The Riverdale Pony Stories Box Set (Books 1-6)

by Amanda Wills

  Totally disorientated, Poppy looked around her, wondering if she'd fallen asleep in the paddock again. She sat up groggily and winced at the stabbing pain in her leg. Cloud whickered and nuzzled her neck, his liquid brown eyes dark with concern. She tried to piece together what had happened. Bit by bit she remembered: the text, the made-up visit to see Scarlett, the dash across the moor to the tumbledown cottage, the pheasant...

  ‘Pesky pheasant!’ Poppy muttered, attempting to stand. But the searing pain took her breath away and she collapsed on the grass again. Gingerly, she peeled down her sock. Her ankle had ballooned in size, the skin around it stretched and puffy. Her heart sank. How was she ever going to reach Witch Cottage now?

  As if sensing her thoughts Cloud gave her a gentle nudge. Poppy swallowed back tears. ‘I can't ride you, Cloud. There's no way I can stand to get on. And I can't walk a single step. I'll have to call Caroline and Dad. I have no other choice.’

  She slid her phone out of her back pocket and groaned. No signal. Not even one measly bar. She threw it onto the grass in frustration. Cloud sniffed it cautiously, his nostrils flared, and took a step back.

  ‘Don't leave me!’ Poppy cried, the gravity of her situation beginning to sink in. It was almost nine o'clock at night, she was in the middle of the moor with a useless leg and an equally useless phone. Jodie was about to throw her life away and there was nothing Poppy could do to stop her. Her shoulders sagged in defeat.

  Cloud must have registered the desperation in her voice, because he walked forward and rubbed his head against her, as if to say Don't worry, I'll stick around. She pressed her face against his warm cheek.

  ‘I can do this,’ she told him. Heaving herself upright she gathered Cloud's reins, rested her left hand on his withers and grabbed the stirrup. But her right ankle was too feeble and she crumpled to the ground. ‘Oh Cloud, what am I going to do?’

  The Connemara pawed the ground and sank to his knees with a grunt.

  ‘Don't roll, you'll squash your saddle!’

  But Cloud didn't roll. He lay down beside her and nudged her hip.

  Was he lying down in sympathy? Poppy knew horses were empathetic but this was ridiculous. Maybe he'd twisted his leg when he'd spooked, too.

  ‘Have you hurt yourself?’ she cried.

  Cloud nudged her again. Poppy leant against him, reassured by his solid bulk. She often lay down with him in the stable. She'd once read that if a horse even let someone near them while they were lying down it was a sign of trust. It had made her feel slightly superior that Cloud was so relaxed with her that he sometimes dozed off with his head in her lap. She'd watched videos on YouTube of horses who'd been trained to lie down on command. Some even lay down so their riders could mount them from their wheelchairs.

  Suddenly a thought popped into her head. She knew from Caitlyn's diary that she'd started teaching Cloud tricks. Had she taught him to lie down so she could get on from the ground? It seemed unbelievable but it was worth a try. There were no other options.

  Poppy shuffled on her bottom to Cloud's saddle, gathered the reins again and grabbed a handful of mane.

  ‘Are you OK with this?’ she asked him. He looked completely at ease. She took a deep breath, put her weight on her left knee and hauled her right leg over. Once she was sitting in the saddle she touched his withers and held on tightly as he scrambled to his feet.

  Poppy threw her arms around his neck. ‘You clever, clever boy!’

  Leaving her swollen foot dangling she crossed the right stirrup over the saddle so it didn't bump against his side and clicked her tongue, her optimism restored.

  ‘Come on Cloud. We have a disaster to avert!’

  Poppy saw the headlights of Jodie's Land Rover before they left the inky blackness of the conifers. It looked as though they had arrived in the nick of time. Jodie, wearing a dark baseball cap and riding gloves, was cramming dozens of phones into a large black holdall.

  ‘Jodie! It's me, Poppy.’

  Jodie spun around. Her face, caught in the beam of Poppy's head torch, was twisted with fury and fear.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘I've come to stop you.’

  ‘Too late.’

  ‘It isn't! You don't have to do this!’

  ‘I do,’ Jodie said grimly.

  ‘But I've found another way to raise the money!’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘I really have. The BBC is sending a camera crew to Nethercote in the morning.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They're going to do a story on your appeal.’

  ‘There is no appeal.’

  ‘There will be by the morning,’ Poppy said. ‘You're going to set one up on your website tonight.’

  Jodie turned back to the holdall. ‘It'd be a complete waste of time. There are too many animal sanctuaries out there asking for money. I've already told you that.’

  ‘None of the others will be top item on tomorrow's news. My dad's had a word with the producer. She loves Biscuit's story. She's going to use old footage of him being carried down by the helicopter, and they're going to interview you about him and the appeal. Once people see the great work you're doing the donations will come flooding in!’

  Jodie tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Poppy noticed the slightest tremor in her fingers.

  ‘Didn't it occur to you to ask me first?’ Jodie said coldly.

  Poppy was silent.

  ‘No, I didn't think so. I'm not doing it. I don't need to. By this time tomorrow I'll have enough in the bank to keep Nethercote running for a year.’

  ‘But it's all organised!’

  Jodie shoved the last few phones into the bag and yanked the zip closed. ‘Well, you've wasted your time. Now beggar off and leave me to it.’

  ‘You'll get caught,’ Poppy said.

  ‘You sound like my mother. How many times do I have to say it? I will not get caught. Everything is planned. So if you'll excuse me, there's somewhere I need to be.’

  ‘Your dad won't be there.’

  Jodie flung the holdall in the back of the Land Rover and slammed the door. ‘What are you wittering about?’

  Poppy took a deep breath. ‘He won't be lowering the rope. He's in solitary confinement.’

  ‘What?’ Jodie said again.

  ‘The Governor knows what your dad's planning. He had a tip off. There are four prison officers in his cell and police on the ground waiting for the phones to arrive.’

  ‘You've grassed us up?’ Jodie hissed.

  ‘Not me. It was your mum. But no-one knows it's you bringing the phones. She told them it was some lowlife your dad met in prison.’

  ‘And that makes it alright does it?’

  ‘She reckons he'll end up serving extra time. But that it's a small price to pay in the circumstances.’

  Poppy thought it wise not repeat Jodie's mum's actual words, that he could go to hell for all she cared. Instead she said, ‘Your mum said he'd be happy as long as you and the horses were OK.’

  Jodie leant against the Land Rover, her head bowed. ‘If that's true, what am I going to do with the phones?’

  Poppy glanced at the cottage. ‘Put them back in the attic. I'll call the police in a couple of days and say I've found them. It won't matter if my fingerprints are all over them. There'll be nothing to link them to you.’

  ‘What about the gang who stole them. They know who I am,’ Jodie said.

  ‘But they're hardly going to hand themselves in, are they?’

  Sensing Jodie waver Poppy pressed home her advantage. ‘What would Cait tell you to do, if she was here? Would she want her best friend to break the law and risk going to prison? It's the last thing she'd want.’

  Jodie was silent. After what seemed like an eternity she edged over to Cloud and stroked his head. Poppy felt a pounding in her chest and realised she'd stopped breathing.

  ‘She'd tell me I was nuts to even consider it,’ said Jodie finally.

  P
oppy sent a silent missive of thanks to Caitlyn.

  ‘So you'll do it? The interview and everything?’

  ‘You really think it'll work?’

  The beam of the head torch bobbed like a yo-yo as Poppy nodded. ‘It'll work. I promise.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘So, are you going to give me a hand with these phones or what?’ said Jodie.

  Poppy reddened. ‘I can't get off. I fell off Cloud and busted my ankle on the way over.’

  Jodie raised her eyebrows. ‘Is it broken?’

  ‘I don't think so. I can still wiggle my toes, although it really hurts. I think it's just a sprain.’

  ‘How did you get back on?’

  ‘Well, that's the funny thing,’ said Poppy. ‘Did you and Caitlyn teach Cloud and Nero tricks that last summer?’

  Jodie hooted with laughter. ‘I tried to. Nero was hopeless. But Cloud was a quick learner, weren't you boy? Cait taught him to give her a kiss and take a bow, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Did she teach him to lie down?’

  Jodie's forehead creased. ‘Not that I remember. But it was so long ago. D'you want me to go home and get the trailer?’

  ‘No, we'll take it easy. We'll be fine. But will you be OK to put the phones back in the attic?’

  ‘Do I have an option?’ Jodie's tone was sardonic, but she dragged the hold-all out of the back of the Land Rover and hefted it onto her shoulder.

  ‘I'll see you tomorrow,’ Poppy said.

  Jodie held her hand in a mock salute. As Cloud plunged back into the conifers Poppy glanced back. In the beam of the Land Rover's headlights she could just make out the older girl disappearing through the door of the cottage. Poppy ran her hand along Cloud's neck and allowed herself a smile.

  ‘D'you know, Cloud? I think it's going to be alright.’

  It was only when they were almost home that she realised she had overlooked one small but crucial problem. How on earth was she going to explain her sprained ankle to her parents?

  ‘So you decided to ride Cloud to Scarlett's - even though it was pitch dark - and fell off on the way home when he shied at a sheep?’ Caroline asked, her eyebrows raised.

  ‘Er, yes. That's right.’ Poppy hopped over to the gate and rested her bad ankle on the bottom bar. Her nose would be as long as Pinocchio's if she carried on lying like this.

  ‘We'd better take you to minor injuries first thing to check it's not a fracture,’ said her dad.

  ‘I can't miss the filming!’ Poppy cried. ‘I've promised Jodie I'll be there. Honestly, I'm fine. The swelling's gone down already.’ She rotated her ankle, hiding her grimace behind her long fringe. ‘See?’

  Caroline sighed. ‘Alright. But you won't be able to ride. I'll drive you.’

  Poppy hopped over to her stepmum and gave her a hug. Caroline ruffled her hair.

  ‘Come on, Hopalong Cassidy. It's getting late and you should be in bed.’

  Poppy screwed up her face. ‘What did you call me?’

  ‘Hopalong Cassidy. He was a cowboy in the old Western films my grandad used to love. Hopalong had a grey horse, too, though he was called Topper, if my memory serves me right.’

  Lying in bed, her ankle resting on two pillows and Magpie nestled in the crook of her arm, Poppy Googled Hopalong Cassidy.

  ‘Wikipedia says he was often called upon to intercede when dishonest characters took advantage of honest citizens,’ she told the cat, who yawned widely, showing two rows of tiny incisors.

  Poppy turned off the iPad and tickled Magpie's chin. ‘We've more in common than a gammy leg.’

  Over breakfast Poppy checked Nethercote's website. Jodie had been busy. On the home page was a huge banner urging people to support the rescue centre's new appeal. Under a photo of Jodie with her arm around Biscuit's neck was an open letter. Poppy's toast grew cold on her plate as she read:

  'Hi, I'm Jodie Morgan, and I run Nethercote Horse Rescue.

  I want to take this opportunity to tell you a little bit about us and the work we do.

  Nethercote was founded by my dad, Alan Morgan, ten years ago. Dad always loved horses and opening a rescue centre was his life's dream.

  Dad never once turned a horse away. He gave them all a second chance.

  Horses like Biscuit, our most famous resident here at Nethercote, who was rescued by helicopter from the roof of a high rise block of flats. We try and rehome as many horses as possible, but I have promised Biscuit that he has a home here for the rest of his days.

  Five years ago Dad left the running of Nethercote to me. I was fifteen and still at school. Running a rescue centre wasn't my dream - I wanted to be a famous showjumper - but I owed it to the horses to carry on.

  A job like this is a vocation. Seeing a pony that arrived skinny and terrified go off to his new home sleek and confident makes all the hard work worthwhile.

  But the last few years have been tough. Really tough. Money has been tight and fundraising takes up precious time better spent rescuing, rehabilitating and rehoming our horses and ponies.

  This summer we reached crisis point at Nethercote. Costs for hay and feed have soared and donations have plummeted. Without financial help we won't be able to pay the winter feed bill, let alone meet ongoing veterinary and farrier costs. What will happen to the horses, you may well ask. The truth is, I don't know.

  So we have launched Biscuit's Appeal, to raise enough money to enable us to carry on caring for the horses other people have forgotten. If you are able to help, please donate using the link below.

  Every penny counts: £5 will buy a bale of hay, £10 will buy a sack of food, £20 will pay for the farrier to trim a pony's feet and £80 will buy him a new set of shoes.

  So, you see, your help really can make all the difference to Biscuit and his friends here at Nethercote. Thank you for listening in our hour of need.

  Yours, Jodie

  Poppy swallowed. Jodie's letter was heartfelt and emotive and, as if that wasn't enough to get people reaching for their chequebooks, there was a blurry photo in the bottom right hand corner of Biscuit being winched to safety from the tower block in the Midlands. The appaloosa was a bag of skin and bones, a far cry from the plump, contented pony he was now.

  Charlie bounded in, his hair as tousled as a bird's nest, Freddie hot on his heels. He skidded to a halt when he saw Poppy.

  ‘No tablets at the breakfast table!’

  ‘I'm not playing games, I'm reading. The BBC film crew is coming today and I need to check the website so I can give Jodie some advice on handling the media, if you must know,’ Poppy told him officiously.

  ‘Doesn't look like she needs it,’ said Caroline, reading over Poppy's shoulder. ‘I'd say she was pretty much on message already.’

  ‘Yes, well, I did brief her last night. I mean, yesterday afternoon.’ Poppy felt her cheeks redden. Hoping Caroline hadn't noticed, she picked up her plate and hobbled over to the sink. The swelling in her ankle had gone down overnight but it was still too tender to take her full weight.

  ‘What time do we need to go?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘They're coming at half past nine so if we leave at eight thirty I can make sure Jodie's ready.’

  ‘Can me and Freddie come? They might want to do a vod pod,’ said Charlie.

  Poppy gazed at him in exasperation. ‘A what?’

  ‘You know, when they ask members of the public what they think about something. They might do a vod pod about how important it is to save the ponies.’

  Caroline laughed. ‘He means vox pop. I suppose it wouldn't do any harm. As long as you promise not to get under everybody's feet. You don't mind, do you Poppy?’

  ‘I won't be annoying, I promise.’ Charlie smiled beseechingly at his sister.

  ‘Oh alright, if you must. But if you ruin everything by messing up a shot or something I will have no option but to kill you.’

  ‘I understand,’ he nodded earnestly, before giving a fist pump and bowling back out of the kitchen, Freddie still at
his feet.

  Poppy sighed. Brothers!

  Chapter Twenty

  Jodie looked as if she'd only managed to snatch a couple of hours' sleep. Purple shadows darkened her eyes like shading on a pencil portrait and her face was pale. But she greeted the McKeevers with a cheerful smile and made a great fuss of Freddie, who promptly rolled on the ground with his legs in the air offering his belly to be tickled.

  ‘Is there anything we can do?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘I've just got the yard to sweep and Biscuit to groom. I wanted him looking his best,’ said Jodie.

  ‘Poppy can take care of Biscuit and I'll sweep the yard. You go and get yourself ready.’

  Jodie smiled gratefully and disappeared inside. Poppy tied Biscuit outside his stable and set to work with a body brush. The appaloosa was already beginning to lose his summer coat and Poppy sneezed violently as she was enveloped in a cloud of horse hair. Catching a whiff of the Polos in her back pocket, Biscuit nibbled at her jeans until Poppy relented. He wolfed two from her open palm as if he hadn't been fed for a week, which, Poppy reflected, had probably been the case when he'd been tethered at the top of the high rise. It was little wonder he was a guzzle guts when a decent meal back then would have been a pile of potato scrapings and a couple of slices of mouldy bread. Poppy shuddered, then peeled another couple of mints from the pack.

  She was brushing out the tangles in the appaloosa's tail when Jodie's mum tottered across the yard in the highest wedge shoes Poppy had ever seen. She laid a hand on Poppy's arm.

  ‘Thank you for everything you did yesterday, Poppy. You don't know how grateful I am. I've got my old Jodie back.’

  ‘I was glad to help. I don't think deep down she wanted to do it, she just felt she had no option.’

  Jodie's mum's lips thinned. ‘Her father should never have put her in that position. What was he thinking?’