“No, but I could learn,” said Angela.
“’Of course you could, silly, it’s easy!” laughed Tiffany. “So you’ll come?”
“Um … yes,” mumbled Angela.
“Super dooper!” cried Tiffany. “I’ll see you on Saturday then. I can’t wait!”
She gave a little laugh and skipped off across the playground.
Maisie and Laura stared at Angela with their mouths hanging open.
“WHAT?” said Angela. “Well, I could hardly say ‘No’, could I?”
Over supper that evening, Angela told her parents about the invitation.
“From Tiffany?” said Mrs Nicely. “A pony party?”
“Yes,” said Angela. “It’s a party with ponies.”
“I know what it is,” said Mrs Nicely. “But why are you going? I thought you didn’t like Tiffany.”
“I don’t,” said Angela. “But I do like ponies.”
“Well, I’m sure it’ll be great fun,” said Mr Nicely, who said that about everything.
Mrs Nicely wasn’t convinced. “It doesn’t say what you’ll be doing,” she said.
“Riding ponies,” replied Angela. “Tiffany’s got her own.”
“That’s all very well,” said Mrs Nicely. “But aren’t you forgetting that you’ve never ridden a horse in your life?”
Angela sighed. “Mu-um! Anyone can ride, it’s easy!” she said. “If Tiffany can do it then I’m sure I can.”
“Of course you can,” said her dad. “Anyway, I’m sure there’ll be people at the stables to help you.”
Angela couldn’t imagine she would need much help. After all, sitting on a horse couldn’t be that different from sitting on a chair. And besides, she’d ridden a donkey at the seaside, so a pony wouldn’t be any trouble. She’d probably turn out to be a natural. After all, she thought, I’m quite good at most things.
Her mum read the invitation again.
“Riding clothes!” she sighed. “What does that mean? Riding hats and jodhpurs, I suppose?”
“I’ve got joggers,” said Angela.
“Jodhpurs,” said her mum. “They’re riding trousers.”
“Can we buy some?” asked Angela.
“Certainly not,” said her mum. “I’m not buying you expensive jodhpurs, just for Tiffany’s party. You’ll have to wear what you’ve got – jeans and boots.”
“And I’m sure they’ll have riding hats at the stables,” said Dad.
Angela nodded. As long as she could go, she didn’t mind if she had to dress as a Christmas tree. The truth was she’d always wanted to go riding, but her mum said that lessons were too expensive. She’d never dreamed that Tiffany of all people would give her the chance.
Angela frowned. I wonder why she did invite me? she thought.It wasn’t like Tiffany to be so nice. Maisie said Tiffany was up to something, but that was only because she was jealous she hadn’t been invited herself.
On the day of the party, Angela’s dad dropped her off at the riding stables. Angela could hardly contain her excitement. She couldn’t wait to see which pony she would be riding.
Tiffany and the other girls were already in the yard with Mrs Charmers. Angela recognized Sophie, Alice and Suki from her class. Her face fell when she saw that they were all wearing black hats, short jackets and smart cream jodhpurs. Angela was the only one dressed in old jeans and dirty wellies.
Tiffany shook her curly hair. “Oh Ang-er-la!” she sighed. “Didn’t you read the invitation? It said come in riding clothes.”
“But these are my riding clothes,” said Angela.
“Jeans and wellies?” laughed Alice.
“And where’s your riding hat?” asked Suki. “You can’t ride without one.”
“She can’t help it,” said Tiffany. “She doesn’t even go riding, do you Ang-er-la?”
Angela hung her head. Why hadn’t anyone warned her that wearing riding clothes mattered so much? Now she was the odd one out. And to make matters worse, it was obvious she was the only beginner. Angela wondered if that was why Tiffany had invited her in the first place – so they’d all have someone to laugh at.
“Never mind! You’ll have to do,” sighed Tiffany. “Come on, we’ll find you a riding hat.”
The girls trooped off to the stables. Angela had to borrow a hat. It was far too big and kept slipping down over her eyes.
Then it was time to saddle the horses. Mrs Charmers helped Tiffany with her little white pony.
“Daddy bought me Princess,” Tiffany boasted. “She cost thousands but I just had to have her.”
The other girls were all riding their favourite ponies. They had names like Blossom, Poppy and Bilbo. Angela stood helplessly watching them do complicated things with buckles and stirrups.
Tiffany put one foot in her stirrup and climbed on to Princess’s back.
“Wait a minute, what about Angela?” said Mrs Charmers. “Which horse is she going to ride?”
The girls all looked at Angela. She certainly wasn’t borrowing one of their horses.
“Who’s left?” asked Alice.
“I know!” cried Tiffany. “Dobbin! He’d be perfect for you, Angela.”
The other girls dissolved into giggles.
“Which one’s Dobbin?” asked Angela, looking round.
One of the stable hands, Linda, went and brought him out. Angela stared. Dobbin wasn’t a pony, he was a horse. A grey carthorse as big as a barn with ginormous hooves!
“But … but I can’t ride him!” spluttered Angela.
“Of course you can,” laughed Tiffany. “Anyone can ride Dobbin, even you, Ang-er-la!”
Angela thought that was easy for Tiffany to say. Princess was as dainty as a buttercup. Angela was going to need a stepladder to even get on Dobbin’s back.
Angela clung on to Dobbin’s neck as Linda led the carthorse down to the paddock. She was scared to sit upright in case she fell off, but she didn’t want to look down either – the ground was an awfully long way away. She’d probably be safer riding on an elephant!
“Hurry up, Angela!” called Tiffany. “We’re all waiting!”
At last they reached the paddock where everyone was standing in line. Tiffany smirked as she saw Angela’s worried expression. There was a series of jumps set up around the paddock. Surely Tiffany had to be joking?
“Tiffany thought it would be fun to hold our own little gymkhana,” said Mrs Charmers. “You can take it in turns to jump the course and whoever has the best round wins the prize.” She held up a large red rosette.
“I’ve won hundreds of rosettes,” Tiffany boasted. “My bedroom walls are practically covered in them.”
Angela stared at the jumps. Most of them were bigger than her! And in any case, she couldn’t imagine Dobbin managing to get off the ground.
“What about ME?” she said. “I’ve never jumped anything, not on a horse!”
Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t make a fuss, Angela,” she sighed. “You can just walk Dobbin round. We’re not expecting you to win!”
“Not unless there’s a prize for the slowest,” said Alice, to a chorus of giggles.
Angela glared. That snooty sneak Tiffany had planned this from the start. She knew very well that Angela couldn’t ride and was bound to trail in last. Now she’d have to listen to Tiffany telling everyone the story: “Poor Ang-er-la, she’s just so hopeless!” she’d say.
Tiffany rode Princess into the paddock and trotted her round a couple of times to warm up. Leaning forward, she galloped hard at the first jump. Princess took off and jumped it perfectly.
“Go Tiffany!” cheered Mrs Charmers.
Tiffany completed the course without any fuss, only knocking down one pole among the jumps. She shook out her curly hair and waved her hat at them.
“Oh, well done, darling!” cried her mum. “You were so brave!”
Angela pulled a face. Knowing Tiffany, she’d probably practised the course a hundred times during the week. The competition was just
another chance for her to show off and come top of the class as usual.
Alice, Suki and the others took their turns but none of them could match Tiffany’s round. “Oh, bad luck!” she said, each time. “And you tried so hard!”
After seven rounds Tiffany was in the lead.
“Is that everyone?” she smirked. “Oh no! Does that mean I’m the winner?”
The other girls sat on the fence, sulking.
“What about Angela?” asked Alice.
“Oh yes, Ang-er-la!” cried Tiffany. “We mustn’t forget you, must we?”
Angela gripped the reins. She would show that smarty-pants Tiffany. Linda led Dobbin into the ring as everyone leaned forward to watch. Dobbin snorted loudly. He’d seen the jumps and he didn’t want to go near them. He dug in his hooves and stopped.
“Come on!” Angela hissed in his ear.
“Just walk him round, Angela!” shouted Tiffany. “It’s not that difficult!”
Angela tried. She coaxed Dobbin, patted him and ordered him, but he stubbornly refused to budge. Even Linda tugging and pulling made no difference.
“Oh, Ang-er-la, you are funny!” tinkled Tiffany.
Then it happened. A horsefly landed on Dobbin’s nose. Horseflies have a nasty bite and this one was no different.
Dobbin let out a shrill whinny and shot forward, dumping Linda in the dust.
“HEEELP!” screamed Angela, clinging on. Her riding hat had slipped over her eyes and she couldn’t see a thing.
“WOAH, BOY!” she gasped. “Brake! Stop!”
But Dobbin didn’t listen. He charged towards the first jump and took off. Angela felt like she was flying.
THUD! They hit the ground and Angela almost catapulted over Dobbin’s head. Somehow she clung on, blindly. Dobbin cleared another jump and flew over the next three. Angela shook her hat back into place. She could hear voices, which almost sounded like cheering.
Dobbin wheeled round. He thundered at the last jump. It looked way too big. Angela shut her eyes…
“Arghhhhh…!”
KADUNK!
Angela gripped Dobbin’s neck as they landed. The horse slowed to a stop, panting and snorting. Angela slid from the saddle and sat down heavily on the ground. Her legs were shaking and her hat was on sideways.
Suki and the others came rushing over. For some reason they seemed pleased that someone had beaten Tiffany.
“Well done, Angela!”
“That was amazing!”
“I didn’t think you could ride!” they chattered.
Tiffany’s face had turned as red as an overripe tomato.
“Goodness!” said Mrs Charmers. “That really was quite … um … astonishing.”
“So Angela’s the winner?” said Alice, looking at Tiffany. “She had the only clear round.”
“Well, yes … I suppose she did,” said Mrs Charmers. Reluctantly she handed Angela the red rosette.
Everyone clapped, apart from Tiffany who looked like she might explode at any moment.
Angela beamed from ear to ear. She’d said all along that riding would come naturally to her. Just wait until News Time on Monday, she thought. This was one story she couldn’t wait to share!
It was a rainy Saturday morning and Angela was waiting impatiently for her friends. She wandered into the kitchen.
“Mum, what’s that new sticker in the front window?” she asked.
“That? It shows we belong to Neighbourhood Watch,” replied Mrs Nicely. “We joined last week.”
Angela frowned. “What’s that?”
“It’s a sort of club,” explained Mrs Nicely. “The idea is we all keep an eye on our neighbours’ houses.”
“To see what they’re up to?” asked Angela. It sounded fun. She’d like to know what people on her road were doing.
“No,” said Mrs Nicely. “To watch out for anything suspicious – like someone nosing around or trying to get in.”
Angela’s eyes grew big. “You mean like a burglar!”
“I’m sure there aren’t any burglars,” said Mrs Nicely. “But if there were, Neighbourhood Watch will warn them to keep away.”
Angela thought this over.
“Can I be in the club?” she asked.
“It’s not for children,” said Mrs Nicely.
“Why not?”
“Because it isn’t!” groaned Mrs Nicely. The trouble with Angela was that her questions went on forever.
“I’d be good at watching,” said Angela. “I can watch TV for hours.”
“That’s different,” said Mrs Nicely. “But if you really want to help, we can all keep an eye out.”
“What for?” said Angela.
“I don’t know, anything out of the ordinary!” sighed Mrs Nicely. “Now please, go and find something to do!”
Angela went upstairs to wait for Maisie and Laura. It was still raining. From her bedroom window she could see the houses across the road. It would be easy to keep an eye on them.
Angela thought she’d be good at watching neighbours. Her mum was always saying it was rude to be nosey – but in the Neighbourhood Watch club, nosiness was encouraged! What was it her mum had said? Look out for anything “out of the ordinary”. She could keep an eye on Bertie next door, but all he did was mess around with slimy slugs and worms.
Across the road at number 14, Mr Monk was sweeping his driveway.
Hmm, thought Angela, if anyone looked suspicious it was mean old Mr Monk. He had a tiny moustache, which looked like it was stuck on as a disguise. What’s more, he hated children and didn’t like them playing on the street. Maybe there was a reason? Maybe Mr Monk had something to hide! Someone ought to keep an eye on him, thought Angela, and she had the perfect view from her window.
Later Maisie and Laura arrived.
“What shall we do?” sighed Maisie, flopping on to the bed. “We can’t go to the park in the rain.”
“I know,” said Angela. “We can do Neighbourhood Watching.”
Maisie looked blank. “What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s like a club. You watch your neighbours to see if they’re up to something,” explained Angela.
“Isn’t that spying?” asked Laura, doubtfully.
“No,” said Angela. “Loads of grown-ups do it. You have to watch for anything suspicious – like robbing a bank or burglaring.”
Maisie shrugged her shoulders. “There aren’t any banks here,” she said. “And anyway, who would we watch?”
“Mr Monk,” said Angela, pointing to the house opposite.
“Not Mr Monk! He’s grouchy!” moaned Laura.
Mr Monk had told them off many times – once for walking on his wall, and another time because he claimed their screaming and giggling was giving him a headache.
“Anyway, why HIM?” asked Maisie.
“Think about it,” said Angela. “He never has any visitors. Why does he want everyone to keep away?”
“Because he’s an old grump bag,” said Maisie.
“Or because he’s up to something,” said Angela. “Anyway, do you want to be in the club or not?”
Laura and Maisie nodded. There was nothing better to do. Angela had borrowed her dad’s binoculars so they could take turns keeping watch. As it was her idea, she went first.
It was amazing – with the binoculars she could see right into Mr Monk’s house!
“What if he sees us looking?” whispered Laura.
“He won’t,” said Angela. “Not if we keep out of sight.”
They kneeled down and peeped above the windowsill. Maisie was in charge of the notebook where they kept a record of everything Mr Monk did.
Maisie put down her pencil and sighed heavily.
“This is boring,” she grumbled. “He’s not doing anything!”
“We can’t give up or we’ll miss something,” said Angela.
“We’ve been watching for an hour,” moaned Laura. “And all he’s done is eat a biscuit.”
Angela sighed. Neighbourhood
Watching wasn’t as exciting as she’d hoped. All the same, she was sure that Mr Monk couldn’t be trusted. She stared through the binoculars. Mr Monk was in the kitchen, doing something at the sink. But he had changed his clothes. Now he was wearing a black jumper and trousers with a black balaclava over his head. Angela’s mum had said to look for anything out of the ordinary and this certainly was.
Suddenly Angela guessed the truth. “He’s a BURGLAR!” she gasped.
“Who is?” asked Maisie.
“Mr Monk! Look!” said Angela. “He’s dressed in black, just like a burglar!”
In films, spies and burglars were always dressed in black. It was so they couldn’t be seen in the dark.
Maisie grabbed the binoculars. “Maybe he’s wearing the hat to keep his ears warm,” she suggested.
“Anyway, he wouldn’t steal from his own house,” Laura argued.
“Don’t you get it?” asked Angela. “He went out and now he’s back. I bet he’s been breaking into someone’s house!”
Maisie and Laura looked at each other. This was just like Angela – she was so dramatic!
“What about Mrs Monk?” said Maisie. “She’d know if he was up to something.”
“But she’s not there,” said Angela. “We haven’t seen her. I bet he waits till she’s gone away and that’s when he does it.”
“Come on, Angela!” sighed Laura. “You don’t have any proof!”
Angela raised her eyebrows. “Not yet,” she said. “But I bet we can find some.”
For the next hour Angela watched the house like a hawk. Finally Mr Monk came out of the front door. He was still wearing the black top and trousers, but the balaclava was gone. Angela guessed that would have given him away. Burglars had to be careful.
“Quick!” she cried. “Now’s our chance!”
Cupcake Wars! Page 2
