Clearwater Bay 2- Against the Clock

by Kate Lattey

  The gate steward consults her clipboard, and I catch her eye. “How many left to go?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

  “Last one,” she tells me, and my heart leaps, then promptly sinks again as I see Anneke trotting up to the gate on Nonny. There’s no beating her today, it would seem, and sure enough she jumps a slick clear round to collect the win and push me right out of the placings once again.

  “Results are as follows. First, Sine Qua Non. Second, Dun’N’Dusted. Third, Fleetwood Charm. Fourth, Auto Pilot.”

  I make myself smile as I watch the placegetters ride into the ring, reminding myself that Finn went clear and we jumped a good round, and Dad was impressed. So what if I wasn’t the fastest? I just need more practice, that’s all. And some bigger fences, I decide as Abby gets to her feet and gives me a rueful smile.

  “There’s always another day,” she says, picking up her crutches. “You’ll flatten them next time.”

  I nod, trying to absorb her confidence. “That’s the plan.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The ponies are forced to take a back seat over the next couple of weeks as end-of-year assessments kick into full swing at school. I’m slaving away over my English homework one evening, trying to make sense out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, when the phone rings. I wait for Dad to pick it up, then remember that he’s gone out with Nina tonight. I’m tempted to ignore it, but it’s a good excuse to get away from my homework for a moment, so I scurry downstairs and grab it on the last ring.

  “Hello?”

  “So there is someone home. I was about to give up. How are you? It’s your Gran,” she adds needlessly as I blink in astonishment at the sound of her voice.

  When I first moved here, Gran would ring to check on me at least once a week, but since I came back six months ago, I’ve only heard from her twice – once to make sure I got home safely, and then again on my birthday. Both times the conversations had been short and abrupt, and mostly consisted of unsubtle digs at my father, who can never do anything right in her eyes.

  “Hi Gran, how are you?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

  “Quite well, thank you. How are you?” I stay quiet, knowing she won’t give me time to respond even if I attempt to. “I’ll expect you have exams looming, so I won’t keep you for long. I just thought I’d best ring and make sure that you’ve got your nose to the grindstone. I don’t expect your father is paying much attention to your schoolwork, is he?”

  Ever the disparaging tone. I consider lying, but even without being face-to-face, I can’t lie to my Gran.

  “Um, a bit. He helped me out with my Geography assessment,” I tell her truthfully. “And I got Merit on for that one.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Gran replies. “Not that I understand your education system over there. That’s the top grade, is it?”

  I should lie. I don’t. “Not quite. Excellence is the highest, but it’s really hard to achieve Excellence, you have to do a ton of extra work…” My voice trails off as I mentally kick myself for my honesty, and sure enough, the tirade against mediocrity begins.

  “You’re better than that, Jilly,” she scolds me, and her use of that name makes me cringe. She’s the only one left who calls me that, a last vestige of my childhood before I got sick of being a Jilly and demanded to become Jay, and hearing it again is simultaneously annoying and wrenching. Gran’s still talking, insisting that I should be striving to be top of the class, should be spending more time studying and less time riding ponies. That I should be thinking about my future, and preparing for scholarship exams so that I can get into a good University. And I know she doesn’t mean one in New Zealand. I have no idea yet whether I even want to go to Uni, let alone on the other side of the world, but I can’t bring myself to argue with her.

  I just nod and listen to her ramble on as I stroke Chewy’s ragged back with a bare foot and contemplate the half-finished English assessment that’s waiting for me upstairs.

  * * *

  “Hey Dad! When are we getting our tree?”

  Dad blinks at me in apparent confusion as he sets his briefcase down and greets the slobbering dog. “Tree?”

  I roll my eyes at him. “A Christmas tree, you know, to hang lights and ornaments on. You have heard of a Christmas tree, right?”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of one.” A pause. “You want a tree?”

  “Of course,” I tell him, putting my studying to one side for a moment. “Everyone has to have a Christmas tree! Where do you keep your decorations? Mum and I always started decorating on the first of December, so we’re behind schedule here.”

  “I don’t have any decorations,” Dad confesses. “I haven’t had a tree in years.”

  I almost spit out my mouthful of tea. “You’re kidding.” I look at him over the rim of my mug. “Are you allergic to them?”

  “Of course not. In case you haven’t noticed, we live on the edge of a pine forest,” he reminds me.

  “So what’s your excuse?”

  He shrugs. “I just…I guess I just don’t bother. Never been much point decorating just for me and the dog.”

  I find myself shaking my head. “Well. This year will be different,” I decide. “We’re going to be very festive, to make up for your lack of Christmas spirit over the last however-many years. I’ll go shopping after school tomorrow and pick up some decorations.”

  “If you must.” He goes out the front door, shutting it hard behind him.

  I look over at the dog. “We live with the Grinch,” I tell him, and he whines softly in commiseration.

  “We wish you a Merry Christmas,” I sing loudly as I stand on a chair and hang tinsel across the doorway into the living room. “And a happy New Year.”

  Chewy is lying by the door watching me, and as I hit a purposely long note on the end of the line, he joins in, howling along. I start laughing as Dad comes through the front door and Chewy leaps up to greet him.

  “What do you think?” I ask Dad as he pats the dog and stares around the room, eyes popping.

  Maybe I have gone a little overboard, but once I got started, I couldn’t help myself. Now there’s tinsel over all the doorways, fairy lights around the living room and kitchen, a big red cellophane Santa stuck to the living room window and three felt stockings pinned over the mantelpiece.

  “Wow. Very festive,” is all he says.

  “I’m afflicted with Christmas spirit,” I explain cheerily to him.

  “Afflicted is right,” he mutters as he heads for the fridge and grabs a bottle of lager.

  “Come on Dad, get into the spirit of the holiday. I have it, even Chewy has it, right dog?” Chewy’s tail pounds against the floor and he pants loudly in agreement. “You see?”

  “Mm-hm.” He uses the corner of the benchtop to pop the lid off his beer, then takes a long drink.

  “You seem deeply enthusiastic.”

  “I really am,” he tries to convince me.

  “Liar. But I don’t care, because I have enough Christmas spirit for both of us. No tree yet, but Alec and I are going to cut one down next week. Don’t worry,” I assure him, seeing the look on his face. “We’re using the baby pines on Alec’s farm. No illegal tree stealing for us.”

  “Okay.”

  “And next weekend we’re going to Taupo for the Christmas Classic,” I remind him. “Which gives you the perfect opportunity to buy lots of presents, wrap them up and put my name on them.”

  “Oh does it?” he grins as the phone rings.

  “Sure does!” I call after him as he goes into the kitchen to answer it. He speaks for a moment then holds it out to me.

  “For you, kiddo.”

  I jump off my stool and take the phone from him. “Hello?”

  It’s Jenny, from the Pony Club. “I’m calling about the team for Cambridge,” she says, and my heart thuds in my chest. “I’m sure you’re aware that places in the team are going to be difficult to come by. We’ve got a lot of good riders this year.”

 
I swallow hard, sensing disappointment to come. “I see.”

  “We have our training camp coming up, just before Christmas,” Jenny continues. “And we’ve decided to send along as many riders as want to go. Making up a development squad, of sorts.”

  She pauses while I take that in and wait to hear what it means for me. When her silence continues for long enough to become awkward, I speak. “Okay.”

  “So if you’re interested in that,” she continues, “we’d be happy to have you along.”

  I let out a relieved breath. “Of course, I’d love to!” I manage to say as she keeps talking.

  “I’ll email you with the details. This doesn’t mean that you’re in the team,” she cautions me. “We only need three Intermediates for Cambridge, two for the team and one as a reserve, and they won’t be selected until the end of the camp.”

  “Okay. Thank you so much,” I manage to say before she hangs up.

  Dad looks over at me as I put the phone back on its cradle, then do a happy dance around the room.

  “I take it that was good news?” he asks with a smile.

  “The best,” I reply. “I got into training camp for Cambridge!”

  It’s a testament to the newly opened lines of communication between Dad and I that he knows exactly what I’m talking about. A few months ago, anything to do with show jumping was completely off his wavelength, but now he actually listens when I talk about Finn and is getting increasingly supportive of my riding. I wonder if that’s Nina’s influence, or if it’s just due to our increasing bond. Either way, it’s nice to be able to share my excitement and success with him, and I’m determined to work hard at camp, and prove that I’m worthy of making the team.

  * * *

  It’s an unseasonably cold morning when we load the ponies and hit the road for the Taupo Christmas Classic, our last big show for the year. Since my conversation with Claudia at Pukete, I’ve been pushing myself to jump Finn higher, and she’s risen to the challenge, making me wonder why I ever held her back. Even when Alec and I piled up all of his oil drums and tyres to make one huge jump, Finn flew over it with inches to spare. My entry was sent in months ago, but I called up and changed it last week, swapping out of most of the lower classes and moving us up to a proper challenge, culminating on Sunday with a run in the Pony 1.20m. I’m nervous about that right now, but I also can’t wait to have Finn in the top ring where she belongs.

  When we arrive at the show grounds, I’m delighted to see that everyone’s Christmas spirit is alive and well. Jump stands are wrapped in tinsel, riders are sporting Santa hats and fake beards, and several of their mounts are similarly decorated. Alec snorts and nudges me as we pass a truck with a large inflatable Santa bouncing off the top of it, and I grin and wave at Oliver Foxhall-James as he walks down the ramp. He’d had an inflatable rabbit on his truck at the Easter show that had terrorised Finn when she’d caught sight of it. Fortunately he’d been friendly and helped me get her past it, and he waves back at me as we drive on, searching for a good place to park.

  I’m bubbling with excitement as I give Finn a quick once-over with a body brush before putting her saddle on. I spent hours last night stitching tinsel and attaching sprigs of plastic holly onto her saddle blanket, and I now wrap a strand of silver tinsel around my helmet and tie a red piece into her tail – both festive and functional, warning other riders not to get too close to her ever-ready heels.

  Tabby is painting the lyrics of Christmas carols in glitter on Lucky’s rump as Alec tightens the girth, elbowing away his pony’s attempts to nip him.

  “Anyone seen my jacket?”

  “In the truck,” his mother tells him as I check Finn’s girth and mount up.

  A jingling noise alerts me to the approach of Tegan, trotting over to us on Nugget. A pair of red felt antlers are attached to his headstall, half a red plastic bauble is stuck to his noseband, and his tail has been sprayed through with silver glitter. She has attached bells to her stirrup irons and to his bridle, and Nugget keeps shaking his head in annoyance at all of the decorations.

  “It’s Rudolph the red-nosed show jumper,” I greet her.

  “And one of Santa’s tiny elves!” Alec adds as he jumps off the ramp with his jacket in hand, and a red Santa hat pulled on over his helmet. Tegan flips him off as he vaults up onto Trixie.

  “Oh come on now, that’s not very festive!” he grins.

  We roll our eyes at him and turn our ponies away, leaving Alec jogging along behind, tightening his girth as he goes.

  I trot Finn around the warm-up area, loosening up her muscles and enjoying the festive atmosphere. I see a few familiar faces, but there are also a lot of people here that I don’t know. They all look relaxed and professional, and their ponies are fit and muscled. I run my hand down Finn’s sleek neck, glad that she doesn’t look out of place. But I don’t feel as confident as I’m trying to look. Alec and I have just walked the course, and the jumps are huge, with wide and imposing spreads on the oxers.

  “You’ll be fine,” Alec reassures me with a pat on the shoulder. “Finn’s got plenty of scope, she’ll do it easy.”

  I nod, but I’m not convinced until I look over at the much smaller jumps in the neighbouring ring, and shake my head. That’s much too small for Finn, and it’s about time we set ourselves a proper challenge. I can see Tegan warming up, and I can tell from here that she’s still mad. Somehow I’d neglected to tell her that I’d moved Finn up to the bigger jumps, and she’s furious at me now for ditching her. But I can’t hold Finn back just because Nugget isn’t up to the higher fences. I wish I had the guts to tell her to just ride Ghost if she wants to move up, but I’ll leave those comments to someone else to make.

  I’m still nervous twenty minutes later as I canter Finn in a circle, waiting for my bell to start. We’ve jumped in a couple of metre-ten classes before, but this course is bigger and more technical than anything we’ve faced before, and my hands are sweating as I try to keep her pace steady. Then the bell rings, and it’s too late to do anything other than take a deep breath and aim Finn towards the start flags. She pricks her ears when she sees the first jump and doesn’t hesitate, cantering boldly forward and leaping over cleanly. I let out my breath, and get my focus back. My pony is ready to go, and the extra height and width on the jumps doesn’t seem to be bothering her at all. Her long strides devour the ground beneath us, and the first half of the course passes in a blur as I cling on and steer her between the fences.

  We’re all clear until the double, where our speed is our undoing. Finn jumps in too big and finds herself too close to the second element. She hesitates, and I slap my whip down on her shoulder to remind her that stopping is not an option. Her ears flick back at me but she adds a short stride and jumps out, almost from a standstill. It’s a valiant effort, but she hits the back rail of the oxer and knocks it down.

  Finn lands awkwardly, bouncing me almost out of the saddle, and I struggle to get my reins back in time to turn her to the next jump, a wide oxer with a Liverpool underneath it. Finn hesitates again, and again I have to drive her forward, but she then gallops on and flies over cleanly. We finish the course with only one more dropped rail at the last, and I pat my pony as we trot out. At least she jumped everything, and we’ve got plenty more classes this weekend to improve on that score.

  “Are you trying to set a land speed record?”

  I turn to see Claudia riding over to me on Titus, and I laugh.

  “She got a bit quick,” I admit cheerfully.

  “Just a bit! Any faster and she’d have fallen on her face. Good thing she’s quick with her knees and kept most of the rails up.” Claudia is smiling, but I can tell that her comments are serious.

  My own smile turns sheepish as I pat Finn again, more emphatically this time. “At least she went over them all,” I point out. “Just got to sort out those dropped rails.”

  “Course she did, she’s amazing,” Claudia says. “I’m still so jealous that I didn’t buy h
er when I had the chance.”

  I look at her beautiful, experienced Grand Prix pony. “Something wrong with Mr Perfect?”

  She shrugs. “Nothing that roller spurs don’t fix, but I wish he’d be a bit sharper off my aids. Honestly, it’s like it takes half an hour for every instruction to sink in. Still, can’t complain. And I’m glad to see you in the bigger classes. About time! You’d better be doing the metre-fifteen this afternoon!”

  I nod. “Sure am.”

  “Awesome. Steady her up a bit, give her more time to snap her knees up and she’ll jump clean as a whistle for you. I’m on soon, so I better keep Titus moving. Catch you later!”

  “Good luck!” I call to her as she trots away. I slide down from Finn’s back and lead her back to the truck, determined to get it right this afternoon.

  I enter the ring for my first metre-fifteen class full of determination to do better than this morning’s fiasco. Finn is excited, pulling hard as I trot her between the fences and wait for my bell. I did my best to steady her up in the warm-up, but it didn’t work as well as I’d hoped, and she’s still overexcited. The judges are taking forever, and I trot past their truck pointedly as a reminder that I’m there and ready to start.

  Then one of them leans forward and speaks to me. “You’re running out of time. We rang your bell ages ago.” My stomach turns to ice as she glances at her stopwatch. “You’ve got five seconds to get through the flags.”

  My head spins as I turn Finn and kick her into a canter, racing towards the start flags as quickly as I can. My pony responds eagerly to my encouragement, taking a flying leap over the first fence and arguing when I try to slow her down once we’ve landed. She’s still going fast as we get to the second jump, and her hooves catch the front rail of the oxer and send it tumbling to the ground.