Victory and the All-Stars Academy

by Stacy Gregg

  Issie was dressed differently today too. She wore her back protector, which stood out stiffly from her torso, like black body armour. She was wearing her jumping hard hat, sticky-bum jodhpurs and webbing gloves that gave her a good grip on the reins even if they got sweaty.

  The change in her outfit and her horse’s tack signalled that the dressage phase of their training was over. Today the horses and riders had to be dressed ready for impact—it was time for showjumping.

  In the arena where they had practised their dressage to music the day before, a showjumping course had now been set up. The fences were a fair size—most of the jumps measured a metre-ten in height—coloured rails laid out in oxers, doubles, hog’s backs and spreads.

  Even though the fences weren’t any bigger than Issie had jumped before, she felt her stomach knot with nerves as she rode into the ring. If she had been riding Comet around this course, she wouldn’t have had any reason to feel nervous. She knew exactly how to get the best out of Comet, how to control his speed and channel his energy over the fences. But her partnership with Victory was untested. She had no idea what the brown horse would be like in the showjumping ring.

  At least Issie already knew Araminta. She’d had lessons from her before at Chevalier Point, and even though Morgan’s mum was hardly a pussycat, she might be the soft option compared to Minka and Tara.

  Araminta looked amazing, as always, when she entered the arena. Dressed today in banana-cream jodhpurs and a mint green shirt, with a gold Hermès scarf tied tight over her raven hair, she had an air of careless glamour. Issie noticed that she was wearing a headset with a microphone mouthpiece, the same as Minka had worn, to amplify her voice so that she wouldn’t have to shout at the riders.

  Araminta asked the sixteen squad members to come into the centre of the ring for gear inspection. She didn’t spend long checking their tack. Her only changes were to make Charlotte take off her running martingale—she thought they were old-fashioned and unnecessary—and to ask Jace to take his stirrups up another two holes.

  “Right. I’d like you all to give your horses a warm-up before we get started,” Araminta instructed. “Find yourself some free space and work your horse in. Don’t overcook them—just give them some trot and canter work on both reins and get them supple and on the bit and listening to your legs and hands.”

  Issie remembered how she had tried to avoid Dee Dee in the arena the first day when she was warming up. Now, as the riders all trotted around the arena to find themselves a space, it was Dee Dee who was avoiding Issie. The minute she saw Issie and Victory, Dee Dee abruptly turned Floyd around, riding off in the opposite direction.

  After last night, when Issie put the masking tape line down the middle of the bedroom, the girls were no longer talking. Issie felt miserable about it, and she desperately wanted to talk to her friends about what had happened. But Kate was so busy. She was taking her role as team captain really seriously, watching the other riders and trying to figure out their strengths and their weaknesses for the competition. As for Stella, she had no time for anyone except Shane. She was with him right now at the far end of the arena, giggling as he whispered something in her ear.

  “Excuse me? Stella! Shane!” Araminta called across the arena. “I’m not breaking up a special moment, am I?” she said sarcastically. “I believe I told you to warm up your horses, not sit there being lovey-dovey!”

  Stella turned pink with embarrassment as everyone turned to look at them, but Shane just gave Araminta a cheeky grin. “It’s OK. My horse doesn’t need much warming up.”

  “Is that so, Mr Campbell?” Araminta said archly. “Well, you can be the first through our showjumping course today then. In fact, why don’t we have all the Australian riders through after you?” She looked coolly at him. “You’ve got five minutes to get your horse collected and then I want you in the ring.”

  Issie knew that nobody wants to be the first to go around a showjumping course. The first rider is always at a disadvantage because they don’t know how the course will ride. Meanwhile, the other riders have a chance to watch and learn from their mistakes. When Shane rode into the ring to begin his round, the other squad riders stopped warming up and went to the sidelines to watch him.

  Araminta had constructed a jumping course that had lots of corners and turns. “Watch your striding too,” she warned the riders. “The fences are set up intentionally with odd stridings to test your skills. You see that double? You’ll need to decide whether you do two very long canter strides between the two jumps or three very short, bouncy strides.”

  Shane was cantering around the jumps as Araminta spoke, ready and waiting for her signal to begin. His horse, a bright bay, sixteen hands high with four white socks and a white blaze, was pulling anxiously at the reins.

  “She’s a Selle Français,” Stella told Issie. “Her name is Bendigo Queen. Shane’s had her for two years. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

  Issie nodded in agreement, watching as Araminta gave him the nod and Shane cantered Bendigo Queen forward to the first fence. The pair took it with surgical precision, and Issie noted that Shane’s position in the saddle was totally flawless and in balance the whole time.

  Bendigo Queen landed on the other side and fought to get her head before the next fence, but Shane took control with a firm pull of his hands on the reins and the horse obeyed. They took a sharp turn for the next fence, then pushed on to do two huge strides in the double. Then Shane collected the mare up neatly on the other side and did a very sharp turn and two very short strides to make it over the spread. Bendigo Queen tucked her feet tidily over the next three fences and then they were through the flags and home. A completely faultless clear round.

  Sitting next to Issie, Kate let out a long, low whistle. “That was one of the most professional showjumping rounds I’ve ever seen,” she said.

  “I know,” Issie agreed. “He’s got this amazing position. He barely moves as he goes over the fences.”

  Stella beamed. “That’s my boyfriend!”

  “Yeah,” said Morgan darkly. “And he’s also our competition!”

  Six of the eight Australian riders managed to get totally clear rounds on their first try. The other two only chalked up eight faults each, and by the time they were done, Issie and the others realised exactly what they were up against.

  “They’re all brilliant!” Kate said miserably.

  “OK, so they’re pretty good…” Issie admitted.

  “Good?” Kate groaned. “Were you watching how they rode out there? They’re totally slick, technically flawless. How are we going to beat them at the competition next weekend?”

  “It’s just a friendly contest, right?” Stella offered cheerfully.

  “Some of us are making it a bit too friendly,” said Morgan grumpily.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Stella snapped back.

  “I mean, stop talking about your boyfriend and focus on your riding. We’ve come all this way and I want to win.”

  “I am totally focused,” Stella said.

  “We all need to be focused,” agreed Kate. “The Australians are good—if we want to win the competition then we’re going to have to be even better.”

  The New Zealand riders all delivered solid, if unspectacular, showjumping rounds that day. When Issie rode into the ring to take her turn, she felt nervous about riding Victory over jumps for the very first time. She needn’t have worried though. The Thoroughbred gelding once again proved his experience and schooling by behaving perfectly in the ring and responding precisely to all her cues.

  Issie used the lessons she had learnt from the few mistakes that the Australians made. She didn’t cut the corner too tight on fence number three and she took the same stridings that she had seen Shane choose—a long two-stride between the fences at the double, then tightening up the striding again for the fences straight after that. Victory never fought her once and they went clear without a mishap.

  “Neat round,” Araminta said
to her. “He’s going very well for you.”

  The riders did some grid work after that, popping the horses through some combinations while Araminta gave them advice on their positions. The morning lesson seemed to pass extremely quickly and, before they knew it, Araminta was telling them to unsaddle for lunch.

  Issie, Kate and Charlotte wolfed down their sandwiches almost before the others had sat down and then excused themselves so that they could smuggle their hidden scraps back to the stables to feed to Wombat. The puppy was overjoyed to see them and leapt up at the door of the stall as they opened it. They had to squeeze in carefully so he wouldn’t escape.

  “I can’t believe no one has found him yet,” Kate admitted. “I could actually hear him yelping when we were in the showjumping ring today, and I was sure that Araminta was going to hear it too.”

  “She probably couldn’t hear him because she had her headset on,” Charlotte said.

  “I don’t think we can keep him here for much longer,” said Kate. “He’s got his strength back now. Did you see the way he jumped up at the door just now? He’s like a jack-in-the-box! We can’t keep him here forever.”

  Issie stroked the blue heeler’s silky ears and looked at the sweet expression on his puppy face. His mouth was permanently open in a cheeky grin and he had cunning eyes that darted from girl to girl as they spoke, as if he knew exactly what they were all talking about. He looked at Issie now with a plaintive expression, cocking his head to one side, his eyes fixed on her.

  “We’ll figure something out, Wombat,” Issie said softly. But really, she was thinking the same thing as the other girls. At the end of next week it was the competition, and after that they would be leaving Havenfields and going home. Who would take care of Wombat then?

  Thursday’s showjumping clinic did nothing to dispel the girls’ fears that the Australian team was too good to beat. Araminta’s lesson focused on speed, since racing to beat the clock would be such a big part of the Young Rider Challenge, and once again, the Australians seemed to have the advantage, tearing around the arena at breakneck pace and still managing to get clear rounds each time.

  Most of the riders were excited at the prospect of starting their cross-country training the next day, but Issie was feeling more than a little daunted by the reappearance of Tara. “The return of She Who Must Not Be Named,” Issie grumbled as she sat at the breakfast table on Friday morning with Stella and Kate.

  “Tara’s not that bad,” Kate said, sticking up for her. However, even Kate got grumpy when Tara assembled the riders on the verandah and broke the news that their first cross-country lesson would be on foot.

  “You can all get changed out of your back protectors and put on your gumboots. You won’t be riding this morning. You’ll be walking.”

  An audible groan rose up from the riders, but Tara was quick to set them straight for doubting her methods.

  “If you want to be a good cross-country rider then it is essential that you learn everything you can about walking a cross-country course,” she told them. “There are a million decisions to make when you’re riding cross-country—and most of them can be made before you even mount up. You need to learn to walk the course and plan everything exactly, so that when the time comes to ride, there are no surprises.”

  As the riders set out through the long grass of the paddocks where the jumps were dotted about, Issie found out that the big difference between walking a cross-country course here at Havenfields and walking one back home was that in Australia you needed to be on the lookout for snakes.

  There was a spooky moment that day when she saw something long and brown lying in the long grass ahead of her, but it turned out to be a stick! Issie tried hard to put snake fears aside and focus on listening to Tara. It became evident, as Tara talked them through from jump to jump, exactly how this woman had won the Lexington Horse Trials an incredible four times.

  Issie had walked cross-country courses with instructors lots of times before, but it was different with Tara. She talked with such insight, as if she were seeing each fence through the horse’s eyes. She explained every detail, telling the riders exactly when to slow down and rebalance their horses, what approach and line to take at the jumps and how to react to each fence.

  At the water jump Tara told them about the feeling the horse would get as its front legs struck the water for the first time.

  “Imagine that you’ve been running and then suddenly your legs are stuck in treacle,” Tara said. “That’s how it is for the horse when it hits the water. Water is thicker than air and that means that everything changes, their speed and their stride. You must dig in your knees at that moment of impact with the water or you will be thrown forward. Then it’s up to you to urge them on and over the jump to get out again.”

  Issie listened intently. The other riders asked loads of questions, but she stayed silent, taking it all in, absorbing everything that this world-famous rider had to say.

  It wasn’t until they were walking back home again down the dirt road, having covered the whole course, that Issie finally spoke to Tara. Or, to be more accurate, Tara spoke to her.

  “You were very quiet out there today,” Tara said. Her tone made this sound like a simple statement of fact, rather than a concern or a criticism, and Issie realised once more why she found it so hard to know what Tara was thinking.

  “I was listening,” Issie said with honesty. “No one else has ever explained a cross-country course to me like that before.”

  Tara nodded. “I love walking a course for the first time, trying to imagine what the horse will feel as he takes each fence. It’s one of my favourite things about being an eventing rider. I love walking the kids over the cross-country course we have at Blainford. It’s incredible—we have a two-star and a four-star course. You should see it—I think it’s better than Badminton.”

  “How long have you been teaching there?” Issie asked.

  “Nearly eight years,” said Tara. “Ever since I gave up competing.”

  “And you don’t regret it?”

  Tara shook her head. “I love teaching,” she said. “Blainford Academy is the best facility in the world. They call it the All-Stars Academy because it has produced more international champions than any other training academy. I don’t know a riding instructor who wouldn’t kill to work there…” She paused and then added, “Well, actually I do know one. And you know him too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Avery hasn’t told you then?” Tara asked.

  “Tom? Told me what? What does he have to do with Blainford?”

  “I offered him a job there,” Tara replied. “I wanted him to join me. There was a place for him in the eventing department.”

  “What happened?” Issie asked.

  “He didn’t take it—obviously,” said Tara stiffly.

  “Why not?”

  “I can read a horse’s mind,” Tara said, “but I draw the line at figuring out what men are thinking. Anyway, it was his decision. If you want to know why he turned the job down, you’ll have to ask him.”

  In the afternoon they went back to the cross-country course and Tara instructed the riders as they schooled their horses over the jumps.

  “Our focus today should be establishing the basics of a strong cross-country position,” Tara told them. “I want you all to remember to stay straight and centred coming into the jumps. Keep a steady stride and stay forward in the saddle, but still ride defensively so that if your horse stops, you won’t catapult over his neck.”

  Jumping a cross-country fence is quite different to showjumping. The fences are rock solid on a cross-country course—but strangely enough, many horses tend to prefer solid fences. Victory was one of those horses, a bold and keen cross-country jumper. Issie was really happy with the way the gelding took his fences. However, on the one occasion when he did refuse at a log jump, Tara wasted no time in making it clear that the stop had been Issie’s fault.

  “Victory’s an honest
jumper, but that doesn’t mean you can afford to sit there and do nothing,” she told Issie firmly. “You took your leg off him before that log jump. Never do that again. You must always keep your leg on, no matter what. Let him know you mean business. Don’t let him turn away from the jump if he refuses. Never take no for an answer!”

  Had Tara simply taken ‘no for an answer’ when Avery turned down her job offer? Issie wondered. At dinner that night, she saw Avery sitting next to Tara, engrossed in conversation, and she found herself desperate to know why he had turned down the job at Blainford.

  She couldn’t ask him at dinner of course, not while he was talking to Tara. Breakfast would be a better time to discuss it, Issie decided. But all thoughts of Blainford and Avery’s reasons for turning the position down flew out of the window the next morning when she woke up and heard voices on the verandah. Through the fug of sleep, she could make out Avery and Tara. But it was the third voice that rang warning bells and made Issie leap out of bed and hit the ground running. It was the unmistakable laconic Australian drawl of Digger Murphy.

  Quickly pulling on her jods and a T-shirt, Issie bolted down the hall, through the kitchen and out on to the verandah. Digger Murphy’s ute was parked up next to the front steps. He had a dead sheep carcass on the flatbed tray of the ute, poking out from beneath a tarpaulin.

  When he saw Issie, Digger’s eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to put a puzzle together. “She’s one of them, I think,” he said to Avery. “She’s one of the girls I spoke to the other day.”

  He looked at Issie for confirmation. “I met you on the driveway, didn’t I? I told you there was a dog worrying my sheep. And I asked you to let them know about it back at the house.”

  Issie nodded. “Uh-huh.” She paused. “It was me and Stella, but, ummm, we came back and there was no one here and then we forgot…”

  Digger Murphy looked annoyed, but he didn’t question Issie’s story. “Anyway,” he said, “the mongrel’s back again. It ripped the throat out of one of my best ewes last night.”