The Auditions. Stacy Gregg

never really got used to the crowds, the lights and the theatrics that came with the event. Over the years, Blainford’s auditions had become more and more spectacular and grand finals night was now so renowned, it had become one of the most exciting events on the British equestrian calendar. All a bit over the top in Tara Kelly’s opinion, but despite her reservations she went along with it because as Blainford’s headmistress, Mrs Dickins-Thomson, pointed out to her, it was brilliant publicity for the school.

      “C’mon, Tara, give us a wave, luv!” Mike Partridge coaxed and Tara rose from her seat and grinned and waved at the crowds in the stands. They were here to see a show after all.

      Besides, in some ways the three-ring circus that had grown up around the event was a good thing, Tara reasoned. It added to the pressure and gave the twenty candidates waiting backstage a very real taste of what life was like under the spotlight. If you really wanted to be an international horse-riding superstar then these final auditions were a good test of character. Could the twenty riders all stay cucumber-cool when thousands were watching them and Mike Partridge was singing their praises over the loudspeaker?

      Until now, the auditions had been divided into separate categories for eventers, showjumpers, dressage riders and so on. But the finals brought all the different disciplines together. With so many different kinds of riders auditioning, it wouldn’t be fair to rely on a single test to compare their skills. Instead, each of the twenty riders was required to create a freestyle performance. They would all have fifteen minutes in the arena and the selectors would cast votes with score cards.

      Tara trusted her fellow judges. Helen and David were both experienced and had done the job alongside her before. She would listen carefully to their opinions but at the end of the day they knew that the final choice would always be hers.

      “You’ve met our three selectors,” Mike Partridge called out. “Now, let’s meet our first finalist. She’s a dressage rider from Dundee and at only eleven years old she’s one of the youngest competitors today. She’s going to be performing a freestyle dressage kur for us on her lovely pony The Cheshire Cat. Here she is, Miss Sally Stevens!”

      The music began, the lights came up and a very pretty skewbald pony entered the ring. He flew down the centre of the arena in a floating, extended trot and then halted in front of the judges. His rider, a slightly built girl in a blue showing jacket and banana jods, gave a stiff salute and then set off again at a collected canter.

      Backstage, hidden by large black screens from the view of the audience, nineteen young riders watched Sally anxiously and waited for their turn in the spotlight.

      “Are you nervous?” Olivia hissed. She was standing beside Georgie, gripping on to Molly’s reins and looking terrified.

      “Uh-huh,” Georgie said. She was trying to stay focused, but it wasn’t easy because her dad had dropped a bombshell about her future.

      Over dinner the weekend before the grand finals Georgie was telling her dad about her plans for the performance. “We’ve come up with something superspecial to grab the selectors’ attention,” she said.

      “Mmmm,” her father nodded absentmindedly.

      Georgie rolled her eyes. “Tyro is going to wear a ballerina tutu and we’ll be doing a tango. It’s Strictly Come Dancing except with ponies.”

      “That’s great, honey.”

      “Dad! I was totally joking! Are you even listening to me? Do you care that I’m in the finals?”

      This was so typical! It was the most exciting thing to happen to her ever, and her father hardly seemed to be paying attention.

      “I’m sorry, Georgie,” Dr Parker sighed, “I… The thing is … we need to talk.”

      “Uh-oh,” Georgie said. “Is this going to be a serious conversation?”

      Dr Parker wasn’t smiling. “It’s about the auditions. And yes, it’s serious I’m afraid.” Georgie’s face fell. “I know you’ve got your heart set on going to Blainford,” her dad began, “but the fees are steep, Georgie, it’s a very expensive private school.”

      “I know that,” Georgie’s voice had an edge of panic, “but Mum already put the money aside years ago. You told me she did!”