Vets in Love by Cathy Woodman Page B

I don’t jump too big before my round because, as Henry kindly observed, Willow isn’t the most reliable showjumper. If I push her now, she’ll decide she’s done enough and will put less effort into her jumping when we’re in the ring. I could wear spurs like Henry and let her know who’s boss, except that for Willow the saying ‘You can tell a gelding, but you have to ask a mare’ holds true.
    I have a view of the main jumping arena, where Henry is first to go with his black horse, Karizma. Willow and I walk around, keeping half an eye on how he approaches each jump. It’s useful watching another competitor – you can get a sense of where the problems are on the course – and Henry jumps it perfectly and within the time. He makes it look easy.
    I stroke Willow’s neck and give her a pep talk as Mum comes walking over to give me the news that I’m in the lead after the dressage and Henry is second.
    ‘No pressure then,’ I say with a nervous smile.
    Within twenty minutes, we’re in the arena, cantering down to the first fence, a plain rustic upright that Willow clears with ease. I keep the canter steady, although she’s fighting for her head, wanting to go faster and fly them like a steeplechaser, which is not good because she’ll flatten out and take the poles with her.
    ‘Steady,’ I murmur. ‘Steady.’
    We jump the next four with a good rhythm, thenturn away from the entrance to the collecting ring to face a double spread of blue and white poles gleaming in the sunshine. Willow’s ears flick back and she slows the pace, knowing very well she’s close to the exit, but I’m ready for her, giving her a good nudge with my heels to send her forwards to the next fence, another spread with a spooky filler painted with tiger’s eyes. Willow doesn’t hesitate, flying that one and extending nicely for the water jump. And now it’s the penultimate obstacle, the tricky treble. I’d like to take a pull to steady her up, but I’m aware that time is ticking away and every tenth of a second counts.
    Willow flies the first element, takes one stride, flies the next and takes two short strides to the third. I hear the rap of her hooves against the back pole when we’re suspended in the air, and I’m listening for the sound of the pole hitting the ground as we canter away, knowing that our chance of a placing let alone a win could be over.
    But it doesn’t fall and I can focus on the last obstacle, another spread. I feel Willow lifting herself into the air, tucking her forelegs under her chest and arching her back to make the height before she stretches across the parallel bars and lands well beyond as I push her on through the finish.
    Clear! We’re clear! I lean forwards, patting Willow’s neck as she steadies her pace. I can’t believe it. We’ve been close before, but not so close that I can almost smell victory.
    ‘And that’s a clear round within the time allowed, so no penalties to add to the dressage score for NicciChieveley and Willow, keeping them in the lead just ahead of Henry Belton-Smith and Karizma,’ the commentator says over the loudspeakers.
    I let Willow canter a half circle before bringing her back to a trot.
    ‘That was fabulous,’ Mum says, meeting us in the collecting ring. ‘Whatever she’s on, I’m having some of it.’
    ‘There’s no magic ingredient,’ I say, smiling as I catch my breath and thanking Shane inwardly for making me go to the gym for a couple of sessions on the cross-trainer.
    Willow doesn’t care. All she’s interested in is nudging Mum’s pockets for another mint.
    ‘Hi, Nicci. I caught the end of your round,’ Matt says, strolling up to join us. ‘I’m impressed.’ He’s dressed in a short-sleeved check shirt and chinos, and there’s no sign of a sling.
    ‘Thank you,’ I say a little awkwardly.
    ‘I haven’t had too much to do as yet. I’ve sent two horses home, one with a nosebleed and one that came off the box lame.’ He smiles