Pony Jumpers 4- Four Faults

by Kate Lattey

  I found her on the couch in the living room, sobbing into my father’s arms. He looked up as I came into the room, and his eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks still damp with tears of his own. I stood numbly, staring, barely comprehending the words that Dad slowly forced out, my brain picking out only the important ones, the ones that resonated and chilled me to the bone.

  Brain tumour. Malignant. Advanced.

  I just stood there and stared at him, wanting to stop time, to rewind and go back to a few minutes earlier, when everything had been fine and I’d been happy. To go back to the fun weekend I’d just had, laughing and mucking about with ponies, while my sister was being told that there was a tumour chewing its way through her brain and the doctors weren’t optimistic about their chances of being able to it.

  Mum was still sobbing, more quietly now. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so I just turned around and walked out of the room. Down the hallway, across the porch and up to the paddock behind the barn, where Misty was grazing. He looked up as I approached, and I latched the gate behind me with shaking hands, then walked up to him.

  Misty watched me coming with his ears pricked curiously towards me, clearly wondering whether or not I had any food for him. When I got within a metre or so, he turned his head sideways, gave me a measuring look, then spun away, deciding that I wasn’t worth his while.

  “Come here,” I told him firmly. “I’ve got to tell you something.”

  Misty stopped and looked over his shoulder at me.

  “Hayley’s sick. She’s really sick, and she’s going to need you,” I told Misty, the words coming out before I realised what I was saying. “More than ever. So you and I, we’re going to have to keep this up. We’re going to have to work together from now on, and be a proper team.”

  Misty pivoted on his forehand and looked at me suspiciously through his long eyelashes.

  “Do you think you can do that?” I asked him. “For Hayley’s sake?”

  He hesitated a moment longer, then walked up to me and snuffled at my pockets, determined to find something to eat. I wrapped my arms around his solid neck and gave him a hug, and for once he didn’t pull away. He lowered his head and settled his chin into the small of my back, as though returning my hug. I felt tears spring to my eyes then, and I squeezed him a little tighter, imagining that he understood, and was promising to hold up his end of the bargain. Then he lowered his head and bit me sharply on the butt, making it clear that he understood nothing.

  “Hey!” I let go of him and he jumped backwards, feigning surprise. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

  Misty snorted, and shook his head at me, then turned and stalked off.

  “I don’t know why I’m surprised,” I said to his swishing tail. “That’s why she likes you so much.”

  I kept myself busy at the barn for the rest of the afternoon, mucking out the yards and tidying up the barn, sweeping the concrete pad and straightening up the tack room until everything looked neat and tidy. Misty was waiting at the gate for his dinner, but I caught and saddled him instead, then took him for a ride up to Last Post. I’d never ridden him alone before, but it felt like the right time to start. He was excited after his weekend off, shying and plunging and being his usual naughty self, but I didn’t get scared. I didn’t feel much of anything at all – just numb. I focused my attention on the top of that hill, and rode determinedly towards my destination.

  The sun was sitting low on the horizon and streaking the sky in orange and pink when I finally reached the summit. Misty stuck his head down and started snatching at the long grass, reminding me that he was starving and it was well past his usual mealtime.

  “Hi Pop.” I slid down from Misty’s saddle and touched the top of Pop’s grave marker with my fingertips. There were still a few strands of Misty’s mane lodged under the splintered wood, blowing in the slight breeze. “It’s not good news, Pop. Hayley’s really sick. I think Mum thinks she’s going to die.”

  The uncontrolled sobbing I’d witnessed that afternoon came back to me in a rush of emotion, but I still didn’t cry. I was still too shocked, too numbed to the harshness of this new reality to be able to process any of it.

  “I miss you,” I whispered to him. “I wish you were still here.”

  Misty lifted his head, his mane standing on end as he looked out across the farm, at the rolling hills carpeted in green grass, at the stands of bush down in the gullies and the white flecks of sheep speckling the landscape. The fading sunlight glinted off the wire fences that divided the acres into paddocks, and the dark ribbon of road that would lead us home.

  With a sigh and a final look, I slid my foot into the stirrup and swung back into the saddle, then took the direct route back down the hill.

  Hayley was sitting on the porch steps when I got back to the house. The sun was almost gone, and the porch light was already buzzing with moths, bashing themselves futilely against the bright bulb. She looked up slowly as I approached, her blue eyes watery with half-shed tears. I sat down close beside her, my shoulder settling against hers.

  “I’m really sorry, Hayley.”

  She sniffed, then shook her head. “I’m not dead yet. I am planning on fighting this.”

  “I know.”

  “Mum doesn’t.” I saw the fear in her eyes then, and I knew that it wasn’t the doctors or the diagnosis that had frightened her the most. It was Mum’s reaction to it.

  “You know what Mum’s like. She always finds the worst case scenario to freak out over,” I said, trying to comfort her.

  Hayley changed the subject. “I saw you riding Misty.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t even fall off, so we’re improving slowly.”

  “Mum said you were second at Foxton.”

  “Yeah. Even though he bucked me off as soon as we were through the flags,” I admitted.

  Hayley almost smiled. “He didn’t want you thinking you’d done too well.”

  “That sounds about right. I’m getting the hang of him though,” I said determinedly. “I guess you were right after all. I just had to harden up and learn to ride him.”

  She looked at me nervously, and I could see how much that pony meant to her. I wondered why I’d fought against it so hard. Right now, I couldn’t imagine ever arguing with her again.

  “He’s not going anywhere,” I assured her.

  “Promise?”

  “Cross my heart,” I said. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to ride their sister’s Grand Prix pony?”

  Tears slid down Hayley’s cheeks, and she leaned against me, her head resting against mine. Our hair tangled together, her blonde locks merging into my darker curls.

  “You’re going to be okay, Hays,” I told her. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

  Her voice came in the softest whisper. “I’m so scared.”

  “I know. Me too.” I slipped my arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tightly against me. “But we can be brave together.”

  She nodded, burying her face into my shoulder, and I held her close, watching the light fade across the rolling hills in front of us as the sun slowly sunk below the horizon line, and disappeared.

  THE END

  PONY JUMPERS

  Follow AJ, Katy and their friends

  as they negotiate the ups and downs of

  life, love and show jumping.

  #1 First Fence

  #2 Double Clear

  #3 Triple Bar

  #4 Four Faults

  Coming Soon:

  #5 Five Stride Line

  Reader reviews:

  “Kate Lattey’s ability to write from the different views of her characters is phenomenal.” – Reader review on Amazon.com

  “One of the things I love about this author’s writing is that all of the characters are very much individuals. Each new narrator allows the reader to experience this world from a unique perspective. Lattey definitely takes a very realistic angle on the horses, they are not brilliant winners every time and have th
eir issues, but that is all part of working with horses and something these girl narrators are all learning in their own ways!” – Reader review on Amazon.com

  Keep reading for a sneak preview of the next book in the series, FIVE STRIDE LINE.

  Preview of Pony Jumpers #5

  FIVE STRIDE LINE

  CHAPTER ONE

  I sat back in the saddle and steadied Squib’s stride as he raced towards the next jump. I could feel the adrenalin pumping through his veins, his enthusiasm infecting me as he took off and I folded my body forward over the fence. Landing and looking left, making the tight turn that I’d walked with Katy, because she’d been out right before me and nailed it on Puppet. And anything Puppet could do, Squib could do better.

  Except this time. Because where Puppet had made the turn effortlessly, and sliced the final vertical and raced through the flags to stop the clock two seconds ahead of the field, Squib slipped. His hindquarters skidded out from underneath him and I felt his whole back end go down. I got a flash of grass and mud and then my foot was on the ground and Squib was sliding towards the jump, and there was nothing I could do to stop any of it.

  “I’ve told you already what the problem is, so there’s no point muttering and complaining about being unlucky.” Katy swished the towel around in the bucket of hot water, then pulled it out and handed it to me. “Squeeze the water out of that until it’s just damp, then put it over his loins.”

  I frowned at her as I wrung the towel out as much as I could into the bucket, my hands still tingling from the liniment I’d been rubbing on Squib’s strained hindquarters.

  “So you’re saying just put shoes on him and all my problems will be solved?”

  “Pretty much, yeah. Give him some studs so he can grip onto the ground and he doesn’t skid over on his arse whenever you cut a corner, and you’ll be firing on all cylinders and ready for Grand Prix in no time. That’s good, now drape it over his loins and cover it with the black plastic bag.” Katy lifted the rubbish bag in question and Squib rolled his eyes and leapt sideways in pretend terror.

  “Easy buddy,” I told him, taking the bag from my friend and letting Squib sniff it with great suspicion before laying it over top of the towel. “What exactly is this supposed to do?”

  “Hot compress. Draws the heat out and makes him feel better, like a heat pack,” Katy told me. “Black plastic holds the heat in. Now chuck this wool rug on top for insulation.” She watched approvingly as I added the heavy wool blanket to Squib’s back. “That’s the way. But I told you, it’s only going to happen again if you don’t do something to help him.”

  “Maybe.”

  Katy rolled her eyes. “It’s common sense, AJ. If you want to jump decent fences, you need studs. It’s not fair on Squib otherwise.” She stepped back and looked at her watch. “Give him ten minutes then check the towel, see how warm it is. If it’s cooled down too much, do it again. The farrier’s coming on Wednesday,” she continued seamlessly. “If you want to get Squib shod.”

  I looked at my pony’s bare hooves, still unconvinced. I preferred the healthy look of his hooves without shoes nailed to them, and I’d read a lot of information on the internet about the evils of shoeing horses and all of the adverse effects it could have.

  But my reservations fell on deaf ears. I’d tried to have the conversation with Katy once before and she’d shrugged it off.

  “You can believe what you read, or you can believe what years of experience have taught me and Mum,” she’d replied. “If you’re jumping off grass, especially the dodgy surfaces we have here, you need studs. It’s all very well if you’re competing overseas on groomed arenas with superb footing, but it’s different in New Zealand.”

  Robin leaned over the stall next door and sniffed noses with Squib, who started enthusiastically licking Robin’s face in his usual peculiar way.

  “Are you a pony or a dog?” I asked Squib as Katy wandered off to rug Lucas up for the night.

  Robin nudged my elbow and I rubbed his cheek. He’d been a successful show hunter pony until he’d succumbed to navicular symptoms, which had been caused by poor shoeing. Katy had immediately changed farriers after his diagnosis, of course, but that didn’t change the fact that if he hadn’t been shod, he’d probably still be fine. I liked her new farrier Rick, because he’d agreed with me that Squib had good hooves and had never pressured me to put shoes on him, but I wondered what he’d say if I asked him directly whether Squib needed studs to jump high fences.

  I knew that all the top riders used studs, but they worried me. I’d seen my brother Aidan hobbling around the house for months on crutches after he’d got a sprig caught during a rugby game once and had torn a ligament in his knee, and the thought of something like that happening to Squib terrified me. Something similar had happened to Lucas, Katy’s other currently injured pony who was recovering from a ligament strain incurred on a show jumping course. As far as I was concerned, those were both excellent reasons not to risk shoeing Squib, not to mention the fact he could get pricked by a nail, or be shod badly, or pull a shoe half off and stand on it, embedding it into his hoof or the back of his fetlock (I’d seen pictures online, and they were horrific).

  Then again, I thought as Squib turned to look curiously at the hot towel treatment on his back, maybe the status quo wasn’t working anymore either.

  * * *

  “Fourteen days to go!” Katy greeted me at school the following morning.

  “Thirteen and a half, actually.”

  “Fine, if you want to be pedantic.”

  We were counting down the days until school got out for Christmas, which couldn’t come soon enough for either of us. Not just because we would get almost six weeks of holidays, or because of the inevitable presents on Christmas Day itself, but because as soon as school was out we would be packing up the ponies and heading to the Taupo Christmas Classic for four days of show jumping, and I couldn’t wait.

  “How’s Squib this morning?” I asked her, wishing he lived outside my bedroom window instead of hers. But my family lived on a small section in the middle of town, and there was no chance of keeping Squib in the backyard. Having him at Katy’s was much better than grazing him on the Pony Club grounds, which I’d done until recently, because she was always there to look after him, and her mum Deb was a walking encyclopaedia of horse care. I’d learned more about riding, training and caring for Squib during the past three months than in the whole year prior to meeting them, even if we didn’t always see eye to eye. Like on the shoeing debate, which Katy picked up again as we lined up for Monday morning assembly.

  “He’s fine. Looks better, and he’s moving more freely. Give him a couple more days off and he should be fine for Manfeild this weekend. Did you decide yet whether you want Rick to shoe him?”

  I shook my head, shuffling forward as the line of students edged into the auditorium. “I was going to talk to him on Wednesday,” I explained. “See what he thinks.”

  “You’ll have to do it before that,” Katy replied. “He’s got his book to organise and if he’s just trimming it’ll take him twenty minutes, but if he’s got to stick shoes on and tap stud holes then it’ll be more like an hour. More, if Squib decides to be an idiot. Which we both know is highly likely.”

  I jabbed her in the side with my elbow, and she winced.

  “Ow!”

  “That’s what you get for not having any meat on your bones. If you were a pony I’d have you on two feeds a day, fatten you up a bit.”

  “Mum’s been trying to fatten me for years, but it hasn’t worked yet,” Katy replied as we shuffled our way into the auditorium, the line ahead of us still moving without much purpose.

  “Has she tried adding a cup of oil to your feed?” I asked Katy, and she pulled a face.

  “Don’t go giving her any ideas.”

  We finally sat down, and I crossed my legs and looked down at them. Squib and I had the same equivalent build – solid and strong, slightly curvier than entirely
necessary, but with more muscle than fat. We were also both reasonably fit and getting fitter, although I wasn’t ever going to keep up with Katy, who ate like a sparrow on a diet and ran five kilometres every morning before school. How she had the energy to get through the day – let alone keep several ponies in work and compete every weekend – I had no idea.

  “Are studs expensive?” I asked Katy, trying to remember how much money was left in my bank account after I’d bought Squib’s new jumping boots.

  “Nah. And I’ve got loads, you can borrow some. The shoes’ll set you back though, so be prepared for that.”

  I asked her how much, and my eyes boggled at the cost. “Seriously?”

  “You get what you pay for,” Katy shrugged. “You want your pony to stay sound and be able to jump Grand Prix someday? You pay for shoes and studs. If you want to keep pottering around at a metre-ten, do whatever you like.”

  My mind wandered as our high school principal stepped up to the lectern and started reminding us about final exams and assessments and how we had to strive to set ourselves up for next year and what we should be thinking about for our futures. The whole school was packed into the auditorium, and most of what she was saying was irrelevant to my year anyway, so I zoned out and stopped listening.

  Three rows ahead of me, a girl was sitting up straight in her chair, a long blonde ponytail hanging between her shoulder blades. Unlike me, her attention was intently focused on the speaker, and I watched my sister as she nodded along with the principal’s comments, clearly agreeing with everything being said. She raised one hand to a lock of hair that was hanging forward of her ponytail and started twisting it rapidly around her fingers, a nervous tic she’d had for years and had never quite broken free of.

  I was about to shift my gaze when I noticed something. One of the boys sitting in the row behind her was twirling his own finger around next to his ear, mimicking my sister’s movements but turning it into that global gesture for ‘crazy person’. I glared at the back of the kid’s dark head, but he clearly didn’t feel my death ray vision because he carried on, as his mates snickered and giggled at his terrible sense of humour. I was too far away to do anything about it, but now I couldn’t stop staring. Alexia was oblivious, of course, because she barely noticed what was going on around her at the best of times, but my blood was rising and I was getting madder and madder as I watched.