Page 10 of Growing Into Love

Delilah’s stables are about half an hour away from Oak Hill. I pull down the long drive and see two grooms handling what appears to be a very twitchy gelding. He’s a horse I haven’t seen before, but Del is always on the lookout for new horses for her riding school. This one doesn’t look like he’ll be used in the beginner’s class anytime soon. As I park, the horse lets out a loud whinny and shakes his mane. He’s a beautiful old bay with a crooked blaze and a dark chestnut coat.

I get out of the car and Delilah comes striding up to me. She’s in her mid-forties, slender but tough, with a large jaw and wiry blond hair.

“Last training on English soil,” she says. “How’s our girl doing?”

“Gal seems okay,” I tell her.

“And you?”

I don’t know how to begin to answer that, so I shrug. Del nods. “Let’s get you in the ring. Work out those nerves.”

I nod and store my phone in the glove compartment. I never ride with it on me and it’s a relief to put it away for a minute. I tack Gal up and as I’m getting her out of the lorry, the bay lets out another whinny.

“Who’s the new arrival?” I ask.

“His name is Naturally Sweet,” Delilah says with a scoff. “Former racehorse, couldn’t cut it. Got used for training other horses until he was no longer useful at that either. Heard through a friend that he was going to be sent to slaughter, thought I might get him in shape for adoption. Not sure, though. He’s quite a handful.”

“It’s good of you to take him on,” I say. “No horse deserves to be slaughtered just because they’re old.”

Delilah grins at me. “You want to look after him?”

Del knows all about my plans for a sanctuary.

“I haven’t won the Grand Prix yet,” I remind her.

She pats me on the shoulder. “You will.”

I wish I could feel as confident as she sounds. The grooms manage to get Naturally Sweet into the stables and I mount Galadriel and trot into the ring. Delilah has already got the oxers set up. The most basic jump is called a vertical—that’s just one fence with poles placed directly above one another. An oxer is a double width fence, two verticals placed close together. There’re loads of different types: square oxers, ascending oxers, Swedish oxers. Delilah has even got a triple bar set up, one of the most difficult jumps. And they’ve been known to use liverpools as well at the Windy Acres Classic. Horses tend to shy away from water—all jumps are designed to fuck with your horse’s equilibrium in some way, to frighten them or make them balk.

Jaz helped me work on liverpools last summer. My stomach twists and I take a circuit around the ring, trying to force my brain into the present moment. I’ve got training to focus on and nothing gets me out of my head more than riding. I could really use a break from my head. It’s becoming a horrible place to live.

We start with some basic pole work then Del’s crew sets up the jumps according to her instructions. I walk the course first—the jumps are numbered so I know what route to take. And sure enough, once Gal and I begin the course, the comforting feel of her beneath me settles my thoughts. I focus on keeping my knees over my toes, my hands low to her neck, heels down, ankles flexed…it takes my mind off Jaz and the unanswered text message. Gal and I are like one unit, and we even sail over the triple bar with ease. At the end of the two-hour session, I’m feeling hopeful about my chances at the Classic.

“Will can take Gal to the stables and brush her down,” Delilah says as I trot to the arena railing and dismount. Will, one of the younger grooms, hurries over and takes Gal’s reins.

“Just a mo,” I say, running my hand down the length of her neck. “I’ll see you in a few days,” I tell her softly. “Don’t be scared on the flight. By tomorrow, you’ll be eating American oats. They’re the champagne of oats, from what I’ve heard.”

“Pretty sure they’re the same as here,” Will pipes up.

I shoot him a look. “Way to burst Gal’s bubble.”

I lean my head against her cheek and she nuzzles my shoulder. My heart aches in a different way than it has for most of the day as I watch Will lead her off to the stables. I hope she won’t be too frightened. She’s been on planes before but never such a long trip.

Another groom comes out of the stables with Naturally Sweet, all tacked up.

“Who’s riding him?” I ask.

“I am,” Del says. “Got to see what he’s made of.”

I slip through the railing and jog to my car to check my phone. My heart leaps when I see a new SMS, but it’s only Autumn letting me know they’re on their way back from Scotland.

Maybe she’ll have some advice about Jaz. I’ve never told her about my crush, fearing she’d tell Dec (they tell each other everything, it’s really irritating). But she’s my sister now—surely she can keep this one secret for me. I’ll make her swear a blood oath or something. I tuck the phone in the pocket of my fleece and head back to the arena. I’m curious to see what Naturally Sweet is like to ride.

What a stupid fucking name. I swear, people name their horses the dumbest things. Delilah boards a horse for a teenage girl from a posh family—the horse is a beautiful pinto mare, and the girl named her Cinnamon Sprinkle Cake. I mean, honestly. That’s just cruel.

At least Gal has an actual name. Might be a rather nerdy, fictional character name, but it’s still a name. My mum loved fantasy stories and Tolkien was one of her favorites. I’ve got all her old books—she used to write in the margins and sometimes it feels like she’s talking to me in those errant scribbles. When the Fellowship arrives in Lothlorien and meets Galadriel for the first time, Mum wrote:Fall has come to Oak Hill and all the trees in the gray wood have turned golden, like they’re covered in mallorn leaves. My own private Lothlorien.

I wanted to keep Mum close in one of the few ways I can.

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