedding. We’ll hire a car to drive down to the Black Forest, pick out a couple of good hotels to stay in.’
Tash reached across to touch his leg, her face alight. ‘Are you really serious?’
‘Of course I’m bloody serious.’ Hugo covered her hand with his, fighting not to point out that she was driving across two lanes. ‘I’ve already spoken to the Moncrieffs,’ he went on. ‘They’re happy to take Beccy and a couple of horses to competitions when they have space – Penny’s getting Faith out competing their lower level horses a fair bit now, and you two are mates, aren’t you, Beccy? You could have fun.’
Beccy nodded, blushing as she realised what she was being entrusted with. It scared her a great deal more than she dared admit. In fact, it terrified her, like being told to leave home before she was ready. She hurriedly put her earphones back in and closed her eyes, listening to Dillon Rafferty, imagining herself competing for glory and winning admiring glances, especially from Lough. Day-dreaming was the only comfort at times like this.
Tash glanced at her worriedly, equally uncertain that Beccy was ready for this level of responsibility. ‘So who will groom in Germany?’ she asked Hugo.
‘I’m working on that,’ he assured her, taking his indestructible phone out of his pocket. ‘I’ll phone Luhmühlen now and tell the organisers there’ll be a rider change for Cub.’
Tash felt like somebody was giving her an emergency tracheotomy. ‘I can’t do it.’ She stared fixedly at the road, fighting tears of self-loathing at her stupid, paralysing nerves. There was a long pause. Hugo slowly put his phone away.
‘My heart lies in this sport,’ his said quietly. ‘Don’t keep kicking it because, believe me, it’ll stop beating.’
They drove back in silence.
At home, both children awoke when Tash crept into their rooms to kiss them goodnight. Thrilled and tearful to see them after just two nights away, she hugged their soft, clinging warmth to her chest. She didn’t want to leave them to compete far from home, and yet she knew Hugo was making the ultimate gesture of sacrifice. For him to give up a four-star ride really meant something, especially in the midst of a sponsorship race and team selection, and he was trying terribly hard to show how much he cared. Cub was just like his sire, which meant Tash would never hold him – she had battled for years with Snob, losing all strength in her arms half way round every cross-country course, unable to apply the brakes. It had been a terrifying education in control and the reason why she had ultimately handed the ride over to Hugo.
Yet as she held their children tight the thought of a holiday with Hugo, a real chance to patch up their differences, made
it almost worth the risk. She knew she had to conquer her fears to survive, and Luhmühlen was a very user-friendly four-star. With time off afterwards to relax with Hugo, she could at last admit how vulnerable she felt when he was away, how much she missed him, and they could talk about how to help their growing family stay together around the eventing calendar. Given time, she might even pluck up the courage to finally tackle the issue of V.
With Cora and Amery tucked in her arms, both sleepily demanding attention, she headed out on to the landing to intercept Hugo as he came upstairs. ‘I’ll go to Germany.’
Wreathed in smiles, he kissed her then took Cora and carried her back to her bed, telling her a story about a magical unicorn that made her giggle as he punctuated it with goodnight kisses. Within moments, she was asleep.
Joining Tash in Amery’s room, Hugo continued the story for his son as they both tucked him back beneath his cot blankets, although he was far too young to understand a word. But Tash did.
‘… and the magical unicorn flew all over the world with children on his back, taking news from kingdom to kingdom, passing on stories and folklore, spreading happiness. Some children were too frightened to ride him, but as soon as they did they realised what they had been missing as they soared above the clouds, higher and faster …’
‘… over trekhaners …’ Tash injected softly, giving him a knowing look.
He smiled back, knowing he’d been rumbled ‘… and drop fences …’
‘… skinnies …’
‘… ditches …’
‘… bit of a wobble at the Sunken Road, but got away with it.’ She started to imitate an eventing commentator.
Hugo followed suit: ‘Jolly positive riding there. Letting the magical unicorn get into a rhythm. Kick on.’
Eyes glittering, Tash quoted a late, lamented commentator whose inadvertent gaffes had always left them howling with joy: ‘Almost went down on her there, but she pulled him off and gave him head instead.’
Hugo put a hand on his strapped-up chest.
‘Please don’t make me laugh,’ he begged.
