Pony Passion

by Harriet Castor

  “Lyndz. Lyndz! It’s OK. Wake up!”

  Suddenly, I felt someone shaking me. I groaned and opened my eyes to find Fliss leaning over me, peering at me in bleary concern. Rosie, Frankie and Kenny were sitting up in their sleeping bags, their hair muzzed up from sleep.

  “Were you having a nightmare?” asked Rosie.

  “Your breathing went really weird,” said Fliss. “Kind of whimpery. It was freaky.”

  I rubbed my face. “I – I was falling…” I stammered.

  “Falling?” echoed Kenny, rubbing her eyes.

  “Were you dreaming about riding?” asked Rosie gently. “About the accident?”

  I nodded, remembering. Then I shivered. “It was horrible.”

  “Poor Lyndz,” said Fliss, putting her arm round me.

  “This calls for emergency treats,” declared Frankie. She wriggled out of her sleeping bag. “Will hot chocolate do?”

  “That’d be great,” I said.

  “Er, Frankie…” said Kenny, putting on a weak and trembly voice. “I think I had a nightmare too.”

  “And me,” giggled Rosie.

  “OK, OK, I get it.” Frankie grinned. “Hot chocolate all round.” A few minutes later she came back carrying a tray crowded with mugs of steaming cocoa. She’d even found some leftover marshmallows to float in the top.

  “Feeling any better?” she asked, handing me a mug.

  My smile felt a bit wobbly, but I nodded. “Miles. Thanks.”

  Rosie blew on her cocoa to cool it. “Are you missing riding a lot, Lyndz?” she said.

  I couldn’t tell them about today’s gymkhana. After that argument we’d had at school, I couldn’t even tell them how I really felt. I wanted to say “desperately”. But instead I shrugged and said, “A bit, I guess. I’m not really thinking about it to be honest – except in my sleep. There’s enough going on with you guys!”

  And there was enough going on over the next few weeks. Though it didn’t stop me missing riding, it certainly kept me busy! We had to design the pictures that we were going to turn into cardboard cut-outs – Dad said he’d help me with the actual cutting. Then the cut-outs were going to need painting. There were our costumes to sort out, too. And on top of all that, we had to decide what we were going to talk about – “Write the script of the show!” as Frankie kept saying. That ended up involving loads of head-scratching and pencil-chewing.

  “I can’t do a speech if I’m the back end of the horse,” said Kenny in class one day when we were having another project meeting. “Whoever heard of a horse with a talking bottom?”

  Rosie giggled. “But Mrs Weaver won’t like that,” she said. “She’ll think you’ve done no work.”

  “Suits me!” grinned Kenny.

  “Not so fast, lazybones,” Frankie jumped in. “Whatever we’re going to say we should share.”

  Kenny blew a raspberry. “Spoilsport. Anyway, we’ve got to make it short and snappy or there’ll be no time for our dance routine.”

  “What dance routine?” I said. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No way!” Kenny laughed. “You can’t have a panto horse without a little comedy dancing, can you?”

  Frankie nudged me. “Kenny and I have been practising. We’ll give you a free demo at break if you like.”

  Though I didn’t say anything, I wasn’t at all sure about the idea of a dance routine. Mrs Weaver had talked about “imaginative presentation”, but I was pretty convinced that meant getting historical facts across without boring everyone to tears, not just prancing about.

  At break Frankie led the way to the Sleepover Club’s venue for top secret meetings: the corner of the playground nearest the bins where no one else goes (and if you’re wondering why, you should come and catch the whiff sometime). “I know it’s stinky,” said Frankie when Fliss complained, “but we don’t want anyone nicking our toptastic ideas, do we?”

  Then Kenny bent over and grabbed Frankie round the waist. “Ready?” she said. “One, two, three…”

  There were kicks, stamps and shimmies. Frankie tossed her imaginary mane and Kenny wiggled her bum. But soon Kenny was out of step with Frankie, doing her kicks in the wrong places, and falling over her own feet. It was just about the most hilarious thing I’d ever seen.

  “Stop!” I gasped, as Rosie and I held on to each other, laughing fit to burst. “You’ll make me, hic, wet myself!”

  Suddenly we heard Fliss gasp. She was our official look-out, keeping watch round the corner of the gym block in case anyone tried to spy on us. Instantly we all stopped laughing. Frankie said, “What? What is it?”

  Fliss didn’t turn her head, but her arm reached back and beckoned us. “You have got to see this…” she said.

  We squashed up next to her, poking our heads round the wall.

  The most amazing sight swung into view.

  It was Emma Hughes and Danny McCloud.

  Holding hands.

  “Oh – my – gosh,” whispered Frankie. “Gross or what?”

  Ducking back behind the wall, we stared at one another in astonishment.

  “Bleurgh!”

  Then Kenny slapped a hand to her forehead. “What have I done?” she wailed. “This is all my fault! It’s hideous! It’s unnatural!”

  When the bell rang and we piled back into the classroom, we noticed that the Queen and the Goblin were talking to one another again. More than that – it looked as if they were better friends than ever.

  “Emma probably thinks Emily helped get her and her darling Danny together,” whispered Frankie.

  “It turns my stomach just thinking about it,” said Fliss.

  “But you know the good thing?” said Kenny. “I reckon Emma will spend so much time mooning over Fog-brain she won’t give a thought to their lousy project. And the Oscar for best presentation will go to…us!”

  Our class was going to give the presentations on the last day before half-term. The rest of the Sleepover Club were counting the days till then. But I was counting the days till something else. The week before half-term, my plaster cast was due to come off, and on the Saturday I was going to have my first riding lesson since the accident.

  I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I was. Riding was the thing I loved doing most in the world and I hadn’t been able to do it for six whole weeks – each of which had felt like a year.

  When the day my cast was due to come off finally arrived, I was so jittery I couldn’t sit still. My eldest brother Stuart drove me to the hospital, and I could tell I was getting up his nose with my fidgeting, but I just couldn’t help it.

  “Will it hurt?” I asked, winding my window a centimetre up and then a centimetre down – up and down, up and down.

  “Hideously,” said Stuart. “They do it with a great big saw, and if it gets stuck they have to chop your whole arm off.”

  “No!” I looked at him, aghast.

  “Of course not, dumbo!” he grinned at me in the driver’s mirror. “You are so easy to tease!”

  I stuck out my tongue. “And you are so mean!”

  After that I didn’t want him to see I was scared when they brought out the electric whizzy thing and started cutting through the plaster. In a way it was better, pretending to be brave. With Mum I’d probably have been bawling my eyes out. But I couldn’t have been hiding my nerves that well, because the nurse smiled at me and said, “Don’t worry. I’ve done this before.”

  When the cast finally snapped off it was such an ace feeling. My skin underneath had been getting majorly itchy – and not being able to scratch had been sooo frustrating. “Hello arm,” I said. It looked pale and bruised and strange.

  “That’s it, I knew it,” laughed Stuart. “Talking to your own arm! You’re actually bonkers, aren’t you?”

  By Saturday morning I’d just about got used to having two normal arms again – in the nick of time for my riding lesson.

  “Take care at the stables, though, won’t you, love?” said Mum at breakfast time, as
she tried to spoon baby food into Spike’s ear (he’d turned his head and she hadn’t noticed yet). “Your arm’ll be a bit weak for a while.”

  I nodded and carried on squashing my Weetabix into a soggy mound. My tummy was full of excited butterflies, and all I could think about was what it would be like to hold Bramble’s reins again. I hoped she would be pleased to see me – because I was going to be on cloud nine seeing her!

  “Happy day, Lyndsey!” called Mrs McAllister across the yard as I jumped out of Dad’s car and slammed the door.

  I ran straight to Bramble’s stall. She nodded her head when she saw me, and didn’t seem to mind when I pressed my face against her neck and drank in her warm, clean smell.

  “I have missed you,” I whispered as I stroked her nose. “More than anything, ever.”

  Later, when Bramble was tacked up and ready, Mrs McAllister helped me fasten the chin strap of my riding helmet. Then she helped me up into the saddle, so I wouldn’t put too much strain on my left arm.

  “Now take it gently, Lyndsey,” she said. “Give yourself time to get used to Bramble again.”

  I hardly heard her. Bramble was standing quite still, being really sweet and patient, waiting for me to tell her to walk on. But I felt totally weird – as if I was in a bubble, cut off from the scene around me. The colour of Mrs McAllister’s coat, the stable doors, even the reins in my hand, looked too bright and my stomach was churning. Suddenly I knew I was either going to be sick or faint – or maybe both.

  “I – I have to get down,” I said.

  “Steady, there. You’re all right.” Mrs McAllister patted my leg.

  “No, I have to get down,” I insisted. “Now.”

  Mrs McAllister helped me as I slithered out of the saddle. She made me sit on some straw bales with my head between my knees.

  “Did you skip breakfast, Lyndsey?” she asked.

  I thought about my squashed Weetabix. Not much of it had made it into my mouth. “Kind of,” I said to the floor.

  “That’ll be it then,” said Mrs McAllister firmly. “Nothing to worry about. Just nerves and excitement on an empty tummy. Here…” I heard a rustle and then felt something pushed into my hand. It was a cereal bar.

  “Have a munch on that,” said Mrs McA, “and we’ll try again in ten minutes.”

  “Can I come back another day instead?” I looked up, but she was already striding back to her office.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she called over her shoulder. “If you give in to nerves today, tomorrow you’ll feel worse. I’ll be back in ten minutes!”

  That afternoon the other Sleepover girls were due to pile round to mine for a big session painting the cardboard cut-outs for the presentation. I’d been looking forward to it. But now I didn’t want to see anyone, and I didn’t want to do anything. I felt like a cuddly toy that’s lost its stuffing.

  “Buck up,” said Mum. “Your friends’ll be here in a minute.”

  When the doorbell rang it was all I could do to stretch my face into a smile.

  “Hey, Fliss, are you moving in?” laughed my dad when he saw her lugging an enormous holdall into our sitting room.

  “I haven’t brought that much,” she said to me. “Just a few costume options…Hey, Lyndz, is something wrong?”

  “Yes,” I said flatly. “I—”

  But before I could tell her what had happened, the doorbell rang again.

  Frankie and Kenny were standing on the doorstep, attacking each other with paintbrushes.

  “See – we brought our own!” squealed Frankie, as Kenny tried to ‘paint’ her ear. They lurched past me, still grappling with one another, just as Rosie’s car drew up.

  “Mum’s on her way to take Adam to his riding lesson,” Rosie said a moment later, waving as the car pulled out of our driveway. (You probably know this already, but Rosie’s brother has cerebral palsy, and he goes to the same stables as me. Mrs McAllister’s a registered Riding for the Disabled teacher.) As the car disappeared, Rosie turned to me. “So – how’d it go this morning?”

  I opened my mouth and shut it again. I felt pathetic. If Adam, with his celebral palsy, was brave enough to sit on a pony, how come I wasn’t?

  “Dreadful,” I said at last. “I just couldn’t do it.”

  “Couldn’t do what?” yelled Kenny from the sitting room.

  Rosie smiled and led me in. “Nosy Parker,” she said to Kenny.

  Kenny shrugged. “A problem shared is a problem doubled.” She frowned. “Or have I got that wrong?”

  “Go on, Lyndz,” said Rosie, flopping on to the sofa. “What were you saying?”

  “This morning,” I said. “I just couldn’t ride. I tried – twice – and it was no use.”

  “Why not? Was your arm hurting?”

  “No, nothing like that.” I hesitated. I could still hardly believe it myself. “I was scared. Maybe this’ll sound crazy to you, but I’ve just never thought of riding as dangerous before. Now all of a sudden it terrifies me.”

  “Oh, I’ve always known riding was dangerous,” said Fliss. “Remember that time I was stuck on a runaway horse? I could’ve been—ouch! What was that for?”

  Kenny had kicked her. “Horses give you the heebie-jeebies anyway, Fliss, so you don’t count,” she said.

  Rosie grabbed my hand and pulled me down to sit next to her. “Of course you can get some bumps and bruises riding but, well, you’re not exactly going to do something really hard, like ride in the Grand National, are you?”

  “Rosie’s right,” said Frankie. “You were really unlucky, Lyndz, but you’re a seriously good rider. And riding’s not mega dangerous – not like an extreme sport or something.”

  “Like that rock climbing Tom Cruise does in Mission Impossible 2,” said Kenny, her eyes lighting up. “When he dangles off this enormous cliff by one arm! Molly had it out on dvd,” she explained.

  “Or that thing they do at the Winter Olympics when people lie on a tea tray and whizz head-first down a chute at a million miles an hour,” said Fliss.

  “Yeah, that is so wicked!” said Frankie. “Hey, Lyndz, you’ve got to admit it – riding’s pretty tame by comparison, isn’t it?”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’m being a wimp. Let’s just forget it. I’ll be fine.” And in a few moments it was forgotten – except by me.

  “Fliss? Don’t you want the rest of your crumble?”

  Fliss shook her head. “I’m full,” she said, pushing the bowl across the table to me. We were in the dining hall at school. It was Thursday, the day before our presentations.

  “You’re packing it away today, Lyndz,” laughed Frankie. “Have your mum and dad stuck you on a diet at home, or something?”

  I smiled. “No way! I’ve got another riding lesson after school today, that’s all. And I reckon the problem last time was that I hadn’t had enough breakfast. That’s why I felt faint.”

  “Hope the ponies are feeling strong,” said Kenny, with a cheeky wink.

  I didn’t mind the teasing but, to be honest, I wasn’t in much of a mood to laugh along. I was too nervous about going to the stables. More than anything else in the world, I wanted to get it right this time. For now, I tried to concentrate on the rest of Fliss’s apple crumble and hoped I wouldn’t get indigestion.

  By the time I got home from school later that afternoon, though, my nerves were worse than ever. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart,” said Mum, seeing my worried face. “You just need to get back into the swing of it, that’s all.”

  Get back into the swing of it – that sounded about right. But how? When I got to the stables I fetched Bramble’s brushes, combs and sponges and groomed her slowly and carefully. “We’ll be OK, won’t we, Bramble?” I said. Her soft eyes stared back at me, and suddenly I felt much better. How could anything to do with such a lovely, gentle pony be scary?

  Later, when I jumped up into her saddle, I really felt almost fine. There were only three or four butterflies flapping in my
tummy rather than hundreds. I was so relieved.

  But I shouldn’t have been. As soon as I put Bramble into a walk, the sick, dizzy feeling came flooding back.

  “I can’t do this, Mrs McAllister,” I said, shaking my head in desperation. “I just can’t. I’ve got to get down.”

  “Come on, now, Lyndsey,” said Mrs McAllister. I could see she was annoyed. “Don’t give in to it again, for goodness’ sake. Have a bit of courage!”

  My stomach was churning, my head was spinning. Leaning forward, I clung to Bramble’s neck. “I’m sorry, dear Bramble,” I sobbed into her mane. “It’s not that I don’t want to ride you – you know that, don’t you? I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so sorry…”

  The next morning I should’ve woken up feeling on top of the world. It was the last day of school before half-term – and the day we were due to give our presentations. Sometimes I think the last schoolday is even better than the holiday itself, because you’ve got all that lovely free time still to come. It’s like the delicious moment just before you dig in to a big piece of chocolate cake!

  This morning, though, you could’ve given me the most enormous chocolate cake ever baked and I would hardly have smiled. I couldn’t remember feeling so miserable before in my entire life.

  When I arrived at school, Kenny and Frankie bounded out of the playground to help me and Dad get the cardboard cut-outs from the car.

  “Wow! They look sooo cool!” squealed Rosie, who was watching us over the railings and waving Frankie’s horse mask.

  Soon the bell rang. As our class lined up to go inside, I noticed several people clutching strange-shaped bags and boxes filled with costumes and props. Everyone was whispering excitedly. Even Mrs Weaver looked cheerful.

  “Pipe down, now!” she called when we got into the classroom. “The sooner I take the register, the sooner we can get on to the fun!”

  Once the register was finished, Mrs Weaver delved into her bag and pulled out two enormous boxes of sweets. There was a huge tub of Roses – “For the team giving the best presentation,” explained Mrs Weaver – and a slightly smaller box of Celebrations for the runners-up.