Stacy Gregg - Mystic and Blaze

Issie had bandaged Mystic’s tail to keep it clean and was about to start with some last-minute mane-pulling when she heard the stern voice of her pony-club instructor booming out across the paddock. “Come on, girls, I thought you’d have them rugged up and ready to go by now.”

Issie turned around to see Avery striding towards her, a tall striking figure in crisp white jodhpurs and long black boots. His face was set in a serious expression underneath the mop of thick, curly brown hair. He held a riding crop in one hand, which Issie had never seen him use – except to thwack against the side of his boot when he was making a point. She guessed he carried it mostly to make himself look meaner.

Sometimes Stella would imitate Avery when he wasn’t around, whacking her crop against her leg and barking in a commanding tone, “Come on, chaps, get their hocks under them!” Issie and Kate would hoot with laughter at this impersonation, but the fact was that all three girls had enormous respect for their instructor.

Avery had once been a professional eventer – until he took a bad fall at the Badminton Horse Trials which finished his career for good. He didn’t talk much about those days, but Issie knew he had competed against the best riders in the world. He had even been on the same team as Blyth Tait and Mark Todd. But since his accident he didn’t ride at all.

Now he worked for the International League for the Protection of Horses, rescuing horses and ponies that had been mistreated and abused by vicious owners, and in his spare time he gave lessons to Issie and the other riders at Chevalier Point.

Hardly a glamorous life for him, Issie thought. After all, Chevalier Point wasn’t exactly the most exciting place on earth. It was a small town, perched on a peninsula of land. Issie’s mum was fond of saying that there were more horses there than people. Which may have been true. Certainly, if you loved horses then Chevalier Point was the best place in the world to live. With its flat green fields and rolling hills it was perfect horse country.

“Let’s get them loaded,” Avery instructed the girls. “We’ve got no time to waste.”

“Toby looks great in his new rug,” Issie said as Kate led him towards the ramp of the truck. The handsome bay wore a blood-red woollen blanket. Coco, too, was dressed up in her show rug made of navy-blue netting.

Wearing his plain old canvas paddock rug, Mystic didn’t look anywhere near as grand. “Don’t worry, boy, you look good just as you are,” Issie reassured him, worried that her pony’s feelings would be hurt if the others got all the attention. Mystic seemed happy enough with Issie’s praise. There was a definite spring in his step as he walked up the truck ramp, as if he knew he was on his way somewhere exciting.

Toby whinnied a greeting to Mystic as Issie tied the little grey up in the stall next to the big bay Thoroughbred. She gave each horse a hay net to play with for the five-minute trip and knocked on the window that separated the horses from the passenger cab of the truck to let Avery know they were ready to go. The overcast skies had cleared, the sun was out and they were on their way.

Clouds of dust rose up from the truck tyres as Avery turned off the main road and down the gravel drive that led to the Chevalier Point grounds. Ahead of them were the pony-club gates, hemmed by a line of tall magnolia trees. Beyond the magnolias was another paddock gate and then a series of large plane trees ran like a leafy spine down the middle of the three paddocks that made up the club grounds.

On warm summer days riders could loll about in the shade of the plane trees while their horses rested. It wasn’t going to get that hot today. After all, this was the first gymkhana of the season. Still, Avery pulled the horse truck up in the first paddock under two of the biggest trees so that they would be shaded from the glare of the sun.

They unloaded the horses and set to work braiding manes, stencilling chequerboard patterns on to rumps and oiling the ponies’ hooves.

Issie had never seen so many riders at Chevalier Point before. The gymkhana was open to all riders in the district, and Issie tried to pick out which riders were from the various clubs by the colour of their jerseys and ties. The Chevalier Point club uniform was a navy jersey with a bright red tie and Issie could see two riders dressed in Chevalier Point colours riding towards her from the far field where the showjumps had been set up.

“Hey, dizzy Issie!” the rider at the front called to her as he cantered closer. “About time you got here. Ben and me have already walked the showjumping course.”

Dan and Ben were Chevalier Point Pony Club members. Dan had a flea-bitten grey gelding called Kismit, while Ben rode a grumpy Welsh pony called Max.

“Are the jumps very big?” Issie asked nervously.

“Huge!” Dan teased her. “And you’ve got to ride fast too, if you want to beat the clock. The best time with no faults wins.” He was grinning from ear to ear. Dan was a speed demon. He and Kismit would be the ones to beat in the jumping ring today.

No time to walk the course now, Issie decided. It was nearly time for the first event. She would have to check out the jumps with Stella and Kate during the lunch break.

“Hello, Kismit.” Issie reached out a hand to pat the slender grey on the nose. “I suppose you’ve been promised extra carrots for dinner if you go fast today?” She smiled at Dan.

“Hey! I don’t need to bribe my own horse to win.” Dan grinned back. “Anyway, we’re going to fill in our entry forms now. Do you want to come?” he asked.

Issie was about to say yes when she heard her mother calling her name.

“Isadora! Isadora!” Mrs Brown cried out as she strode across the field towards her. Issie groaned. She couldn’t stand the way her mother insisted on using her full name. Isadora. It sounded so snobby and girly, not at all the sort of name for a serious horse rider. Sure, Avery called her Isadora sometimes too, but only when he was telling her off during a riding lesson. Apart from that, everyone else, even her teachers at school, called her Issie.

“I’ve filled in your entry forms,” Mrs Brown explained. “Doesn’t Mystic look wonderful?” She gave the grey gelding a very nervous pat and held on to the reins, extending her arm so that she was standing as far away from Mystic as possible while Issie did up the girth.

Everyone said that Issie was exactly like her mum. It was true that they were both tall, tanned and lean with long dark hair. But Issie didn’t think they were alike at all. How could they be when Issie loved horses so much and her mother didn’t even like them?

Issie wished her mum would give riding a try. Maybe if she could experience for herself the thrill of cantering across open fields with the wind in her hair, she’d finally be able to understand why Issie adored riding so much. But her mum was way too scared to even sit on a horse, let alone canter one.

“What’s your first event?” Mrs Brown asked, still reluctantly hanging on to Mystic’s reins as Issie finished adjusting her stirrups.

“Paced and Mannered. We’re due in the ring any minute now,” Issie told her. She gave Mystic a stroke on his dark, velvety nose and her mum gave her a leg up.

“Come on, boy,” Issie murmured softly, leaning low over Mystic’s neck, “let’s show them what we can do.”

In the ring, several horses were trotting around warming up. Dan and Ben were already there. A girl that Issie didn’t recognise rode in on a skewbald with a peppy trot, a young girl on a chubby chestnut mare following behind her. The chestnut pony had a vicious temper. Her ears were lying flat back against her head – a warning to other horses not to get too close.