Page 79 of Polo Fever
Instead, I wish they weren’t here.
I wish the field were empty and I was practising stick and ball on Pip on my own. Why did I put myself in this situation? I didn’t want the glare of the spotlight. There are a couple of photographers here and I already know how it works. They’ll be looking for a photograph that sells.If I humiliate myself, all the better for them. I can see the headline now if I take a tumble or get knocked off my pony in a ride-off: ‘Chris Courtney’s Ex-Lover Falls From Grace… Again!’
The neutral umpires, agreed upon by both Lady M and Ambrose, prepare for the match to start and I adjust my glasses, my exhale shaky. I glance at the DQ supporters huddled together, leaning on their car bonnets, arms folded, sharing thoughts and laughing.I bet they’re talking about me.
I’m so distracted, I almost miss the throw-in, finding myself rendered useless almost straight away as a DQ player takes off with the ball before I’ve even located where it’s emerged from. I encourage Pip into a canter to keep up with the action, my brain muddled as I try to remember what Eduardo and Federico told me about which position to take and when, but all their instructions have become jumbled in my head like a tangled ball of yarn and I can’t pull out a single strain that makes sense. DQ score and I wheel Pip round to find the High Fives shaking their heads and sharing unimpressed looks before glancing my way. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. I can’t bring myself to look at Mateo.
‘It’s only the beginning,’ I mutter to myself, my mouth so dry, it’s hard to swallow. ‘You’re finding your feet. It’s just one goal.’
The DQ grooms have had a boost to their confidence, while mine has deflated with a gut punch. Play has started again while I’m still giving myself a pep talk, and I’m left flustered and guilty as Federico takes control of the ball and looks for me, only to find me at a standstill behindmy opponent. He thunders upfield past me but his shot is blocked, and the DQ defence gets it out of the danger zone, whacking it up the other end.
By the end of the first chukka, which seems to stretch on for years, we’re down two-one, our goal scored in the final minute by Eduardo, who was awarded a thirty-yard penalty. I’m brutally aware of how much I’m flailing out there, bringing absolutely nothing to the team and even letting down Pip, who’s desperate to do more and no doubt furious that she’s been stuck with the dud of the group riding her.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I mutter to Eduardo as he passes me a bottle of water.
‘Don’t be sorry; you can do this,’ he insists as I take some sips. ‘Don’t be afraid to make a mistake. It’s better to try.’
He’s meaning to be encouraging, I know that – but all I hear from his statement is that the other members of my team think I’m not trying. I’m failing them, too.
Determined to at least make contact with the ball in the second chukka so all that practice I’ve been putting in hasn’t been for nothing, I receive a lovely pass from Federico but as I take the swing, I find my stick hooked by the DQ player marking me. I hadn’t even noticed he was there.
‘Hey!’ I cry, while he roars with laughter at my indignation.
The ball has gone the other way now and my heart sinks as I catch a glimpse of the grimace on Eduardo’s face and watch Federico having to leg it back with our fourth player, Harry, to try to block DQ’s follow-up attempt to score. I almost redeem myself minutes later when I’m cantering to keep up with Eduardo, who is dribbling the ball towards our goal. I assume he’s going to have a go, but spotting me,he knocks it my way. My breath catches as I clumsily swing at the ball in surprise, sending it wide. The groans from the spectators swamp my brain and fill my eyes with tears.
Dismounting Pip after the second chukka to switch ponies at half-time, I whip off my goggles, feeling wracked with guilt that she’s barely done enough work to warrant a substitute. Eduardo has planned for me to ride Gimli until half-time, a slightly bigger, faster and more experienced pony who might be able to take the lead on this one and not suffer Pip’s fate of waiting for me to make a move. I’m so angry at myself, I’m grinding my teeth, my jaw aching as I blink back tears.
‘Are you okay?’ Mateo asks, having volunteered to bring Gimli over to me.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, sniffing. ‘I’m a mess out there. I’m sorry for embarrassing you. Is everyone angry? Are they—’
‘Whoa, whoa,’ he says gently, handing the reins of Gimli to Harry so he can place his hands on my shoulders. ‘Ash, look at me. Please.’
Reluctantly, I force my eyes up to his, a tear rolling down my cheek.
‘Deep breaths. You are not embarrassing anyone out there. A few months ago, you’d never watched a polo match, let alone played one. We’re all so proud that you’ve got the guts to take part in this competition. My God, Ash, do you know how many people would have stepped away from this the moment it was suggested?’ He lifts a hand to waggle a finger at me. ‘Not you. No, you werein.’
‘It was blind arrogance,’ I murmur.
‘It was courageous,’ he contests sternly. ‘Look, I can see what’s happening out there. You’re nervous, which isexpected. And you’re getting in your own head. Let me tell you something: if you lose today, nothing happens. So Ambrose gets to boast a bit more; he finds a reason to do that all the time anyway.’ He shrugs. ‘We can always challenge them to another grooms’ match next year. The point is, this is fun.’
‘It doesn’t feel fun.’
‘But it should,’ he insists as he wipes another stray tear from my cheek. ‘Forget the noise around you and focus on all those reasons you’ve told me you love polo. How it feels to have a connection to your pony, how good it is to ride so fast, the joy of hitting a really good shot. You’re here for the love of the sport, nothing and no one else.’ He flicks a hand in the direction of the spectators. ‘They will continue with their spats and rivalries no matter what happens today, so don’t let that pressure weigh on you. Play the rest of this match because you love it and because you’re good at it. You deserve a spot on this team. I’ve seen you play so well, with so much passion and joy, it took my breath away – that’s the Ash I want to witness out there in the next chukka, yes?’
Gazing up at him, I sigh. ‘God. You’re good at speeches.’
‘I know.’
I break into a smile as Harry passes Gimli to me, telling me it’s time. I mount Gimli with a grateful nod to Mateo, who gives me such a carefree,you’ve-got-thiskind of grin, it lifts the heavy cloud in my chest casting shadows over my heart. He’s right. I’ve been acting as though I have something to prove today, but I’ve forgotten how far I’ve come to even get here in the first place. The Ash from the day I arrived at the Maycourt yard in that tight, white shirt and those gorgeous, immaculate boots would never have believed thatI’d be playing in a polo match by the end of the summer with the ability to ride a horse in the way I can now.
‘We’ve got this,’ I tell Gimli, patting him on the neck, trotting into position for the throw-in, already feeling like I’m sitting better in the saddle: calmer, more balanced.
The advantage to such a bad start is that it lures your opponent into a certain impression of you. The DQ player meant to be marking me has lost interest and is far more focused on his own movements than keeping an eye on mine. Having kept control of the ball since the throw-in, Eduardo is being chased by two DQ players and looks up to find me open and heading towards the centre of the goal. He hasn’t lost faith in me yet. He passes the ball my way and I knock it between the posts with a nearside forehand, closing the gap in the score to three-two.
‘Yes!’ I cry, leaning forward to pat Gimli’s neck as we circle back.
The DQ grooms look stunned, the Maycourt spectators are cheering and clapping with all their might, and my teammates are beaming at me. I seek out Mateo and find him watching with his arms folded across his chest, a knowing smile on his lips.
