Leaping Hearts

Chapter 3

I had always known that Heather hated travelling, but this was different to normal. Within a three hour journey, she had managed to pull her hay net down, dent the divider, rip her rug to shreds, chew her head collar, and head-butt the glass panel out of the window. She didn’t stop squealing, and more than once had my dad stop the truck and refuse to drive any further unless Heather stopped. I was perfectly fine with this; I didn’t want to go to that stupid school anyway.  I had no friends, I’d have to share my room with other people, and I’d have to spend ages being taught how to ride. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loved riding, but I didn’t like being told what to do. I didn’t want some old bat shouting at me because I wasn’t sitting up straight, or that my 20 metre circles weren’t exactly round. I liked cross country, where I could go fast, jump high, and not care what I looked like. I could do what I wanted.

But my dad had other ideas. He wanted me to be like my perfect sister, and if that meant that he had to drive a crazy horse down the M6 for a few hours, he’d do it. So we were here, now, in front of the huge, red bricked building, covered in climbing plants and moss. The door and window frames were painted in a glossy blue paint that reflected the light, and the car park was covered in fresh, smooth tarmac. There was a huge, grand water fountain in the middle of a long stretch of evenly cut lawn, and in the distance, beyond the school building was a long, neat row of stables, in the same red brick. There was a newly covered dressage ménage a little further away from that, and even further away, and clean dry field, scattered with cross country jumps. Although I automatically hated this place, that field did look tempting.

Once out of the car, my dad walked down to the shiny blue door, and neatly tapped it with his knuckles. After a minute or so, a woman in a tweed blazer and skirt stepped out, pursing her lips. She and my dad talked for a second; I couldn’t hear what from the horsebox, and she started to smile. My dad beckoned for me to come over, and the woman smiled sweetly. Begrudgingly, I slouched over to them, looking over my shoulder to Heather’s nose, which was sticking out of the pane-less window.

“Come on in,” the woman said in an Irish accent, leading me by the shoulder. I looked back to Heather, knowing that if I left her, she’d destroy the horsebox, and pulled back.

“Wait, what about Heather?” I said to my dad. Dad looked back wearily, probably thinking about the smashed glass and the dented divider.

“Oh, don’t worry,” the woman noticed the anxious faces on my dad and I. “I’ll get a stable hand to come and get her.”

Although this wasn’t the best solution (Heather didn’t like new people), it was better than a demolished horsebox.

“Can I wait until the stable hand comes?” I asked, still staring at Heather, who was now gnawing on the window frame.

The lady glanced over at her too.

“Yes. I imagine that would be best.”

The lady and my dad advanced through the doors to reception.

“Come through when you’re ready.”

I sat myself down on the steps to the building and kept a wary eye on the 14.2hh chestnut with the mischief in her eyes.  I didn’t like this place; it was too calm and perfect. Everything was orderly and neat. The better a place was, the more that could go wrong. By now, a couple of other horseboxes were arriving, and a few girls got out and passed me to get through the door, giving me strange looks as they went.

After about ten minutes, a guy, about 17 years old with bright ginger hair and raging acne came up to me and smiled.

“Do you need help with your horse?” He stared at Heather, who glared straight back at him with huge eyes.

“Yep, that’s me.”

I led Heather out of her box with ease; she was more than glad to be out, and handed her purple lead rope to the boy. He took it gingerly and tried to prise his gaze away from Heather’s now demonic stare. He clicked her on to move her, but she pulled back and reared slightly, her eyes still huge and disconcerting.

“What’s her name?”

“Heather.”

The boy took a tighter hold on the lead rope and patted her neck tentatively.

“Come on Heather.”

He coaxed her on. She immediately leapt to action, prancing down the path, pulling the ginger guy behind her. They matched, I thought, as I watched them struggle down the path. I just hoped that Heather wouldn’t mistake his head for a carrot. 

Bracing myself, I took a deep breath and went through the door to the building. Here, a gaggle of girls my age and their parents were gathered, filling the space. Scanning the top of the doors, I found the one marked reception, and forced my way through the crowd to it. Once there, I found my dad and the lady sitting opposite each other, both signing documents.  They both grinned encouragingly when they saw me.

“Ah, Kathryn, come and sit down. “ The tweed woman motioned to a chair next to my dad.

“So, I hear you like cross country, we have a great team, so maybe you could join?” The lady looked at me through her thin reading glasses.

She pulled them down to hang by the thin chain around her neck, looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

“But of course you will have to work well in lessons; your father tells me you find it hard to concentrate.”

I glared at dad who looked dazed for a second but then looked at me more sternly. The woman didn’t seem to notice.

“We have some boring stuff to work out still, so maybe you would like to try on your new uniform?”

Oh, great. Clothes.  Still, it was better than staying and being told about money and rules and all that rubbish that no-one wanted to hear about.

“Yeah, sure.”

The lady handed me a grey bag marked ‘UNIFORM’; I took it from her and wandered behind a large blue pin board and tried it on.

The uniform was revolting: a stiff white shirt with a mustard yellow silk scarf and a bronze brooch, knee length white socks with a ring around the top in the same vile yellow. A tartan kilt with a weird scratchy belt around the waist, a pair of brown patent leather, buckle shoes, a straw hat with a navy ribbon tied around the base , topped off with a velvet side bag that went down to my knees,  with a massive bow on the side of it. Oh, yeah, and for the winter; a waist length, navy blue cape!

The only good thing about the uniform was that the brooch had a galloping horse on it, all though that was about it. The rest of it made me want to vomit.

For riding, we were to wear uniform that was: cream, black or navy jodhpurs, (depending on what discipline you would be doing) and a navy polo top with the school name in gold at the side, and a black jumper for cold days. There was also a show jacket and tie for shows. I hoped that I would be able to use my own comfortable body protector, and hat.

I stepped out from behind the screen blushing in my ridiculous uniform. The woman clapped her hands together and sighed.

“That’s wonderful!” She cried over-enthusiastically. “You’ll fit right in here.”

My dad looked at me doubtingly, but smiled when he saw me looking at him.

“You look… umm… lovely, darling.”

Before I knew what he was doing, he had whipped his phone out and taken a picture of me to send to my mother. I don’t know what the caption, or what her response was, but he laughed when he got it. I scowled at him.

“Can I take it off now.”

The tweed lady rushed to my side instantly.

“No, no! Keep it on. We’ll get you settled in right now!”

In other words: welcome to hell.