Vets in Love (7 page)

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, then
turn 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 Nicci
Chieveley 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 broadly.

The heat from the sun burns into my back and my hair is damp and sticky under my hat.

‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’ Mum says, hovering. I can see her eyeing him up, and I think please, please, please, don’t say anything embarrassing.

‘This is Matt, the vet. Matt, this is Kathryn, my mother.’

‘And groom,’ Mum adds.

‘That as well,’ I say cheerfully. ‘I couldn’t do it without her.’

‘We’d better be moving on,’ she says. ‘Willow needs to cool down before the cross-country.’

‘Ah, I won’t be watching that.’ Matt looks at me through narrowed eyes, his mood more serious now. ‘As I said before, I don’t understand you horse people. You’ll break your neck one of these days.’

‘Don’t be so dramatic, I’ve been on horses since I was three.’

‘Doesn’t it ever worry you?’

‘It doesn’t.’ At least it didn’t, until he mentioned it. ‘If I thought I was going to fall off every time, I wouldn’t entertain it.’ I imagine Shane speaking to me, ‘Stay positive, VB’, and it helps.

‘Good luck,’ Matt says. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’

‘What did he mean by that?’ Mum asks, watching him walk away towards the marquee, where the organisers are calling for the last of the jump judges to make their way to their positions on the cross-country course.

‘I don’t know.’ I shrug. ‘He’s a patient – and my vet.’ Having seen him working at Delphi’s yard, I realise I don’t want anyone else looking after Willow from now on.

‘You kept that one quiet.’

‘Any interest I have in him is purely professional.’ I look down and fiddle with the buckle on the reins.

‘I don’t think he sees it that way. Come on, Nicci. I’m not blind. He came across especially to talk to you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.’

‘Delphi says he has a girlfriend.’ I’m flattered by the attention, but nothing can come of it if he’s attached. ‘Mum, please don’t distract me. I’ve got to get Willow’s bandages on and get changed.’ I dismount and take the reins over Willow’s head to lead her back to the lorry. Henry is already in his red and black cross-country colours. He frowns and jams his skullcap on his head when he sees me, then bends down and picks up his crop, slapping it against his boot.

‘You reckon that old nag’s going to get round the course clear today?’

‘It’s her favourite phase,’ I say. ‘She’ll fly it.’

‘We’ll see.’ Henry whistles between his teeth and a girl of about eighteen emerges from the side door of his lorry with a can of cola in one hand and an apple in the other. She sticks the apple between her teeth and hangs onto Henry’s horse while he vaults into the saddle.

‘All the best,’ I say generously, in spite of his criticism of Willow.

Henry gives his mount an unnecessary slap on the flank and the horse breaks into canter with a buck that almost unseats him.

‘Serves you right,’ the girl mutters, before turning away and disappearing into the lorry.

It isn’t long before I’m back in the saddle, wearing my pale blue and purple silk over my skullcap, and an air vest for protection. Willow knows what’s coming next and she’s on her toes, shying at everything on the way to the warm-up area at the start of the course.

We pop over the log a couple of times between the red and white flags, listening to my competitors’
progress via the loudspeaker announcements. Henry has gone clear within the time, so I know we have no room for error as I run through the course in my head, visualising the approach to every obstacle, as planned with Shane when we walked the course.

The starter calls me into the box. Willow prances about on the spot, jerking her head forwards in a vain attempt to snatch the reins from my hands, but I know her too well.

‘No way,’ I tell her, chuckling in spite of my nerves at the thought of jumping a course that’s at the top end of Willow’s limits and mine. ‘That little trick doesn’t work any more. Remember?’

The starter calls the countdown. ‘Three, two, one.’

And we’re off, straight into a fast canter down the gentle slope to a rustic fence filled in with straw bales which Willow jumps fluidly before we gallop across the grass for the next, an enormous log followed by a skinny fence, which catches some horses out. Not Willow though. She has no intention of doing anything but jumping them. It takes all my strength to pull her back under control when we jump off the bank, heading down to the tiger trap and beyond to the water, which is a straightforward trot in and jump out, followed by a pair of gates. It’s fast, fun and exhilarating, and I’m not worried about the time because Willow is going for it, her long strides eating up the ground.

The next is a ditch with a steep drop on the other side. I give Willow a kick and a ‘Click, click’ as she takes an extra stride into it.

‘Trust me,’ I tell her and she responds, throwing herself over the top. I sit back, letting the reins slip through my fingers and we land safely on the other side. The rest is a formality, a long steady gallop over the remaining fences to the finish. I let Willow slow to a canter then a trot, and finally we walk to the cheers of the crowd waiting at the end of the course.

Mum can’t speak and nor can I. She grabs Willow’s reins while I dismount and through a blur of tears relieve my wonderful horse of the weight of the saddle. I can feel Mum’s arms around me and hear her barely audible whisper of congratulation as she gives me a warm hug. I can’t believe it. It’s going to take a while to sink in. With this win, my dream of competing at Badminton among the elite has moved that much closer. I watch Willow stand as Mum throws her cooler over her back. She’s blowing, her nostrils flared and red inside, and her chest is heaving. She’s put her heart and soul into this, and even though I’m breathless and too hot to think straight, my chest tightens – I’m so proud of her. I step close and hug her neck, inhaling the scent of steaming horse and sweaty leather. Noticing one of her plaits has come undone, I remove the plaiting band caught in the tiny curls of her mane and run my fingers through to straighten them out.

Back at the lorry, Mum washes Willow down with cool water and a sponge while I scrape the excess moisture from her coat with a sweat scraper, and throw on a clean rug before I walk her around to let her dry off. When she’s stopped sweating, I let her pick at
some grass while I brush her and tack her up for the presentation.

She swishes her tail when I put the saddle back on and gives me a look as if to say, ‘Not again’.

‘Humour me,’ I tell her. ‘You can have a day off tomorrow.’

‘Your jacket,’ Mum says, handing it over. ‘You can’t go in for the presentation looking as if you’ve been through a hedge backwards.’ She brushes me down as if I’m about five and going to school in uniform for the first time. ‘I’m going to find myself a good place to watch.’

Henry moves up beside me and we ride down to the main arena, almost knee to knee, our stirrups clashing. The arena has been cleared, the jumps stacked neatly onto a tractor and trailer, and the other prize-winners are waiting for us to take the lead and enter first. Willow is excited, jogging along to the presentation area in front of the small grandstand, but she seems a touch sore and I wonder if she’s bruised her foot.

We stand at the head of the line with Henry beside us, his horse champing at the bit and flicking foam from his mouth.

‘Congrats,’ Henry says, his grim expression relaxing into a smile. ‘Well ridden, Nicci.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, realising what an effort that must have taken him. ‘I like your horse. He looks like he’s got a great future.’

‘Even though I can’t believe he was beaten by a donkey.’ Henry’s eyes crease into a grin. We’ve come to a truce, I think, although I’ll never forgive him for
cheating on me. ‘I had a chat with Matt about you and him.’

‘Oh?’ I say as nonchalantly as I can as a tsunami of blood rushes to the roots of my hair and the tips of my ears.

‘It’s all right. I can keep my trap shut.’

I cringe. What must Matt think? How will I ever face him again? I glance at the crowd of spectators gathered to watch the presentation, and there he is. I look away quickly, but it’s too late, I’ve caught his eye. He smiles and waves. I nod back. Perhaps it isn’t so bad. I can only hope that Matt assumes Henry has got the wrong end of the stick.

When I said Matt was my boyfriend I didn’t think about the consequences. I should have guessed that Matt was Henry’s vet – I knew Henry was one of Westleigh Equine’s clients. I should also have had more than an inkling that Henry would pursue my statement because he likes to gossip. He’d relish being the first to spread the news among the horsey set.

I’m presented with a red rosette the colour of my face, a silver plate and a small cash prize, but these are mere tokens compared to how I feel. Winning is reward enough and I’m euphoric as I canter my beautiful horse around the arena for the lap of honour.

‘The winner, Nicci Chieveley and Willow … Second …’

The sound of hooves and the wind in my ears blots out all other noise and it’s just me and the horse and the scarlet ribbons on the rosette flying back behind her ear. I stand in the stirrups and let Willow slow to a
trot as we leave the arena, looking for my mother to share what is turning out to be one of the best days of my life.

A pulse beats in the back of my throat and the butterflies are back when I notice Matt walking purposefully towards me. He raises his hand.

‘Hi, girlfriend,’ he says with a wicked twinkle in his eye. ‘Henry thinks we’re an item. How about that?’

‘How about that?’ I echo. I’m mortified. How could I have been so stupid? Matt must think I’m deranged, and although there’s no particular reason why his opinion should matter, I realise how much I wanted him to think well of me.

‘I wonder who on earth could have given him that impression?’

‘I wonder,’ I say inanely. Matt is teasing me, calling my bluff.

He moves up close and pats Willow’s neck. ‘What are you up to now?’

‘I’m heading back to the lorry, then the yard.’

‘l’ll come with you as far as the lorry.’ As we cross the grass, I’m aware of Henry watching us and Matt walking alongside me, one hand still on Willow’s neck in a gesture of possession.

‘How’s the shoulder?’ I ask quietly.

‘You can take a look, if you like.’

‘I’m being serious,’ I say, challenging his cheeky attitude.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘I wonder if you could have a quick look at Willow if you’re not in a terrible hurry to get away somewhere to
meet someone, or something.’ I rush on making a real mess of what should be a simple request. ‘She’s pulled up a touch unlevel, and I thought if I trotted her up you could check I’m not imagining it. It’s probably nothing, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.’ I dismount and remove the saddle, resting it on the ramp of the lorry.