by Kate Lattey
She laughs and hits him on the head with her spatula, leaving traces of egg and bacon fat in his hair. “In your dreams, darling.” She turns to me and thrusts the frying pan under my nose. “Would you like an egg Jay?”
The sight and smell of them makes me nauseous.
“No thanks,” I tell her quickly and Alec snickers into his coffee. He’s clearly none the worse for wear after last night, but I’m definitely not used to drinking. I kick him under the table as hard as I can as Tabby comes bustling in, dressed and ready and also seemingly fit for the day.
“Oh Bess, you shouldn’t have, really. Yes please,” she says quickly as she shoves a plate towards her hostess, and Bess piles it high with runny eggs and greasy sausages. I stand up.
“I think I’ll go finish my coffee outside,” I tell them, and walk out of the room to the sound of Alec’s laughter.
I’m sitting on the edge of the verandah and sipping slowly at my hot drink when he comes out and hands me a glass of water with something fizzing in the bottom of it.
“It’ll help, trust me.” I raise my eyebrows at him and he looks offended. “When have I ever lied to you?”
I try to think of an example, sure that there have been multiple instances, but my brain won’t cooperate so I give in and take a sip. He rolls his eyes at me, so I hold my breath and drink it all down in one go.
“Atta girl.” Alec pats me on the head like a puppy before jumping down onto the scraggly front lawn. “I’m gonna go round those ponies up.”
“Wait up, I’ll help you,” I say.
“Some help you’ll be, you can’t even stand up!” he teases. I poke my tongue out at him but take his outstretched hand and he pulls me to my feet. I sway slightly, but remain upright.
“Haven’t you ever drunk wine before?” he asks me as we head towards the paddocks.
“Yes,” I lie.
“Uh huh.” He clearly doesn’t believe me, and unfortunately at that moment I stumble over a clump of tufty grass on the lawn. Alec catches my arm to keeps me upright, and I pull away indignantly. He laughs at me again as we trudge through the morning dew.
“You’re such a lightweight.”
As I’m leading Trixie up the ramp and tying her, I can hear Charlie asking Alec something and laughing loudly. I walk back down towards them, and see Charlie with his arm over Alec’s shoulders. He grins at me in a knowing way, and it dawns on me suddenly that perhaps they hadn’t trusted Alec and I last night, but had actually expected us to be fooling around. I feel my face turn red and Charlie laughs even louder.
We all squish into the cab, and I barely speak to Alec on the way to the show grounds, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s jumping Trixie in a metre class that starts at ten, so there’s a mad rush to get her tacked up. Fortunately for me, I’m not riding until after lunch, so I sort out the other ponies with buckets of water and haynets, and Tabby puts the jug on. Alec trots Trixie over to the warm-up ring and Tabby and I sit on the ramp, sipping hot tea from plastic mugs and enjoying the mayhem of a show ground in the mid-morning. I’m feeling better now as I watch small girls trot past on beautiful show ponies plastered in prizes, and adults walking sedately on their gleaming hacks, their noses turning up as they pass the jumping trucks. Their horses might be beautiful and immaculate, but it’s the show jumpers that I find the most interesting to watch. Small kids being taken around low courses by calm, professional ponies. Teenage riders on fit ponies with their show jackets slung over the front of their saddles and their feet dangling out of their stirrups, who call out greetings to Tabby as they ride past. All different shapes and sizes of horses, because all that really matters in show jumping is their ability to clear a jump. Thoroughbreds with weedy necks and tight martingales, clunky Roman-nosed horses that look like they’ll never be able to lift themselves off the ground, big Warmbloods being held back in gag bits, their shoulders slick with sweat. I love it all, the clatter and bustle. Some people say that show jumping riders with their strings of horses only care about winning and will push their horses mercilessly, but I disagree. Surely it’s the showing people, accepting nothing less than absolute perfection all of the time, that consider their mounts to be machines. Or the dressage riders, driving their horses on with whips and spurs while holding them back in double bridles, that are being unreasonable. Or surely the eventers, who gallop their horses across uneven ground and jump immense fixed fences that can be fatally unforgiving of the slightest mistake, are the ones being unfair.
Not so, in my opinion, the show jumpers. While their drive is to get a clear round, to jump the highest, turn the tightest, beat the clock and win the class, it’s their horses who are the real stars. They have to be quick and clever and able to get themselves out of trouble, so that if they come in on the wrong stride and scramble over a fence nearly unseated, or if their horse knocks the back rail and it bounces in the cups but doesn’t hit the ground, they can still win. The excitement, the gasping of the crowd, the exhilaration of knowing that anything can happen on the day because every horse is only as good as the round they’ve just jumped. There’s no biased judging here, they either jump clean or they don’t. And nothing beats the exhilaration of a clear round in the jump-off. Riding against the clock, turning as tight as they possibly can around the course without knocking a single fence, then racing for the flags, urging their horses on, nosing through the finish, knowing that every moment counts. They bring the horse slowly back to a walk, straining their ears to hear the announcer tell everyone that theirs is now the time to beat, and then wait through the impossibly long minutes as the rest of the class jumps. Friends become the opposition, and they watch them go, desperately hoping they will take out a rail or miss their striding, anything that will ensure that they take home the win today. I want to join their ranks, to become part of that world. I just need the pony to take me there.
”How’re you feeling?” Tabby breaks into my reverie.
“I’m fine.”
“Alec thought you’d had a bit much to drink last night.” She’s smiling at me, and my irritation at her son resurfaces.
“What did he tell you about me?”
Tabby looks at me and tilts her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Well…did he tell you that we’re dating, or something? Because we’re not.”
“Okay.” She’s still looking at me oddly.
“I just figured…maybe you thought…” I’m stumbling over my words now and wishing I’d never brought this up.
“Is this because I left you two unsupervised in the truck last night?” I nod, and she laughs. “I can’t be around all the time to keep an eye on you. I trust my boy. And I know you’ll punch him in the face if he tries it on.”
I bite my lip and feel awkward. “Okay. Good. And it was fine. Nothing happened or anything.”
Tabby is grinning. “I know. And seriously, feel free to punch him at any time.”
She winks at me and I smile back. We sit in silence for a moment, then she drains off her tea and throws the plastic mug over her shoulder into the truck.
“Let’s go see how he’s getting on, shall we?”
We arrive just in time to see Alec cantering Trixie around the ring, waiting for his bell. It’s an AM3 class with an instant jump-off, and I can see Alec’s eyes flicking over the course, committing it to memory. The bell rings and he sends the mare between the flags. Trixie jumps neatly and precisely, bouncing over all of the fences with eyes bright under her bushy forelock. They have a clear round, and Alec brings her back to a walk and gives her a quick pat as he waits for his second bell. It rings and he picks up a quick canter, then heads back through the flags for his jump-off round. Trixie is quick against the clock, but she tends to get strong and can be difficult to steer when she gets fast. She makes it clean around the course up to the last fence, a wide oxer, where Alec takes a chance and lets her gallop on to it. He sees a long spot and urges her on and the pony pricks her ears, then changes her mind an
d hits the brakes, pulling off to the side. Alec swings her back around quickly and kicks her over it, but that’s four faults and a much slower time, undoubtedly leaving him out of the money. He trots back to the gate with a frown.
“Hard luck,” I tell him and he shakes his head as he kicks his feet out of the stirrups and slides off her back. I take Trixie’s reins and pat her sweaty neck.
“She hasn’t done that in ages,” Alec complains. The pony rubs her head on his shoulder and he scratches behind her ears. “Brat,” he tells her. “Can you cool her off for me Jay?”
I nod and run up the mare’s stirrups, loosen her girth and start walking her around the grounds.
And so the morning passes. Trixie jumps better in her next class, finishing second, and the prize money is good so her earlier sins are forgiven. Lucky has an unfortunate rail in a very fast jump-off to finish third in a metre-ten event, but Jess is having a worse day and takes four rails in the first round of her metre-fifteen. I leave Alec muttering at her and get Dolly ready to go. I’m finally at a show, so for once wearing jodhpurs and gaiters doesn’t make me overdressed. If anything I’m a bit shabby in Pip’s jacket, and although Dolly and her tack are as clean as I could make them, she’s still a weedy little bay with goggly eyes and pigeon toes. Her tail is too short because Lucky keeps chewing on it, her black numnah is faded and flecked with grey hairs, and her running martingale is held together with bits of tape. As I pull down her stirrups and prepare to mount, I wonder what Charlotte would say if she could see me now. She’d be mortified to see anyone arrive at a show with their pony in this condition. I can hear her voice in my head as I swing up onto Dolly’s back and tighten my girth. ‘That pony is unkempt, underweight and clearly unloved.’
I push those thoughts out of my head and start walking over to the warm-up area, feeling self-conscious and I start feeling rotten again, although probably more from nerves than the residual effects of last night. Pip’s jacket is a bit tight across the shoulders and Dolly walks nervously, not liking being away from her friends and spooking at everything she sees. I trot and canter her in circles, trying to stay calm. Alec and Tabby reappear, and Tabby holds Dolly while Alec walks the course with me, giving me advice and telling me more things than I could possibly remember.
“Ride her hard into the jumps, she gets nervous at shows and stops if you don’t keep her moving. Have your whip where she can see it. Try not to let her chip into the spreads or she’ll knock them down, and…”
“Would you leave off? I’ll be fine, I have jumped before,” I remind him irritably.
He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Okay okay, keep your hair on. You’ll be sweet. The course is easy as. Just watch her at the picket, she hates those things.”
We return to Tabby and she legs me back into the saddle. I put Dolly over the practice jump a couple of times, then get called into the ring.
“Next competitor - Jay Evans riding Dot.com.”
I gather up my reins and squeeze Dolly into her scuttling canter. The first fence is a blue and yellow upright, and she canters slowly towards it, backing off already. I push her on with my legs and seat, but it’s not until I slap her on the shoulder with my stick that she accelerates, rushing forward and scrambling over, hitting the top rail hard on the way. We turn to the next jump and I’m a bit more prepared this time, kicking her on and giving her a good hard tap with the stick. She rattles it but doesn’t knock it down, and we canter on strongly to the first oxer. This one she jumps nicely and I’m feeling pleased with myself as we come around the corner towards the white picket fence. Dolly baulks hard and I lose my seat for a moment, but manage to stay on her and kick on towards the jump. But she’s not having a bar of it, and eyes popping madly, refuses the jump. I wonder what Alec is thinking as I turn her away and canter her on before turning to reattempt the jump. She canters right up to the fence and I think she’s going to jump it, but she changes her mind at the last moment and stops, sliding forward into the poles and scattering them across the ground. The judge’s bell rings and I walk Dolly around as I wait for the stewards to rebuild the jump.
“Jay!” Alec motions me towards him and I ride closer to the ropes.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I’m making a mess of it.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. But get over it this time. Sit and kick. Might not look pretty, but that’s not the point. Get after her, she’s just being stupid. She’s jumped loads of pickets.”
I feel like the world’s most useless rider as the bell rings again to restart my round. I push Dolly into a trot, then a canter. Alec’s words come back to me and I get determined. This pony is not going to show me up. I sit down in the saddle and ride her hard towards the jump, then give her a firm kick with my heels as we approach. She backs off again and I get my stick out, giving her a solid whack behind my leg. She shoots forward, flies over the jump and races off afterwards. I quickly regather my reins and get organised as we come barrelling towards the double. I push her on and she jumps nicely through it, picking her feet up much better now. Feeling my newfound determination, the little mare completes the rest of the course, although she hits the last jump hard and the back rail comes down.
“Twelve jumping faults and six time faults for a total of eighteen faults,” the announcer informs everyone as I ride out of the ring. I pat Dolly anyway and ride towards Alec, almost having a collision on the way with Natalie. She’s perfectly turned-out, of course, and Spider’s mane is beautifully plaited. I feel ridiculous and shabby and she stares down at me superciliously.
“Great round,” she says sarcastically. “It looks like you’ve finally found a pony you can ride. Oh, wait, no you haven’t.” She rides off before I can think of a witty rejoinder and I’m horrified to find my eyes welling up with tears.
Alec looks after her in surprise. “Man, that was a bit harsh.”
I blink hard, trying to control my emotions. “She’s a cow.” I don’t know why I’m upset about it, it’s not as though I want her as a friend anyway.
Alec pats my knee awkwardly. “Don’t worry about her. She’s full of it. She used to win everything on that pushbutton little palomino, but now she’s got a real pony and she can’t ride it.”
I smile vaguely and he nudges my leg. “Come on. You’ve got an hour or so before your next class. Are you hungry?”
The day improves after that. We wander around the show grounds and Alec introduces me to some of his show jumping friends, who’re all really nice and welcoming. We eat hot chips and drink more coffee, and my headache finally fades away in time for my next class. Alec has a metre-fifteen class that he’s jumping both Lucky and Jess in, so I’m left to myself to get Dolly ready for her last class. Lucy, one of Alec’s friends, is riding in the same class as me, and her father holds Dolly while we walk the course. This time the picket isn’t until the second to last fence, so I will hopefully have had time to get Dolly going by then. I canter her around and then put her over the practice jump several times, as per Alec’s instructions.
“Four faults for Lucy Winter and Peppermint Twist,” I hear the announcer say. “Next to jump, Natalie Westcott riding Silver Spider.”
Great, I’m competing against Natalie again. I bring Dolly back to a walk and ride over to watch Natalie, hoping like mad that she’ll have a terrible round. It only seems fair after her nasty comments to me earlier. Natalie canters Spider slowly in a circle, then rides through the flags and approaches the first jump. Spider pricks his ears and tries to speed up, but Natalie has a tight hold on the reins and he gets right close to the base of the jump before lurching over. She gets over the next two jumps in the same manner, but when she gets to an oxer, Spider knocks down the back rail. Her pony is fighting for his head now, frustrated that she won’t let him go, but his head tossing is only making her hold the reins tighter. He makes it over the first of the double, but runs out at the second. I can hear her mother yelling at her from the sidelines, as per usual, and for a moment as Nata
lie canters past me, I feel sorry for her. At least there’s nobody to get mad at me if I don’t do well, or to make me feel guilty if I don’t get it perfect. Natalie seems to have realised that she’s holding her pony back and she lets the reins out slightly. Relieved, Spider jumps the next few jumps well, but for some reason Natalie chokes him back up before the picket and he takes the back rail down, then knocks down the last jump as well.
Moments later I’m riding into the ring, determined to do better than Natalie to earn myself some bragging rights. She’s still sitting on her pony by the side of the ring, being berated by her mother. I canter Dolly through the flags and ride strongly towards the first jump. She gets in close and puts in an extra half stride, making her jump ungainly but getting over cleanly. I kick her on and we take the rest of the course in fine style, tapping a couple of jumps but leaving all of the rails up. She even jumps the picket with barely a hesitation and flies over the last jump to a scattering of applause from the crowd. Beaming, I bring her back to a trot and pat her profusely. Now I’m going to have to do a jump-off, I realise with delight. The loudspeaker crackles.
“Unfortunately this combination have been eliminated. Next to jump will be Katy O’Reilly riding Christopher Robin.” A girl trots past me on a solid dark bay pony as I ride out of the ring in a state of shock. Eliminated? What on earth for? Lucy is cooling off her skewbald pony and she looks at me sympathetically.
“Bad luck,” she says. “They shouldn’t really have let you keep going.”
I stare at her blankly. “What did I do wrong?”
“You didn’t wait for your start bell,” she told me. “I thought they were going to pull you up any moment, but for some reason they let you jump the whole course. She went well,” she adds, motioning to Dolly. “Small consolation I know.”
I slide dejectedly from the pony’s back and run up her stirrups. I can’t believe I was so stupid. I know that I have to wait for the bell before I can start my round, everyone knows that. I’m leading Dolly back towards the truck when I hear the commentator in the upper ring.
