Riding on Air (21 page)

I watched as Tash turned Jinx smartly up the quarter line and asked for shoulder-in. Jinx sucked back and slowed down, so Tash gave him a whack behind her leg with the long schooling whip she carried. When Jinx shot forward in response, pulling at the bit, Tash sat deep and blocked with her hands, preventing him from falling onto the forehand and running through her aids. Tash just kept asking, shaping Jinx the way she wanted him, with Eleni yelling out encouragement that she had it, she just had to hold it, yes, yes, half-halt and soften. And as if by magic, it all clicked. Jinx stopped resisting and started to listen. His body responded to all the little signals Tash was giving him, from the way her weight contacted his back through her seat bones, to the position of her legs and the contact she maintained through the reins. Jinx did one, two, as many as six strides of lovely flowing shoulder-in. Tash was lavish with praise, then straightened him and gave him a good strong trot across the diagonal, giving all that energy she'd created with the suppling lateral movement somewhere to go.

“Excellent!” Eleni cried. As Tash circled back with a big grin Eleni turned to me, “Did you see that?”

“Fantastic!” I called out, relieved not to have to fake enthusiasm. It
was
fantastic and I thought my heart would explode with pride, seeing Jinx transform like that. I squashed that tiny little niggle over it being Tash on his back rather than me.

Glancing down at my hands, now resting in my lap to soak up the warmth of the afternoon sun, I had to admit they were feeling better after even just a week's rest, not just from riding, but from all the other stuff I had to do with Jinx every afternoon. Tash and Eleni had been sorting Jinx out after their training sessions, putting his rugs on and giving him his dinner. All I'd had to do when I got home from the pool was go and visit him with a carrot. Not that I really had needed to do that—I knew the girls would look after him properly. But I missed the afternoon hours with him, even if my hands were thanking me for it. Although, it was William they really had to thank.

I pressed my lips together and banished that thought. I was still too angry and upset to go there. I hadn't heard from him all week, so I guess I had my answer to whether I was still his girlfriend or not. My phone rested beneath my hands in the pocket of my hoodie, a stubbornly silent lump of plastic and glass. I tried not to keep hoping he would call me. I refused to give in to the increasing urge to call him. That wouldn't be cool.

And besides, why should I call him? He should call me. He was the one who had ruined everything and set all these ridiculous conditions.

As Tash and Eleni took Jinx through another shoulder-in on that rein and then changed direction to try it on his weak side, my brain swung between mingled jealously and pleasure at how well Jinx was going and an equally turbulent mixture of emotions worrying about William. He'd told me I had to swim instead of ride for the next three weeks but after that I didn't know what was supposed to happen. We were already at the end of the first week and the Goulburn dressage competition was now only three weeks away.

Of course, it didn't really matter. I was going to ride Jinx in that competition no matter what. And providing I complied with William's conditions for the next couple of weeks, there was nothing to stop me.

In the arena, the sun glinted on Jinx's shoulder and flank, turning his red-brown coat a burnished gold. As Tash rode him across the diagonal in a ground-eating medium trot, he finally looked like the dream dressage horse I'd been trying so long to turn him into. My throat filled with a surge of bitter-tinged pride and I blinked against the unwelcome prick of tears. He and Tash just looked so good together. I couldn't help wondering if it really had been that simple, if it had just been me holding Jinx back these past few weeks. Maybe even longer.

Oh, I knew my hands had been slowing us down, sure. I just hadn't thought that it might be worse than that. I hadn't considered that my lack of strength and feel was literally holding Jinx back and preventing him from realising his full potential.

Eleni told Tash to give Jinx a long-rein walk and then came across to me, her eyes down on the ground as she crossed the cut up ground around the edges of my homemade arena. She stepped carefully over the tires, holding her injured arm carefully with her good one.

“He's going so great, Melissa.”

“I can see that,” I said, getting awkwardly out of my chair. Eleni glanced at me swiftly and I realised I'd sounded a bit short. “It's amazing,” I said, injecting my voice with all the pride I felt and carefully sieving out any of the resentment.

“Not really, he's a good horse,” Eleni said. She knew me and she knew how I felt about Jinx, so she knew I wasn't feeling pure happiness right then.

“Tash rides him so beautifully,” I said, then screwed up my face because even I heard the wistfulness that had coloured my words. Eleni pretended not to notice.

Tash brought Jinx level with us and jumped off. She gave him a big pat on his slightly sweat-darkened neck and then took his reins over his head. Running up the stirrup, she reached down and loosened his girth.

“God this horse is fantastic to ride,” she called out as she went around Jinx to run up the other stirrup leather. Coming back round, she paused to stroke his nose then glanced up at me. “You've done an amazing job training him. I wish I could get you to ride Betsy.”

I shrugged, flattered and caught off guard, not knowing what to say. I held up my hands like kangaroo paws. “These are improving thanks to you guys, but I don't know that I'm quite ready to tackle Betsy.”

“Jeez, you and me both. I wouldn't get on her, even with two good collarbones,” said Eleni.

“Hey, that's my horse you're talking about,” Tash protested, checking Jinx's girth and letting it out another notch. Jinx rewarded her by shaking vigorously, leathers and saddle flaps rattling as he vibrated every bit of him he could manage, even his knees buckling.

“God,” Tash said, putting a hand to her chest dramatically, “he scared the crap out of me. Does he always nearly fall down like that?”

“Yeah,” I said. Still holding my hands curled loosely in front of me, I stepped over the tires and went to give Jinx a hug. “Jinx does everything with his whole heart, don't you baby?”

I practically felt the rapid meaningful glance that flashed between my friends.

“Speaking of hearts…” Eleni said.

“Which we weren't,” I said firmly.

“Have you heard from William?” Tash asked with her usual blunt disregard for social signals. I frowned at her, wondering if it was actually possible she just didn't pick up on them or whether she really was bold enough just to ignore other people's wishes.

“I'm sure you will,” Eleni said, correctly interpreting my not-answering as a no.

I, who wasn't sure at all, just shrugged and ran a cautious hand down Jinx's bony face. I stared at the fingers I could rest lightly on his finely-haired skin, aware of the reduced inflammation and the increase in sensation. Not to mention that they didn't hurt nearly as much as they had almost constantly for the past three months. My hands would never win any beauty contests and I'd never get a ring on the worst-affected fingers, but functionally they were already hugely improved.

If I was a better person I'd admit to William he'd been right. But I couldn't do that. There was too much more wrapped up in it than just that. I hooked my thumbs under the straps of my swimming goggles and eased them down over my forehead and into place over my eyes. I pressed the heels of my hands against the lenses, settling them into place by wriggling my nose and pulling faces to make sure I'd got a watertight seal, then wriggled my butt forward on the edge of the pool until I could slide into the water. A whole lot of wriggling involved, just because I couldn't just use my fingers or hands the way they were meant to be used.

I gasped at the initial wet embrace, like I always did even though I'd been coming here four or five times a week for almost the last 10 years. It wasn't so much that the water was cold—the pool was used by footballers and athletes and it was kept at an ideal temperature year-round—more that I always expected it to be cold. Maybe it was just the shock of being immersed; there was definitely no way of making any gentle transition between being dry and being wet.

I bent my knees and pushed off the wall, easing into a slow freestyle stroke. I held my fingers lightly together as my hands cut slowly through the water, thumb and forefinger first, feeling my way as always down that first lap while I assessed how my joints were feeling. At the other end I slid my arm forward and ducked under, twisting my body through the contortion of a tumble turn without actually needing to think about it, feeling only the satisfaction of having judged it accurately when my feet met the wall cleanly, knees bent, and I thrust myself away from the wall for the return lap. I kept to the left of the lane out of habit rather than any need; early on a Sunday morning there was hardly anyone using the lanes. I don't normally swim on Sundays, but when Jennie had said the night before that she was coming into town to get a few things I asked if she'd mind dropping me off for a swim. She'd smoothed out her surprise in that practiced not-asking way she had and said she'd be happy to. So here I was.

I flipped again at the shallow end and headed back up the pool for my third lap, turning my head to breathe with every third stroke so I breathed evenly to both sides, settling into a better stroke rhythm. The tension in the muscles of my arms and legs started to ease, as though the water washed it away or something. I could feel the stretch and reach in the muscles of my shoulders, a spreading warmth in my thighs and calves as those muscles loosened and worked.

I hated the idea of swimming—the monotony of the laps, the fuss and bother of changing from clothes to swimsuit and back again, the wrestle with the humidity of the changing rooms and a snarl of wet hair dripping down my back. I never wanted to swim and yet once I was in I enjoyed it. I liked the way it felt when my body glided along the surface of the water, arms and legs moving rhythmically, everything warm and loose and functioning. Once I was in the water I felt strong and powerful and my cranky joints and swollen digits weren't such a hindrance. At times like this, when my hands were feeling reasonable, I could almost forget, as I stroked with calm confidence up and down the pool, that there was anything wrong with me at all.

My whole body was responding happily to the time in the pool as well as the rest from riding and all the other horse-care jobs that went with it. It wasn't just my hands that were improving, my hips and wrists were nowhere near as sore as they'd been and that hot too-tight sensation had settled back to a bearable discomfort.

For lap 11, I rolled over and changed to backstroke, eyes on the ceiling girders to keep me straight, watching for the rope that marked the halfway point then the flags at each end, counting strokes and tipping my head back for a reassuring peek before I turned even though my body knew the distances and I'd never yet misjudged it and flailed one of my vulnerable damaged hands into the wall.

Going back down the pool, spitting at a bit of splash that dribbled into my mouth, I watched the ceiling and thought how glad I was that I'd come for an extra swim. It had been a bit of an impulse. After seeing how well Jinx was going I was determined to keep my fitness up so I could do him justice at Goulburn. I knew from experience that swimming fitness didn't necessarily translate to riding fitness, however, swimming was really all that was an option for me with my joints in such a prolonged flare up. I was also taking a short course of NSAIDS to help reduce the inflammation—a decision I hadn't made lightly. But I wanted to prove to everyone that I could still ride and the best way to do that was to kick butt at the Goulburn championships. William might have been right that my hands needed a rest, but that didn't mean he was right about anything else. I wasn't stupid and I wasn't taking any risks by riding Jinx. At least not any more risk than anyone took when they rode a horse.

Deep into my second set of 10 freestyle laps my comfortable mental drifting was rudely interrupted by a sudden clear thought: what if I was wrong?

I dug a little harder into the water, trying to push the unwelcome thought away, but after three quarters of a lap I had to slow down, my breathing unable to keep pace with my efforts. As I settled back into my usual rhythm, I wrestled with the fears I had made a habit of refusing to acknowledge.

Of course I could still keep riding. I wasn't anywhere near bad enough to have to give it up. I'd go to Goulburn with Jinx and hopefully be selected for the squad. Then, well, then we'd see. We'd probably be working at Elementary level by then and that was when things really started to get exciting.

I continued on through the last freestyle set before stopping at the shallow end for a short rest. I just had another 10 laps of backstroke to go to give me 40 laps, or 2000 metres, but I was a little breathless and I knew from experience that if I started on my backstroke like this I'd be swallowing water before I'd gone too far. I just wasn't co-ordinated enough in that stroke and I didn't really like going in a direction I couldn't see, but the physios were adamant that I swim equal laps in each stroke. With my arms hooked over the lane rope, I kicked my legs idly under the water so I didn't start to stiffen up—I still wasn't as fit as I could be—and it dawned on me that it was just like working Jinx. I made sure he spent equal time not just in each direction but also in different gaits and doing specific movements.

People were starting to fill up the building now. There were parents supervising little kids in the wading pool while also trying to keep an eye on bigger kids riding the water slide over and over. A couple of big-shouldered boxy-thighed footballers slipped into the lane beside mine, giving me a wave. I waved back, assuming my face was as familiar to them as theirs was to me, even if we didn't know each other personally. I grinned, thinking they probably weren't used to that, but I had no interest in football. It took up time on TV that would have been better used for equestrian sports coverage, of which there was bugger-all. A burst of giggling and splashing a few lanes away made me look, but it was only some girls and guys who looked about my age but whom I didn't recognise at all, which meant they probably weren't from my school or regular swimmers here.