Prize Problems (7 page)

“Nope,” replied Annabelle, shaking her head—again.

“Is it…” said Amber, listing every possibility that had been suggested earlier. Annabelle denied them all, her smugness growing by degrees at every suggestion.

“Stop asking,” I hissed in Amber's direction, “you're just making Annabelle's day by going on about it. Play it cool!”

“I'm just seeing how smug she can get,” Amber whispered back, winking at me. “I'm hoping she'll get a smug overload and lose her marbles!”

Eventually it was time for us all to buckle up in the High Grove Farm van with Annabelle at the wheel. She had changed into a disturbingly low-cut top and some extra tight designer jeans, as well as adding some cheek bones via some blush, and some plumping lip gloss. When Amber saw her, she raised her eyes at me in surprise. Sharon, needless to say, was staying at home to do yard duties.

Our excitement increased with every mile and eventually, Annabelle pulled into a driveway lined with trees. Someone had draped a sheet over the sign by the road so we still didn't know where we were. It was all very cloak-and-dagger. Zoe grumbled that anyone would think we were going to see somebody famous. Amber immediately latched on to this idea and ran with it.

“Everybody act cool when we get out, just be really calm about it when Annabelle tells us who it is,” she added. “She'll be soo disappointed when we don't freak out.”

“That will be totally awesome!” I said to Bean.

She nodded in agreement. “Can you imagine what the others back home will say if we meet someone famous?” she said, grinning. “Cat will be livid! I'm going to make sure I get an autograph.”

My heart string twanged. Was Cat with my beloved Drummer right now? Was she getting closer and closer to him with every moment? Was I fading from Drummer's memory, gradually being replaced by Cat? I shook my head, trying to shake the image from my mind.

Annabelle parked in a gravel parking lot and we all piled out.

“Remember,” Amber hissed to everyone, “play it cool.”

We all followed Annabelle to a spotless yard where several horses, including a cob with a Roman nose, looked at us curiously over their half-doors. And then we heard footsteps.

“They're coming!” whispered Amber, turning to get the first glimpse as the footsteps behind the stables got nearer and louder.

“Hello everyone,” said a man with graying hair. Then, as his twinkling eyes saw me his face split into a grin.

“Hello, Pia,” he said.

Fourteen pairs of eyes swung around toward me and several mouths dropped in astonishment. Annabelle blinked several times as Alex Willard, possibly the most famous horse behaviorist in the world, walked across and gave me a hug. I couldn't believe he remembered me. It was astonishing—and totally thrilling!

“Pia and I met when we were on the TV together,” he explained to everyone. Like it was a perfectly ordinary thing to do—meet on TV. My heart sank.

“On TV? Together?” asked Annabelle incredulously, looking at me anew.

“That's right, on the
Cecily
Armstrong
show,” explained Alex.

“You? And Pia?” said Annabelle, confused. Her gaze alternated between me and her hero and everyone else except Bean looked at me in amazement, too. I felt myself go hot and realized that my face was turning crimson.

“But you know about Pia, don't you?” Alex continued, unaware of the damage he was doing.

Oh no, I thought, please don't tell them…

“What do you mean?” said Amber gleefully, her eyes like saucers. “What is there to know?”

“You know she's the Pony Whisperer? She can talk to ponies—and horses, of course. I watched
Pony
Whispering
Live!
Pia. You were amazing—that poor pony who had been a war horse. Do you know what happened to her?”

“Um, I think her owner was going to move her to a yard where she couldn't hear the gun shots.” I mumbled. Shoving my hands in my pockets it seemed that Epona leapt into my hand, mocking me. I bet if I could hear my stone statue talking instead of ponies I'd have heard
ha, ha, ha!
I hated to think of how the others were going to take the news of my pony-whispering powers.

“I said I knew you!” exclaimed Amber, pointing at me. “I saw
Pony
Whispering
Live!
It's you, Pia Edwards, the Pony Whisperer! You wait till I tell everyone at the riding school. They'll never believe I've met you. They'll be soooo jealous!”

“Wow!” breathed Grace. “Can you really hear what ponies are saying?”

I knew what was coming…

“So can you hear what our ponies are saying?” asked Zoe, the truth dawning on her at last.

“What's Sorrel like?” yelled Amber, jumping up and down. “Does she like me? Is she really cool? What's her favorite thing to do?”

“How about Shadow?” asked Grace. “Can you tell him how much I love him?”

“You can tell him yourself, he can understand you, Grace,” I said.

“And Dot?” asked Zoe. “Oh, I know she's sensitive and intelligent, I don't need you to tell me that!”

You see, this is why I hate anyone knowing about my PW status. How could I disillusion poor Zoe? How could I tell Amber that Sorrel was grumpy and totally superior? I was going to have to be a bit economical with the truth if I didn't want to ruin anyone's vacation. Especially mine.

“I bet you knew!” cried Amber, poking Bean in the side.

“Ouch!” said Bean. “I'm as surprised as you are,” she lied, shooting me a glance.

“Can you hear absolutely everything ponies say?” demanded Ellie.

Amber softly punched my arm. “How come you didn't say anything before now?”

Annabelle's face distorted into an I'm-not-sure-about-hearing-ponies sort of look, before creasing back into her familiar, plastered-on smile. “We'll talk about that later. Now, we're here to see how Alex Willard trains and helps horses, remember?”

Alex smiled in her direction and I heard a small sigh escape from Annabelle.

“It looks like our Annabelle's got the hots for Alex Willard!” I whispered to Bean.

“You don't need to be a pony whisperer to figure that one out,” Bean whispered back. “She might as well run a flag up a pole, play a fanfare on the trumpet and wear a T-shirt with
I
Love
Alex
Willard
on the front.”

As I tried to rub that image out of my mind Alex showed us round his stable yard. It was gorgeous. Around three sides, old barns and brick buildings had been converted into stables. There were hanging baskets full of lavender and white flowers, lovely wooden benches in the yard, commandeered by dozing cats, and every black-and-white door framed an equine head. Two old painted wagon wheels were propped up against the walls and everywhere was spick-and-span.

Then I heard the voices.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…” said a bay thoroughbred as we walked round the yard.

“Stop panicking,” a strawberry roan cob with a Roman nose in the next door stable told him. “No one's coming to ride you. They're just visiting, they come every week.”

“Are they here for the fight?” said a stunning gray with a long, flowing lead-gray mane.

“I keep telling you, we don't hold fights here,” the cob told him.

“These horses are some of the cases I'm working with at the moment,” explained Alex, walking up to the strawberry roan cob. The gelding looked at us trustingly. It didn't seem the sort of horse that needed Alex's help. Specializing in training horses with problems, Alex was famous for helping horses and ponies that had issues. As one of the world's most respected trainers and behaviorists, he mimicked the horse's own behavior and communication to get to the bottom of their problems—most of them caused by humans. I was a regular visitor to his website and he was my total hero.

“What's wrong with this one?” asked Ellie.

“What's his name?” whispered Grace, reaching out to stroke the roan's nose.

“His name is Clutter,” said Alex, smiling at Grace, “and his owners say he's the most disobedient horse in the world.”

“But he looks like such a sweetheart!” said Zoe.

“He has no confidence and hates being in the lead,” Alex said.

Clutter leaned over and had a chat with all of us, loving the fuss. “I don't suppose any of you have brought treats with you?” he said. “Sugar lumps? The odd carrot? It's kinda rude, visiting without gifts, wouldn't you say?”

“We were told they weren't allowed,” I said without thinking.

Everyone turned and looked at me. Well, I thought, the game's up now so what do I have to lose?

“What are you saying there, Pony Whisperer?” said Alex, smiling. “What's Clutter telling you?”

“He's only interested in whether we've brought him any treats,” I replied.

“While you're here, could you ask him to stop being so resistant to his riders?” laughed Alex.

“Oh, Alex, you are sweet,” sighed Annabelle, “to go along with Pia's um, ideas.”

“Didn't you see
Pony
Whispering
Live!
?” Amber asked her. “Pia talked to two horses and helped them.”

“Yes, I saw it, too,” said Zoe. “Awesome!”

“I wish I'd seen it,” said Grace.

“I'm sure you can't talk to horses,” muttered Ellie, almost to herself. She sounded like Cat, who's a bit of a broken record as far as my pony-whispering title goes.

“Well that's all you know!” Amber leapt to my defense, rounding on Ellie. “Why are you so down on everything all the time? You're such a grouch.”

Annabelle put her arm around Ellie. “That's no way to talk to Ellie, Amber,” she said. “Apologize!”

“For what?” asked Amber. “No way am I apologizing, she is a grouch. And when she's not being a grouch, she's sulking on her own somewhere!”

“You know, all these negative vibes are very bad for the horses,” Alex said in his usual, laid-back manner.

“Oh, sorry,” said Amber, looking mortified. “I don't mind apologizing to you,” she added, grinning at Alex. Alex grinned back.

Zoe whispered, “You're such a suck-up!” to her sister, but Amber ignored her. She had fallen under Alex's spell and wasn't going to let Zoe spoil her day.

“So Clutter here is undergoing some riding therapy,” the great man continued, patting the roan. “Clutter is a horse who finds it difficult to go anywhere without a strong personality to take the lead. Even though I'm on top of him, rather than in front of him, I'm working on making him realize that when he's with me—or any other rider—he's not alone. The rider will make the decisions and all he has to do is follow their lead. If he thinks it's all up to him, it blows his mind a bit.”

“How long will it take to cure him?” asked Zoe, stroking Clutter's pink nose.

The cob licked the palm of her hand. “I'll just have to make do with the salt from your palm,” he slurped, between licks.

“Impossible to say,” said Alex, shaking his head. “Some horses respond in a matter of moments, others take much longer. The deciding factor is how his owners ride him, they need to have the confidence to be Clutter's leader.”

“How come Clutter's like he is?” asked Grace.

“Oh, usually it's because a rider doesn't notice when a horse they are riding hesitates,” said Alex. “If they don't give the horse confidence there and then, the problem can grow until the horse refuses to leave the yard. With the brave horses, that doesn't happen. Others, like Clutter here, can lose all confidence.”

“Who's this, and can I have him?” asked Zoe, making friends with the gray. He was a totally stunning horse with the longest, crinkliest mane and forelock ever. They tumbled from his crest like a rippling, silver waterfall, splashing and foaming around his face and neck.

“That's Verano. He's Spanish and I'm still trying to discover the secrets locked in his soul,” Alex replied.

We moved along to Verano's stable.

“He doesn't seem to have any hang-ups,” said Bean as Verano nuzzled her hand.

“He's a wonderful, giving horse,” Alex told her. “Amazing to ride. I believe he was intended for work in the bullring but was sold when his owners decided he wasn't brave enough.”

“Bullfighting is so cruel,” said Amber with feeling.

“People have argued about it for years,” said Alex.

“Surely you're against Spanish bullfighting?” asked Bean. “They kill the bull!”

“Yes,” agreed Alex, nodding, “but the bulls have a good life in the Andalusian hills before they are big and strong enough to fight. It's true that their last moments are filled with cruelty and pain, but the Spanish believe that a death in the bullring is filled with glory, better than the death a steer faces in the slaughter house. They greatly admire the bull.”

Everyone went quiet, comparing the two bovine lives. I felt a bit sick.

“I think I'll become vegetarian,” said Grace. “Then cows won't be slaughtered for me.”

“But what about your leather jodhpur boots?” said Amber.

“And saddles and bridles are made of leather, aren't they?” said Bean, frowning.

“I'm going to get synthetic tack for my pony,” said Ellie.

“So what exactly is Verano's problem, Alex?” Annabelle asked brightly, hoping to change the subject and lighten the mood.

“General jumpiness. The grooms tell me he has a real thing about wheelbarrows, snorts at them and refuses to let them go behind him. We have to make sure he's in his stable whenever a wheelbarrow goes past. If he's tied up outside, he acts as if they're dragons.”

“Why on earth are you scared of wheelbarrows?” I whispered almost to myself, absentmindedly.

“I have to face the wheel,” the horse replied, matter-of-factly. I was surprised he answered my question. And his answer prompted another one.

“Why do you have to face the wheel?” I whispered.

Alex looked intently from me to Verano. “What is he saying, Pia?” he asked urgently.

Everyone turned from Verano to me.

“Because I have to. Because I have been trained to. Because to turn my back on the wheel is unacceptable,” the horse whispered. He didn't seem to think it strange that I could hear him or that I was asking him questions.

“Why mustn't you turn your back on the wheel?” I asked. I couldn't understand why it was so important.

“The wheel is the bull. I must always face the bull—I must do exactly as my master bids me with his legs and his seat. I dance with the bull. I lure him in and dance around him. I cannot turn from him, cannot run from him. It is difficult, it is hard work, it is—how you say—stressful. I find it exhausting—mentally. My friend, Bruja, loved the work, but it is too much for me. When I see the wheel I see again the horns. It makes me fearful, remembering.”

I repeated what Verano told me to Alex—and everyone else. Amber looked at me wide-eyed and excited, as did Zoe and Grace, but Ellie and Annabelle's faces showed doubt. Bean was used to me and looked just Bean-like, as usual, but Alex looked at me with total concentration and I could tell that his mind was working hard to make sense of what his troubled client was telling me.

“So the wheelbarrow is the bull, have I got that right?” Alex asked me.

I nodded. “That's what Verano is saying. But it doesn't make sense, does it?”

“Of course!” Alex looked like Bean when she finally understands what we've been saying to her. “That's how they train bullfighting horses!”

“To do what? Muck out?” giggled Amber.

“They don't use a real bull to train them,” Alex explained. “They start with a person pushing a wheel around—it's like half a bicycle with horns on the handlebars and looks a bit like a wheelbarrow. It sounds crazy, but it works—the person working the wheel can change direction instantly, just like a bull. That's why Verano acts so strangely when the wheelbarrows are on the yard! We'll have to re-train him—but wait, can you explain to him, Pia, can you explain that wheelbarrows are nothing to do with bull fighting, and that he will never again be asked to train for anything like that? His new life will never involve such vigorous work. He has nothing to fear now. He is never going back to his bullfighting days. Can you tell him that?”