Free Star Dancer by Morgan Llywelyn Page B

ride to the show inthe horse box, but Brendan Walsh wouldn’t let him.
    On the way down, Ger learned something new about Suzanne. In spite of her excitement, she was almost put to sleep by the long car ride. When he mentioned it to her she laughed.
    ‘Cars always make me sleep,’ she told Ger.
    The dressage event was held on a lovely green meadow behind a large stables. It was different from the RDS. Ger enjoyed being so far out in the country. The air smelled clean and he could hear birds singing in the hedgerows. He curried and brushed Dancer until the horse shone, and put grease on his hoofs to make them shine too. Dancer was, he firmly believed, the most beautiful horse there. He was very proud to be seen walking with the horse.
    Suzanne was riding him in two dressage tests. One was just for young riders, but the second had adults in it too. To Ger’s delight she won the first test and got third place in the other one. Some photographers took her picture for the local newspaper.
    ‘My groom belongs in this picture too,’ Suzanne told them. She caught Ger by the arm and pulled him in to stand with her and Star Dancer. Ger could feel the heat rising into his face, but he was pleased. A picture in the paper.
    Him. Ger Casey!
    On the way back home, Suzanne fell fast asleep, curled up on the back seat of the car. Her father had fastened her rosettes to the sun visor, and he and Mrs O’Gorman talked in low tones so as not to disturb their sleeping daughter. But Ger could hear them.
    ‘You should’ve been watching,’ Mr O’Gorman told his wife. ‘Why come with us if you won’t watch her ride? She needs to know you’re proud of her.’
    ‘I am proud of her. I just can’t watch. I start thinking about …’
    ‘I know,’ her husband interrupted. She said nothing more. But Ger was left wondering.
    After that, they went to several more dressage shows as the summer progressed. Mostly they were just for young riders of pony club age, doing the same basic figures over and over again, not always very well. Ger had to admit it could be pretty boring.
    But sometimes there were higher level classes for more advanced horses. Usually adults rode them, and some of the things they did were so graceful and beautiful it made Ger’s throat ache, wishing it was himself in the saddle. Dressage was a dream of perfection that haunted him.
    Ger Casey in the saddle. Ger Casey in tight white breeches and a black silk hat, looking proud and elegant. Ger Casey controlling a thousand pounds worth of muscular horseflesh with just the slightest pressure of his leg against the horse’s side.
    He didn’t picture himself as a general leading an army any more, but as a competitor in the Olympic Games.
    He tried to learn everything he could about the Olympics. The equestrian events weren’t as well known as some of the other events, but everyone in Ireland seemed to know that the Irish showjumping team had always been very good.
    ‘Why isn’t there an Irish dressage team?’ Ger once asked Brendan.
    ‘We’ve never had horses and riders up to that standard,’ Brendan explained. ‘The Germans and Swiss and some of the other countries produce great dressage horses. Our riders have always been more interested in jumping, though.’
    ‘But we could have one who was good enough, couldn’t we?’ Ger asked hopefully.
    Brendan looked down at Ger’s eager, freckled face. ‘I suppose we could, lad,’ he agreed. ‘Someday.’
    Someday.
    Suzanne was working very hard on her jumping. Now that she was no longer afraid – at least hardly ever – she and Dancer practised several days a week. Ger went to watch when he could. Sometimes they jumped the painted coloured rails in the showjumping course. Other times they went around the rustic fences of timber and stone and ditch and bank that were the cross-country course. On yet other days Anne had them go through a series of cavaletti, single white rails only a few inches from the ground that made