What if all you trusted was to crumble about you?
When a new pony arrives at Valley Riding School, volunteer Abby has no idea of the integral role that he has to play in the unfolding of her life. She goes from riding once per week to preparing for...
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I sit in the back of the lorry, under a veil of terse silence. Hana sits beside me, looking straight ahead. Her dark eyes gleam with well-concealed tears, and I know that Kerys has scared her today. She won't be welcome back at Valley- that much is clear, although the reason may not be.
A lump wells in my throat as I replay today's events in my mind. Autumn's passport, hidden in plain sight amongst the others. Matt's nervousness, the revelation that Kerys is his mother.
Autumn following her across the showground, deaf to mine and Matt's pleas for him to come back.
I glance towards the front of the box, where Mr. Smith has taken the wheel and Matt stares sullenly out of the window. Sara sits between them- I can see her face screwed in thought in the rearview mirror. My eye catches the camera on the dashboard, displaying each of the three horses in the back. Only one has been used today because we left straight after my class.
Nobody wanted to ride in the aftermath of that.
Matt opens the glove compartment and draws out the passports of all the horses, before selecting one- Autumn's- and opening it. He traces details that I'm sure he knows by heart, and Sara gazes over his shoulder when he opens the breeding page. The names and the history held within the leaves of that booklet are clearly important to them both, some shared-
"Tell me what's going on." The words escape my mouth before I can contain and shape them, and they sound rough, uncouth.
The three at the front exchange glances, questioning one another. There is a long pause, before Sara replies, "It's a long story."
"I don't mind. I want to listen."
A ghost of a smile traces Sara's lips- "Then later, when we get back."
I nod, exchange a wearied look with Hana, and settle, half content, into my seat.
-
"It started with a horse." Mr. Smith begins, trembling voice warm with nostalgia. Having dropped Hana back home, we all sit in the house back at Seasons Stable, reclined on comfortable chairs with fingers clasped around mugs of hot chocolate. The warmth helps to numb the worry of losing Autumn, and anticipation of the coming story eases me into comfortable silence. "I grew up on a horse farm, breeding racehorses for a living. It was a family business, and I loved helping train the horses on the track, and breaking the foals. I was lucky, and my childhood was one of immense joy.
"Horses won races, horses lost races. Good foals were born, bad foals were born. Until I was nineteen more races were won than lost, more good foals were born than not, but as the broodmares grew older less foals were being bred, fewer races were being won. Our success dwindled, and so did my fathers love of racing. He gambled, and drank, and soon he became despondent, frequently threatening to sell up. I was distraught, and fought with all my might for the farm and its success. Our best broodmare was retired, and I desperately searched for a new one. None caught my eye, until my father threw a paper down upon the table. "That's the one!" He cried, a frenzy within his eyes, and as I peered at where his finger pressed with absolute certainty on the page, I beheld the image of a mare not long off the track, with several wins at Aintree under her belt. I was doubtful, but nevertheless enthusiastic, and agreed to drive down to London to view her.
