The Auditions (8 page)

For the past week she had stuck her head in the sand about what she was going to do with Tyro. But she knew Lucinda was right. He would be bored at the riding school. And yet she couldn’t bear the thought of selling him. Who could possibly understand and love him as much as she did?

She had said her goodbyes to Lily at the crossroads and was walking alone down the lane when the realisation hit her. She raced straight to the phone when she got in. She checked the list of phone numbers in her diary and then dialled, holding her breath and waiting anxiously until someone picked up at the other end. “Hello?” Georgie said. “It’s Georgie. I’m phoning because I’ve made a decision. I’m selling Tyro.” she hesitated, “and I want you to buy him.”

Two days later, Georgie stood in Tyro’s stall and watched as the sleek grey Range Rover pulled up outside Lucinda’s stables. At the sight of the emptyhorse trailer being towed behind it her hands subconsciously clasped tighter around Tyro’s halter. When Olivia and Mrs Prescott stepped out of the Range Rover, Georgie stayed in the stall with Tyro. In the end, Lucinda had to come and get her.

“There you are!” Lucinda gave Georgie a gentle smile. “Have you got him ready?”

Georgie nodded. She’d been at the stables since seven that morning. She’d groomed the black pony for a solid hour, oiling his hooves and pulling his mane. Then she’d dressed him in his best travelling blanket, a lightweight tartan rug, and Velcroed on his padded floating boots so that he was all ready to be loaded on to the trailer.

Tyro had been to so many horse shows he knew what this routine meant. He was dressed to go somewhere and now he had an air of anticipation about him. What he didn’t know was that this time there was no show. He would be taking this trip without Georgie and he would not be returning.

“You’d probably hate it in Lexington, anyway,” Georgie told the black pony as she brushed his prettyface, smoothing down his long forelock. “All the horses will have American accents!”

Tyro nickered as if he had got the joke and nudged Georgie with his muzzle, looking for carrots in her pockets. They had their own ways of communicating, she and Tyro. In three years, their bond had become so strong.

“Come on,” Lucinda said gently, “leave him here for a moment and say hi to Olivia and her mum.”

When Georgie had phoned Olivia two days ago and offered to sell her the black Connemara, Olivia couldn’t quite believe her luck. Now that Molly needed complete rest until next season, she had been left high and dry without a competition horse. Tyro was the perfect solution.

“Of course I want to buy him!” Olivia told Georgie. “But are you sure you want to sell him?”

Georgie steeled herself and tried to be strong. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said. She didn’t want to sell Tyro, of course, but it really was the best thing to do. He deserved to have a proper life with an owner who loved him. And she couldn’t think of anyone better tosell her beloved pony to than Olivia.

Olivia was totally aware of how hard this decision must have been for Georgie. And so, when she arrived with her mother at the stables that morning, she wasn’t expecting the usual cheerful greeting from her friend. When Georgie did finally emerge from the stables, Olivia took one look at her miserable face and rushed up and gave her a huge hug.

“I’ve got the same stall ready for him at my house,” she told Georgie. “The one that he stayed in when we were training for the final auditions. He’ll feel at home straight away. I’ve told Molly he’s coming too–she’s going to love having a paddock mate.”

Georgie handed Olivia a piece of paper. “I wrote down everything I could think of, you know, little things that you need to know.” She managed a weak smile. “He likes peppermints. I give them as a treat after training sometimes. And he loves molasses in his hard feed… he’s quite a greedy eater…”

Olivia listened as Georgie ran through the list of do’s and don’ts. Then Lucinda emerged from the stables leading Tyro and Georgie felt her heart sink. This wasreally it then. This was goodbye.

“Do you want to be the one to load him on to the trailer, Georgie?” Mrs Prescott asked.

Georgie took the lead rope with a trembling hand and walked Tyro down the driveway as Olivia and Mrs Prescott dropped the ramp of the trailer. Then she circled Tyro back and walked him up the ramp. The black pony always loaded perfectly and he followed behind her into the trailer and stood calmly as the ramp was raised behind him.

A few minutes later, when Georgie still hadn’t emerged out of the trailer, Mrs Prescott began to worry and stuck her head in the front door. “Is everything OK in there? Are you having trouble doing up the rope?” she asked. “There’s a steel hook at the back of the hay net to tie him up.”

“I’m OK,” Georgie replied. She had already tied Tyro up. But she couldn’t come back out of the horse trailer just yet as she needed to stop crying. Taking a deep breath and drying her eyes one last time, she buried her face in Tyro’s mane and hugged the pony hard with her hands tight around his neck.

“Don’t forget me,” she told the pony breathlessly. “I promise, I won’t forget you.”

Despite Georgie’s efforts to pull herself together, when she emerged from the trailer everyone could see how upset she was. Mrs Prescott realised that the best thing to do was leave straight away. So Olivia gave Georgie another hasty hug and jumped into the passenger seat. Mrs Prescott shook hands with Lucinda and then came over to Georgie, said goodbye and pressed a folded-over piece of paper into her hand.

Georgie watched with tears rolling down her cheeks as the Range Rover and the trailer towing Tyro headed down the driveway, past the crumbling stone walls of the riding school, disappearing from sight behind the overgrown hawthorn hedgerows. Then she remembered the piece of paper that Mrs Prescott had handed to her and opened it up. It was a cheque for twenty thousand pounds.

Dr Parker was stunned when Georgie came home and presented him with the cheque. He had been shockedenough when his daughter told him she was selling the pony, and was even more so when he discovered just how much the Connemara was worth.

“You can put it towards my fees at Blainford,” Georgie told her father. But he shook his head. “Your fees have been paid–for this year at least,” he told her. “You keep the money. We’ll bank it as a pony fund for the future. I’m sure you’ll want to buy a new horse one day.”

It had been hard saying goodbye to Tyro, but in the end it was much worse saying goodbye to Lily. Her best friend was in floods of tears as she hugged her at the airport and thrust a last minute present into her hands. It was wrapped in pretty lilac paper with an enormous gold bow.

“Can I open it now?” Georgie asked.

Lily sniffled and nodded. Georgie tore the paper open to reveal… a jar of Marmite.

“You said they didn’t have it in America,” Lily giggled.

“Thank you!” Georgie gave her a massive hug. “Whenever I eat toast I shall think of you!”

Lucinda had already given her a gift before they left Little Brampton. It was a new back protector and the note that was attached read: “Wear this for Tara Kelly’s class–no broken bones for you!”

“Thanks, Lucinda!” Georgie had been thrilled with her gift.

“You’re the second generation of Parker women to attend Blainford Academy,” Lucinda told her. “I’m very proud of you–and your mother would have been proud too.”

Georgie had wiped away the tears as Lucinda said this. It had been Ginny Parker’s dream that her daughter would follow in her footsteps and go to Blainford. And now, here Georgie was, about to board the plane!

Her dad tried so hard, but he didn’t have a clue really. At the airport shop he had bought her books for the plane. “The lady behind the counter said you’d be bound to like these,” he said hopefully as he passed them over. Georgie could tell straight away by the pink sparkly covers that she would not like them at all. But she smiled and took them anyway. She didn’t want to disappoint her dad.

At the check-in counter she was feeling all jet set and sophisticated about travelling alone–until the stewardess put a huge red sticker on her bag with the letters UM on it: Unaccompanied Minor. Then she put a great big UM sticker on Georgie’s jumper too!

“There’s going to be a driver from Blainford to meet you at the other end,” Georgie’s dad told her. He looked tense and worried at the airport gates and when he hugged her goodbye Georgie thought he wasn’t going to let her go. “Call me when you arrive and let me know that you made it safely,” Dr Parker said as he waved her off.

“I will,” she promised.

As she boarded the plane, Georgie thought she would feel scared or homesick. But from the moment the engines revved and the plane took off she felt her heart soaring along with it. She would miss Little Brampton, but a part of her couldn’t wait to leave. As the plane rose up in the sky she felt her old life falling away. She was leaving it behind and starting again. At Blainford, she could be herself at last. She could be anyone she wanted to be.

T
hey call Lexington ‘bluegrass country’ but the grass wasn’t actually blue. It was deep, verdant green. “The best horse country in the world,” Kenny told Georgie as he loaded her bags into his car. Kenny was Blainford Academy’s driver. He had been standing at the airport gates holding a sign with Georgie’s name on it when she got off the plane. Kenny wore a blue baseball cap that said
Wildcats
on the front in gold letters and he chewed tobacco constantly, which made it even harder to understand his thick Southern accent.

“This here road we’re on now is called Man O’ War Boulevard,” Kenny told Georgie as they pulled away from the airport terminal. “You heard of Man O’ War, right?” Georgie had to admit that she hadn’t and Kennyshook his head in amazement. “You mean to say you’re here to go to this fancy horse school and you don’t know who Man O’ War was?” Kenny laughed. “He was one of the greatest racehorses of all time.”

Georgie looked out the window. They had turned left now on to the main highway, signposted with the word ‘Versailles’.
Ver-sigh
. That was how Kenny pronounced it in his Kentucky drawl. The countryside was so big and open compared to the dinky fields and hawthorn hedges of Little Brampton. Pristine white plank fencelines ran for mile after mile, bordering the lush green pastures. Tall trees lined the long driveways which led to magnificent sprawling mansions. As the fields flashed past, Georgie saw elegant Thoroughbred mares grazing with their leggy young offspring at foot.

“Are there a lot of racehorse farms around here?” she asked.

Kenny snorted as if this were a joke. “Nearly five hundred in this district alone.” He pointed at a stately white mansion surrounded by red and white barns with green rooftops. “That one there is Calumet Farm.

One of the greatest racehorse studs in Kentucky, home to Triple Crown winner, Citation.”

“I’m not really into racehorses,” Georgie said, “I ride eventers.”

Kenny scratched his head. “Eventers, huh? Yeah, we got those here in Lexington too. Can’t say they interest me much–I’m a betting man. I like being trackside on that first Saturday in May. My idea of a perfect horse is the one that crosses the Derby finish line first with my money on his back.”

They were almost on the outskirts of Versailles. “Not much further now,” he told Georgie and she felt her stomach tense up.

Eight hours from London to New York. Another two hours at the terminal and then a two-hour connecting flight from New York to Lexington. It had taken forever to get here and now suddenly the moment of arrival was looming too quickly. She wasn’t ready to be at Blainford yet–all on her own at a strange school where she didn’t know anyone.

The signpost ahead said it was only three more miles to Versailles, but Kenny turned off the main highwayand headed down a back road, before turning the car again into a private lane. “This is it,” he told her. “Blainford Academy.”

In front of them were two enormous pale-blue wrought iron gates with the Blainford insignia worked into the pattern of filigreed metal. Kenny pressed a button on the intercom and the gates swung open automatically. He drove through, steering the car down a broad avenue shaded by oak trees on either side. The plank fences here were stained black instead of the usual Kentucky white, and Georgie could see a strange assortment of horse breeds grazing in the fields. There was a striking chocolate-brown Appaloosa, with a white blanket of spots on his rump. Grazing happily alongside him was a jet-black horse, which she recognised as Friesian with its long flowing mane, glossy coat and ‘feathers’ of long silky hair on his legs. Those two rare breeds side by side were unusual enough, but there were others.

“Ohmygod!” Georgie’s eyes widened when she saw the most incredible horse, as fine-boned and sleek as a greyhound. She could tell immediately by the wide-setintelligent eyes and dished face that this was a purebred Arab. Yet it was big for an Arabian, almost sixteen hands with a coat of burnished chestnut that sparkled in the Kentucky sunshine.

Georgie was certain she also saw a Haflinger, a stocky Austrian breed, a heavy-set pony with a trademark golden coat and milky white, silky mane and tail. There was a beautiful palomino, with the sturdy rump and proportions of a Western Quarterhorse, and next to it, a haughty-looking grey that was so ghostly pale it was almost white. It had a thick crest and a Roman nose. Was it a Lipizzaner? One of the dancing horses of the Spanish Riding School? It had to be! Her heart was racing with excitement. She had never seen so many breeds all together at once in her life!

“Whose horses are they?” she asked Kenny.

Kenny shrugged as if the rare breeds were nothing special at all. “That’s school grazing. Those horses belong to the students,” he replied.

They were approaching the curve at the end of the oak driveway, and finally the school itself came intoview. Georgie had seen the photos in the prospectus, but here in front of her was the real Blainford–and it was glorious. The main building rose up two storeys high, a grand old antebellum Georgian mansion made of red brick with columns out the front, white-trimmed dormer windows on the second floor and three turret rooms that jutted up into the sky out of the red shingled roofline. A vast stone archway in the front of the building led into a courtyard where a large square lawn was bordered by broad footpaths and red brick buildings on every side. Cars could drive through here and Kenny steered the car under the archway to a parking bay immediately on the right. He stopped there, got out and unloaded Georgie’s suitcases.