The Sequin Star by Belinda Murrell

slice of bread smeared with margarine and a mug of milky tea.
    A pair of jodhpurs and a short-sleeved shirt landed on the bed next to her. ‘You can wear some of my clothes,’ Rosina said, hands on her hips. ‘Yours are grubby and way too unconventional for the country folk. They’re shocked enough at my clothes as it is.’
    Rosina dashed out the door. Claire looked at her dirty jeans and the singlet top she had slept in. She decided Rosina was probably right, so she pulled on the jodhpurs, along with her own brown ankle boots.
    Outside the caravan was a bowl of water, where Claire washed her face and hands. She nibbled on her slice of bread as she crossed the lot.
    Claire could see that the Big Top and the other tents had already been dismantled. Roustabouts were running back and forth to the lorries, carrying piles of canvas, perfectly coiled ropes, strings of flags, benches and equipment. She saw Jem rolling along a large elephant tub, with Jaspar panting along beside him. Jem grinned and waved at her.
    Alf Sterling, the owner, strode back and forth, giving directions and barking orders. Claire slipped around the back to avoid him. She felt nervous of the imposing ringmaster.
    The golden lionesses paced back and forth in their cage. The lion roared with anger. Dogs yapped and barked. The elephants trumpeted to each other at their pickets, swinging their trunks and flapping their ears.
    Claire found Rosina in the field with the horses. There were six dazzling white horses with long manes and tightly plaited tails. In stunning contrast were the six coal-black horses. They were all graceful and muscular, and closely matched in size. Claire could tell just by looking at them that these were valuable, well cared for animals.
    There were also half a dozen miniature ponies and five brown-and-white skewbald horses. Rosina was in the process of catching and tethering them to the fence.
    Two of the white horses were bickering over a net of hay. ‘Move over, Florian,’ scolded Rosina. ‘Stand up, Chantilly.’ She rubbed Chantilly between the eyes as he snatched a wisp of hay from Florian’s net.
    Two horse trucks were backed up with their ramps down. A groom was spreading sawdust on the floor of one.
    â€˜Do you want to give me a hand?’ Rosina suggested. ‘Can you help me groom the horses?’
    Claire hesitated, leaning on the other side of the fence. The horses looked enormous up close. ‘Do they need to be groomed before they go on the truck? Why don’t we just do it when we get there?’
    â€˜We’ll do a parade when we get to the next stop,’ Rosina explained, tossing a curry comb to Claire. ‘So everyone will have to look their best. You can start with Pluto.’
    Claire ducked between the timber crossbars of the fence. She tentatively stroked the black horse with the curry comb. It stamped one hoof and whinnied, pulling back against the lead rope.
    â€˜Not like that,’ said Rosina. ‘You need to use firm pressure – like this – in big, sweeping circles. Put some muscle into it.’
    â€˜What sort of horses are they?’ asked Claire as she brushed Pluto’s satiny coat. To her surprise, she found the repetitious work soothing.
    â€˜The black and white horses are our liberty horses,’ Rosina explained. ‘They are trained to run free in the ring, without bridles or saddles. The white ones, like Chantilly, are Lipizzaner stallions from Spain, while the black ones, like Pluto, are Friesians from Belgium.’
    â€˜Aren’t the stallions dangerous?’ asked Claire. She wasn’t used to animals and she felt nervous of the huge ones.
    Rosina laughed as she lifted up one of the Friesian’s shaggy hooves. It was the size of a plate. She started to clean out his hooves with a pick. ‘We always use stallions because they are so strong and showy. As long as we don’t have any mares for them to fight