She presented a business card to Issie with her name and number on it, then turned on her heel and headed back to the Tuckers’ horse truck. The conversation was clearly over.
Tom Avery started the rally the same way he always did, with a gear inspection. There were over fifty club members present that morning, and after Avery had worked down the row, checking stirrup leathers and tutting over dirty bits and loose girths, he divided the ride up into four. The junior members were assigned their instructors and sent off to various training areas. Only the most senior Chevalier Point members stayed with Avery in the jumping ring.
There were eight of them. Issie, Stella and Kate were joined by their friends Dan, Ben, Annabel and Morgan, and Natasha Tucker was there too on Romeo.
As a warm-up exercise, Avery had set up four jumps, positioned around the arena in a circle at three, six, nine and twelve o’clock.
“They’re not very big, are they?” Dan said with disappointment as he eyed up the jumps. The four fences were quite low, no more than half a metre off the ground.
“We’ll begin at this height as a warm-up,” Avery told him. “It doesn’t matter what size the fence is, I’m looking for good technique from all of you. You’re going to canter in a circle over the jumps, making sure you keep the rhythm steady between fences and aim for the centre of each jump.”
As the riders rode around the course, Avery focused on correcting their positions. He was particularly keen to observe how well they executed their crest release, making sure that they eased the reins up the neck at the moment the horse took off, giving their mounts enough freedom to stretch out in an arc over the jumps.
“Don’t just fling the reins at him, Stella!” Avery called out. “The release should be smooth.”
“Slow down his canter by sitting back between fences, Natasha,” Avery instructed.
Natasha didn’t look happy to be given advice. She glared at Avery, and then looked over to Ginty, who was leaning against the rails at the sideline watching the riders closely. Ginty’s eyes weren’t trained on Romeo, though. She was watching Comet. When Avery raised the rails of the fences to a substantial one metre high, Ginty couldn’t take her eyes off the skewbald as he jumped each fence cleanly and perfectly, taking off neatly at exactly the right time and maintaining a rhythmic canter stride all the way around the ring.
When the riders had finished their training for the morning, Issie could have sworn Ginty was still watching as she rode out of the arena, but by the time she had tied Comet up to the horse truck, the trainer wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Natasha was at her horse truck unsaddling Romeo, but Ginty had disappeared.
It had only been a rally day, but Issie was still thrilled with Comet’s performance. “You should have seen the way he took the oxer,” she told her mum as they drove home.
“What’s an oxer?” Mrs Brown said. Issie sighed. Her mum knew nothing about horses or riding. Issie was used to it by now, and she had long ago got over her envy for riders like Morgan Chatswood-Smith who had horsey parents. OK, maybe her mum wasn’t horsey, but Issie was grateful that she had always supported her. She must have spent a fortune over the years on farriers and feed bills, lessons and grazing.
Mrs Brown even understood when Issie had to go to Spain to try and get Nightstorm back when the colt was stolen. So it must have been with serious consideration that she began the conversation in the car that day.
“Issie,” she said, “I’ve been thinking about your school report.”
Issie groaned. “Oh Mum, I get it, OK? You’re proud of me. That’s great. Can we move on?”
Mrs Brown shook her head. “I think this report proves what you are capable of. You’re growing up so fast. Next year you’ll be in the fifth form and it’s time that you started thinking about the future. What do you plan to do with your life?”
“You know that already, Mum,” Issie said. “I want to ride horses. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Yes, I know,” Mrs Brown said in a measured voice, “but Issie, that’s not a proper job, is it? Riding horses is something you love doing, but you need to think about what you are going to do with your life…as a career.”
“But I’ve already decided,” Issie frowned. “I’m going to be a competitive horse rider.”
“Sweetie, I think you need to be realistic,” Mrs Brown said. “What are the chances of you making a living that way? That’s why school is so important. If you continue to get marks like your last report, you could be anything you want to be. I’ve already put aside a university fund for you, so that’s not a problem. You just need a bit of solid workplace experience so you can think about what career you should focus on…” she took a deep breath. “I made a phone call today while you were at the pony club, and spoke to David, one of the partners at my office.”
Mrs Brown worked as a legal secretary for a large law firm in town. She had been part-time when Issie was little, but after Issie’s dad had moved away when she was nine, Mrs Brown began working full-time to make ends meet. Issie sometimes went to the office after school to meet her mum instead of going straight home. The partners at the law firm were always nice to her, although she couldn’t really tell any of them apart. They were all tall men in dark grey suits with bald heads, polite smiles and very firm handshakes.
“Anyway, I told David about your latest school report,” Mrs Brown continued, “and he’s very kindly agreed that you can do work experience at the firm for the whole of the holidays. They’ll even pay you an hourly rate — it’s not much, but really it’s the experience that counts.”
“What?” Issie couldn’t believe it. “But I don’t want to work at your office!”
“Issie, this is a great opportunity,” Mrs Brown insisted.
“I can’t believe this is my punishment for getting a good school report!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Isadora,” her mother said firmly.
“Well, it feels like that!” Issie couldn’t help herself. “It’s not fair!”
“Issie! You said yourself that you needed a holiday job.”
“But I don’t want to be stuck in some stuffy office!”
Mrs Brown was taken aback. “It’s not stuffy. We have excellent air conditioning.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” her mum pointed out. “You only have a week until holidays start and you haven’t found anything else yet.”
“But I—”
Mrs Brown was exasperated. “Either you come up with a magical job offer where someone is actually willing to pay you to ride ponies all day, or you will be coming to work with me at the law firm next week when school finishes.”
There was silence in the car. You could have cut the air with a knife. Finally, Mrs Brown spoke again, her voice calm and softer this time. “You’re fifteen years old, Issie. Maybe it’s time to grow up. Horses are all well and good, but they are not a real job. I’m thinking about your future.”
