by Amanda Wills
Poppy and Caroline took an arm each and as they walked Tory’s head tracked back and forth, taking in the paddocks, the wood and the tor, which was basked in sunshine.
‘I know it’s only been a few weeks but it feels grand to be back,’ said Tory, as they finally made it to the front door and Caroline helped her off with her coat.
‘Charlie and I have a surprise for you,’ Poppy said. ‘Sit here and close your eyes.’ She motioned to a wrought iron bench in front of the house. ‘Come on, Charlie.’
The two children had spent the morning giving Chester the grooming of his life. Poppy had weaved red ribbons into his thick mane and tail and Charlie had brushed his hooves with oil until they glistened. Charlie proudly led the donkey round to the front of the house. ‘You can open your eyes now!’
‘Oh my, don’t you look handsome!’ Tory told Chester, ferreting around in her handbag for some Polos. The donkey accepted one graciously.
‘Thank you Poppy and Charlie, what a lovely surprise. Chester looks so well, you’ve obviously been looking after him beautifully.’
Poppy smiled and Charlie gave a little bow. ‘All part of the Riverdale service, madam,’ he said with a grin.
For the rest of the day the house buzzed. Poppy realised how quiet it had been over the past few weeks with Caroline so listless. Even Charlie, naturally so exuberant, had been less boisterous than usual, perhaps picking up on his mum’s downcast mood. But Tory cheered everyone up. Despite being ‘absolutely ancient’ as she described herself, she had an incorrigible sense of fun and made them laugh with tales of colourful local characters and recollections of the many happy years she and her husband, Douglas, had spent living at Riverdale.
Later Tory and Poppy sat on the bench at the front of the house, enjoying a cup of tea and a slice of cake as they caught the last rays of the sun. Breaking the companionable silence Tory said, ‘I’ve been having a long chat with Caroline this afternoon.’
The stone wall behind them felt warm to the touch and there was a background hum of bees as they buzzed lazily around two lavender-filled terracotta pots on either side of the bench. ‘She seems very low. Nothing like the woman I met the day you all moved in.’ Tory took a sip from her mug and looked out across the valley.
Poppy kicked her heels against the ground and shrugged. ‘She’s probably just a bit lonely. Missing Dad and her friends in London, I expect.’
‘No, I think it’s more than that.’ Tory looked Poppy in the eye. ‘I remember when I was your age. I thought the world revolved around me. All children do, I suppose it’s a survival instinct. Teenagers are probably the most self-absorbed of the lot, although some old people can be just as selfish - I suppose we all come full circle in the end,’ she mused.
With a little shake of her head she carried on. ‘Of course, once you have children that all changes. Women like Caroline think of everyone else first, they have to be totally selfless. I’m sure your mum was the same.’
Poppy nodded. In the years since her death Isobel had taken on the status of a saint in Poppy’s eyes. She had subconsciously provided Caroline with an impossible act to follow.
‘Native Americans have a saying - don’t judge a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes,’ Tory continued.
Poppy wondered where the conversation was heading. She had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t going to like it.
‘Have you ever walked in Caroline’s shoes?’ Tory asked, and Poppy pictured herself staggering down the bumpy Riverdale drive in Caroline’s favourite red killer heels. Suppressing the image she shook her head.
‘What I’m trying to say,’ persevered Tory, ‘in a long and convoluted way, is this. I know you miss your mum and always will, but have you ever stopped to think about Caroline and how she is feeling?’
‘Why do people keep on at me about Caroline? First Scarlett, then Charlie and now you. I thought you were on my side!’
‘I am, pet. I’m just trying to make things better for everyone. I hate to think of Riverdale as an unhappy house.’ Tory took a deep breath in a nothing ventured, nothing gained kind of way and changed tack. ‘Caroline was telling me today about Isobel’s accident. It must have been so hard for you when she died.’
Poppy nodded. She knew Tory understood what it was like to lose someone you loved. But the old woman’s next comment hit her in the solar plexus. ‘I may be wrong but I get the feeling you blame Caroline for Isobel’s death.’
‘That’s not true! Dad didn’t even meet Caroline until after Mum died. The only person I blame is me! Mum was run over because I ran back into the road, didn’t Caroline tell you that?’ Poppy’s eyes flashed dangerously.
‘She told me it was an accident, pet, and that if anyone was to blame it was the driver who was going too fast on a busy road so near a school.’
Poppy continued kicking the ground viciously as Tory ploughed on. ‘Blaming yourself is no good - the guilt will just eat you up. You’ve got to accept it wasn’t your fault and move on, Poppy.’
‘You sound like one of those awful bereavement counsellors Dad made me see after Mum died! Pathetic do-gooders who couldn’t do any good because they couldn’t turn back the clock, could they?’
‘I know, pet, no-one can turn back the clock. But you should know that Caroline feels…’
Poppy never did find out how her stepmother felt as before Tory could finish she had stalked off to her bedroom, banging the door shut as ferociously as she dared and refusing to come down to say goodbye when Tory’s nephew turned up half an hour later to take her home.
That night Poppy dreamt about the accident. Her four-year-old self held Ears in one hand and the other was clasped firmly in her mum’s. But her hand felt different and when she looked down at their shadows her mum’s was tall and willowy, not small and slim. They crossed the road, heading for home, and reached the pavement on the other side. She realised she’d dropped the rabbit, slipped out of her mum’s grip and ran back into the road. But when she looked up, Ears dangling from her fist, the face staring back at her, white with terror, wasn’t Isobel’s. It was Caroline’s.
‘Mummy!’ shouted four-year-old Poppy in the dream, and Caroline took two steps forward and swept her into her arms and to safety. They both spun around to look as the speeding car flashed past. Poppy pressed her face into Caroline’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent. She felt safe and loved. Caroline murmured into her hair, ‘Oh Poppy, my darling girl. Everything will be alright. I promise.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘So, basically, you ran off in a strop without asking Tory anything about Cloud?’ demanded Scarlett the next afternoon. Poppy was sitting, cross-legged, on the red and royal blue rug on her bedroom floor. Scarlett was sprawled on her bed, leafing through old editions of Poppy’s pony magazines. Charlie, who had been allowed in under the strict conditions that he only spoke when spoken to and didn’t breathe a word of their conversation to Caroline, was sitting on the wicker chair by the window playing on his DS. Magpie lay curled in a ball on the carpet, his substantial stomach illuminated by a shaft of sunlight.
‘I know. I was an idiot, you don’t have to tell me,’ groaned Poppy, who had felt slightly out of kilter since she’d woken up, the previous night’s dream refusing to fade from her mind’s eye. ‘The trouble is I’m not sure when I’ll next get a chance to talk to Tory. She probably won’t even want to see me after the way I stormed off yesterday. We’re never going to find out how she managed to catch Cloud.’
Scarlett had stopped listening. Her eye had been caught by an article in one of the magazines. ‘Look at this! How to be a Horse Whisperer,’ she read. ‘It’s a whole feature on gaining the confidence of even the most nervous of horses.’ Poppy jumped up and joined her on the bed and they pored over the article.
‘What does it say then?’ asked Charlie, glancing up from his DS. Magpie lifted his black and white face and looked at the two girls with interest.
‘That a horse won’t trust you until he
has confidence in you. That you’ve got to think about how he feels and the things he fears. Look, there are lots of tips...don’t make eye contact, turn your back to him so he gets curious and seeks your attention, talk or sing to him so he gets used to your voice. If he heard me singing he’d run for the hills. Mum says I’m tone deaf,’ said Scarlett gloomily.
‘What you need is some direct action. You’re not going to get Cloud to trust you by sitting in your bedroom talking about it,’ said Charlie, ever the pragmatist.
‘But we go to Granny’s tomorrow! We won’t be back until the day before term starts,’ moaned Scarlett, who was not looking forward to the family’s annual pilgrimage to her grandparents’ draughty farmhouse in Wiltshire.
‘Sorry Scarlett, but for once Charlie is right. I need to start if we stand any chance of catching Cloud before the drift. I’ll text you to let you know how we’re getting on. You’ll be back before you know it.’
Scarlett had been summoned home for tea and Poppy and Charlie walked with her back to the farm, taking a handful of carrots with them for Flynn and Blaze. Scarlett was subdued and for once it was down to Poppy to keep the conversation going.
‘You know Scar, you won’t miss anything. It’s probably going to take weeks to get anywhere near Cloud, let alone catch him,’ she told her glum-faced friend.
‘I know. It’s just that I hate going to Granny’s. I miss Blaze heaps when we’re away and now I won’t be able to help you with Cloud. It’s so unfair!’
Poppy nodded sympathetically and gave Scarlett a brief hug. ‘I’ll text, I promise,’ she said. ‘Come on, Charlie. We’d better get going.’
‘You’ll need someone to go with you though, won’t you?’ said her brother, his blue eyes turned hopefully towards hers as they walked across the sheep field to Riverdale.
Poppy sighed. ‘I suppose so. But you know the rules, little brother.’
‘Yes, the rules. No talking, no moving, no making any noise, no breathing. I know, I’ll play dead, then I’m bound to stay out of trouble.’
‘Ha ha, very funny. Shall we go tonight?’ She paused. ‘What should we tell Caroline?’
‘Leave that to me,’ replied Charlie, who had the satisfied look of a man with a plan.
‘Mum?’ he said, tracking Caroline down in the kitchen where she was standing by the sink looking blankly out of the window. Poppy found her utter stillness unnerving but as Caroline turned to face them her face cleared and she smiled.
‘Oh, there you are, you two. What have you been doing?’
‘That’s what I wanted to tell you. We’ve been reading about badgers,’ Charlie said, producing a book on British wildlife from behind his back with a flourish. ‘We’ve been looking at their habitat and how to spot signs that they have a sett nearby. What badger poo looks like and stuff like that,’ he explained earnestly, his blue eyes fixed on Caroline’s. ‘We were wondering if we could go out into the woods after tea and see if we can find any. Badgers, that is, not badger poo. Although, of course, if you find the poo you’ll find the badgers.’
‘Yes, I get the picture,’ laughed Caroline. She thought for a moment. ‘Yes, I don’t see why not, as long as you take your phone Poppy, you don’t go too far and you’re back before it gets dark.’
Poppy looked at her brother with a mixture of astonishment and admiration. Six years old and totally unfazed at fabricating stories. How did he manage it?
They set off just after six o’clock, armed with binoculars, phone, camera and Charlie’s wildlife book.
‘Hold on, I’ve just remembered something,’ said Poppy. She darted into the tackroom next to Chester’s stable, emerging seconds later with a scoop of pony nuts in a bucket. ‘I’m sure Chester won’t mind. They are for his friend, after all,’ she whispered.
‘Shall we go to the little beach where we saw him before?’ asked Charlie, who was bouncing along beside his sister. There was nothing Charlie loved more than direct action.
‘Yes, I think that’s probably as good a place as any,’ Poppy answered and they crossed the field in front of the house, climbed the fence and disappeared into the wood.
Twenty minutes later they arrived at the clearing. Recent rain had turned the meandering stream into a fast-flowing river, which whooshed noisily past them.
‘Let’s put the bucket of nuts on the beach, go and hide behind that tree again and see if he comes,’ said Poppy, feeling sick with nerves.
They crouched down behind the tree and waited. It was a windy evening and the branches sighed and creaked around them. The light was beginning to fade and as the sun set to the west it cast long shadows that rippled and danced across the woodland floor. Charlie grew fidgety. Poppy nudged him to be still.
‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘But I need the toilet.’
She sighed loudly and stood up. ‘Great. Look, go over there behind that bush. And try and be quiet about it, will you?’
When Charlie returned, a leaf sticking out of his hair, he sat down and started silently flicking through his book on wildlife. Every now and then he stopped, licked the pad of his index finger and held it up to the wind, nodding sagely. Poppy didn’t know whether to hug him or throttle him. Instead she fixed her eyes on the line of trees in front of them and stared so hard that the leaves dissolved into a blur of green. She checked the time on the glowing face of her phone.
It was just as she was beginning to lose hope of Cloud ever turning up when there was a crackle in the branches and a sliver of silver through the leaves. Poppy felt her heart pounding. Even Charlie had let his book fall to his lap and was staring intently ahead.
They both watched breathlessly as Cloud poked his nose out of the trees. He sniffed the air, looking this way and that. Satisfied there was nothing to harm him he stepped slowly out into the clearing. Poppy and Charlie looked at each other and smiled. Poppy held her finger to her lips and Charlie nodded. He was determined not to do anything that might scare the pony this time.
Cloud was thinner than Poppy remembered and his coat looked dull. As he walked forwards, stopping every few paces to sniff the air, she saw he wasn’t putting his full weight on his near hind leg. He hobbled over to the bucket, his neck stretched and his nostrils flared as he sniffed it. He was poised for flight and Poppy’s heart was racing. Perhaps the smell of the pony nuts was too much to bear, perhaps he smelt the lingering scent of his old friend Chester, but after a few moments he began to eat noisily until the last nut had gone before taking another few uneven steps forward and drinking from the river.
The branches behind the two watching children rustled and Cloud looked up. He gave a start when he saw two pairs of eyes staring back at him from the other side of the river and Poppy immediately lowered her eyes, motioning Charlie to do the same. She held her breath, expecting him to turn on a sixpence and flee, but the pony stood watching them warily for a minute or two before limping slowly back off into the woods.
‘I’m worried about him. He was lame, did you notice? And did you see how thin he looked?’ Poppy asked her brother as they trudged back home through the dusk.
‘At least he didn’t run away as soon as he saw us, like he did before. So that’s good, isn’t it?’ countered Charlie.
It was a start, thought Poppy as she settled down to sleep that night, the dead weight of a gently snoring Magpie pinning her feet down. But they still had a long way to go.
Chapter Fifteen
The following day Caroline drove Poppy and Charlie into Plymouth to buy school shoes, rucksacks, pens and pencil cases, yet more reminders that their holiday was almost over. Poppy had visited her new high school briefly during their first week in Devon and had left feeling overwhelmed at the size of both the school and the students. They had been shown around by the head boy, Jordan White. Jordan was so long and lanky he looked as if he’d been stretched on a rack in some medieval torture chamber. Charlie had spent the entire morning staring with interest at an angry cluster of spots on his chin. Poppy had squirmed
with embarrassment when the puzzled six-year-old had asked the sixth-former, ‘Isn’t Jordan a girl’s name?’
She wondered how on earth she’d ever manage to find her way around the countless corridors and classrooms with their unfamiliar odour of sweaty trainers and school dinners. She was beyond glad that Scarlett would be starting with her.
As they drove home across the moors, Poppy noticed for the first time that the trees were beginning to turn from vivid green to ochre. It wouldn’t be long before the swallows disappeared and autumn arrived in their place. She thought of Cloud, facing the harsh Dartmoor winter not only lame but underweight, unlike the round, hardy Dartmoor ponies, whose coats were becoming thicker as the days grew shorter.
‘So, are you two planning to go badger-watching this evening?’ Caroline asked, as they crunched up the drive to home.
‘Oh, yes please Mum.’ Charlie cast a sidelong look at his sister. ‘We found a hole in the roots of a tree that looked like it might be the entrance to a sett but even though we looked and looked we couldn’t find any fresh poo, so it must be an old one.’
‘At least it shows there must be badgers about. It’s just a case of tracking them down,’ said Poppy, who felt that Charlie’s apparent interest in badger-watching was the perfect cover to see Cloud. When Charlie asked for something Caroline rarely said no.
That evening they ventured out to the wood an hour before dusk, Charlie taking two steps to Poppy’s one as she strode purposefully across the field.
‘I think we’ll put the bucket in the same place, but tonight we’ll sit on the tree instead of hiding behind it. We need him to start getting used to us,’ Poppy told her brother.
‘Cool. I’ve brought some pictures I’ve drawn of some panther paw prints so we can look for them as well,’ Charlie produced a crumpled sheet of paper from deep inside the pocket of his shorts.
