Riding on Air (13 page)

“He's not really listening to you. We'll do a bit of shoulder-in to get him more on the leg.”

“OK,” I said. Under Helen's direction I gave Jinx a half-halt before the ankle-high railing fence that marked off the edge of the arena. Then as we turned the corner, I asked him with my seat, leg and hand to take the position for shoulder-in. Shoulder-in is a gymnastic movement that helps to supple and strengthen the horse and improves his ability to transfer weight off his forehand. It requires the horse to move on two tracks, so that he's bent around the inside leg of the rider, and rather than his hind feet following the path of his front feet he moves a little laterally as well as forwards, so he leaves three tracks, where his inside hind leg is actually following in the steps of his outside foreleg.

It sounds really complicated and it can be tricky to ride and even trickier to learn, but when you get it right it has an almost magical effect on your horse. When you get it wrong, the results can be downright ugly. On our first attempt we definitely weren't feeling the love or the magic; Jinx slowed down, hollowed his back and raised his head, resisting my aids. We managed a crablike sprawl, rather than a cadenced, energetic, more collected walk.

“Is that his bad side?”

“Good side,” I said, pulling a face.

“Pop into trot then. Sometimes it's easier if you're going more forward to start with.”

And, as I discovered, sometimes it's not.

I gave Jinx the signal to trot and he threw his head up and leapt forward. I sat down, reached into my knees and gave him a firm half-halt on the outside rein. Or I tried, at any rate. Much as he'd done at home in the paddock the week before, Jinx resisted, barging forward, leaning his considerable weight through his neck and shoulders and onto the bit.

My joints stretched and burned, almost screaming with pain. I gritted my teeth in an effort not to give voice to the discomfort. I eased off with leg and rein and then tried again, but Jinx had worked out I couldn't shut that door and he was determined to go through it. He stiffened, slowed down and sucked back from the bit; I gave him a good squeeze with the leg and urged him on with my seat. He responded with a cat leap forward, humping his back into an almost-buck, and then he was into canter and away. He bounded over the low railings around the arena with me precariously clinging to his back. I could forget about trying to stop him; it was all I could do to stay on board.

I barely heard the other kids in my class or Helen yelling suggestions, though I was aware of the noise of their raised voices behind me like a wave of sound—indistinct and rapidly irrelevant. Jinx sped across the field towards another troop of riders at a fast canter. It wouldn't take much to wind him right up. I was aware I only had moments to get through to him and convince him to slow down before the excitement really got his ex-racehorse blood pumping.

“Easy, boy,” I gasped. I was probably saying that more for my benefit than my horse, but he twitched an ear back at me, an encouraging sign. I realised I was one big ball of tension and, with a sickening drop in my gut, understood that my anxiety was at least as much to blame for this little escapade as Jinx's lack of co-operation and even the increasingly threatening clouds.

I sat up and squeezed hard briefly into my knees, gave the most fleeting half-halt on the reins with my protesting fingers, and thank heaven, my darling horse responded, slowing his pace then making a ragged downward transition to trot. It helped that we were sort of out in no-man's land by then, too far from the new group of horses to really get his interest and he was aware that he was leaving the group of horses he was used to, his ‘herd', behind him. With no other horses cantering with him, his excitement deflated and he started to think more about his mates that he'd left behind than the excitement of breaking into canter and bucking.

His trot definitely lacked enthusiasm and direction now and I got him back to walk without any more trouble. I used my weight and seat to turn him in a big steady half-circle, and headed back to re-join my group.

My knuckles throbbed, a booming, burning tempo of pain, but I wasn't game to take the reins in one hand. I wanted to stay in touch with Jinx so if he took it into his head to break into a jog I could turn him and stop him before he got started.

I concentrated on sitting deep and relaxed in the saddle, all my body language signalling my horse to go slow, and reminded myself to keep breathing, slow and steady. Sweat prickled and itched at my scalp beneath my helmet and a maddening trickle ran down the side of my face. But I ignored it as best I could and kept my focus on Jinx, on the slow tempo of his strides as he gave me a surprisingly good medium walk back towards the dressage arena.

I was hot and hurting, acutely embarrassed and more than a little worried. I hadn't had this kind of trouble with Jinx for months and I didn't know what was causing it now. I had to be doing something to set him off, but I didn't know what it was. And my stupid bloody useless hands absolutely weren't helping.

“Well that was a bit more excitement than we bargained for,” Helen said when I rode back into the arena. “What happened?”

“I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing wrong.” Frustration put a quaver in my voice, but the expression on Helen's face didn't change. She continued to look concerned and thoughtful, without any element of judgement creeping in. She'd done a lot of riding herself, ever since she was a kid; she probably knew really well how wanting it so badly and being unable to do it could frustrate you almost to the point of tears. And beyond, sometimes, if I was honest.

“Let's break it down, shall we? And I think we might stick to walk for a while.”

“Yeah,” I said.

Eleni manoeuvred her horse within speaking distance and as we passed her at the top of our respective circle arcs, she leaned over in the saddle to ask if I was OK.

“I'm fine,” I told her, “don't worry.” I turned Jinx back towards Helen, but even as I focused my attention intently on my instructor, Eleni's worried face stayed with me. I don't know why she was still so concerned, it was my horse that had totally humiliated me by jumping out of the arena, not hers. And I was supposed to be the dressage expert. Some expert!

“Melissa, you have to be more on top of him than that, he's not paying attention at all.”

“Sorry,” I said then attempted to shove every other thought out of my head with a determined effort. I had to concentrate. It was hardly fair to criticise Jinx for not paying attention when it was my responsibility. If I couldn't concentrate properly what chance did my poor horse have of getting it right? I made myself take a couple of deep breaths, pushing away the tension and frustration, and then I gritted my teeth and forced my aching fingers to close properly on the reins.

This time, we were going to get it right.

I fumbled with the tie on Jinx's hay net, blinking sweat out of my stinging eyes as I fought my painful thickened fingers and my own frustration. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to cry or scream, but I was at the point where I longed to be able to just give in to the anger and anxiety bubbling away inside of me and throw something. Even if it was just a tantrum.

But when you're a kid with a disease you learn not to do that sort of thing. You have to have better control or people treat you like an invalid or a freak. Then all of a sudden you find your friends don't want to do things with you anymore and parents don't want you to do things period.

Even with the special clip Gary had made me, I couldn't get my fingers to bend enough to do up they hay net and I couldn't hold the net up long enough with my other hand, so I kept almost dropping it. Jinx, hungry and impatient, snaked his long neck around me and buried his muzzle in the net, eager for a mouthful of hay.

“Jinx!” The net slipped out of my hands, the clip catching my knuckle, as Jinx's thrusting nose bore it down to the ground. Biting back tears I elbowed Jinx in the neck and pushed my body in between him and the net so I could pick it up again. Giving up on getting the thing safely hung on the rails of the yard, I upended the net instead and tipped the biscuit of lucerne out onto the ground. Better some of the hay got wasted than Jinx got his foot caught in the macramé-type arrangement of nylon string that formed the hay net.

I stepped aside as Jinx tore into his hay, big teeth grabbing as he shook the biscuit vigorously. He snorted outrageously as the lucerne leaf, shaken loose by his enthusiasm, blew up into his nostrils and I had to laugh. I gave him a careful pat and gathered the net clumsily into a bundle to put back in my gear bag.

I never could stay angry with Jinx for long. As I let myself out of the yard I armed sweat off my face and swallowed a sigh. It would have been easy to stay angry at him today, though, after the lack of finesse we'd shown Helen in the dressage session. I was more angry at myself, of course, and at least I knew it. Although I'd sometimes let my frustration get the better of me when I was younger, I was pretty good these days at keeping things straight and I hadn't unfairly taken my temper out on Jinx for my mistakes in years.

I'd nearly blown that record this afternoon. I looked at Jinx, chomping hay with his ears flopping, the low afternoon sun hitting his polished red brown coat and making it shine copper and gold over his hip and shoulder. Jinx didn't care about how well we did shoulder-in. All he really worried about was food, friends and more food. A good dirt bath every now and then and an occasional paddle in the dam when the weather was really stinking hot or the flies were particularly bad, and all was good with Jinx. If only life could be so simple for the rest of us.

I tucked my hay net away and used the big plastic tag attached to the gear bag zipper to do it up. Bending to slide my arm through the strap, I heaved the awkward lumpy weight of the gear bag up off the ground and staggered down the line of yards towards where Dad had parked the float when he dropped me off that morning. It hadn't occurred to me until after he'd gone that it would have been better to have parked the float behind the yards; with Jinx's yard in the middle of the row I'd have saved myself a lot of walking if I could have gone under the back rail all day instead of around. Mental note: remember that next time.

As I forced my leaden legs to carry me along the row of mostly empty yards (the jumping, sporting and cross-country sessions were still going) I wished William was there. No way would he let me hump this stupid bag the long way round. Hard on the heels of that thought, though, came the usual stomach-rolling skin-prickling sensations that seemed permanently attached to any sight, thought, mention or even suggestion of William.

I finally reached the float and slung the bag thankfully in through the access door. God, I was pathetic. Totally and utterly ridiculous. I sat in the doorway, my thigh muscles about as useful as jelly. Although I'd like to blame Jinx's little caper for the sudden weakness, I had to admit it owed more to thinking about William. And not just that I wished he was there. In a way, I was kind of glad he wasn't. It gave me a chance to draw a breath without wondering if I was going to pass out. Yeah—pathetic didn't begin to cover it. And I still didn't get why. Why on earth would he be interested in me?

I heard horses approaching and leaned forward idly to see who it was.

“Hey,” I said, recognising Eleni and Tash's horses, with, of course, my friends on board. “How did your lessons go?”

“A lot better than yours, by the sound of it,” Tash said.

“Tash.”

Tash shrugged and kicked her long legs free of the stirrups. Reaching under her chin, she unbuckled the strap of her helmet and pulled it off, cradling it in one hand while she scrubbed furiously at her strawberry blonde hair with the other.

“God, that feels better,” she groaned.

Eleni took her foot from her stirrup and kicked Tash in the leg.

“Either put that back on or get off before you get in trouble.”

Tash shrugged again. “I don't care. It's a stupid rule.”

“You're asking to get kicked out,” Eleni cautioned her, “but hey, you know that already.”

I squinted up at Tash, wondering what she'd do. I didn't think the ‘helmet on when mounted' rule was stupid—it seemed a reasonable safety precaution to me—but I didn't bother saying so. Everyone already thought I was a wuss, so I usually tried to avoid making that impression any worse.

Tash lifted her helmet and slid it back into place on her head but didn't bother to do up the strap. That kind of token nod to the rules was typical of her and it wouldn't save her from getting in trouble if anyone official came past. It wouldn't stop her getting her head cracked open if her horse spooked and threw her either, but I'm sure she knew that. She wasn't stupid, just stubborn.

“So,” Tash said, “What's this I hear about Jinx running away on you? Again.”

I looked at Eleni. “Big mouth.”

Eleni shook her head and slid down off her horse.

“Don't blame me,” she said, loosening the girth and running the stirrups up the stirrup leathers. “She already knew.”

Tash grinned. “You know what this place is like. Gossip central. I already heard about the perfect Polly dumping Carly, too. I told them that pony wasn't as quiet as she looked.”

“That's a bit rich,” Eleni protested. “It's the first time that pony's put a foot wrong in two years.”

“Whatever. Still no such thing as a bombproof pony.”

“Of course not,” Eleni agreed, completely taking the wind out of Tash's sails. Braced for an argument, her attention swivelled back to me. “Well?”

I shrugged.

“Just having an off day, I guess. A lot of the horses have their wind up.”

“Storm coming,” Eleni said, her voice muffled from having her head practically under her saddle flap while she fiddled with the girth. She emerged and glanced up at Tash. Tash looked down at her for a long moment, then back at me.