I’m too late even to say goodbye.
10
As I walk Bailey back to his stable, a figure steps out of the shadows.
‘Well done, Coco,’ Lawrie Marshall says coldly. ‘Thanks to you, Caramel belongs to that thug Seddon now. Great stuff. Just great.’
‘Thug?’ I echo uneasily. ‘Kelly says he’s rich and knows loads about horses. She says Caramel will have a good life with him.’
‘She obviously doesn’t know him,’ Lawrie says.
He turns away, stepping into Caramel’s empty stable.
‘What d’you mean, he’s a thug?’ I demand. ‘You can’t just make accusations like that! How do you even know?’
‘I just know, all right?’ he scowls, shovelling dirty straw. ‘You don’t like bullies, do you?’
‘Who does?’
‘Well, a bully is exactly what Seddon is,’ Lawrie mutters. ‘With animals, with people, with everyone.’
‘Where were you earlier then?’ I accuse. ‘If it’s true, you could have said something, stopped it all! Jean and Roy would never knowingly sell one of their ponies to someone like that!’
‘Something came up,’ he huffs. ‘I’ll make up the time, not that it’s any of your business.’
‘Have you told Jean and Roy what you know about Seddon?’ I repeat.
‘What’s the point?’ he shrugs. ‘It’s a done deal now. People like Seddon always get their way.’
He kicks the stable door closed, leaving me speechless.
I try to get the sharp face and cold eyes of the posh tweedy guy out of my mind, but I can’t. Is he a rich guy who loves horses, like Kelly said, or a thug and a bully? I imagine him riding Caramel, tugging hard on the reins, digging his heels in, losing his temper if she is skittish.
Is he really bad news, or is Lawrie trying to wind me up? If so, it’s working. I can’t concentrate on anything. I have to trust Jean and Roy and Kelly. They would never let anyone dodgy buy Caramel, I am certain of that. Then again … what if Lawrie knows something that they don’t?
‘Maybe you could just ring Jean and Roy, explain that we’re still interested in Caramel?’ I ask Mum. ‘In case things go wrong with her new home.’
Mum shakes her head. ‘Coco, love, nothing will go wrong. I’d love for you to have a pony one day … in theory. But not the pony that threw you. And not right now. We are gearing up for the biggest order The Chocolate Box has ever had, and we need to focus on that for a while. Unless we do, there’ll be no money for food and bills, let alone ponies!’
On Saturday morning I watch as endless deliveries of raw cocoa, sugar and flavourings arrive. One of the guest bedrooms is given over to towering piles of flat-packed boxes, ready to be assembled and filled. Paddy has enlisted extra help from Harry, the retired bloke from the village who helped out for three weeks back in the summer when Mum and Paddy went on their honeymoon. There is talk of a couple of part-timers being roped in, too, until this mammoth order has been filled.
My sisters don’t seem bothered by the chaos. Cherry is making her own magazine for an English project at school, spreading sketches and photos and chunks of printed-out writing across the kitchen table. Summer is practising barre exercises against the Aga and Skye is sitting in the armchair, sewing a 1920s-style dress from an old velvet curtain. Honey, needless to say, is still in bed.
Normally, I would be a part of it all, drafting out a petition about saving the Siberian white tiger or painting a banner to protest about testing make-up on animals, but today I haven’t the heart for anything at all. All I can think about is Caramel, my mind racing with fears and worries and confusion.
Nobody notices that I’m upset. Nobody notices me at all – I am practically invisible.
On impulse, I grab the phone book and look up ‘Seddon’. There is only one entry, a listing for J. Seddon at Blue Downs House, Hartshill. I take the old Ordnance Survey map from the living-room shelf and find the place, not far from Hartshill and maybe five or six miles from here. So near and yet so far.
In the cold light of day, I am pretty sure that Caramel is fine. I am pretty sure that Lawrie Marshall is just a nasty, bitter kid who is trying to make me feel bad because I happened to find him bullying a Year Six boy. I try to forget Seddon’s thin-lipped scowl, his ice-blue eyes.
I can’t imagine Mr Seddon riding a small, stocky, half-wild Exmoor pony, though. Perhaps he has bought Caramel for one of his children? I picture Caramel being petted by a little boy with a face full of freckles, a cute grin. He would bring her carrots and peppermints and fresh hay, but would he know that apple slices are her favourite? Probably not.
And what if Caramel throws that cute, imaginary boy? What then?
‘I’m going out,’ I tell Mum. ‘I might cycle up to town to see Sarah. I won’t be late.’
I pull on my fluffy panda hat and slip out of the kitchen, wheel my bike out of the shed and start to cycle. I am not going to Sarah’s house, though. It’s a bright, crisp autumn day and I soon warm up as I ride down through the village and out again, taking the road to Hartshill.
I have no clear idea of what I will do when I get there, but I know I have to find Blue Downs House and see Caramel one last time, if only to say goodbye. Once I have seen her, I’ll be able to let go, move on.
Maybe.
11
I take a right fork at the crossroads a mile before the village and head out towards the moorland. The cycling is harder now, and I have to get off and push the bike up some of the slopes. Cresting one windswept hill, I see a big whitewashed farmhouse in the valley below, a cobbled yard and some outbuildings and a paddock, flanked by woodland. Apart from a terrace of four pretty cottages further up the hill, the house is alone in the landscape, imposing and slightly forbidding.
I freewheel down the slope a little, skidding to a halt as I notice figures and a pony moving across the paddock in the distance. I step into the woodland, hiding my bike behind a mossy, tumbledown wall.
It’s cold in the woods, and I move as quietly as I can, twigs crackling and snapping underfoot, creeping forward until I can hear voices close by. Peering out from the fringe of trees, I see Mr Seddon standing in the centre of the paddock, a girl of seven or eight beside him. He is running Caramel on a long lunge line, turning slowly so that she trots in a circle round him.
I remember Kelly explaining that Mr Seddon has trained horses before, so I guess he is putting her through her paces, getting to know her. Caramel is trotting smoothly, but she looks tired, as if the training has been going on for a long time. The little girl’s face looks grey and anxious, her lips quivering.
Suddenly a loud crack splits the air, and Caramel rears up, whinnying in distress. The sound rings out again, and I see that Seddon has a bullwhip, a huge, long-tailed whip that he is lashing out towards Caramel, who bucks to the side, trying to pull away. Seddon reels her in, then cracks his whip again, and this time the whiplash catches her flanks and I see the whites of her eyes as she struggles against the lunge line, terrified.
I want to run forward, into the paddock, grab the whip from Seddon and shove him away from Caramel, leave him sprawled on the ground in a puddle, red-faced and helpless. I want to wrench the lunge line from him and lead Caramel out of there, but fear and reason hold me back. I am twelve years old and all of five foot two inches tall. I don’t honestly think I can fight some big, fierce bloke with a whip, no matter how much I want to.
I must not panic. I have to stay calm, think clearly, but it’s easier said than done. I feel sick. Why would anyone deliberately frighten an already jumpy horse, then hit her when she flinches and bucks? My heart hammers so loudly I swear the w
orld can hear it, but I force myself to be still, shielded by the trees.
‘Stop it!’ a voice appeals, and I see the little girl tugging at Seddon’s sleeve. ‘Please! Leave her alone!’
‘She has to learn,’ he snaps, shaking the child off. ‘She’s an animal, a wilful animal. She needs discipline!’
‘You’re hurting her!’ the child argues. ‘She’s scared!’
‘You wanted a pony, didn’t you?’ Seddon snaps.
‘Yes, but –’
‘But nothing,’ he growls, cracking the whip again as Caramel trots forward, her eyes wild and frightened. ‘This is how it works, Jasmine. Animals need to know who is master, and I am master here. Trust me, she will learn that. Sooner or later, she will learn.’
The child is crying now, trembling, her face streaked with tears. Seddon takes no notice, even when she sinks down to the ground, burying her face in her hands. He just goes on turning, stony-faced, running Caramel on her lunge line, on and on until I think she will fall to the ground too, exhausted.
At last, more than an hour later when the light begins to fade, Seddon stops. He pulls Caramel towards him, catching hold of her halter, and drags the little girl to her feet. I watch the three of them walk away, up towards the house, the stable yard.
Whatever I imagined when I tried to picture Caramel’s new life, it wasn’t this. There is no laughing, freckle-faced boy, no carrot treats or apple slices. And Seddon is exactly as Lawrie Marshall described him – a horrible, horrible bully. Well, it takes one to know one, I suppose.
I lean against a tree, trying to gather my wits. Should I call the RSPCA? Would they believe me? Would they think it was serious enough to take Caramel away from here, or would they just give Seddon a warning? What if he told them it was all lies?
Maybe ringing Jean and Roy at Woodlands would be better. They would hate to think that Caramel was being badly treated – maybe they could take her back again? I frown. Seddon has paid good money for Caramel, so I don’t imagine he would be willing to let her go.
I can’t risk leaving Caramel here – I have to get her out, no matter what.
A plan begins to unfurl in my mind. I sink down on to a fallen log, taking the little mobile I was given for my twelfth birthday and clicking on to Cherry’s number. After three rings, my stepsister answers.
‘It’s me – Coco,’ I say, huddling into my jacket. ‘Are you alone? Can you talk? Because I need a favour. And it has to be a secret!’
‘Coco? Yes, I’m in my room, but … what d’you mean? Where are you? What secret? And … why me?’
I roll my eyes. ‘You’re the only one who takes me seriously in this family,’ I explain. ‘Look … I need you to cover for me. I wouldn’t ask, but it’s really important. Life and death.’
‘What?’ Cherry gasps.
‘Chill out,’ I say. ‘I’m fine. But I need you to tell Mum and Paddy that I rang, and that I’m staying over with Sarah.’
‘Aren’t you with her?’
‘Obviously not,’ I say. ‘Look, if you can just tell Mum –’
‘What is going on? Where are you? And where are you staying tonight, if you’re not coming home and you’re not with Sarah?’
‘I will be coming home,’ I sigh. ‘I promise. But it will be very late, and I don’t want Mum to worry. I’ll sleep in the gypsy caravan. I will explain everything when I see you. You have to trust me, Cherry, OK?’
‘Oh, Coco!’ she says. ‘Are you in trouble?’
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ I insist. ‘Honestly. I’ll explain everything tomorrow. Will you cover for me, Cherry, please?’
There is a silence, and then I hear her sigh.
‘Do you promise me you’re not in any kind of trouble?’ she asks.
‘I’m fine,’ I insist. ‘It’s no big deal, honestly, and I really will explain everything when I see you … please, Cherry?’
I can just picture my stepsister’s face, trying to balance concern with sisterly support and failing miserably.
‘OK,’ she says reluctantly. ‘I’ll tell Dad and Charlotte that you’re staying with Sarah tonight. But … Coco? Whatever you’re up to, be careful. OK?’
‘I will,’ I promise. ‘Thanks, Cherry!’
I click to disconnect the call, then ring Sarah to make sure she will cover for me too if Mum should call her place to check. That’s unlikely – Sarah and I often sleep over at each other’s houses, so it’s no big deal – but I need to be sure. I tell her I am on a secret mission against animal cruelty, and that I will explain everything at school on Monday. Sarah offers to come and help, and I am tempted to let her, but then she remembers that her bike has a flat tyre.
‘I could ask Dad for a lift?’ she suggests. I tell her to forget it – asking for lifts after dark to the middle of nowhere would be way too suspicious.
‘Sure?’ she presses. ‘I could bring a flask of soup. And blankets. And torches!’
I wish I had all of those things. I wish I had a friend to sit beside me in the woods as the night sky darkens and the cold seeps into my bones, but it looks like I am on my own with this.
‘I’ll be OK,’ I say gruffly. ‘No problem.’
After I ring off, Sarah and I text back and forth for a while, until she is called down for dinner and a DVD. I imagine my sisters, gathered round the table at Tanglewood, talking, laughing, eating, warm from the Aga. I imagine them stretched out on the squashy blue sofas, watching TV, squabbling about who should make the hot chocolates, whether it’s time for bed.
An owl swoops by silently overhead, white wings beating as it navigates the trees, making me jump. I wish I was at home with my sisters, not huddled into my jacket, leaning against a tree, in the woods miles from home, waiting for midnight.
12
In the end, I don’t make it quite that long. I doze a little and wake with a crick in my neck and an imprint of beech bark along my cheek, so cold I think I may be frozen to the spot. If I don’t move soon the search parties will find me, a few days from now, a huddled figure in a panda hat, dead from the cold and lack of hot chocolate. I stand up and rub my hands together to get the circulation moving, stamp my feet on the litter of fallen leaves and broken twigs.
My mobile says it is ten forty-five, but I can still see lights in the windows of Blue Downs House. Surely they’ll be getting ready for bed soon?
I make my way out of the woods and walk alongside the paddock, creeping closer to the house. Everything is quiet. I stand for a while at the stable-yard gate, listening, watching. Inside the house, someone draws the upstairs curtains, switches off a light. I see the silhouette of a woman pass one of the downstairs windows, carrying two glasses.
A dog, tied up in the yard, sniffs the air and looks towards me, straining at its rope. Don’t bark, I tell the dog, silently. Please, don’t bark …
I think I hear a movement somewhere near the stables, but although I listen hard for more sounds and stare into the darkness for any sign of movement, there is nothing. Probably just Caramel shifting around in her stall.
I open the gate carefully, leave it ajar and walk slowly, quietly, across the yard. The dog, a thin, bedraggled mongrel, watches my progress keenly. It yaps once, but quietens when I begin talking to it in a low whisper, gently. Dogs are quite like people. If you come across an angry one, you can sometimes calm it down by acting cool and confident yourself – although this dog doesn’t seem angry, just thin and lonely and perhaps a little scared.
I cross the yard and peep into the first stable, but it’s empty, as is the second. Approaching the third, I inhale the sweet hay-and-treacle smell of pony.
‘Caramel?’ I wh
isper, pushing open the stable door.
A tall shadow looms at me in the dark and I am so shocked and scared I lose the plot completely, jumping back against the stable door.
‘Whaaat the – urgghhh!’ I yelp, and a hand clamps down across my mouth so that the last word dies a muffled death.
‘Shut up!’ a gruff voice tells me. ‘You’ll wake the whole place up!’
‘Mnnnhh?’ I grunt, wriggling free and turning on my captor. My eyes open wide.
‘Lawrie Marshall?’
‘You again!’ he mutters. ‘Unreal. Are you stalking me or something?’
Indignation just about chokes me.
‘Stalk you?’ I hiss. ‘Get a life, Lawrie – are you crazy? I’m here for Caramel, obviously. What are you doing here?’
Lawrie sighs, and I look past him into the darkness to where Caramel is eating from a bucket of grain. I’m pretty sure Seddon didn’t give her that … I guess Lawrie cares about the pony too.
‘You were right about Seddon,’ I admit. ‘I was watching him earlier, running Caramel in the paddock. He’s horrible! Do you think we should ring the RSPCA?’
‘That would only make things worse,’ Lawrie says. ‘You have no idea how powerful Seddon is. He owns a lot of land around here, knows all the right people. He’s clever too, and he gets away with murder. He hasn’t left a mark on Caramel, so it would be our word against his. Who do you think they’d believe? There’s not much we can actually do except make sure she’s fed properly … she was really hungry.’
Caramel lifts her head and mooches over to greet me, nuzzling her head against my cheek. I put my arms round her and hold her close, hoping she knows just how sorry I am. I think of her earlier, eyes wide with fear, and I know I cannot walk away and leave her here.
‘Not much we can do?’ I challenge Lawrie. ‘I think there’s plenty, actually. We can get Caramel out – ride her out of here, rescue her. Are you going to help?’
Chocolate Box Girls: Coco Caramel Page 5
