Vets in Love (29 page)

‘You know why,’ I say brightly. ‘It’s the last one-day event of the season in two weeks’ time.’

‘And?’ he says.

‘I want to win it, of course.’

‘I wish you didn’t.’

‘I’m sorry? What did you say?’

‘Don’t you ever worry? Eventing’s a dangerous sport. I don’t like you taking part.’

‘So you’ve said, but you won’t put me off.’

‘I’d really rather you didn’t do it.’

‘Matt! Don’t be silly.’

‘I mean it,’ he says quietly.

I hold his gaze as he looks into my eyes.

‘Last night, you said you loved me, that you loved everything about me, so how can you suddenly change your mind? Eventing is part of my life.’

‘Would you give it up for me?’ He looks away. ‘No, I’m sorry. I can’t ask you to do that. Forget I said anything about it.’

I lean back and push my feet against the ground to make the hammock swing again. I’m not sure I can forget. It seems more than a little controlling.

When I go home to change into my riding gear, I find a fat trout left in foil on the doorstep.

‘That’s a funny present!’ Sage exclaims when we unwrap it in the kitchen. ‘It’s a bit like one of those strange stories about fish falling from the sky.’

I smile to myself. I think it’s a bribe from Nobby Warwick in return for my silence. It crosses my mind that I could be accused of handling stolen goods, but no one will find out because we’re going to cook and eat the evidence.

‘Did you stay with Matt last night?’ Sage asks.

‘I did, not that it’s any of your business,’ I say sternly, but Sage clearly thinks it is, because she goes on, ‘Are you in love, Nicci?’

‘I think so,’ I say, not wanting to explain the intricacies of what being ‘in love’ can mean because it would take too long.

‘Good,’ she says. ‘I like Matt.’

‘So do I,’ I say. ‘So do I.’

Chapter Sixteen

Pride Comes before a Fall

THE NEXT TWO
weeks are devoted to preparing for the one-day event at the end of September. Summer gives way to early autumn and the leaves are turning from green to orange, yellow and brown.

Finally the day of the event arrives. I think Willow knows we’re running late because she’s decided to rub three of the plaits in her mane out on the partition in the lorry on the journey. It’s being held at East Hill again, having been moved from another venue because the heavy rain over the past couple of weeks has affected the ground.

I lead her out of the lorry.

‘Willow, what have you done, you naughty girl?’ I say, when I see the curls in her mane. ‘She can’t go into the ring like that and we haven’t got time to redo them.’

‘Don’t panic.’ Mum is with Sage, who is joining us today to watch me and Willow perform. ‘I’ll see to Willow.’

‘I’ll help,’ Sage offers. She’s dressed in leggings and pink wellies and wearing her hoodie over her head to keep the rain off. It’s drizzling at the moment and it looks as if it’s set in for the rest of the day.

‘You can hold the pot of plaiting bands for me,’ Mum says. ‘You get changed, Nicci. Hurry up.’

‘How long have I got?’

‘Half an hour to warm up before your test.’

I shake my head. It isn’t long enough. Some horses are ready to compete after ten minutes and some need an hour to settle. Willow needs forty minutes to warm up and get her head straight. Any less and she isn’t ready to listen. To make things worse, I don’t feel terribly well turned out, because Cheska washed my white jodhpurs with a pair of red socks and I’m wearing my second best pair with the stain on the knee. I tried to buy another pair in Tack n Hack, but they didn’t have my size in stock and because I left it too late for Delphi to put the order in, they haven’t turned up in time.

I spring up the ladder and through the door into the living quarters of the lorry, which is sparsely furnished with a bench seat with stowaway storage underneath, a sink, microwave and kettle, and toilet cubicle in which there isn’t enough room to swing a proverbial cat. I strip off my waterproof trousers and exchange my T-shirt for a shirt and stock. I tie it carefully before securing it with a pin, which I manage to stab into my finger.

I swear under my breath when I notice the blood staining the immaculate white fabric. I run my finger
under the tap and grab the last plaster, which is really too small, from the first aid kit. It’s going to be one of those days.

‘Granma’s done the plaits,’ Sage says when I emerge from the lorry. ‘Willow looks really cool.’

‘That’s great,’ I say.

‘What can I do now?’ she asks.

‘Where are the studs?’ Mum interrupts.

‘They should be in the spares box.’

‘I can’t find them.’

‘I can’t jump without studs,’ I say, panicking.

‘Sage and I will look for them while you’re warming up.’

‘The ground’s going to be pretty slippery if this rain carries on.’ I check the local forecast on my phone. ‘Heavy showers with longer spells of rain later.’ I look at the sky, at the grey clouds scudding above the hills. I hope the worst of it holds off until after the event.

‘Nicci, you have blood on your collar,’ Sage observes.

‘I had a bit of an accident with the stock-pin.’

‘There’s another shirt somewhere in the lorry,’ Mum says.

‘I’ll get it,’ says Sage.

‘No, don’t worry. I need to get going.’ The butterflies are having a field day in my stomach, lurching rather than fluttering, because it suddenly occurs to me that I can’t remember the dressage test. Sage tested me and I knew it backwards last night, but now …?

‘Have you seen the test sheets?’ We have a folder of laminated sheets for all the different dressage tests.

‘I’ll find that too, and bring it over to you.’ Mum sighs. ‘What would you do without me and Sage?’

‘Thanks.’ I unbuckle Willow’s head-collar that Mum has left over her bridle to keep her tied to the lorry, and lead her across to the ramp, where I check the girth and stirrups before mounting, then I ride her over to the warm-up area. There’s no sign of Henry or Shane so far, although I know they’re both competing today, and I haven’t seen Matt. I tell myself that’s a good thing – it means I can concentrate.

Willow is lively, spooking at blades of grass.

‘Do you mind?’ I sigh. ‘I have no wish to end up down there in the mud.’

She isn’t listening. She trots an oval when I’m asking her for a circle and sticks her nose in the air when I ask her to flex her neck and come onto the bit. I don’t know about her looking like a donkey – at the moment, she feels like one.

‘I’m not sure what planet you’re on today,’ I grumble when she goes from donkey to racehorse in an instant, taking a sideways leap at the sight of a big brown leaf. ‘Come on, Willow. Pull yourself together.’

‘Having fun, Nicci?’ I turn to find Shane riding up beside us on a long-striding bay mare with a coppery sheen to her coat. ‘Remember to breathe,’ he adds with an encouraging smile. ‘Good luck.’

‘Same to you,’ I say as he passes by.

In spite of an initial hiccup when Willow makes the unilateral decision to head away from the dressage arena instead of towards it when we’re first called, the test goes reasonably well. We have a bit of a wobble
along the centre line and an early break into canter, but we’re back on track. Shane catches up with us again when we head towards the lorry.

‘Not bad,’ he says.

‘It could have been better,’ I say, patting Willow’s muscular neck.

I walk her around for a few minutes, letting the reins through my fingers to the buckle so she can stretch and relax, while I watch Shane’s test from a distance. It isn’t often that I get the chance to see him ride, and it’s an education.

I return to the lorry where Sage greets Willow with a mint and Mum throws a rug over her back to keep her warm.

‘Matt’s here,’ Sage says.

‘He’s made himself at home in the lorry – I told him to help himself to coffee.’

‘Hi, Nicci.’ Matt waves a mug at me. ‘Can I get you one?’

‘Thanks, but no, I can’t face eating or drinking anything.’

‘You can see why I don’t understand your passion for the sport, if you can call it a sport,’ he says. ‘What fun is there in being that nervous?’

‘I live for the adrenaline rush.’

‘Nicci depends on it,’ Mum cuts in, then she adds, to my embarrassment, ‘mind you, it isn’t the only thing that makes her heart beat faster.’

‘Mum! Do you have to?’ I say as Matt blushes.

‘I’m trying to help you relax, love,’ she says. ‘You seem very tense today. Now, let me look after Willow.
I’ve found the studs so I’ll put them in, and as soon as Shane’s done, you can go and walk the course with him.’

Matt jumps down to the ground.

‘I’d better be off. Thanks for the coffee.’ He moves round and touches my back. ‘Good luck, Nicci. I’ll catch up with you later.’

I change into a waterproof jacket with ‘Team Willow’ embroidered across the back, and join Shane to walk the showjumping course.

‘It’s a tight course,’ says Shane. ‘You’ll have to make sure you keep the rhythm on the corners. And it’s kick, kick, kick at the double. It’s a bit of a stretch.’

‘If she jumps like she did last time, she’ll make it with feet to spare.’

‘Don’t get too cocky. How does it go? Pride comes before a fall.’

‘And pain comes after.’ I smile at his look of consternation before adding, ‘I made that bit up.’

The sun comes out, catching the gleaming coloured poles of the show-jumps. There are a variety of fillers at the base of the fences, cat’s eyes, stars and flags, and a skinny – an ultra narrow fence of orange and black flames.

‘Be careful at the flames of desire.’ Shane is pleased with himself for making that description up. ‘You don’t want a run out towards the collecting ring. I see lover boy’s here – I hope he isn’t too much of a distraction.’

‘Ha ha,’ I say drily.

‘Good luck, VB.’

Considering my state of mind, the jumping goes well. Both Shane and I jump clear, and we’re first and second with Henry in third place. I’m lying ahead of Shane, but there’s less than a penalty between us. No one can afford to make a mistake out on the cross-country course if they’re going to maintain their position.

I ride back to the lorry park. Henry’s box is parked three down from mine.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Henry says, riding up beside me. ‘A jumping donkey!’ He backs his horse up, jabbing it in the mouth with one hand on the reins. Willow puts her ears back and swishes her tail. I’m glad I’m not his girlfriend any more, and even happier I’m not one of his horses. ‘Behave!’ he says, digging it in the ribs with his spurs.

‘How’s Matt?’ he goes on.

‘You can ask him. He’s about somewhere.’

‘You still with him?’

I nod, although it’s none of Henry’s business.

‘Even though Mel’s pregnant with his baby, allegedly.’

‘There’s no “allegedly” about it,’ I say, unhappy that Henry has raised a subject that’s never far from my mind. I don’t need any more reminders.

‘Matt’s certain then?’

‘Henry! You can’t help yourself, can you? Stop stirring.’ I pause.

‘Well, if it ever gets you down and you fancy some fun, no strings attached, you know where I am.’

‘Henry, if you were the last man on earth—’

‘All right.’ He grins. He’s weathering badly, his skin is like a fifty-year-old man’s. ‘It’s always worth a try.’ He looks past me where Shane is riding up towards us. ‘Oh, here’s your bit on the side. Hi Shaney, how’s it going?’

‘Hello, Henry. Good thanks.’ Shane asks his horse for a turn on the forehand, effectively pushing Henry out of the conversation.

‘I don’t know how you managed that dressage score, VB. I reckon the judge is blind.’ Shane is ragging me deliberately.

‘Ever the graceful loser,’ I tease back as Matt turns up too.

‘I’ve just come to wish my girlfriend luck,’ he says with a confident smile. He rests his hand briefly on my thigh. ‘Take care, Nicci.’

By the time I’m ready to go it’s been raining hard for an hour, but the ground is still tolerable, although one or two of the take-offs are getting slippery. I canter Willow over the practice jump. The first time she’s hesitant, which isn’t like her and I wonder if she’s trying to tell me something. I trot her in a couple of circles. Is she sound? I’m not sure. I wonder if I have time to call for Matt – I thought he might have come down to the start to see us off, but he isn’t here – but when Willow jumps a second time her blood is up and she flies it with ease.

Deciding that there’s nothing to worry about, apart from my overactive imagination, I keep the horse moving while I wait for the starter to call us into the box. I check the fastenings on my air vest and loosen
the medic alert band on my arm to allow the blood to circulate, while the rain begins to seep through my jodhpurs and gloves.

‘You’re next,’ calls the starter, and I ride Willow into the start box built from white posts and rails. I wait for the countdown – three, two, one and we’re off. I squeeze her sides and she springs forward, taking a confident hold of the bit. I give her a quick pull back to remind her that I’m the one calling the shots and we take up a good steady ground-covering gallop towards the first fence, a big log with advertising sponsor boards on each side, red flag to the right and white to the left, after which we take the broad swing right up the hill between the trees and spectators.

Willow gets into her rhythm and I’m beginning to enjoy it, in spite of the rain in my face and the wind in my ears. Willow makes nothing of the open ditch, the palisade or the bullfinch, jumping bravely through the brush protruding out of the solid base, relying on my assurance that the landing is safe because she can’t see it as she approaches.

I pat her neck to thank her before galloping on down the hill, this time to the water jump – a complex of obstacles, arranged around an artificial lake. Remembering my discussions with Shane last night, I take the quicker but trickier line because I’m in this to win it, not to come second or third. I wonder about taking a pull as we’re hurtling across the grass towards the log into the water but decide to let Willow go. Unlike some horses, she has no fear of water and she doesn’t hesitate.