Irish Luck: (Pony Jumpers: Special Edition #2)

  Pony Jumpers

  Special Edition

  #2

  IRISH LUCK

  Kate Lattey

  1st Edition

  Copyright 2018 © by Kate Lattey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  ~ * ~

  If you’re lucky enough to be Irish

  Then you’re lucky enough.

  - Irish saying

  ~ * ~

  A GUIDE TO IRISH PRONUNCIATION

  A stóirín – Irish Gaelic, meaning my little treasure. Pronounced uh stor-een.

  Ailbe – an Irish name. Pronounced ahl-bay.

  Boreen – a country lane, not wide enough for two cars to pass. Pronounced bore-een.

  Cael – an old Irish name, meaning slender. Pronounced cale.

  Caherdubh – Pronounced cah-her-duff. From Irish Gaelic, caher meaning rock, dubh meaning black. Named after the farm Caherduff where I lived in Ireland.

  Caoimhe – an Irish girl’s name, from the same root as Kevin. Pronounced kee-va.

  Darragh – Mairead’s former employer. Pronounced dai-rah.

  Eejit – Irish slang for idiot. Pronounced ee-jit.

  Eamonn – Irish boy’s name, meaning guardian of riches. Pronounced aim-an.

  Mairead – the Irish form of Margaret. Pronounced mah-raid.

  Niamh – an Irish girl’s name. Pronounced nee-ve.

  Sian – Keeley’s mother, and Deacon’s late wife. Actually a Welsh name. Pronounced sharn.

  Siobhan – an Irish girl’s name. Pronounced shiv-awn.

  Saoirse – an Irish girl’s name. Pronounced seer-sha.

  1

  THE TALK OF THE TOWN

  Dan leaned against the rail and watched the ponies canter around the collecting ring. Hairy-legged cobs were being overtaken by high-strung blood ponies, straining at the bit, barely held with tight martingales. Cresty Welsh Cobs pinned their ears and turned their faces out of the rain as athletic Connemaras sloshed their way down to the practice fence and leapt over the mud-spattered rails. It had been raining all day, but as the saying went in Ireland, if you didn’t ride in the rain, then you didn’t ride at all.

  Spruce tugged at the end of his reins, and Dan reached over and scratched the grey pony’s neck. One of his lumpy plaits had fallen out, and Dan made an attempt to reband it with his cold, numb fingers, but it ended up looking worse than it had that morning.

  With a sigh, Dan left it alone and turned to see a small girl on a well-bred bay pony ride up next to him. Her face was serious as she squinted through the drizzling rain at the jumps set up in the outdoor ring. She stood out from the rest of them, with her posh kit and class pony, both immaculately done with hardly a hair out of place, despite the weather. The wee pony’s coat gleamed with good health, and he was muscled up in all the right places. Dan stared at her enviously, but the girl was oblivious to him. She sat straight in the saddle, chewing on the rubber tip of her jumping bat and watching intently as a Roman-nosed chestnut splashed its way into the arena.

  Spruce sighed, and rubbed his forehead on Dan’s shoulder, leaving a trail of white hairs across his damp tweed coat.

  “Get over and have some manners,” Dan muttered, but he scratched Spruce’s forehead with his fingertips to try and satisfy his itch. The pony half-closed his eyes gratefully, and Dan smiled.

  You’re lucky to have the chance to ride him, he reminded himself. Spruce was a school pony, belonging to the equestrian centre, and he’d only managed to convince the manager to let him ride in this class because she was his mother. She knew how much it meant to him.

  “The Open class though?” she’d asked dubiously when he’d handed in his entry. “I don’t know about that, love. Spruce isn’t getting any younger, and the fences will be mighty high by the third round.”

  “We’re not likely to make it into the third round,” Dan had pointed out. “Just let us have a go at it, Mam. Please?”

  She’d sighed, staring down at the entry form and looking uncertain. Dan had crossed his fingers behind his back and prayed to Jesus that she’d say yes. He wasn’t sure that you were supposed to pray to Jesus about that sort of thing, but he was desperate. He couldn’t get stuck in the Novice again. Ever since they’d come to live in the little cottage at Ballywish Equestrian Centre three years ago, he’d watched the riders go around the Open classes, and every time he’d longed to ride with them. He wanted to jump a course of fences that went up at the end of each round, to have the chance to jump a second round and then a jump-off against the clock, instead of pottering around the Novice where there were so many entries that if you were through to the jump-off you rode it right away, without your pony having a chance to recover his breath, and without the challenge of raised fences. He’d worked hard for months on Spruce, one of the more willing school ponies, to get him to be competitive. They didn’t go to away shows, so Ballywish’s spring series provided a rare chance to compete. If his mother turned him away, that would be a whole year of dedicated schooling gone down the drain, and by the time next year rolled around, he’d be too old for the 12 & Unders, and too tall for little Spruce. He couldn’t let her say no.

  His mam had sighed, running a hand through her thick auburn hair. “Sure he’s a good jumper, son, but he’s not been so willing lately. He wouldn’t go over a pole for Evie last week.”

  “That’s because Evie’s rubbish. He’ll jump anything for me,” Dan had insisted. “Come outside and I’ll show you what he schooled over yesterday. He can do it, Mam. We both can.”

  Mairead Caldwell had looked at him with her hazel eyes, so similar to his own, then nodded and signed the form, smiling at her son as she’d added it to the pile of entries on her desk. He had watched in dazzled disbelief, given his chance at last.

  Now that the moment was here, however, Dan was starting to wonder if he hadn’t set himself up to fail. Spruce had a heart of gold, to be sure, but he wasn’t a patch on some of the ponies he was up against. Seeing the quality ponies around him had Dan feeling hopelessly outclassed, and he was seriously considering taking the grey pony back to his stable and untacking him now, before he went out there and made a proper eejit of himself in front of all these people.

  “Do you know your course, then?” asked a deep male voice behind him, and Dan glanced over his shoulder and froze.

  It was Deacon O’Callaghan. The tall man was striding up behind him like it was nothing out of the ordinary for a top international Grand Prix rider to have come to Ballywish, but as far as Dan knew, such an amazing thing had never happened before. He had a poster on his bedroom wall of Deacon O’Callaghan clearing a massive water jump at the last Olympic Games on his Irish-bred chestnut mare Castletown Shamrock. Deacon hadn’t won – a late rail in the jump-off had dropped him down to fourth place to finish just outside of the medals – but he’d come close, and had been the talk of the town ever since.

  Dan watched, open mouthed, as the wee girl on the slender bay pony turned towards Deacon, her face screwed up against the rain.

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Tell us it then, so you’re sure.”

  Deacon’s daughter rolled her eyes towards the dark sky and began pointing out the fences with her crop as she recited the course aloud.

  “First the grey oxer, then right to the yellow
and on to the green in five, then left and around to the flowerboxes…”

  She doesn’t sound nervous at all, Dan thought incredulously. But then, Deacon O’Callaghan’s daughter would have been show jumping since she was born. This course, as big as it was looking to Dan, would be nothing to her. Especially not on a class pony like that, he decided, eyeing the bay jealously.

  Deacon caught Dan’s eye just then and nodded a brief hello. Flushing, Dan quickly turned back to Spruce, fidgeting with his uneven plaits, which looked ten times worse next to his daughter’s perfectly plaited bay, although he supposed she had a groom to do such things for her. Wouldn’t that be nice? he thought bitterly as the girl on the chestnut pony rode out of the ring, and Jock’s voice came over the tannoy.

  “An unfortunate four faults there for Niamh Kelly and Whirlwind. Next to jump will be Padraig McCourt, to be followed by Saoirse Taylor, Danny Caldwell, Keeley O’Callaghan, and then Mary Rourke to finish.”

  Help! Dan hurried back around to the other side of Spruce, and tightened his girth, then swung up into the saddle. He’d been so busy watching the others that he hadn’t noticed the time passing. Now it was almost his turn to ride, and Spruce was hardly warmed up at all.

  “C’mon Spruce,” he told the grey pony as he shortened his reins, clicking his tongue as the little grey strode out willingly through the rain.

  A few minutes later, as Dan circled the fleabitten grey pony in front of the starting flags, he couldn’t help wishing that the round was already over and done with, and he could relax again. He turned Spruce toward the first fence, and the pony took two eager strides, then sensed his rider’s reluctance and slowed down, dropping behind the bit.

  Instinct took over from nerves, and Dan sat down and kicked on, driving the pony up to the bit and urging him to that opening oxer. Spruce argued the whole way to the fence, getting right under the fence before springing over at the last minute. Dan gritted his teeth and gave the pony a quick tap behind his leg with his short jumping bat.

  “Get on, now,” he reminded the little grey. “You can do this.”

  Sensing his renewed confidence, Spruce jumped the second fence, and then the third. By the time they reached the end of the course, they were flying, and Dan had to make an effort to slow the eager pony down as they approached the last. Spruce got there on a perfect stride and soared over, cantering through the finish with a proud toss of his head. Dan was grinning and furiously patting the pony’s sweaty neck as he trotted back to the gate. A clear round! He’d never expected that, not really. The jumps had looked so high, and Spruce had knocked down the practice fence right beforehand, which had seemed like a bad omen. But the grey pony had gone on and jumped his heart out for a clear – an actual clear round!

  “A brilliant clear for Danny Caldwell and Ballywish Spruce,” Jock said, sounding a little biased and mighty proud of him. “They’ll be back shortly for the second round. Now we move on to Keeley O’Callaghan, riding No Day Like Today.”

  Keeley trotted into the ring past Dan, her blue eyes focused determinedly on the course ahead. Dan brought Spruce down to a walk and patted him again, watching Keeley ride her pony over and show him the wall. The pony was as much of a professional as she was, and didn’t blink at the bright red painted bricks, or the nearby boxes stuffed full of fake flowers.

  Deacon stood by the gate, watching his daughter, and he glanced at Dan as he rode out of the arena. To his surprise, Deacon flashed him a smile, and then spoke.

  “You rode that well,” he told Dan, who flushed scarlet at the compliment and managed to mumble a quick “Thanks very much,” as Spruce bustled past.

  Deacon O’Callaghan just noticed me! This day was just getting better and better, and although the rain was coming down even harder now, Dan hardly felt it as he rode Spruce back to the stables to tell his mother what he’d just done.

  The inner stable block was frantic, with more people than ever dashing up and down the aisles in varying states of panic. Spruce’s usual loosebox was occupied, as it had been rented out for the event, so Dan used a halter to tie the pony to a ring in the wall, then ran to the tack room to fetch him a blanket.

  “There you are, son!” His mother caught him by the shoulders as he dashed into the room, just avoiding being cracked on the chin. “I haven’t missed your round, have I?”

  Dan grinned up at her. “Only the first one, but we’ll be jumping the second soon. I just came to get a blanket for Spruce so he doesn’t stiffen up while we wait.”

  His mother looked astonished. “He went clear? That was a right tough course out there, I didn’t think you had a hope.”

  “Gee, thanks Mam.”

  She laughed and pulled Dan in for a hug. “Sure I’m so proud of you! I’ll come out and watch you go in a moment, I just have a few things to sort here.”

  “Okay.”

  She left the room, and Dan picked up a thick wool blanket which he took back to Spruce. It was made for a much larger horse, and hung almost to the grey pony’s knees, but as daft as it looked, at least it would keep him warm. Dan led the grey pony back to the outdoor ring, trying not to mind the laughter he could see in people’s eyes as they took in the spectacle of the aged pony in his oversized blanket.

  Keeley O’Callaghan was still there, still chewing the end of her stick as her pony walked around the collecting ring. She had a bright red mack on now, and her pony had a matching bright red quarter sheet over his muscular rump. Dan glanced at Spruce again, who looked like an elderly grandfather in a worn-out dressing gown. At least it hid the rumpity old saddle, but you could still tell that his bridle was all made up of spare pieces, and there was a sprinkling of rust on his ancient snaffle that no amount of buffing could get off.

  But we jumped clear, Dan reminded himself as he tightened the girth and swung back into Spruce’s hard saddle. Posh tack didn’t make you any faster in a jump-off, or help your pony to jump any higher. From the way that Keeley’s bay pony had its ears flattened back right now, and its head turned against the incoming raindrops, it didn’t appear to be thrilled to be out in the weather. Spruce, on the other hand, just kept marching around the collecting ring, blinking the rain out of his eyes in his usual workmanlike way, and Dan felt hopeful. He clapped his pony’s neck encouragingly as the course builders finished lifting the fences for the second round.

  Keeley handed her pony off to her father before marching into the ring to walk the course. A handful of other riders followed suit, and Dan looked around desperately for his mam. She was nowhere to be seen, and he couldn’t see anyone else that he knew. He stopped Spruce by the fence and watched the riders walking the track, trying to memorise the new course that way.

  “D’you need me to hold your pony, lad?”

  Dan’s head swivelled fast on his neck and he stared at Deacon, who was smiling at him. Talking to him. His face was speckled with rain and mud, and he turned his head aside for a moment and coughed. It was odd, Dan thought, that an Olympian whose poster was on your bedroom wall could seem so normal when you met him face-to-face.

  “Uh, sure. Thanks a million.”

  He kicked his feet out of the stirrups and jumped to the ground, his boots sinking into the slush. He could feel water creeping in through the cracks in the worn leather, but he focused on snugging Spruce’s oversized blanket up onto his neck before handing the tattered reins to Deacon.

  “Go on then,” the man said, nodding towards the ring, and Dan set off at a run.

  2

  SECOND ROUND

  If the jumps had looked large before, they were simply enormous now, and far higher than anything he’d ever jumped before. Dan was starting to realise what his mother had meant when she’d warned him that the Open class could be too much for Spruce. Was he about to make a proper fool of himself? More importantly, was it fair to ask such a thing of the kind little grey? He looked over to where the pony was standing next to Deacon, head down against the rain, one hind leg cocked under that ancient b
lanket. Spruce had already jumped two smaller classes today with riding school pupils, and Dan bit his lip, doubting his own judgement. But how could he walk back over to Deacon O’Callaghan and say he’d wimped out of even making an attempt?

  Dan looked back out at the course and gritted his teeth, determined to make an attempt at it. Spruce would let him know if it was truly beyond his capabilities, and then it would be himself sprawled in the mud with his lesson well and truly learned. He started walking again, carefully pacing out the double before looking around for what came next.

  Just ahead of him, Keeley had stopped in front of the planks, which looked even bigger with her standing in front of them. The top plank was as high as her shoulder, but she seemed totally unfazed as she looked back over the course, pointing at each fence in turn, her lips moving as she recited the order to herself. She doesn’t seem nervous at all, Dan thought to himself. Surely if she can do it, I can too.

  Keeley saw him coming and showed him a gap-toothed grin.

  “Fierce wet today, isn’t it?” she asked brightly.

  “Uh, yeah. I suppose so,” Dan said with a shrug. “It rains a lot here.”

  “I know. We only live on the other side of the village.” Keeley walked around the planks and looked for the next fence.

  “I didn’t know that,” Dan said, surprised. “I thought you lived in Mullingar.”

  “We moved. Sure it didn’t rain this much over there though,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I don’t think I’ve been properly dry since we arrived!” She started pacing towards the white oxer with the painted grey wall beneath it, and Dan fell in next to her. “Cruel of them, isn’t it, to put a big wide oxer like this right after the planks? I’ll have to fairly gallop Scooter down to it and hope he can find a way over.”