Flying Change

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The crowd was clanging on the metal stand and I felt Corlina’s neck tighten as she tilted her head to eyeball the offenders.  Solid start, I thought and patted her neck as I urged her past and towards the little sand box. I flexed her at the poll, murmuring soothing words and then pushed her into canter, waiting for the bell to ring. The wind flapped the flags and I felt her discomfort at the wet footing splashing up under her belly. Breathe, I thought as I turned down the centre line, plastered on a smile, and rode for my life. She paced in the halt and I could feel her bubbling under me, I worked on keeping the neck loose and soft and keeping her forward but her tendency was to revert to a curl, it was a big test but little mistakes crept in and her frame was too unstable to score highly. I left the arena and smiled and agreed with the owner who called Corlina a ‘good girl’ and fed her a ridiculous amount of carrots, which she tried to munch with her double bridle still on.

Finally, she said goodbye and Val lead her back to the stables as I slipped a warm jacket over my tails and took off my helmet. Phillip came up quietly, smiling and dropped a kiss on my proffered lips.

“I saw you hiding,” I smiled, referring to the wonderful but overly chatty owner.

He smiled sheepishly, “Not hiding, just taking evasive action.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I smiled and led the way to the catering tent with him loping alongside on his long legs.

“66.2, pretty good,” he smiled glancing at the scoreboard.

“It didn’t deserve that,” I grumbled as I paid for a coffee and watched as a Young Rider went into the same class and scored well below what she deserved. “Sometimes I hate this sport,” I said quietly to him, and we stood in companionable silence, seemingly continuing the pact that if we didn’t talk about it, it didn’t exist. 

I sat down on a plastic chair and watched the rain spatter the plastic Marquee as another horse danced across the arena. Phillip had been waylaid by one of the big owners and was playing all the charm cards he had. I flicked on my phone and, ignoring the messages, clicked onto the browser. Chewing my lip I typed in ‘Joe Baines’ and hit search.

‘Know thy enemy,’ I muttered to myself as a roll of results detailing his resume in the business world and social engagements. ‘Blah, blah, blah,’ I thought and hit the images tab calling up pictures of him in a tux, at an engagement party, the list went on. I scrolled down, coming up empty. Finally, just as I was about to close the tab, a picture popped up of the man himself, arm wrapped around a blonde Barbie who was wearing a too short dress with too much fake tan, I looked at the picture closer, something in the back of my brain was going off. There, dangling off his arm like a Rolex watch was a very young Kristina. The hair was different and her style was less refined but there was no doubt it was her.

I flashed back to the look they had shared at the cocktail party. Her answer, a whole lot of puzzle pieces forming, but not yet fitting together. I felt an alarm go off in my brain but I couldn’t fit the pieces together. I was just starting to work through the problem in my head when Phillip tapped me on the shoulder.

“Lexi, this is Madeleine, she may be interested in helping us keep the horses.”

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The rain was tipping down. I was contemplating the likelihood of using the box as an ark as I walked Johnny out of the stables and was instantly drenched heading to the warm up. There came a point when you were so wet you actually didn’t mind getting any wetter, the possibility of one inch of dry skin so distant that it becomes a joke.

Johnny was not best pleased with the weather and I could practically feel him looking back at me and saying ‘mother, why exactly are we out in this weather?’ But, he obliged, as usual and knuckled down to his warm up like the professional he was. We splashed through the warm up. My gloves were soaked and there was a waterfall descending from my hat but I felt myself zone in and lock onto the neat row of plaits in front of me and the two flickering ears as we rode through the familiar patterns. I could feel him, loose and supple as we rode through the leg yields and circles to let his muscles warm up. Finally, I shortened my slippery reins and we shortened up and I felt the engine kick in. Half passes to start bend, forward and go, he rocked sideways. Shoulder fore, I sat up and half halted, bringing his hocks under me and letting him sit back into a pirouette. I tested the controls, using odd numbers of steps and then pushing him out and into an extension. I could feel him stop anticipating and really start to operate. Canter to passage, passage to canter. Keeping him sharp and tapping him with my leg to make sure he was in front of the aids. I struggled with the reins as he overreacted to the leg but a moment and he was back. “Good boy,’ I murmured and gave his neck a pat as we returned to harmony and rode a few strides of piaffe. Finally I gave him a pat and Val scurried out from where she had taken cover to take my jacket and remove boots. I ran my hand over the brim of my helmet and sent a torrent of water cascading onto the pommel of my saddle. I threw my sopping jacket at Val, picked up my reins and rode towards the arena. The usual crowd around the entrance was absent. It was just me, Johnny and the sandbox.