“Oh, bud, I know that look . . .”
I focus back on Alex. “What?”
“I’m here when you want to talk,” he says, patting me on the knee.
“Right.” Miles snaps our attention. “Everyone clear on what they have to do?”
Lando’s too busy fidgeting in Miles’s sweaty shirt to respond. But I nod, and Alex resumes his role as Miles’s tormentor.
“Remind me which one’s our goal again?”
“Alex, if we lose this match, I’m holding you entirely responsible.” He fumes, jabbing a finger in Alex’s direction before storming out to the stables where our four ponies are waiting patiently and yelling, “Pull your fucking finger out.”
“Why d’you keep winding him up today?”
Alex shrugs. “Because it’s funny. He seems edgier today, and I thought it would loosen him up.”
“C’mon, you know how badly he wants to win. This is the first match since he went up to nine. He’s putting so much pressure on himself to get back to ten in the summer.” I take Clover’s reins from the groom and check Miles isn’t in earshot. “Plus, I heard someone say Santiago Torres is here.”
Alex stops, his foot halfway to Owl’s stirrup. “What?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him, and I don’t know if Miles knows,” I spit out before Alex can bombard me with questions. “One of the grooms said they saw him.”
“Who let him in?”
“An international polo player at a polo ground? They probably opened the front door.”
“I thought Miles had banned him from here.”
“Evidently not.” I vault onto Clover without thinking and it takes all my strength to keep her calm. “But I can’t believe he’d dare show his face here. He knows Foxleigh is Burlington property.”
It’s atestament to Miles’s skills that he makes riding her look easy.
Clover is the equine equivalent of a Formula One race car, revving up for the moment she’s allowed to gallop onto the field. I can feel her adrenaline pumping through her while I try to avoid being reared off before we get out there.
She’s also Miles’s favorite pony, and he never lets anyone ride Clover. That’s how much he wants to lift the cup later.
Alex waits patiently on Owl, a deceptively cunning and brave little pony who never shies away from getting involved in the scrum, until Clover is standing still. “Okay, fine, but only until I find out if Torres is really here.”
“I can live with that.”
Miles’s strategy works.
By the fifth chukka, we even the score, and Miles’s mood drastically improves. It’s helped by Alex and Owl, powering down the pitch ten seconds before the bell, hooking the opposing number three, a guy called Billy Walsh, who plays with Miles on the England team, and smashing the ball between the goal posts from the thirty-yard line.
For the final chukka, Miles swaps us all out again. I move onto Messiah, a gallant Welsh cob, and Miles takes Clover, who barely worked up a sweat in the fourth. Seeing him on her back, I almost feel bad for riding her, like a Sunday school driver behind the wheel of an eight-hundred-and-nineteen-horsepower,twelve-cylinder Ferrari Spider.
With Miles, she unleashes her full potential, thundering up and down the field, bumping any pony in her way until she can bring Miles in front of the goal, where, courtesy of his left hand, they score. And we move into the lead, where we stay until the final bell is rung.
The Foxleigh Park crowds go wild, even more than usual, when a home game is won.
Confetti cannons explode, showering everyone in pink and red hearts. The slight breeze in the air blows them over the pitch and beyond.
“He’s going to be unbearable.” Alex shakes his head after we witness Miles galloping around on Clover, taking her over to the crowds and his fan base, screaming and hanging over the boards, who never miss a chance to see him play.
He’s still signing autographs and taking selfies, all of which include Clover, by the time Lando, Alex, and I have handed our reins over to the waiting grooms. For February, it’s unusually mild, the clear skies and bright sunshine giving a deceptive impression that it’s warm, but we grab our body warmers anyway and make our way out.
“Don’t forget we have the trophy ceremony in twenty minutes. Lando, where’s Holiday?” Miles barks after extracting himself from the autograph hunters.
