The Horse Who Danced by Nosy Crow

Chapter One

Iona screwed her eyes up, squinting so that everything appeared blurry. If she really tried, she could turn the lumpy arena surface of Whitemoor Riding School into the smooth pale sand of a top-class equestrian centre. The worn wooden gate became the entrance to an international arena, and the few spectators standing around, hopping from foot to foot to keep warm, became vast crowds all cheering her on.

In next we have Iona Patterson and Double Jinks, riding for Great Britain! Can they repeat their success in the Grand Prix from last year? She closed her eyes, imagining the commentator calling their names, instead of Henny Fisher, the ancient proprietor of the riding school, who shunned technology and had a handwritten list of the competitors waiting to ride the next class, the novice dressage.

“Miss Patterson, wake up!” Henny squawked, waving her stick towards the indoor arena set up in an old barn. “You’re next. Get moving.”

Iona’s daydream vanished and she sighed. Nudging her pony forward, Iona ran a hand over the neatly plaited mane, always with cotton thread, as her mum insisted.

“Elastic bands are so naff,” she would say, the needle held in her mouth as she weaved and twisted the jetblack mane by the light of a head torch. “Nothing like a proper sewn-in plait.”

No one else had plaited their ponies. Cobs stood with hairy legs resting, ancient-looking ponies with dipped backs flicked thin tails, and hardly any of the riders had even tied back their own hair. Whitemoor was a small riding school, tired round the edges, but it was local and friendly. Despite Henny’s fierce

exterior, she was actually very kind and had always encouraged Iona and her pony. Though Henny was well into her eighties, she and Iona could chat for hours about horses.

Double Jinks, known as Jinks at home, tossed his head, and Iona patted him, feeling the muscles under his ink-black coat, the immense power in his compact body. Jinks was only thirteen hands high but his attitude seemed to give him height. His coat shone, and although his white saddlecloth was frayed round the edges and Iona’s jacket was missing a few threads, they were easily the best turned out.

“Come on, boy,” she whispered to him. “I know it’s the same old place, but let’s dance.”

Jinks surged forward, his trot rhythmic and powerful but light. Iona noticed the judge in the little hut, a garden shed over which Henny had strung some cheery bunting, sit up as she rode past, and she paused so the judge could see her number. She didn’t recognise her, which was a pleasant change, as she was desperate to have some varied feedback. When the bell rang, Iona took a deep breath, turning up the centre line. Even at Whitemoor, she never grew tired of the way Jinks seemed to float down the arena, turning at exactly the right point, his neck rounded 3

but not tense, striking off into his canter perfectly each time. As she saluted at the end, giving him a big pat, she grinned and noticed the judge was smiling too as she wrote up her notes.

“That was nice, Iona.”

Sara, Iona’s mum, was waiting for her outside, having watched quietly from the viewing area with a polystyrene cup of coffee from Henny’s catering trailer. “Viewing area” made it sound grand; in reality it was three plastic chairs on a platform made of wooden pallets.

“Good boy, Jinks.” Sara wrapped her arms round the pony and kissed his plaits, as Jinks snuffled against her.

Iona’s mum adored the little black gelding. She had bred him thirteen years ago. He had been born just a week before Iona, both arriving during one of the worst storms in the area’s history. “Should have known what I was letting myself in for,” Sara often joked. “From you both.”

“We can’t stay for the results,” Sara continued. “I’ve got a fully booked afternoon: two treks, and Mouse has the dentist coming too. Why don’t you cycle back later, pick up your sheet then? I need you to go to the shop too anyway. Be closed by the

time I’m free otherwise.”

“OK.” Iona was used to her mum’s busy schedule. Sara Patterson ran a trekking centre that was home to a handful of stocky native ponies who took mainly tourists on hacks around the moors and beaches surrounding their home. It was the start of half-term so busier than usual. But winter was closing in, which meant weeks and weeks when no one came. She could feel the other competitors’ eyes following them as they crossed the car park. She wondered whether people expected Jinks to be loaded into a smart lorry, perhaps metallic black to match his coat, with leather seats and a sponsor’s logo emblazoned on the side.

The reality was Sara’s ancient truck and a cattle trailer. But the straw was clean and the sweetestsmelling hay hung up ready, which Jinks launched into enthusiastically.

Whitemoor was a short drive away, and Iona gazed out of the window as they passed the big stone pillars at the end of their drive. The Kestrel estate had been home all her life, and her mum’s too, but they didn’t live in the vast country house; they had the cottage attached to the yard just below it. Sara’s parents, Iona’s grandparents, had lived and worked on the estate and the cottage’s tenancy had been passed down the

generations. Her grandparents were long gone now, part of another life. Iona shivered as the enormous mansion towered into view. It had been empty for over two years, ever since the owner, Lady Van-De Writson had died, leaving a tangle of legalities and complications to sort. There was talk of a sale soon after, but it had been vague. Iona preferred to push that thought away because it had only been mentioned once. Lady Van-De Writson had insisted Iona and Sara call her Penny and she was hugely missed. No one would have guessed from her ancient wax coat and beaten-up old car that she was a multimillionaire. She’d often wander down to the stables to say hello to the ponies, or chat to Iona about dressage, or just sit at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, laughing away with Sara. Penny’s son lived abroad now. He wouldn’t sell, Iona told herself firmly. Surely he’d have done it already if he’d wanted to? She tried to ignore the fact there seemed to be a buzz about the place. Cars appearing up the long drive after it had been quiet for months. Overhearing conversations in the village, talk of incomers.

Once Jinks was back out in his paddock with his best friend Merry, the Shetland pony Iona had learned to ride on, and Iona had tacked up Biscuit, Monty and

Pebbles, three of the trekking ponies, she picked up her ancient bike and set off down the winding estate drive, freewheeling as the wind whipped through her long, tangled dark-blonde hair. She’d inherited her colouring from her dad. Sara was small and dark, and Iona’s height and hair was all her father’s side. Leo’s girl through and through. She’d heard that all her life.

She felt a pang as she realised she hadn’t visited her dad for a few days, having been so busy with the ponies, so vowed to go later that day once she’d picked up her sheet and the shopping. Leo Patterson’s final resting place was in a windswept corner of the churchyard, overlooking the sea he had so loved. Iona didn’t remember him – she’d only been a baby – but Sara talked about him freely and his photos were everywhere. For years it had just been Sara and Iona and then Sara had met Sam Jones in the village pub. He’d just moved to the area, looking for a fresh start and the country life. He’d worked in the city before, had never worn a pair of wellies. He’d made Sara laugh, and he was kind to Iona, and he’d willingly mucked out a stable within two weeks of their first date. They’d married quickly, and very soon it was as though he’d always been part of Kestrel.

It took Iona twenty minutes to reach Whitemoor, where the dressage was still going on. Leaning her bike against the brick barn where the results would be posted she was gratified to see a red rosette on the table, pinned to a blue sheet.

Henny handed it over to her with a smile. “There you go, Miss Patterson,” she said. “Another win for you.”

“Thanks, Henny.” Iona took the rosette and put it in her pocket, scanning the sheets quickly. Lots of eights and a sprinkling of nines. The score was high: not quite her best but right up there. The comments were lovely and she felt herself lift as she read them.

Henny chatted away as she wrote up the next results on the blackboard. “How’s your mum? Didn’t get a chance to speak to her this morning.”

“She’s fine,” Iona said, picturing her mum who, right this moment, would be mounted on Biscuit, her favourite pony, leading a group, regaling them with tales of shipwrecks and the folklore of the coastal paths they were riding. They’d end with a canter up the long stretch of mostly deserted sand with the waves crashing on to the shore. “She’s busy this afternoon with treks.”

“Great stuff,” Henny said, but her face was

thoughtful. “Long may it continue. So everything’s OK?”

Iona knew Henny was dying to ask if she’d heard anything about a possible sale, but she also knew that Henny would probably know more than her. And there was nothing to tell anyway.

Their conversation was interrupted by a pleasantlooking lady coming into the barn. Iona recognised her as the judge from earlier. She looked at Iona and then her smile widened.

Iona looked down. She had thrown on a woolly jumper, and her hair, now free from the confines of her net, was wild, but she still had her jodhpurs on.

“You were riding the black pony in the novice class, right?” the lady said.

Iona nodded. “Thank you for the great score.”

“It’s my pleasure,” the lady said. “It was a joy to judge you. Do you do anything else with your pony? Affiliated dressage? You ought to think about the youth training programme.”

Iona thought about the evenings spent poring over the laptop she used for homework, adding up costs. Lessons, registration, entry fees, travel – it was all beyond them. Whitemoor, just down the road and that charged seven pounds per class, was all they

could do for now.

“Um,” she said, and she glanced at Henny, who gave her a small understanding smile. “I’m just happy with local stuff.”

The lady nodded. “Well, if you ever want to take it further, do look it up, won’t you?”

“I will,” Iona said, even though she knew the contents of the website by heart. “Thank you.”

Picking up her bike, folding her sheet into her pocket alongside her rosette, Iona gave a groan as she saw a familiar figure stalk towards her. Her breeches were snow white and her jacket was elegantly tailored. Her boots were glossy patent leather and Iona saw that her hat, with a strip of crystals, was the one worn by all the horsey influencers recently and cost over five hundred pounds. Of course April Lewis would have one.

April gave her a cheery wave. “Iona! How are you?”

“Fine,” Iona said, her teeth gritted. “You?”

“Really good!” April trilled. “I’ve just come to get Mambo out for a leg stretch before the autumn championships next weekend at Longlands,” she said, referring to a high-class competition venue a couple of hours away. “He’s feeling amazing.”

“Great,” Iona said, keen to get the conversation

done and dusted, but April was clearly in a chatty mood.

“How’s Jenks?” she continued.

Iona rolled her eyes. “Jinks –” she overemphasised his name – “is good, thank you.” She pulled out her rosette, hating herself for having to prove anything to April. “He won his class earlier. Novice.”

April laughed. “Oh, samesies! We won the elementary. Be great when you’re at that level too, Iona. A win at Whitemoor isn’t really a win, is it? But it’s just a practice today, nothing serious,” she added sweetly. “I need some competition, so hurry up and move up a level, won’t you?”

Iona’s jubilant mood evaporated. “Next time,” she said, feeling the tendrils of jealousy creep in.

April was doing all the things she dreamed about doing with Jinks: training with professionals, travelling to far-away posh centres, climbing up and up the ladder, far above Iona and Whitemoor Riding School. April had a social media account too and posted regular photos of her pony Mambo: lots of peace signs and pouts in front of smart venues and the unboxing of expensive pony wear. April made it sound as though she’d been sent things for free but Iona knew her parents spoiled her. They lived in a big

new house on the edge of town, and April’s parents had paid a fortune for the paddock at the back and had built two pretty stables next to the garage. April was the queen of camera angles, making her small yard look much bigger than it was. Iona couldn’t help scrolling through April’s account more regularly than she liked to admit. She would die if April ever knew she checked her posts, though.

Iona only ever occasionally posted, even though she had some gorgeous photos of Jinks that her stepdad had taken. He was an ace with a camera and took all the photos for her mum’s trekking pony website. She liked to see what the famous riders she admired were up to, including local rider Jessica Jefferies, who was described as a rising star of the dressage world. April had once mentioned casually that she knew her, but Iona was doubtful. She’d passed Jessica’s yard twice, gazing up at the big wrought-iron gates, longing to see the stables on the other side. Jessica was only four years older, just turned seventeen, but her life couldn’t be more different.

Free of April at last, Iona set off on her bike again. She reached the shop just as dusk started to roll in from the sea. She hummed to herself as she wandered around, adding a bag of carrots for Jinks and the

trekking ponies and a chocolate bar for herself, suddenly starving after her busy day. As she thanked the shopkeeper, promising to send on her best wishes to her mum, Iona pushed against the door straight into someone who was coming in.

“Watch out!” the man said crossly.

“I’m sorry,” Iona said. “I didn’t see you.”

“Well, try being more careful,” the man snapped.

Iona frowned. “It was an accident,” she muttered sharply, but the man had already barged past her. He was wearing a suit and a black wool overcoat, and Iona had never seen him before. His dark hair was brushed back and his skin was tanned, as if he’d just stepped off a luxury yacht, or returned from an expensive ski holiday. He had the air of someone with money.

As she picked up her bike, she looked over at a shiny four-by-four, and back at the man who was now tapping his hands impatiently at the counter. He’d grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and seemed in a hurry to pay.

Rearranging her bag and stopping to say hello to a small terrier tied up outside the shop meant Iona was only just setting off as the man swung the door open and headed back out to his car. He had a mobile to his ear and was talking loudly into it.

“Yes, nearly there,” he said. “Last bits to get tied up and then it’s finalised. It’s almost yours.”

And at that moment his eyes met Iona’s and a smirk seemed to cross his lips. “It’s quite the house,” he said triumphantly. “Just give it a few more days…”

Iona felt a huge sense of dread, wondering if she’d heard him right. Giving herself a shake, she started for home, Jinks and safety.

Chapter Two

Later that evening, Iona’s finger hovered over her phone, looking at the one photo her mum had quickly snapped of her at the dressage. Her mum wasn’t the best at photographs and had caught Iona with her mouth open and Jinks with his ears back. He’d been listening to her talk to him, but it made him look super grumpy. Iona’s normally pale face was flushed after her ride, and there was a lady eating a cheeseburger in the

background. Iona had considered posting about her day. But the photo was awful and she couldn’t shake off April’s words. A win at Whitemoor isn’t really a win, is it? She sighed, deleting the photo instead. Out of morbid curiosity, she clicked on to April’s profile. She’d recently posted and her photo already had over a hundred likes. It hadn’t been taken at Whitemoor but at April’s house, where April posed in the drive in that one-leg-in-front-of-the-other sort of way, holding on to Mambo’s lead rope. A fluffy noseband on his headcollar accentuated his beautiful profile and his ears were pricked. Whoever had taken the photo had got it exactly right: the lighting, the pose, everything. They’d even got April’s dad’s brand-new Range Rover in the background and the huge lorry that was far too big for just one pony. Despite April’s scorn over Whitemoor, Mambo still had the red rosette pinned to his headcollar.

Such a good training day, putting the final prep in for next week’s big show! April’s caption read. Can’t wait to take you guys along with me.

Iona stared at it, envy forming a bitter lump in her throat. April posted like all the famous horsey influencers, tagging her hat, jacket, rug and boot brands, and documenting her every move. She was

clearly desperate to be famous. Iona clicked to exit April’s profile, and felt her stomach drop as she realised she’d pressed on a heart instead, adding to the growing number of likes. Iona jabbed at the screen and it seemed to reverse her mistake, but she knew April would have seen it and she imagined her smirking. She clicked away and looked up Jessica Jefferies instead, who had been at a high-profile show that day with her star horse, the beautiful bay Razzmatazz, known as Taz. She had journeyed her build-up with daily photo diaries and all the behindthe-scenes preparation, and Iona savoured every word and picture, imagining herself doing the same one day. Iona looked at the most recent photo, a blackand-white shot of her hugging Taz. No rosette photo or lap of honour photo. Iona felt her blood run cold as she started to read the lengthy caption.

This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write. Taz was injured earlier today, a total freak accident when we were loading him to go to the show. We nearly lost him. The vet has been and I’m so thankful they were able to save him, but it’s going to be a long road to recovery. I’m numb and still taking it all in. Guys, hug your ponies a little tighter tonight. Taz may be a champion, but he’s also my best friend.

Iona stared at the photo again, as she imagined the same thing happening to Jinks, then brushed the thoughts away, the image too painful. Poor Jessica. The young dressage rider posted loads and she replied to comments too, once thanking Iona for a compliment she’d paid her on a win. She wasn’t famous like an Olympic rider but famous enough that it was a real thrill to get a reply. The news that Jessica’s horse had almost lost his life totally rocked Iona. April’s snide comments faded.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her mum calling up the stairs. “Oscar’s here.”

Iona pulled herself out of her bedroom chair. Her legs ached after the dressage – just keeping Jinks’s power contained was a full workout – but she wanted to talk to Oscar.

Hopping down the stairs, she saw her best friend sitting at the big wooden table in the kitchen. Max, their elderly retriever, lay against the Rayburn and thumped his tail at the sight of Iona. Sara produced hot drinks out of nowhere. Despite not being very social, she was a warm and welcoming host and had a knack of making the kitchen cosy and inviting. Sara adored Oscar, Iona’s oldest friend. Oscar was the closest thing Iona had to a sibling.

“Your mum was telling me about your win today,” Oscar said. “That’s cool!”

He sounded so genuinely pleased that Iona smiled. She could always count on Oscar.

“There you go.” Sara placed a mug in front of Iona. “I’ll go and start evening stables.”

“I’ll come and help,” Iona offered, but Sara shook her head, smiling. “Have a catch-up. Sam’s back in a minute.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

After a sip, Iona felt better. It had been an unsettling day, what with her run-in with April, reading the news about Jessica Jefferies and the rude man in the shop. What if he had meant Kestrel?

“I just came round to see if you’d heard any more about the memorial,” Oscar said, and a flash of pain sparked in his brown eyes. “They want to place it up by Tor Point, three things for three men, something that means something … looking out…” As his voice trailed off, Iona’s hand closed over his.

The waves that had taken her dad had taken Oscar’s too. For a second they were silent, and then Iona shook her head. “I haven’t heard any more,” she said. “I know Mum was going to some council meeting with Mr Lewis because he rang the other day.” She

grimaced as she referred to April’s dad, who sat on just about every board there was concerning the local area. “Ugh, that reminds me, I saw April today at Whitemoor. Awful as ever.”

Iona could have sworn Oscar’s cheeks flushed slightly.

“Did she … um, did she mention me?” Oscar’s face coloured further.

Iona snorted. “No! Why would she?”

Then she narrowed her eyes and looked at her best friend closely. “Oscar?”

“Oh, no reason,” Oscar said quickly. “It’s just that she was with her dad the other day, when he came to see my mum about the meeting.”

“Poor you. She’s the worst,” Iona groaned.

Oscar shrugged. “She was actually quite nice,” he said. “Maybe she’s different away from horses. You know, it’s weird you two have never been friends. I know you’re at different schools, but you’ve grown up close by, both love horses…”

“And she talks to me like I’m something she’s trodden in.” Iona glared at Oscar.

“You’re not exactly Miss Friendly with her yourself,” Oscar said. “She’s honestly not that bad. I wouldn’t be telling you if I didn’t think so.”

Iona made a face. “Don’t go getting pally with her.”

Oscar laughed and shook his head. “I only said she was quite nice. I’m not looking for a new bestie.” He rolled his eyes.

Iona laughed too. The idea of her slightly awkward best friend and the preened and confident April didn’t really fit.

The next morning dawned cold and colourless. Autumn seemed to creep in during the summer holidays, and winter felt its presence known while the rest of the country was still embracing pumpkins and golden leaves. Iona picked up a jumper from her bedroom floor. There were a couple of shavings stuck to it, like the first few snowflakes of winter. Iona thought about the next few months. Once half-term was over, booking for treks would drop considerably. Some hardy souls braved the weekends, but it was nothing like the summer when the days were packed with tourists. Sara kept a couple of ponies in work but would turn the rest out to save on costs. With their thick coats and hardy dispositions they all did well over the hard winter.

A short while later, swigging weak tea and stuffing

toast and marmalade into her mouth, Iona tacked up Jinks, ready to ride out. She wasn’t needed until later that morning. Heading out down the drive and turning towards the sea, Iona took a deep breath, as if seeing the view for the very first time. It never got any less magical.

Jinks’s ears pricked forward and he danced a little.

Iona chuckled, scratching his withers. “Your favourite place.”

They wound down a woodland path, which grew sandier with every step before the view opened up and they were riding over short turf dotted with sheep and on to a gravelled path that snaked from side to side down to a vast expanse of flat sand. The beach was mostly deserted, bar a few dog walkers and a man surfing in a full wetsuit. Iona watched as the man paddled out, heading further into the lashing blue-grey water. He’s mad, she thought. Why would you willingly do that. Her thoughts drifted to her dad, and she shivered. The sea was home, the beach her favourite place to gallop, but she hated it too. As soon as Jinks’s black hooves hit the sand, Iona gathered up her plaited reins, feeling the cool leather in her hands against the shiny granite of Jinks’s neck,

and leaned forward.

“Go,” she whispered, and she felt his power surge forward, his hooves eating up the ground, his strides lengthening, barely touching the sand as the little black pony galloped on and on. The waves crashed on to the shore, and as if in perfect sync with Jinks the surfer caught a wave and for a few seconds it was as though they were racing, one on land, one in the sea. The salt-heavy wind whipped tears from Iona’s eyes and her hair flew behind her. The surfer disappeared under the crashing barrel of the wave and Iona felt her heart stop, then she breathed out with relief as he emerged from the foaming, churning white crest, shaking water from his hair, a look of wild exhilaration on his face as he grinned at Iona and put two thumbs up. She waved back and carried on, Jinks slowing as they reached the end of the beach. He had been incredible, as always.

Briefly she thought about April, who’d be preparing for her championships. Then Iona shook her head, leaning forward and hugging her beautiful black pony, who was bright-eyed and ears pricked after his run. This should be enough, she thought. Just being able to do this: gallop my pony on a beach on this gorgeous morning. But she knew Jinks had the potential to be

a superstar if she just got the right opportunity. And she wanted that chance. She wanted it more than she liked to admit.

The Horse Who Danced

OLIVIA TUFFIN

For Careth

Chapter One

Chapter Two