Just make sure you beat him today. It would give me great pleasure.’
Although I’m happy to go along with dissing Henry for his behaviour, I’m not stupid. I did play a part in the demise of our relationship. When I look back, it was all a bit too convenient, everything falling into place when I started working in Talyton. I was single. Henry was available. It seemed as if it was meant to be, and although I was heartbroken for a while after his betrayal, I sensed that I was never as committed as I could have been. I thought I loved him, but on reflection, I didn’t love him enough.
Dismissing thoughts of Henry, I fasten my stock around my neck, keeping it in place with my lucky pin, and pull on my jacket. I tie my hair back and tuck it inside a hairnet before putting my hat on and slipping into my leather boots. I fasten my gloves at the wrists, pick up my long dressage whip, adjust Willow’s bridle after Mum’s tacked her up, and we’re ready to go.
I lead Willow up alongside the ramp so I can jump on and walk her down to the warm-up area.
‘I’ll catch up with you in a minute,’ Mum calls after me, and I wave back as I ride to the top of the hill.
Although it’s a warm day there’s a breeze at the top of the escarpment where the ground falls steeply down to the valley covered in scrub and gorse. There are a few stands of tough firs and a tumbledown stone building, marking the highest point where the locals used to light beacons. The views stretch to the sea in the far south, and to rolling green hills to the north.
I give myself a mental nudge to concentrate on Willow rather than my surroundings, but it doesn’t have any effect at first. I’m aware of other riders cantering past me and the crackle of loudspeaker announcements attenuated by the wind. There’s a tack stall, a stand advertising Devon dairy ice cream and a hotdog and burger van emitting the scent of fried onions, which contributes to the nausea I’m feeling at the thought of entering the main dressage arena with its sand and rubber surface, the gleaming white marker boards around the perimeter and the judges’ box at the end.
As I gradually ease Willow into trot and then canter on both reins, I forget about everything. It’s just meand the horse, working in harmony. The nerves disappear and the test crystallises in my head, and when the steward calls me over to the arena, I’m ready.
I enter at a trot, straight up the centre line. The test flows, each movement leading into the next, and at the end, when I salute the judge, my throat tight with love and pride for my horse. I know we couldn’t have done any better.
Mum is in the warm-up area, waiting with Willow’s cooler, which she throws up over her back.
‘That was fantastic,’ she says, giving Willow a mint.
‘She was brilliant, wasn’t she?’ I couldn’t be more pleased.
As I take Willow back to the lorry for a break until the showjumping phase, I keep an eye out for Matt. I don’t like to admit it but I’m slightly disappointed when I don’t see him.
With a change of jacket, hat and tack, I’m ready for the jumping phase. Mum swaps our dressage saddle for the jumping one, and leads Willow around for me while I walk the course with my fellow competitors. Henry is there, but I keep my distance, concentrating on the route I’m planning to take and how to make the most of the corners to ensure Willow stays at a balanced and controlled canter while not lingering anywhere because the time allowed is tight. Shane and I walked the cross-country course yesterday, but the jumps in the arena weren’t set up. It’s a fair course, except for the treble, a row of three fences, related by one and two strides between them, and I wish I had him walking with me again, not so much for advice as for moral support.
I rejoin Mum and she gives me a leg-up. I adjust my stirrups and Willow and I are off again, warming up in the collecting ring over an upright fence and a small spread.
Although I’m happy to go along with dissing Henry for his behaviour, I’m not stupid. I did play a part in the demise of our relationship. When I look back, it was all a bit too convenient, everything falling into place when I started working in Talyton. I was single. Henry was available. It seemed as if it was meant to be, and although I was heartbroken for a while after his betrayal, I sensed that I was never as committed as I could have been. I thought I loved him, but on reflection, I didn’t love him enough.
Dismissing thoughts of Henry, I fasten my stock around my neck, keeping it in place with my lucky pin, and pull on my jacket. I tie my hair back and tuck it inside a hairnet before putting my hat on and slipping into my leather boots. I fasten my gloves at the wrists, pick up my long dressage whip, adjust Willow’s bridle after Mum’s tacked her up, and we’re ready to go.
I lead Willow up alongside the ramp so I can jump on and walk her down to the warm-up area.
‘I’ll catch up with you in a minute,’ Mum calls after me, and I wave back as I ride to the top of the hill.
Although it’s a warm day there’s a breeze at the top of the escarpment where the ground falls steeply down to the valley covered in scrub and gorse. There are a few stands of tough firs and a tumbledown stone building, marking the highest point where the locals used to light beacons. The views stretch to the sea in the far south, and to rolling green hills to the north.
I give myself a mental nudge to concentrate on Willow rather than my surroundings, but it doesn’t have any effect at first. I’m aware of other riders cantering past me and the crackle of loudspeaker announcements attenuated by the wind. There’s a tack stall, a stand advertising Devon dairy ice cream and a hotdog and burger van emitting the scent of fried onions, which contributes to the nausea I’m feeling at the thought of entering the main dressage arena with its sand and rubber surface, the gleaming white marker boards around the perimeter and the judges’ box at the end.
As I gradually ease Willow into trot and then canter on both reins, I forget about everything. It’s just meand the horse, working in harmony. The nerves disappear and the test crystallises in my head, and when the steward calls me over to the arena, I’m ready.
I enter at a trot, straight up the centre line. The test flows, each movement leading into the next, and at the end, when I salute the judge, my throat tight with love and pride for my horse. I know we couldn’t have done any better.
Mum is in the warm-up area, waiting with Willow’s cooler, which she throws up over her back.
‘That was fantastic,’ she says, giving Willow a mint.
‘She was brilliant, wasn’t she?’ I couldn’t be more pleased.
As I take Willow back to the lorry for a break until the showjumping phase, I keep an eye out for Matt. I don’t like to admit it but I’m slightly disappointed when I don’t see him.
With a change of jacket, hat and tack, I’m ready for the jumping phase. Mum swaps our dressage saddle for the jumping one, and leads Willow around for me while I walk the course with my fellow competitors. Henry is there, but I keep my distance, concentrating on the route I’m planning to take and how to make the most of the corners to ensure Willow stays at a balanced and controlled canter while not lingering anywhere because the time allowed is tight. Shane and I walked the cross-country course yesterday, but the jumps in the arena weren’t set up. It’s a fair course, except for the treble, a row of three fences, related by one and two strides between them, and I wish I had him walking with me again, not so much for advice as for moral support.
I rejoin Mum and she gives me a leg-up. I adjust my stirrups and Willow and I are off again, warming up in the collecting ring over an upright fence and a small spread.
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