Samphire Song (21 page)

Mum, Ed and Rachel are waiting to greet us – I can see them waving madly from behind the rope barrier. There’s something I have to do first. I dismount and feel in my jacket pocket for Sam’s favourite treat – a peppermint.

‘You deserve this,’ I say in his ear. Sam’s nose moves over my hand, searching out the sweet. When his tongue finds it, his throat rumbles with pleasure.

Two seconds later, we’re both enveloped in a mad group hug, instigated by Ed and Mum. It gets bigger and madder as Poppy, Rachel and the crowd from the stables join in.

‘You don’t look like a stick in those clothes,’ observes Ed. I think that’s a compliment.

‘You’re amazing, both of you,’ says Mum, emotional and giggly at the same time.

‘Not me,’ I reply, pointing to the real star of the show and giving him a kiss between his eyes.

‘Excuse me,’ says a deep voice, close by. We all turn to see a man of about forty in a smart, country-style suit,
approaching. I recognise him as one of the judges from a previous event and wonder if he’s going to tell me that there’s been some mistake – that Samphire isn’t the winner after all. My grip on my trophy tightens a little.

‘Bernard Ashton-Cook,’ he says, offering his firm handshake in introduction to Mum first and then to me. ‘I was one of the race officials today and I wanted to say how impressed I was with your performance, young lady.’ His eyes rest on me. They are smiling but cool at the same time.

‘Thank you,’ I respond, unsure what else to say.

‘I’m also on the look out for new additions to my eventing team and wondered if Samphire might, at some point, be for sale? I think he could go all the way, with the right development.’

I’m a little taken aback by this. Does he think I’m just a kid playing around at being an owner? That I don’t have the expertise or commitment to let Sam reach his full potential? I see that Mum is holding her breath.

‘He’s not for sale,’ I state, simply.

‘I would give you eight thousand pounds. It’s a generous offer. I think it reflects his future potential as an event winner. You could buy a nice little horse for that. Stallions aren’t for young girls,’ says Ashton-Cook, eyes hardly blinking. I can tell he’s used to wheeling and dealing and getting his way.

‘Samphire’s part Arab and he’ll be worth that just as a sire, let alone as an event horse,’ I respond. ‘Even if you offered me a million pounds, the answer would be the same.’ I turn away and busy myself unstrapping Sam’s girth. I sense that the man is appealing to Mum’s sensibility in a gesture, inviting her to take his side.

‘Jodie’s given you her decision,’ says Mum, coolly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re taking Samphire home for a family celebration.’

‘If she should change her mind, here’s my card,’ he informs her, his tone much less friendly. He turns to look at me.

‘I won’t,’ I state, holding his gaze. Mum declines his
card. He turns and strides away, very disgruntled.

‘That was a rude dude,’ observes Ed, before he’s out of earshot. Samphire gives a short, sharp whinny in agreement.

Chapter Forty

Hooves thundering across sand, glinting in sunlight, galloping free across the wide sweep of the sun-washed bay. The taste of the ocean in the tears squeezing from my eyes, trickling to my lips. The ripple of muscle against thigh as maximum, bareback speed is breached. And behind, the sky; a flaming pink and orange watercolour through the salt-spray in our wake.

Three years ago, it was Dad who was setting the pace, challenging me to raise my skills, take risks and outride him if I could. Today, I’m racing my very own part-Arab stallion, who has changed my world and rescued me, Mum and Ed from our isolated island. Even though our opponent is missing four legs and has the added advantage of wings, Samphire is proving a worthy match.

I think Dad would approve, especially as the gleaming Spitfire in my eye line was presented to Ed in recognition of his selflessness and bravery by Dad’s very own squadron.

When I glance over my shoulder, I can see the small figure of Ed, his control box in his hands, probably wishing he had a red button that says ‘turbo power’ on it – and that he hadn’t bet me five pounds that his plane could outperform my brilliant horse.

Somewhere near Ed, lying on our picnic rug watching the proceedings, is Mum, looking radiant and relaxed and more at peace than I ever remember.

Our finishing post, the rocky pinnacle of stone that juts out of the sand like a finger at the end of the bay, is about thirty yards away. It’s time to let Samphire set the pace. He accelerates just as Ed’s Spitfire performs a loop the loop in the sky behind us.

‘Go, boy, go!’ I exclaim, as Sam’s shoes splash through the shallow rivulets of incoming tide and I hear the Spitfire gaining ground. I imagine Ed sitting
at its controls in the cockpit, the rock in the centre of his sights. ‘Fly, Sam,’ I urge and my horse responds, lengthening his stride, pushing through the wind with every muscle, every ounce of energy.

We are galloping and I sense Sam’s joy in his speed, which is leaving a trail of spray mist suspended in the air. His movement is even more fluid and assured without a saddle. We’re running free and it’s the best feeling ever.

Suddenly, I notice we have company. The plane has drawn level with us and, in less than five seconds, we reach the rock together. I’m laughing out loud as the Spitfire waggles its wings before soaring vertically towards the sun. And just in case past and present are merging for a moment and the wind can carry words across the shifting space of time, I yell at the top of my voice: ‘We made it, Dad. Yeeeeeha!’

My thanks to all at Egmont for many, many things. For their welcome, which came with a tea party. For their complete professionalism and creative flair and for their ongoing efforts to launch Calypso and Samphire on their journeys. Special thanks to Leah Thaxton for saying yes, to lovely editor Ali Dougal, Victoria Berwick and the PR team, and designer Emma Eldridge. Also to Rosemary Canter, Jodie Marsh and Jane Willis at United Agents. And to Chris, Maddy and Henry, always.

Meet Jill Hucklesby

Hi, Jill. Tell us a bit about your childhood and teenage years. Where did you live, and what were your interests?

I was born in Brighton and lived at the top of a hill with my parents, my sister and brothers in a flat with a spooky cellar. You could hear trains passing by in deep tunnels underneath. It made me think there was a subterranean world existing beneath my bed.

Growing up was a bit of a bumpy time involving loss and the arrival of step family. I often escaped into imaginary worlds! I discovered a love for music and drama, and I also learned to sail.

As a teenager, I worked in a sweet shop (bliss!), then at M&S, so life became a blur of school exams, bras and knickers (my department) and dates with a dark-haired student at college . . .

Did you have any favourite books or authors?

Yes, I loved stories about animals.
Black Beauty
by Anna Sewell,
Call of the Wild
by Jack London (cried for days),
Tarka the Otter
by Henry Williamson (ditto). Later, I studied English Lit and loved everything by D. H. Lawrence, E.M. Forster and Thomas Hardy, especially
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
. And if we’re including dramatists, Will Shakespeare, of course.

Who’s your favourite fictional character?

Two favourites: Tess from
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
, who is stalked by tragedy despite her innocence, and Flora Poste from Stella Gibbons’
Cold Comfort Farm
, who hauls her mad, rural
relatives into the twentieth century with cool, common sense. It’s one of the funniest books I’ve read.

In
Samphire Song
, Jodie adores horses and finds solace in their company. Are you a rider too?

I loved horses when I was young and was often in trouble for doodling ponies on my school work! On my seventh birthday, my mum and dad took me to a riding school called ‘Hope in the Valley’ and I had my first lesson. It was the happiest day of my life! After that, I did little jobs like dog walking for elderly people to earn money for lessons. But then family life changed and we moved counties, so I had to leave my favourite horses behind. In my teens there were other adventures, including a breathtaking gallop along the sands of Ferring in Sussex with my brother, who was a soldier in the Royal Horse Artillery and a birthday hack on a horse that tried to rub me off against every tree it saw. Now I’m happy just to admire them in the fields near where I live and stroke their soft noses (which are in my top ten of everything!).

What is your most treasured possession?

Can that be plural? If so, I would say my photo albums. They hold so many memories, especially of my daughter growing up and our adventures with our three rescued retrievers, Luke, Zack and now Henry the hooligan.

When did you first start writing? What did you do before you were a published author?

I wrote poems and stories from an early age and started to do it seriously when I was studying for a degree in English and Drama. After working in theatre and journalism, I trained as a
screenwriter and wrote for children’s TV. I also got involved in a musical theatre development group in London. An idea for a TV drama series was then optioned for production and when it didn’t go ahead, the producer suggested I write the book instead. So my first novel,
Deeper Than Blue
, started to take shape and was published in 2007. Happily, I am about to write my sixth book!

What inspired you to write
Samphire Song
?

Samphire Song
undoubtedly has its roots in my early love of horses. The story has probably been waiting to escape for a long time! Memories of how a horse can be a soul mate are still very vivid. I wanted to explore that special bond from a teenager’s perspective and, as soon as Jodie took shape, I knew that the connection she would feel with Samphire would change her life, and his too.

Do you have any advice for readers who are hoping to follow in your footsteps?

I think if it’s in you to write, you will write. It’s a sort of natural compulsion. The good news is that, while publishing deals are always elusive, there are many markets out there for writing – and many ways to be a writer. The internet has opened up massive opportunities for people to reach an audience through personal websites, blogs and networking communities. Some publishers keep a close eye on the net for signs of talent!

There are creative writing courses and degrees up and down the country, which can inspire or maybe buy you the time to get your brilliant work finished. And there are lots of annual competitions to enter. So take a deep breath, begin, explore,
develop, keep your spirits up (despite rejections), be exciting, brave, persistent and very flexible. Keep the
Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook
by your side for advice, contacts in the industry and submission guidelines. And good luck!

Visit Jill’s website for lots more information
and news:
www.jillhucklesby.com
Find Jill on Facebook!