Christine Pullein-Thompson
PHANTOM
HORSE
IN DANGER
AWARD PUBLICATIONS LIMITED
ISBN 978-1-84135-928-1
Text copyright © Christine Pullein-Thompson
Illustrations copyright © Award Publications Limited
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Illustrations by Eric Rowe
Cover illustration by Jennifer Bell
This digital edition first published 2012
Published by Award Publications Limited, The Old Riding School, The Welbeck Estate, Worksop, Nottinghamshire, S80 3LR
www.awardpublications.co.uk
Like us on Facebook. www.facebook.com/awardpublications
Follow us on Twitter @award_books twitter.com/award_books
Contents
Title
Copyright
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
More Phantom Horse Adventures
1
It was the end of March. Easter term had just finished. The garden was full of crocuses and the first daffodils. Upstairs, Mum was packing. I stood in the doorway, watching her.
“I wish you weren’t staying alone,” she said. “I hate leaving you. Why won’t you agree to Aunt Nina staying with you?”
“We’re nearly grown up,” replied my brother. “We are not children any more.” He was sitting on the bed, tall, with long legs and dark brown hair.
“I’ve made an important decision,” he continued, looking at the floor. “I am going to sell Killarney and buy a moped. I want to be more independent, and I’m sick of mucking out …” There was a terrible, shocked silence. I thought of Killarney going: of his empty loose box, of never seeing him again.
“That’s a very sudden decision,” replied Mum, shutting her suitcase. “Won’t you miss him?”
“Yes, in a way. But one must move forward, one can’t stay the same for ever,” said Angus.
“But what about the hunter trials?” I asked. “There are three in April.”
“I’ll ride on my moped and watch you fall off,” said Angus, with a silly smile on his face which made me want to scream.
“Is it just a matter of money?” asked Mum.
“No. I’m just tired of doing the same things – cleaning tack and mucking out. I want a change. I want oil on my hands instead of horsehair,” answered Angus, standing up and stretching. “It’s too much responsibility …”
“I’ll be responsible then,” I suggested quickly. “I can easily look after two horses.”
“Look, I’ve written out an advertisement,” said Angus, as though I had never spoken, and he took out a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.
I read out aloud:
KILLARNEY: 16 hand Grey Gelding rising six. Marvellous temperament. Super jumper, excellent hunter. Good private home only. No dealers. £3,000 o.n.o.
“How can you?” I cried. “How can you sell him just for a beastly moped? You’re not asking enough either. He’s worth more than that, much more.”
“I want him to have a good home. I don’t want lots of money. Can’t you understand?” shouted Angus.
“No, I can’t,” I yelled back.
“Can’t you understand that a moped won’t cost pounds and pounds a week to feed all through the winter, and need a new set of shoes every four weeks? It will be much cheaper for Dad.”
“It will need petrol and oil, and new tyres, insurance and road tax,” I answered. “It will keep going wrong. Mopeds always do. And who will pay for that?”
“Well, I’m not sticking to a moped for ever. As soon as I’m old enough I’m buying a motorbike,” shouted Angus. “And I’ll get a job. I’ll pay for everything.”
Mum had her hands over her ears. I ran from the room, down the twisty cottage stairs, out into the sudden March sunshine.
Killarney was grazing under the apple trees, close to my own Phantom. He was starting to lose his winter coat, and looked every inch a hunter, from his large hocks to his wonderful shoulders and his wise, grey, Irish head. I could feel tears smarting behind my eyes. Why do people have to change? I thought. I wished I could stay my age for ever, that everything could remain just the same, with Phantom grazing in the orchard and the garden full of flowers. I looked at our small stable yard and imagined a moped, followed by a motorbike, in Killarney’s loose box. Soon his head will never look over the door again, I thought. I fetched a wheelbarrow and started to muck out, and as I worked I could feel tears trickling down my cheeks.
Later, Mum left, but first she stood in the kitchen, looking at her watch and telling us, “You will be careful, won’t you? I’ll ring you every night. I hate leaving you on your own. Don’t be stupid. Don’t leave the lights on when you go to bed. Remember to lock up and to pay the milkman …”
“We’re not six any more,” replied Angus. “Do stop fussing. We’ll be all right. We’re almost adults.” I didn’t touch wood.
“If only you had let Aunt Nina stay here,” said Mum, walking down the little path to the garage.
“She’s more trouble than she’s worth,” replied Angus.
“But she’s kind and an adult. Anyway the Barneses will keep an eye on you, and Mrs Parkin will be in every day.” Mum got into the car and started the engine. I stood waving.
“Come back soon,” I shouted. “Give my love to Dad.”
“I wish I wasn’t going. I don’t like entertaining,” said Mum, lowering the car window.
“You’ll miss your plane in a minute. You know there’s always a traffic jam at Heathrow,” said Angus. “It’s three o’clock.”
“I’ll bring you back Easter eggs – Swiss ones,” shouted Mum, driving away.
“She doesn’t realise we’re grown up,” said Angus.
“I’m not. Are you really selling Killarney?”
“Yes, the advertisement will be in Saturday’s Horse and Hound.”
“You mean you’ve sent it?”
He nodded. “Once I’ve taken a decision I don’t waste time,” he answered in a self-satisfied voice.
The place felt empty and forlorn without Mum. I started wishing that Dad had a different job, that he wasn’t in the Foreign Office and constantly abroad. Once we had travelled with him. But now, suddenly, we were all sick of airports and aeroplanes, of missing horse shows and gymkhanas, of never staying long enough at home to make real friends. So Angus and I had decided to stay behind rather than be bored in a hotel in Geneva, and now, a week later, Mum was following Dad to help with entertaining. Mrs Parkin was coming in every day to see whether we were still alive and to keep us dusted. The freezer was stocked with food. Dominic Barnes, who had passed his driving test, had offered to drive us into the nearest town in his father’s old Land Rover if we needed anything, and his parents would help if there were any problems. I had bought a diary in which I intended to record everything which happened.
I fetched it now and wrote: 3 p.m. Mum’s left. Angus is selling Killarney. I can’t believe it. Why do people change? The house seems empty. The stable will seem empty without Killarney. I feel
empty too. So will Phantom when Killarney’s gone.
When I went downstairs again, Angus was studying a brochure of motorbikes.
“I’m going to ride. Coming?” I asked.
He shook his head and continued reading.
“Saturday is the day after tomorrow,” I said. “Don’t you want to ride him as much as possible before he goes?”
“I’m reading,” replied Angus. “Who is ‘him’, anyway?”
I left the house, slamming the back door after me.
Phantom was glad to be caught. He hated doing nothing. I groomed him quickly while Killarney watched us over the gate. Then I tacked him up and set off towards the woods with the sun in my eyes. He jogged and danced, and tossed his head. The trees were breaking into leaf; the woods sparkled with spring. It was like a new beginning. I wanted to sing but the words stuck in my throat. Later on I sang sad hymns like “Abide with me” and “Lead kindly light”.
I saw my childhood ending and wondered whether I would ever grow tired of Phantom and want something else instead. It seemed impossible, but I might change like Angus. What then?
I cantered through the woods. They smelled of damp earth; soon they would be mauve-blue with bluebells. Everything changes, I thought, even the woods. But it didn’t console me.
I rode home on a loose rein and found Angus in the kitchen preparing a meal.
“I thought we would have a high tea for a change,” he said. “You know, cakes and biscuits and any old thing you can find. I’ve opened some sardines and there’s gherkins and pickle, tinned peaches and three different kinds of bread … We can eat everything off the same plate. Are you cross, or something? Why don’t you speak?”
“I don’t like Killarney going,” I answered. “He’s such a kind, honest horse. He deserves a good home.”
“Do you consider that we are such a good home?” asked Angus, sitting down to his high tea.
“Reasonable.”
“Don’t be silly, we’re a jolly boring home. When did we last hunt, for instance? And he loves hunting. He was born for it, it’s in his blood. Soon I shall be doing GCSEs. I shan’t have any time then. It’s kinder to let him go now, while he’s in the prime of life. I shall make sure it’s a good home, too. I’m not a fiend, Jean …” He went on, trying to convince me. “I am not a good home, not now, not when I’ve got exams ahead.”
“You could lend him …”
“There’s no point. I’m giving up riding for the time being,” Angus announced, stuffing sardines into his mouth. “I want to learn to drive as soon as I can.”
At nine o’clock Mum telephoned from Geneva to say that she had arrived. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Have you had a proper meal?”
Later, I wandered out into the dark to say goodnight to Killarney and Phantom. They blew in my hair and tried to nuzzle in my pockets, and I saw that there was a moon riding high and clear in the sky.
I had bedded them down in deep, golden straw. They were warm, content and at home. There was nothing restless about either of them. They looked out calmly and confidently, knowing nothing of what might lie ahead. I wished I was the same, that I could forget tomorrow and the next day.
“Perhaps no one will want you. Why don’t you go lame?” I whispered in Killarney’s ear. “Then no one will buy you. Then you can stay. Kick him,” I said to Phantom. “Make him lame …”
When I returned to the kitchen, Angus shouted downstairs, “What have you been doing? Lock up, I’m going to bed.”
I turned the key in the back door and climbed the stairs, praying, “Please, God, make Killarney lame, just a little, just enough to keep him here.”
The next day was Friday. Angus thundered downstairs at seven o’clock to pick up the local paper from the front doormat. Five minutes later he was calling, “There’s a moped for sale. It’s only one hundred and fifty pounds. I shall ask for first refusal if it’s any good.”
“You might not sell Killarney. He may go lame or misbehave,” I shouted.
“Don’t be silly,” he replied. “He never goes lame and he never misbehaves …”
As I dressed I called to Angus, “Are you riding today? If not I’ll have a last ride on Killarney.”
Angus replied, “I’m going to ride my bike over to Hillborough and look at the moped. I may not be back for lunch. Don’t injure Killarney or ride him too far. I want him in top form tomorrow.”
I didn’t answer, because suddenly Angus’s attitude made me feel sick with rage. He had loved Killarney but now it seemed he could not wait to sell him – and all for the love of a moped. I couldn’t understand how anyone could prefer a machine to a horse, and Killarney was not any old horse: he was young and handsome, without a wicked thought in his head. He had potential, too: the ability to win. He was the sort of horse many people would give all they had to own, and here was Angus rejecting a whole future of hunter trials, horse trials, perhaps even Badminton, for a moped.
I left Phantom in his box and rode Killarney for two hours. Riding him after riding Phantom was what it must feel like driving a Rolls Royce after a high-powered sports car, I decided. He wasn’t as handy as Phantom, but he had a marvellous stride and his canter was out of this world, and, though he was large, he would come back into a walk without pulling.
When I returned home, Angus had gone to view the moped, so I turned the horses out and watched them roll under the apple trees before going indoors to scramble some eggs for my lunch.
Mrs Parkin had arrived and was shaking mats. She was large, motherly and talked a lot.
“What’s the matter with Angus this morning, then? He’s like a cat on hot bricks,” she said.
“He wants a moped and then a motorbike,” I said. “He’s selling Killarney …”
“Boys are all the same, aren’t they? First it’s mopeds, then it’s motorbikes and then a sports car. You can’t do anything about it, Jean,” she told me.
“I know, but it seems so sad. Killarney was a very special present to Angus. Mum bought him after winning on a Premium Bond. Angus is going to keep the money, and she is too nice to say anything. She won’t object, I know she won’t, but horses aren’t like machines and Killarney’s happy here. Once you sell a horse he can end up anywhere,” I said. “I never thought Angus would change so quickly. He’s so hard now, he just doesn’t seem to care.”
“We all change. You will be just the same soon,” said Mrs Parkin. “You’ll be thinking of nothing but boys.”
“I shall always ride,” I answered. “And I shall never sell Phantom. He’s part of the family. And as for boys, I shan’t think about them until I’m twenty. I want to spend the next five or six years riding. I want to become really good …”
“You’ll change, you’ll see,” replied Mrs Parkin, unconvinced, as she switched on the vacuum cleaner.
After lunch I rode Phantom. I schooled him in the paddock which was next to the orchard, practising changes of pace, halting straight, and cantering on either leg, for I planned to ride him in horse trials and his dressage standard was far below his jumping.
Angus arrived home at four.
“It was miles,” he shouted. “But it’s a lovely moped and they are reserving it until Monday. So, if I don’t sell Killarney this weekend, I’m sunk.”
“There are other mopeds,” I answered.
“But they are very hard to find. There just aren’t that many around, and this one is in perfect order in every way. I rode it on the road and it was super …”
“Once you thought that about Killarney,” I answered.
“You do like making me feel guilty, don’t you?” answered Angus. “It’s not a crime to change.”
I hardly slept that night. I imagined people arriving to see Killarney, people we hated on sight. How could we stop them buying him? We had never sold a horse before.
Suddenly I wished that we were not on our own, that we had our parents to back us up. Dad was a diplomat; he spoke several languages and knew the law insi
de out, and Mum had a lot of tact. They would have known how to manage unwelcome buyers, but I was on my own for I knew now that I couldn’t rely on Angus any more. He was like someone bewitched, bewitched by the thought of a moped. He had changed beyond all recognition.
Eventually I got up and looked at my watch. It was five o’clock and cocks were crowing in the distance, heralding another day. By nightfall Killarney could be sold, never to return.
It was to be a dramatic day – a day we would remember …
2
Angus appeared in my bedroom. “You’ve overslept. It’s eight o’clock,” he said, drawing back the curtains. “I want you to plait Killarney.”
“You can want then,” I answered.
“Please. I’ll pay you.”
“I don’t want your beastly money. Anyway, who’s coming? Has someone rung up?”
“Not yet.”
“Exactly. Go away, I want to dress.”
“I’ll make you a cup of tea if you’ll plait him,” pleaded Angus.
“No, thank you.”
“You are going to help, aren’t you?” he asked. “I’ll need your support. It will look peculiar if you say nothing.”
“You are asking a lot,” I answered, sitting up. “If it’s a good home I may say something, but if the people are ghastly I shall tell them he’s broken in the wind.”
“Thank you very much,” cried Angus, leaving my room and slamming the door after him.
I didn’t feel like breakfast. Angus was washing Killarney’s tail when I appeared in the stable yard.
“Do you mind listening for the telephone?” he said in a tense voice. “It is important.”
“For how long?”
“Ten minutes.”
I returned indoors and made myself coffee. The sun shone on the windowpanes, showing up the dust. It was April Fool’s day, but I didn’t feel like making a fool of anyone. I looked at the kitchen clock and started to count the minutes. Then the telephone rang. I picked up the receiver and waited.
Phantom Horse 4: Phantom Horse in Danger Page 1
