Prize Problems (3 page)

“It's like prison camp, here,” Sharon joked, winking at us. “You won't know what's hit you!”

Amber laughed, but Grace looked terrified.

“No it isn't, Sharon, everyone will have a wonderful time!” exclaimed Annabelle, clearly annoyed by Sharon's irreverence. “After lunch, I'll introduce you to the ponies. We've already allocated them to you all, according to the rider profiles you returned to us, but we may have to swap you round if we find things don't work out.”

“Oh, who have I got?” pleaded Amber. “I so want Sorrel!”

“Only because you think she'll teach you the finer points of horsemanship,” teased Zoe, quoting from the High Grove website.

“Get lost Zoe, you loser!” replied her sister.

Annabelle glanced at her clipboard, shook her head and looked a bit smug. “Sorry, my dears, no one will know until after lunch. We'll have a lesson this afternoon to make sure you all get on with your ponies, then after we've cleaned our tack and turned the ponies out, it's probably warm enough for a swim before supper. Then tonight we've got some wonderful horsey DVDs for you all to watch! Meanwhile, there's a full schedule on the notice board in the dining room. You'll also see there that we always have a best-kept pony competition, a tidiest-stable competition and a cleanest tack competition, so bear that in mind whenever you're grooming, mucking out and cleaning tack!”

I heard Bean groan. She hated doing any of those things. I thought Sharon could be right about the prison camp, despite the wink and the grin.

“Cool!” exclaimed Amber, punching the air. “I am so going to try to win one of those!”

“Same here!” said Ellie.

“You so won't, Amber,” Zoe said. “You're always in too much of a hurry.”

Amber pulled a face. “I said I'm going to try,” she said. “There's nothing wrong with trying.”

I heard Grace's mother whispering to Grace that she ought to try and win something. It would do her good, according to her mother. Grace stayed mute.

“Do you think Grace's mom is going to stay all week?” Bean whispered to me out of the corner of her mouth.

“Don't—that's totally not funny!” I whispered back, fighting visions of Grace's mom laden down with trophies—she'd be bound to win everything.

“I can't wait to tell Dee about her,” Bean continued, staring at Grace's mom in fascinated horror. “She thinks her mom's bad!”

I nodded in agreement. Dee's mom Sophie was a hundred times better.

Finally, Grace's mother managed to tear herself away—but not before she'd had a long conversation with Annabelle, which we all overheard, regarding the expectations she had of High Grove Farm. It seemed that unless Grace morphed into a potential for the Olympic equestrian team over the next five days, she would consider the money paid for Grace's vacation totally down the drain.

“Your mom's a nightmare!” Amber said, nudging Grace's arm good-naturedly. “But most moms are!” she laughed.

For one horrified moment, I thought Grace was going to cry. Amber noticed, too.

“Hey, only joking! She's gone now, you've got five days of freedom!”

“She wants me to learn to jump,” whispered Grace, frantically stroking Soot who, quite content in his role as comforter, closed his eyes and purred even louder. “But I don't want to. I just want to ride Bobbin, my favorite pony at my riding school, but she keeps on talking about getting me a pony.”

“Why wouldn't you want to learn to jump?” sneered Ellie. “It's so totally the best thing. I could jump and jump and jump, it's so fantastic.”

“Well, not everyone likes doing the same thing,” said Bean. “If you don't want to jump, Grace, just say so.”

Grace's blue eyes widened, her hand hovering over Soot in mid-stroke. “Can I do that?” she asked.

“Sure can!” said Amber. “If you can't, we'll stick up for you!”

“Why do you always have to shove your nose in, Amber?” asked Zoe. “It's none of your business.”

“Hey, Grace is worried, I'm being supportive!” Amber said. “We have to stick up for each other, right?”

“Amber's right,” said Bean passionately. “Grace is here to enjoy herself, not be scared into doing something she doesn't want to do. And I'm sure you'll get a fantastic pony, they all looked awesome on the website.”

“I'm sure none of us will be made to do anything we don't want to,” said Zoe. “We're on vacation, not at school.”

“Well, I still don't see why you wouldn't want to jump!” said Ellie.

Bean put her arm round Grace. “Stop worrying. You're going to get a great pony and we'll all make sure you have a fantastic time!”

Grace nodded gratefully and resumed her cat-stroking offensive.

I could tell that Bean's sympathy with Grace was due to being so out of sync with her own family. Bean loved Tiffany and she rode really well. Her talents lay in other directions from the rest of her family and I wondered whether Grace was the same. Maybe she didn't want to ride. I couldn't help thinking that if that were true then Grace wasn't going to have a very good time on a riding vacation.

Not a good time at all.

The High Grove Farm ponies lined up along the fence, giving us the once-over and looking just as cute and awesome as they had on the website. I felt a shiver of excitement run through me. Never mind that Grace was nervous, I hadn't ridden any pony other than Drummer for ages. Curling my fingers around Epona in my pocket, I realized how much I was looking forward to enjoying some cozy chats with my allocated pony. Wouldn't he or she be surprised!

But then the effect of Epona kicked in and I could hear the ponies. I never learn…

“Will ya look at this group, what a bunch of amateurs!” exclaimed the piebald, Harry, looking us up and down through his long, white forelock. He spoke with a loud, confident, New York accent.

“I bet none of them can ride,” sneered Sorrel, the chestnut. Her mane, by contrast, was pulled short and her legs, unlike Harry's, were sleek and free from feather. Her voice was clipped and uptight, like someone trying to talk fancy. “I bet I get another rider hanging on to my reins all week. I don't know what they teach people at riding schools these day, I really don't.”

My initial thrill of anticipation tumbled down a notch.

“I don't care who I get, as long as it's not the fat one,” whined Cherokee, the bay with white splashes, eyeing up Grace. “My legs won't stand the weight.” I looked at his legs—white from the knees down, complimented by a splash of white on his nearside shoulder and another one on his offside flank, which broke up his dark brown body and black mane and tail. He looked so cool. He sounded anything but.

“Which one is the fat one?” asked Appaloosa Dot-2-Dot, her head going from side to side as she examined us all.

“I wouldn't worry,” Harry told her. “She's obviously a Shadow candidate.”

“What's that?” Upon hearing his name the ancient snowy-white pony opened his eyes briefly before closing them again.

“Don't worry, Shad, we'll wake you if anything interesting happens,” promised Sprout, yawning.

“Which it won't!” snapped Sorrel.

Any enthusiasm I'd felt was now oozing out through my boots and trickling on to the grass like a mutating virus. This was so not what I'd expected.

“Which one is the fat one?” repeated Dot.

“Hey you guys, what does Dot-2-Dot have in common with my manger two minutes after feeding time?” asked Harry.

“They're both empty!” chorused the other ponies, laughing.

“I don't get that,” said Dot.

“Are they saying anything?” Bean asked me, out of the side of her mouth. “Are they as cute as they looked on the website?”

“Yes they are,” I hissed back, “and no they're not!”

“What do you mean?”

I sighed—I was about to burst Bean's bubble of positivity. “The piebald thinks we all look useless, Sorrel is uptight and grumpy and Cherokee keeps complaining about his legs—and they're being really rude about Grace.”

“Grace? Why?”

“They say she's fat!”

Bean looked across at Grace who was sucking another strand of hair. “You couldn't call her fat,” she murmured, “she's just a bit bigger than the rest of us.”

“That's not how they see it.”

Annabelle gave us all one of her trying-too-hard smiles. She had changed into a lavender-colored polo shirt with purple jodhpurs, which reminded me of Katy. I wondered, with a pang of homesickness, how she was getting on with Drummer and resolved to call her as soon as possible for an update.

Unaware of having lost me to thoughts of home, Annabelle continued, brandishing her clipboard. “We've allocated ponies according to your experience so now's your time to start bonding!”

Sharon held a green halter at arm's length. “Who's got Harry?” she asked Annabelle.

“Ellie, dear, we've given you Harry, our gorgeous piebald,” Annabelle enthused. “I know you two are going to get on famously.”

“Yeah, like a house on fire!” I heard Harry chuckle.

Taking the halter, Ellie glanced at the field gate, the confidence she'd shown earlier totally gone.

“We'll all go in and catch the ponies together,” explained Annabelle.

“Shadow?” asked Sharon.

“Grace,” said Annabelle.

“Phew!” sighed Bean.

“Thank goodness!” sighed Sorrel, as Grace took the blue halter from Sharon's outstretched hand.

“Told ya!” snapped Harry, triumphantly. “Saw that one coming a mile away!”

“Sprout?” asked Sharon, holding out a leather halter and rope. Annabelle read out my name. I had really wanted Cherokee, as he reminded me of Drummer, but Sprout looked fun, and I wasn't disappointed.

“He's a bit of a lunatic,” Sharon told me, and winked.

“Oh, OK,” I gulped, wondering what form of lunatic Sprout would be.

Amber got her wish and was paired with Sorrel, giving an air punch and emitting a yell of YES!, and Bean was given Cherokee ( “Dirt-colored, thank goodness!” I heard her exclaim), which left Zoe to catch Dot-2-Dot with the pink harness presented to her by Sharon.

Accepting my carrot bribe, Sprout stuck his nose in his harness without a murmur. His tiny pink snip was dead cute and his mane stuck up and wafted about as he moved, which made him look slightly manic. Stroking his nose I eyed him up and down. Bigger than Drummer—about 14.2 hands, whereas Drum is just over 14 hands—and slender in build, he looked part Welsh with a nice head and only a hint of feather on his heels. Bean caught Cherokee without any trouble, but Sharon had to help Grace with Shadow—even though he stood rooted to the ground like he was nailed there—and Annabelle fussed a bit around Ellie, but eventually we all had our ponies in their stables and were grooming them for our first ride.

“What's yours like?” I heard Harry yell to Sorrel. “I'm going to have to nurse mine all week if this is the best she can do.”

“Mine's surprisingly competent,” Sorrel snapped back about Amber. “Oh, wait a minute, I spoke too soon. Don't do it like that! All wrong—totally the wrong brush for totally the wrong place. Ouch! Honestly!”

“There's a spider on my harness,” said Dot in a far-away, singsong voice.

“Shake it off quick, Empty!” advised Harry. “Otherwise we'll all suffer from their hysterics!”

“Mine seems to know what she's doing,” I heard Cherokee say about Bean, “so that's one thing I won't have to worry about!” I was beginning to dread learning how Sprout viewed me. I made a special effort to be gentle as I groomed his face.

“Well, I've had better,” I heard Sprout remark. The nerve! I was just deciding that I'd show him, when Zoe let out a blood-curdling shriek which made every equine head shoot upward in anticipation of, at the very least, a nuclear attack.

“Ouch, my ears!” I heard Cherokee groan. “Not to mention my nerves, which are now in shreds.”

“Told ya, didn't I!” snapped Harry.

“You're such a know-all, Haz,” said Sprout.

After Zoe had stopped hyperventilating at Dot's spider, and Amber had stopped laughing at her sister's dismay, and Zoe had stopped glaring daggers at Amber, we tacked up.

Stroking Sprout's neck I whispered in his ear, which flicked back at the sound of my voice. “What kind of lunatic are you?” I asked him as butterflies fluttered around in my stomach. Would I be able to cope with Sprout? Or would I embarrass myself in front of everyone? It was time to find out.

Everyone took ages to get their ponies ready but eventually we were in the outdoor school, mounted and lined up in front of Annabelle. Bean steered Cherokee up beside me.

“Cherokee feels so different to Tiffany,” said Bean.

“You really suit him,” I told her. “You're just the right size for him and your brown jodhpurs tone in with his color—and your new brown gloves do, too. You'd easily win a class for rider most like her pony.”

“It's so funny seeing you on a different pony,” said Bean. “What's Sprout like?”

“Not sure yet,” I said, “but he's a lot narrower than Drum. I didn't realize what a tub Drum is!”

After Annabelle and Sharon had inspected our tack (Harry's green saddle blanket was all bunched up on the offside, which earned Ellie a black mark), and Annabelle had written some notes on her clipboard, we were ready to head out.

“OK, we'll all walk round in open order, so you can get used to your ponies, and then we'll go into closed order and see how you get on. Pia, dear, take leading file on the right rein, please.”

I gave Sprout's sides a nudge with my legs, just as I would have done if I'd been on Drummer and he leapt into action, almost leaving me behind. Talk about an over-reaction! I'd have to tone down my leg aids—Sprout was obviously quite sensitive. My mount had a short, choppy stride, which made me feel like we were covering the ground at a super-fast rate. He carried his head high in front of my hands and I could see his mane going in all directions. Everything felt strange as we scuttled around the perimeter of the school and I felt very high up. Sprout's saddle was harder than Drummer's and his reins were narrow, which gave me a completely different feel on them. It felt so odd riding a different pony, plus—I realized with an apprehensive pang—I hadn't had a lesson for, like, centuries.

“Pia, my dear, see whether you can slow Sprout down with some half-halts,” Annabelle suggested.

Half-halts, mmmm, I thought. Drum and I were so used to each other, we just sort of muddled along without thinking. Now I was on Sprout, I would have to wake up and remember how to ride. Straightening my back, I asked Sprout to slow down, releasing my aids as he responded. A half-halt. Or so I thought.

“You need to use your seat bones, Pia, dear,” said Annabelle. “Apply your back brake, rather than just using the reins. Sit up. Taller, that's right. Now push your chest toward your hands—not too much, yes. Now can you feel your seat bones under you,?”

I could. And so could Sprout. He immediately slowed down, which was a relief. I mean, no one likes being towed along by their mount, it's totally scary. With the brakes working I felt myself relax. Wow, I thought, this riding vacation could really help me brush up on my riding skills. Awesome!

Annabelle turned her attention to the others. Amber was to shorten her reins and sit up more, she was riding like a cowboy, apparently. Ellie was leaning forward and Annabelle told her to put her shoulders back and put more weight into her heels. Zoe, although her position was very good, needed to relax and allow her body to follow Dot's movement more. Annabelle then suggested that Grace remembered to breathe, instead of holding her breath in anticipation that something dreadful was going to happen—it wasn't, she assured her—and then she praised Bean's position and said that if she could remember to look up between Cherokee's ears, instead of down at the ground, she would be almost perfect. We were all instructed to remember what she'd said so she didn't have to keep saying it all week, which seemed fair enough. I was having great fun practicing my half-halts. Apparently, I was the only one.

“Here we go,” I heard Sprout complain. “Usual thing—give them an idea that works and they do it to death. I'm going to be half-halting all week, I can see that!”

“At least mine's light. I don't fancy Shadow's job, carting Lumpy around all week!” laughed Harry.

I looked across at Grace on Shadow. She really wasn't very big, and Shadow didn't seem bothered. Actually, Shadow seemed to be carrying out all the school movements without the need to stay awake!

As our lesson continued I got more used to Sprout and started to enjoy myself, although I was mortified to learn how sloppy my riding had become without regular lessons. Annabelle kept reminding me about my hands, my legs, my head—they were all doing something wrong. I'd been doing it badly for so long, the wrong things felt right so that when I corrected them, they then felt all wrong. I hoped by the end of the week that the feelings would be reversed and I would be a better rider. Wouldn't Drum be surprised!

I wasn't the only one having problems: Amber kept getting told to sit up—she did ride a bit slumped—and Zoe was rather wooden. Bean only needed a couple of tweaks, though, and she looked really tidy on Cherokee. It was odd seeing her on a different pony, I was so used to her on Tiffany. The surprise was Grace, who sat nicely and had Shadow doing everything right. After the criticism from her mother I'd expected her to be all over the place but she was a much better rider than Ellie, who was clearly a real novice. I couldn't help thinking that her boast about getting a show jumper was wildly optimistic.

We ended the lesson with the tiniest, weeniest jump. Annabelle explained that we'd be tackling small jumps and fallen logs out hacking and Bean and I exchanged glances—it sounded like fun to us! Unfortunately, it didn't to Grace, who looked like she was going to be sick. After some convincing Grace headed Shadow toward the pole, her eyes tightly shut. But the gray pony simply plodded over with the tiniest bunny hop. As she landed Grace, finding herself still in the saddle and in one piece, could have won the-biggest-grin-in-the-world competition. From that initial jump, poor Bobbin was history, replaced by Shadow as the new love of Grace's life!

Sprout's style was nothing like Shadow's. Launching himself at the jump five strides out like it was a high puissance wall at a show jumping competition, he neatly popped over it with a flick of his heels, leaving me ever-so-slightly behind, which Annabelle noticed. Sorrel copied Sprout's approach, then stopped dead at the last moment—exactly what Annabelle had told Amber to expect. Despite the warning, Amber slid over the chestnut mare's shoulder and onto the ground.

“Ouch!” she said.

“I'm so not into jumping,” declared Sorrel, sticking her nose in the air in disdain.

“Ha, ha, ha, I can see Sorrel is helping you master the finer points of horsemanship already!” laughed Zoe.

Unhurt, Amber was up and in the saddle again in no time, a determined look on her face. Sorrel didn't get a chance to stop a second time—Amber kicked on and they sailed over the pole with room to spare.

“Well done, Amber!” said Annabelle. “You need to ride Sorrel like that when we're out, don't let her even think of stopping!”

“I'll think what I like, thank you!” said Sorrel, shaking her head in disgust.

By the end of the lesson the personalities of the ponies were becoming clearer. Harry was a loud joker, but kindly, taking care of Ellie. Short-tempered Sorrel huffed and puffed and complained all the time in her clipped tones. She wasn't taking any prisoners and it was clear Amber couldn't just sit there, she had to ride. Dot-2-Dot appeared to be in her own little bubble and didn't get what the others were saying most of the time, and the only thing I heard from Shadow was snoring. Cherokee was the whiner. If he wasn't complaining that his bridle pinched his ears he was telling everyone that his girth was too tight and that his legs weren't too good today. Sprout, I was still getting to know. Apart from going everywhere in a hurry he seemed fine, and once I got used to his stride I was sure I was going to enjoy riding him. My initial fears about not being able to cope melted away. Phew!

“That was really good!” enthused Annabelle, beaming at us as we lined up and dismounted. “Now we'll go in, feed and groom the ponies, and turn them out before cleaning tack.”

Bean looked at me and rolled her eyes.

After untacking Sprout, I fetched his feed.

“Ah, at last!” he exclaimed, thrusting his nose into his manger and shoveling down his feed.

“Steady on,” I said, patting his dappled neck and retreating. This was familiar ground—Drum loves food, too. As I bolted the door behind me, I noticed Grace hovering outside Shadow's door with the bucket as Shadow leaned over the door with an expectant look on his face. I had wondered what it would take to wake him up—a feed bucket seemed to do the trick.

“Help!” implored Grace.

“Just undo the door and tip the feed in his stall,” I said.

“I can't,” she whispered, “he looks wild!”

Wild? Jeez, she should see Drummer when he's kept waiting for his feed, I thought. Compared to dear old Shadow, he looked demented!

“Come on,” I said, sliding the bolt open, “I'll come with you.”

Pulling Grace in behind me, I showed her how to quickly upend the bucket in Shadow's stall and stand back. “Ponies are obsessed with food, Grace. The longer you keep them waiting, the worse they get. But look, Shadow won't hurt you, he's just greedy.”

Grace stroked Shadow's snowy mane and bit her lip.

“I don't think I'll ever cope with a pony of my own,” she said.

“Don't you want a pony?” I asked. I mean, who wouldn't?

“Oh, I'd love a pony like Shadow, but not one like my mom would want me to have.”

I thought of the type of pony Grace's mom would buy—one like Tiffany, or Dolly, or a younger Sorrel. A pony that would satisfy Grace's mom would terrify Grace. She was a classic sufferer of OAP syndrome—over-ambitious-parent.

Tack cleaning was eventful: Bean did her usual hasty wipe over with a soapy cloth. Zoe took Dot's bridle apart and spent ages poking saddle soap out of the holes with a stalk of straw and Amber copied Bean, telling jokes the whole time. Grace cleaned Shadow's tack carefully and thoroughly but Ellie used a sopping wet sponge, so Harry's bridle went all hard and dull. I hoped I'd done a decent job on Sprout's tack and it looked pretty good when I'd finished. But what I thought of it didn't count. Annabelle carried out an inspection—awarding points and scribbling notes on her clipboard.

We brushed the ponies over before turning them out. I sponged feed dust from Sprout's muzzle and picked out his hooves before brushing out his saddle mark.

“Oooo, that feels much better,” he said.

“You're welcome,” I said. He gave me a funny look. “I've got a pony called Drummer at home,” I told him, wondering what Drum was doing. Was he out in the field with Bluey? Or finishing his feed and neighing for Katy to let him out?

Sprout was silent.

“Why do you call Dot-2-Dot ‘Empty'?” I asked him.

“Because she is—totally empty, nothing going on in her head,” he said. Then he turned his head very slowly, and stared at me. I could almost hear his brain working, wondering how I could possibly know Dot's nickname.

I nodded my head. “Yup, I can hear you,” I said. “You, and Harry, and Sorrel. All of you. I'm totally fluent in pony-speak.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course you are,” Sprout muttered, to himself.

“Harry's very New York, Sorrel's full of herself and Cherokee has every complaint under the sun, it seems,” I told him.

Sprout just stared at me, saying nothing.

“Go on,” I challenged him, “tell me something I would never know.”

“My mother's name was Spice,” he said slowly.

“Spice,” I said, “is a very nice name for a pony.”

Sprout did a double-take. Then he stepped back and looked me up and down before shaking his head. “I don't think so. No, no, no, no, so not happening…”

“It so is,” I said, nodding.

“Are you ready, Pia?” asked Annabelle, sticking her head over Sprout's half-door and bestowing a smile on me.

“Absolutely,” I said and led my bemused pony out into the sunshine.