by Amanda Wills
‘It seems like yesterday, and in other ways I feel like we’ve lived here all our lives,’ said Caroline.
‘Magpie was sick in his basket, I remember that. And Poppy was really, really grumpy,’ said Charlie.
‘No, she wasn’t,’ said Caroline loyally.
‘I was,’ admitted Poppy. ‘I thought I didn’t want to live here. How stupid was I? I’d hate to live in Twickenham now.’
‘And do you remember, Tory was here to welcome us to Riverdale?’
‘She’s like our pretend granny now, isn’t she?’ said Charlie.
‘She certainly is,’ said Dad.
‘And I thought Chester was a pony,’ said Poppy.
Dad laughed. ‘So you did. What you didn’t realise was that there was a pony for you after all. You were just looking in the wrong place.’
He parked the car and Poppy and Charlie helped him unload his cases from the boot. Caroline opened the front door and Freddie bounded out, his plumy tail wagging frantically as he welcomed them all in turn.
Cloud was lying by the water trough, dozing.
‘Where’s the panto star?’ said Dad.
Poppy scanned the field for Chester’s familiar brown shape. ‘Probably down by the wood.’
‘I’m starving. When’s lunch?’ said Charlie.
‘Now,’ said Caroline. ‘You carry Dad’s cases in and I’ll heat up the soup.’
After lunch Dad brought the big cardboard box of Christmas decorations down from the loft and Poppy and Charlie decorated the tree.
‘Can we watch Home Alone after?’ Charlie was standing on a chair, reaching over to dangle a bauble on one of the high branches.
‘You’ve seen it a million times,’ said Poppy.
‘Who cares? It’s the best Christmas film ever.’
‘If we must. But I need to put Cloud and Chester away first. I’ll be twenty minutes, OK?’
‘I love that bit where Kevin heats up the doorknob and the burglar burns his hand.’ Charlie chuckled to himself. ‘And when he leaves the cars and stuff at the bottom of the stairs. Genius.’
An orange sun was sliding below the horizon as Poppy made her way across the field, Cloud’s headcollar slung casually over her shoulder. She never brought one for Chester – the old donkey always followed them back to the yard.
Cloud was still snoozing, his ears floppy and his bottom lip drooping, when Poppy reached him.
‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ she said.
He opened one eye and regarded her blearily. Poppy slipped the noseband of his headcollar over his nose and buckled the strap, calling over her shoulder to Chester as she did so.
A couple of burrs were caught in Cloud’s mane and she spent several minutes teasing them out. His head drooped again and his eyes closed.
She tutted fondly. ‘What’s wrong with you today? Late night last night, was it?’
Satisfied she had managed to pull out every last barb, she combed through his mane with her fingers. There was still no sign of Chester. Usually he’d have wandered over by now and would be nibbling her pockets, hoping for a Polo or a handful of pony nuts.
‘Where is he?’ Poppy squinted into the half-light, searching the field’s dips and hollows, tracking slowly along the band of trees that marked the start of the Riverdale wood. There was no sign of the old donkey.
‘I did let him out this morning, didn’t I?’ Occasionally, if the weather forecast was really bad, she would leave him in the stable with plenty of hay. He didn’t have the luxury of a thick New Zealand rug like Cloud. But no, she remembered turning them both out. Chester had been impatient to be out and had trodden on her foot in his hurry to trot through the field gate.
‘We’d better check the fencing hasn’t got a hole in it.’ Poppy pulled the lead rope gently but Cloud didn’t move. She clicked her tongue. ‘Come on, lazybones.’ He took a half-hearted couple of steps forwards. ‘That’s it. Good boy,’ she said as he followed her unenthusiastically around the perimeter of the field. The post and rail fencing was intact. Apart from a couple of rabbits, which bobbed off into the wood with a flash of white tail, the field was empty.
Poppy gazed around her, a feeling of unease settling on her shoulders like mist on a soggy autumn night. Chester could be mischievous at times and Poppy wouldn’t put it past him to untie a gate or push through a gap in a fence if the grass looked greener on the other side. But the gate had been shut when she’d let herself in and there weren’t any holes in the fence. Usually by now he’d be standing by the gate, ready for his tea. So, where was he?
Her sense of unease growing, Poppy coaxed Cloud back across the field. She turned on the yard lights, hoping to see the donkey’s chocolate brown eyes gazing guiltily back at her from the hay barn or tack room. Both were empty. So was the stable he shared with Cloud. Poppy left Cloud in the stable and sprinted to the back door with a hammering heart.
Chapter Twelve
‘Chester’s disappeared!’ she yelled at the top of her voice. Caroline, who was peeling potatoes at the sink, raised her eyebrows.
‘What do you mean, disappeared?’
‘He’s not in the field. He’s not in the yard. He’s vanished!’ Poppy could hear her voice climbing an octave and she took a deep breath. ‘I’ve looked everywhere. He’s gone.’
Caroline dropped the peeler in the sink and dried her hands on a tea towel. ‘Grab the torches. I’ll go and get your dad and Charlie. We’ll come and have another look.’
‘He wouldn’t have run away, would he?’ said Charlie in a small voice. They were walking four abreast across the field, having already searched the outbuildings and small paddock with no luck.
‘Of course he wouldn’t, sweetheart. I’m sure he’s here somewhere. Try not to worry,’ said Caroline.
They were walking past the water trough when Poppy stood on something sharp. She shone her torch down. A white plastic syringe was lying in the mud. She bent down to pick it up.
‘Sedalin Gel,’ she said, showing the syringe to Caroline. ‘What on earth is that?’
Her stepmum shrugged. ‘No idea.’
The rest of the label was obscured by mud. Poppy slipped it into her pocket and trudged on, the beam of her torch sweeping to and fro like a searchlight. Her disquiet grew with every step.
‘I told you he wasn’t here,’ she said fretfully, when they reached the far side of the field and there was still no sign of the old donkey.
‘Where is he, then?’ demanded Charlie with a catch in his voice. ‘Chester! Chester! Where are you?’ he shouted.
Poppy would have given anything to have heard Chester’s familiar wheezy hee-haw, but the moor was quiet, save for the sound of the westerly wind whipping through the trees.
‘And you’re absolutely sure you shut the gate properly this morning?’ said her dad.
‘OF COURSE I’M SURE!’ Poppy wanted to yell at the top of her voice. But she took another deep breath and answered as calmly as she could. ‘It was definitely closed. Anyway, if I’d left it open Cloud would have escaped, too, wouldn’t he?’
‘It’s OK, Poppy. I believe you,’ he said. ‘The first thing we need to do is ring round all the neighbours, in case they’ve seen him.’
‘And if they haven’t?’ asked Caroline.
‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.’
Poppy fed Cloud and changed his rugs on autopilot. Her mind was focused on Chester. Where on earth could he be? Common sense told her he’d just wandered off, and would clip-clop back into the yard at any moment. She tried and failed to dismiss the nagging doubts that whispered darker scenarios to her subconscious.
‘Where is he, Cloud?’ Poppy whispered, running a frozen hand along his velvety neck. Ignoring her, he guzzled his tea noisily. At least he finally seemed to have perked up, she thought, as she let herself out of the stable and tramped wearily back to the house.
Caroline was sitting at the kitchen table, the phone pressed against her ear.
‘Thanks Pa
t. No, I understand. And yes, if you could keep an eye out for him that’d be great. Tell Scarlett not to worry. He’ll turn up, I’m sure. Thanks again. You too.’ She ended the call and placed the phone carefully on the table.
‘Pat and Bill haven’t seen him. Neither have the Jennings or the Coreys. Just the Samsons to try and that’s everyone within a mile of Riverdale.’
Poppy remembered the syringe in her pocket. She rinsed off the mud under the hot tap. ‘Acepromazine,’ she read to herself. ‘Sedative. Oral gel.’
Her heartbeat quickening, she reached for her mobile phone and Googled Sedalin Gel. Used for the sedation of horses and ponies. Has a general tranquilizing effect which lasts for up to six or seven hours. Fear squeezed Poppy’s insides like a vice.
‘He’s been stolen,’ she said loudly. Caroline, in the middle of leaving a message on the Samsons’ answerphone, trailed off and stared at Poppy.
‘How d’you know?’ Charlie demanded.
‘I found this in the field, near to where Cloud was standing. He seemed really sleepy earlier. I didn’t think anything of it. But this is a sedative for horses. Someone’s given him it so they could take Chester.’
‘Are you sure?’ said her dad.
‘How else do you explain this?’ Poppy said, holding out the syringe. ‘Someone has stolen him. We need to call the police.’
No-one really wanted the pork chops and mash Caroline had made for dinner. They sat in silence around the table, each busy with their own thoughts. Caroline sprang to her feet with an audible sigh of relief when there was a rap at the front door.
‘It’ll be the police. Poppy, perhaps you could you clear the table.’
Poppy was mindlessly scraping leftovers into the green food caddy when Caroline re-appeared with PC Claire Bodiam and a fresh-faced young officer she introduced as PC Gilligan. He looked as if he was straight out of training school.
Poppy met PC Bodiam’s eye. It’s alright, she wanted to say. I haven’t told anyone about Georgia. PC Bodiam gave a tiny nod, as if she understood.
The two police officers sat down. ‘We wouldn’t normally attend a theft report but we were passing and it was a quiet shift. We thought we might as well look in,’ said PC Bodiam. ‘Just as a matter of interest, do you have a four by four?’
‘No, we’ve just got the estate. Why?’ asked Poppy’s dad.
‘There are some tyre tracks at the bottom of the drive. They look wider than a car’s.’
‘They must have belonged to the thieves!’ cried Charlie, his face pale.
‘Possibly,’ said PC Bodiam.
‘Are you going to send out the crime scene people, like you did at Redhall?’ Poppy asked.
‘Probably not. We don’t even know he was definitely stolen yet.’
Poppy showed the two police officers the sedative.
‘Whoever took him tranquilised Cloud so they could steal Chester,’ she said.
‘That’s what I don’t get,’ PC Bodiam admitted. ‘We do get the occasional horse theft, and sheep rustling is a fairly common problem out in the rural. We even had eight Limousin cattle stolen from a farm over Okehampton way the other week. But who would go out of their way to steal an elderly donkey? It doesn’t make sense.’
Chapter Thirteen
Poppy was shaking fresh straw into the stable the next morning when she heard the clatter of hooves on concrete. Her heart leapt and she sprinted to the open door, hoping to see Chester’s woolly face, but it was Scarlett on Red. Her best friend jumped off and led the chestnut gelding over.
‘Any news?’
‘No,’ said Poppy glumly. ‘PC Bodiam has told the Farm Watch people and Caroline’s posted his photo on some local Facebook horse groups. It’s had loads of shares, but no-one’s seen him.’
‘Let’s go for a ride, see if we can find him.’
‘I don’t know, Scar. I don’t really feel like it. Anyway, I should probably stay here. In case there’s any news.’
Scarlett looked shocked. ‘But what if he’s on the moor? What if he’s hurt himself and needs our help?’
Trying to ignore the burn of unshed tears, Poppy stared at her feet. ‘Caroline phoned Tory this morning.’
‘How did she take it?’
‘She was OK. Worried, but OK. She’s coming over this afternoon.’
‘By then we might have found him! Come on, Poppy. Let’s give it a try at least. It’s got to be better than sitting waiting for the phone to ring.’
‘Where do we start?’ said Poppy helplessly, as they rode onto the moor. It was a clear day and Dartmoor lay before them in all its bleak winter glory.
‘We’ll ride around the Riverdale tor and then head south, along the other side of the Riverdale wood, just in case he’s taken shelter there,’ said Scarlett decisively.
Perhaps Cloud sensed Poppy’s despair for he seemed subdued as he followed Red around the base of the tor. But he probably missed the old donkey even more than she did.
She said as much to Scarlett.
Scarlett shook her head. ‘It’s probably the after-effects of the sedative.’
But Poppy knew she was wrong and every time he stopped to sniff the wind and gave a plaintive whinny it broke her heart.
They scoured the horizon for Chester-shaped brown blobs. Once Scarlett shrieked with excitement, making Cloud and Red both jump.
‘There he is!’ she cried, pointing to the lower slopes of a far-off tor. Poppy followed her gaze.
‘It’s a stag. I can see the antlers from here,’ she said flatly. ‘This is useless. I’m going home.’ She wheeled Cloud to the right and kicked him into a canter. He lengthened his stride until the wiry moorland grass blurred beneath his feet. Poppy leaned low over his neck and gripped the reins tightly as he galloped for home, not bothering to wipe the tears that poured down her cheeks.
Tory was sitting in the armchair by the fire, her swollen knuckles pale as she gripped the head of her walking stick and stared into the flames that crackled and leapt in the hearth.
Poppy hesitated by the door. Caroline had told her not to worry, that Tory didn’t blame her. But Poppy had promised she would look after Chester and she hadn’t. Chester was goodness only knew where and Poppy had failed him, failed them both. Fresh tears trickled down her face and she wiped them away impatiently. Apologising to Tory was the least she could do. She straightened her shoulders and walked into the room.
‘I’m so, so sorry.’ She knelt at Tory’s feet, feeling the heat of the fire scorch her wind-chapped cheek.
‘Oh pet, you mustn’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault,’ the old woman said firmly.
‘But –’
‘No buts, Poppy. No-one looked after Chester better than you. Someone had a reason to take him. We just need to work out why.’
Poppy remembered Georgia. ‘You don’t think he’s been kidnapped, do you?’
‘Kidnapped?’ Tory said, bemused. ‘Who would kidnap an old donkey?’
‘Maybe they think because Dad’s on the TV we’re loaded. Like the Cannings.’
The wrinkles on Tory’s forehead deepened. ‘What have the Cannings got to do with anything?’
Poppy bit her lip. ‘Nothing. Pets do get kidnapped, though. It happened in the book I just read. The kidnapper left ransom notes in an old churchyard.’
‘That’s fiction,’ said Tory kindly. ‘Things like that don’t happen in real life.’
‘They might,’ said Poppy. She cocked her head. ‘Was that the phone?’
‘I didn’t hear, pet.’
Poppy sprang to her feet. ‘I’ll go and check.’
Caroline was replacing the handset in its base when Poppy burst into the kitchen.
‘Who was that?’ she demanded.
‘Reverend Kirton. I thought I’d better tell her she needed to find a new donkey. She was just phoning back.’
Poppy stared at her stepmother. ‘Don’t you think we’ll have found him by then?’
Caroline smiled brightly. �
�I’m sure we will have. But I needed to warn her. The Nativity’s on Friday. She needs time to find a stand-in.’
Charlie appeared in the doorway, Freddie by his side. ‘Find a stand-in for what?’
‘For the Nativity donkey,’ said Caroline. ‘Reverend Kirton says she’ll probably ask George Blackstone if Jenny can do it.’
‘George Blackstone!’ Poppy exploded.
‘How could she?’ cried Charlie, his face crumpling. ‘That was Chester’s job! He’ll be back to do it, won’t he?’
Caroline made to comfort him but Poppy beat her to it. She wrapped her arms around his skinny frame. ‘He’ll be back, Charlie,’ she whispered into his tousled blond hair. He was getting so tall. ‘I promise.’
Caroline had invited Tory to stay the night and Poppy carried her small suitcase up to the spare bedroom before dinner.
‘Thank you,’ said Tory. She sat down heavily on the bed. ‘Charlie’s upset, isn’t he. I’ve never seen him so down.’
‘He loves Chester to bits. We all do.’ There was a catch in Poppy’s throat. ‘He was so looking forward to the Nativity. He’d even made a Lego model of the church. I’ll show you later.’
‘Annette hasn’t given the job to Delilah, has she?’ said Tory. She had hooted with laughter when Poppy had phoned to tell her about Sam and Scott’s appearance at the donkey auditions.
‘No, she’s going to ask George Blackstone to bring his poor, skinny donkey, Jenny.’
‘George Blackstone?’ Tory asked sharply.
Poppy shrugged. ‘Jenny was the vicar’s second choice, apparently. That’s what she told Caroline, anyway.’
‘Who else did she tell?’ Tory wondered aloud as she struggled to her feet.
‘What do you mean?’
Ignoring her, Tory waggled her stick at her suitcase. ‘Pass me my coat, please, Poppy. There’s somewhere we need to go.’
Chapter Fourteen
The McKeevers’ estate car snaked its way along the windy lanes towards the Blackstone farm. They reached a crossroads. Poppy’s dad looked at Tory, who was sitting in the passenger seat, her handbag clutched to her chest and a determined look on her face.
