by Amanda Wills
Chapter 13
Scarlett fulfilled her promise to find out about the drift and put Poppy in the picture the next morning as they groomed and tacked up Flynn and Blaze.
“Every autumn all the Dartmoor ponies are rounded up so their owners can check them over to make sure they are healthy,” she explained. “Foals born the previous spring are separated from their mothers and the foals are sold at market. So are any ponies that look like they might not survive another winter on Dartmoor. The hardiest ponies are returned to the moor to breed.”
“How do they round the ponies up?” Poppy asked, fascinated.
“They use local people on quad bikes, horseback and on foot. It’s quite a task because sometimes as many as three thousand ponies need to be rounded up, Dad said.”
“No wonder Tory decided to hide Cloud. He’d have been completely traumatised and would have stuck out like a sore thumb among all those Dartmoor ponies. He’s at least a couple of hands higher,” said Poppy.
“When are you next seeing Tory?” Scarlett asked.
“Tomorrow. Caroline has invited her to tea. I can’t wait to ask her how she managed to catch Cloud every year.”
“Well, Dad says this year’s drift is less than a month away, which doesn’t give us very long.”
When Poppy arrived home after her ride she let herself in through the back door and went in search of a carrot for Chester. She could hear Caroline talking on the phone in the lounge and, without thinking, inched closer to the open door.
“I just feel as if there’s this huge black weight bringing me down. And I’m so tired all the time, Lizzie. I can hardly get out of bed in the morning and by nine o’clock in the evening I’m asleep on the sofa. That’s not like me.”
Lizzie was Caroline’s older sister. A secondary school teacher in Bromley with two teenage sons, she was straight-talking but a lot of fun. Although weeks could go by without them seeing each other, the two sisters were close and spoke every couple of days on the phone.
Poppy held her breath as Caroline listened to Lizzie’s reply.
“I thought moving to Devon would be a new start. Don’t get me wrong, Lizzie, I love the house and Poppy and Charlie adore it here, it’s been so good for them both, but I’m lonely. I miss Mike, I miss you and I miss my friends. I’ve started talking to the sheep, for goodness sake!” But her attempt at a laugh turned into a sniff.
Poppy could imagine Lizzie in the untidy kitchen of her town house in Bromley 250 miles away. She’d be sitting on the small sofa that looked out onto her immaculately-kept garden. Gardening was one of Lizzie’s passions. Housework was absolutely not.
“Charlie’s convinced there’s a big cat living wild on the moors and is constantly dreaming up madcap schemes to find it and Poppy spends all her time with Scarlett - the girl from the farm next door I told you about?”
Poppy stiffened at the sound of her name.
“No, nothing’s changed. I thought leaving Twickenham might be a clean break for us all but she’s still so prickly with me. Whatever I do or say seems to be the wrong thing. It’s like she’s still punishing me for Isobel’s death, after all these years.”
There was silence again as Caroline listened to her sister’s reply.
“I know, I will. And I promise I’ll go and see the doctor if I still don’t feel any better in a couple of weeks. Anyway, I’d better make a start on dinner. Thanks for listening to my woes and give my love to Stuart and the boys. Bye Lizzie.”
Poppy was busying herself by the vegetable rack rooting among the potatoes and onions for a carrot by the time Caroline came into the kitchen. She was wearing yesterday’s rumpled clothes and her hair, usually so shiny, needed a wash.
“Hello Poppy, did you have a good ride? How was Flynn today - did he go well for you?” Caroline asked brightly, the light tone of her voice contradicting the weary sag in her shoulders as she sat down at the kitchen table. Perversely her stepmother’s well-intentioned enquiries irked Poppy, who located two good-sized carrots and straightened up.
“What’s this - twenty questions?” The words came out before she could stop herself. Even to her own ears she sounded surly.
“Sorry sweetheart - I was only asking. What do you fancy for dinner? I’ve only got mince so it’ll have to be spaghetti bolognese or cottage pie but you can choose.”
“Um, bolognese, I guess. I’m going out to groom Chester.”
Poppy heard Caroline sigh as she flung the back door shut behind her. As she stomped out to Chester’s stable she thought about the conversation she’d overheard. How dare Caroline call her prickly? She missed her mum, that was all, and the sooner Caroline realised she could never replace Isobel the better, as far as she was concerned. Her stepmother was always so annoyingly cheerful and capable it was difficult to believe she was lonely and maybe even a bit depressed. Poppy dismissed the thought. She was just exaggerating, knowing she’d get a sympathetic reaction from her sister. A nagging feeling told her Caroline wasn’t the type to go fishing for sympathy but she ignored it, gave Chester a gentle pat on the rump and started brushing the burrs from his tail, all thoughts of her stepmother forgotten.
Caroline made an extra effort for Tory the following day. She baked a chocolate cake - Charlie’s favourite, Poppy thought sourly - and made a quiche which she planned to serve with lettuce and tomatoes from the garden. Tory caught the bus to the end of the drive and was delighted to see a small welcoming committee made up of Caroline, Poppy and Charlie waiting to help her up to the house.
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.”
