For a moment I’m a bit discomfited. But then… why shouldn’t people wear them too?
“Here we are!” Albert, who runs the horses at Suze’s parents’ place, interrupts us. He’s leading an enormous brown horse along by the reins. “We’re putting you on Ginger today. He’s pretty good-natured, aren’t you, boy?”
I freeze in horror. This? He’s expecting me to get on this monster? I was envisioning some nice little pony.
Albert hands me the reins and I take them automatically, trying not to panic. The horse takes a step forward with an enormous, heavy hoof, and I give a frightened jump out of the way. What if it steps on my foot?
“Aren’t you going to mount?” asks Lulu, swinging herself up into the saddle of a horse which is, if anything, bigger than mine.
“Of course!” I say with a nonchalant laugh.
How? How am I supposed to get up there?
“Want a leg up?” says Tarquin, who has been talking to Albert a few yards away. He comes up behind me, and before I know it, he’s hefted me right up into the saddle.
Oh my God.
I’m so high. When I look down, I feel dizzy. Suddenly Ginger takes a step sideways, and I try not to gasp in fright.
“Shall we go?” calls Suze, who is on her old black horse, Pepper, and with a clip-clop she’s off through the gate, into the field. Lulu makes a clicking sound with her tongue, swings her horse round, and follows.
Right. My turn. Go.
Go on, horse. Move.
I have no idea what to do next. Do I kick it? Experimentally I pull on one of the reins, but nothing happens.
“Gee-up,” I mutter under my breath. “Gee-up, Ginger!”
Suddenly, as though he’s noticed that his friends have gone, he starts walking forward. And it’s… OK. It’s fine. It’s just a bit more… bumpy than I’d imagined. I look ahead at Lulu, and she’s totally comfortable. In fact, she’s got her reins gathered up in one hand.
“Close the gate!” she yells to me.
Close the gate? I think in panic. How am I supposed to close the gate?
“I’ll do it,” Tarquin calls. “Have a good time!”
“OK!” I call back gaily.
Right. As long as we just keep ambling along, I’ll be OK. In fact, this could almost be fun. The sun’s shining, the breeze is ruffling the grass, and the horses are all lovely and shiny. Some people are walking along the side of the field on a footpath, and as we pass by I give them a nonchalant “Don’t I look great on my horse?” nod and twirl my riding crop. And they look really impressed!
Maybe I’ve found my natural talent. Maybe Luke and I should buy some horses and a few acres of land. We could do field events and show jumping, like Suze—
Shit. What’s going on? All of a sudden, Ginger has started jolting up and down.
OK. Don’t panic. This must be trotting.
I look at Suze and Lulu, and they’re both rising up and falling in time with their horses. I try to copy them, but all that happens is I crash painfully back onto the saddle. Ouch. God, saddles are hard. Why don’t they make them padded? If I were a horse saddle designer I’d make them really soft and comfy, with furry cushions and drinks holders, maybe, and—
“Shall we canter?” Suze calls over her shoulder. Before I can reply she’s kicked her horse, and it’s zooming away like National Velvet, closely followed by Lulu.
“We don’t have to canter, Ginger,” I say quickly to the horse. “We can just—”
Oh my Goooooood. He’s taken off after the others.
Fuck. Oh fuck. I am going to fall off. I know I am. My whole body is rigid. I’m clenching the saddle so hard it’s hurting my hands.
“Are you OK, Bex?” shouts Suze.
“Fine!” I call back, but I just want this to stop. The wind is streaming past my face. I feel ill with terror.
I’m going to die. My life is over. The only plus I can think of is it’ll sound really cool when they report it in the papers.
A KEEN HORSEWOMAN, REBECCA BRANDON (NEE BLOOMWOOD) DIED WHILE OUT CANTERING WITH HER FRIENDS.
Oh God. I think he’s slowing down. At last. We’re trotting… we’re kind of jogging… we’re finally coming to a halt.
Somehow I manage to unclench my hands.
“Isn’t it lovely?” says Suze, turning round on Pepper. Her blond hair is streaming out from under her hat and her cheeks are flushed pink. “Shall we have a really good gallop?”
Gallop?
You have to be kidding. If Ginger takes one more step, I’ll throw up.
“Can you jump yet, Bex?” she asks. “There’s just a couple of little ones coming up. But you should be able to manage them,” she says encouragingly. “You’re really good!”
For a moment I can’t speak.
“I just need to… er… adjust my stirrup,” I manage at last. “You two go on.”
I wait until the two of them are out of sight before I slither to the ground. My legs are all shaky and I feel nauseous. I am never leaving solid ground again. Never. Why on earth would people do this for fun?
I sink down onto the grass and take off my new riding hat — which, to be honest, has been hurting my ears since I put it on. Suze and Lulu are probably miles away by now. Galloping along and talking about nappies.
“Come on,” I say to Ginger. “Let’s walk back.” I stand up and cautiously pull the reins — and to my astonishment he obediently follows.
This is more like it.
As I walk across the grass, I start to relax a bit. A horse is actually a pretty cool accessory. Who says you need to get on it? I could still go to Hyde Park every day. I could buy a really pretty horse and just lead it around like a dog. And if any passersby asked, “Why aren’t you riding?” I’d just give them a knowing smile and say, “We’re resting today.”
We wander along for a while and at last come to an empty road. I stand for a moment, looking from left to right. In one direction, the road disappears up a hill and round a corner. In the other, I can see what seems to be quite a sweet little village, all beamed houses, and a patch of grass, and…
Ooh. Are those… shops?
Half an hour later I feel a lot better.
I’ve bought some gorgeous cheese with walnuts in it, and some gooseberry preserve, and some huge radishes, which Luke will love. And best of all, I found this amazing little shop that sells hats. Right here in this village! Apparently, the milliner is local and is practically the next Philip Treacy. I mean, not that I wear hats that often… but I’m bound to be invited to a wedding soon, or Ascot or something. And the prices were fantastic. So I bought a white one decorated with ostrich feathers and a black velvet one all covered in jewels. They’re a bit cumbersome in their hatboxes, but they were so worth it.
Ginger whinnies as I approach the lamppost where I tied him up, and stamps his foot on the ground.
“Don’t worry!” I say. “I haven’t left you out.” I bought him a bagful of Chelsea buns and some “extra sheen” shampoo for his mane. I reach in the bag and feed him one of the Chelsea buns, trying not to shudder as he slobbers on my hand.
The only slight problem now is… where am I going to put all my shopping? I can’t very easily hold all these carrier bags and lead Ginger along the road. Should I try to mount him carrying my shopping? What did people do in the olden days?
Then suddenly I notice a big buckle on one of Ginger’s saddle straps. I could easily hang a bag off that. I pick up one of the paper carriers and loop it over the buckle — and it hangs there perfectly! And now that I look
