There were a couple of calls, which sent us scurrying to Kent and North Wales. Both led us to grey horses that resembled Samphire. One was a wounded steeplechaser who had been taken in by an equine charity. The other was an eight-year-old eventer who had been bought in Austria and shipped over to England. Our hopes came crashing down on both occasions.
Even Mum, who has never before shown signs of losing enthusiasm for my quest, is beginning to question the amount of time I spend emailing riding schools and pony clubs. She’s mentioned it might be time to cut down on my part-time jobs and is concerned that my regular vigil at the stables is becoming a bit ‘obsessive’. (I only slept in Rambo’s stall once, but I can see her point.)
‘It’s like looking for a flake of snow in the Himalayas,’ Ed observed at breakfast. Since he’s had his hair cut short ready for our imminent return to school, he’s been coming out with quite profound things. He’s also grown two inches during the summer. That must be a good sign. I don’t like the fact that he’s catching me up on the height chart on the back of our kitchen door, though.
‘Why don’t you come with me for a hack?’ asks Rachel. ‘It might be the last chance before school starts again.’ She pulls a face. At least she’s going back as a ten-A-stars student.
For a moment, I’m tempted. The idea of a gentle ride through the leafy countryside, along woodland trails, stopping to let the horses drink from crystal clear streams, is very appealing. After so many weeks out of the saddle, I feel fragmented, as if I’m only firing on two out of three cylinders.
But a promise is a promise.
‘No thanks,’ I reply. ‘I’m going to head off home soon. Ed’s going away camping and I want to be with Mum.’
Ed’s outdoor adventure is a first. Sleepovers in tents were never possible when he was having regular dialysis. The consultant is really pleased with him, which has made Ed grow in confidence and start doing normal kid things. I’m not sure camping with Leo and his dad, who is a vegan Hell’s Angel, counts as normal, but each to their own. I don’t know what Ed will make of stewed vegetables for dinner. But after Mum’s cooking, he should be able to cope with anything unusual.
‘Jodie, are you going to stop riding forever if you don’t find Samphire?’ Rachel is voicing what everyone at the stables is thinking.
‘I will find him,’ I state, simply.
‘But what if you can’t buy him back?’ she persists. It’s a logical question, but my brain can’t deal with any options other than the one I’ve set my heart on. Flexibility isn’t one of my good points, I’m realising.
‘It probably sounds stupid, but I feel it’s going to work out,’ I tell her.
And maybe it’s just my imagination, but standing in the yard moments later, I can hear his song, so, so faintly, carried on the warm air currents of August.
‘I’m not giving up, Sam,’ I say softly to the wind. It makes no reply, just carries my whispers away on an invisible journey.
Chapter Thirty-three
‘That’s so cool, Teddy,’ I say. ‘I never knew there were grizzly bears in the Forest.’ Mum and I exchange glances and a grin. Ed is regaling us with his night-time camping exploits, involving chasing away a huge, dark animal from the food supplies at 3 a.m. The three of us are sitting in Mum’s bed in our pyjamas, having hot chocolate and cookies. It’s after ten and the sky is a mixture of dusk and moonlight. ‘I saw its teeth – massive,’ breathes Ed, demonstrating a fierce bear face. ‘Leo’s dad told us to bash the saucepans together to scare it off, but when it didn’t move, he said we had to link arms and charge. Man, it was scary.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t a pony?’ asks Mum.
‘It was standing up on its back legs and it had a big hairy belly,’ replies my brother, earnestly. It sounds like Leo’s dad, I’m thinking.
‘Wow!’ gasps Mum, a little too theatrically.
‘You don’t believe me, but you weren’t there,’ states Ed, huffily.
‘It hasn’t put you off camping then,’ she smiles, grabbing him for a hug.
‘Nah. Didn’t get a lot of sleep, though. There was all this barking and neighing in the night,’ he yawns. ‘Leo’s dad really snored. And then some chickens started up before it got light. COCKADOODLEDOO!’ he screeches. ‘Nutters.’
‘What sort of neighing was it?’ I ask. Force of habit.
‘Mad. Like they were being attacked by wolves or something. But it was a long way off,’ Ed answers. ‘And it stopped in the morning.’
‘Maybe they were spooked by something,’ I suggest. Ed nods and yawns.
‘Bedtime for adventurers,’ Mum says, looking at the clock.
‘Can I sleep with you, Stick? Can I? Can I?’ Ed asks. ‘In case the BEAR comes.’
‘OK. Then it can eat you first,’ I reply, pulling him out of Mum’s bed by his arm.
‘At least I’d be tasty, not sticky.’ Ed has gone limp like a rag doll. I’m using all my strength to drag him towards the door.
‘Don’t forget to clean your teeth,’ says Mum, sleepily.
Ed and I go into the bathroom and jostle for the prime spot in front of the basin. Too much toothpaste gets squeezed on to our brushes so our mouths are soon full of white foam. Ed pulls monster faces in the mirror. Then he shrieks and squeals. His voice rises and descends like an opera singer performing while doing a bungee jump. The noise hurts my ears.
‘Enough, stupid,’ I complain.
‘Thas wha’ vee’orses thounded like,’ he says, plumes of white liquid spurting from his mouth.
‘Gross, Teddy,’ I moan, leaving him to it.
His impression has reminded me of something, though. I dismiss it from my mind, because it’s late and I’m tired, so I’m probably imagining things. But it’s a thought that won’t go away, even when Ed has curled into a hamster ball next to me and is snoring softly, and the only sounds from the world outside are the hoots of distant owls in the Forest. The more I think about it, the racket Ed made wasn’t just like an animal in fear or crying for help.
It was a horse’s song.
Chapter Thirty-four
‘Can you show me where you were?’ I ask Ed, as soon as he opens his eyes. I have an ordnance survey map of the Forest unfolded on my bed. Ed sits up, stretches, stares at the paper covering my duvet and hits his head.
‘Sorry, Stick. Brain won’t work without brekky.’
‘Can’t you just point to the area?’ I encourage. Ed’s index finger wags a ‘no’.
It takes twenty minutes and four home-made pancakes before Ed’s brain is willing to work out where he stayed on his camping trip.
‘It was quite hilly,’ Ed tells me, reaching for his fifth pancake. I shake my head.
‘Those are for Mum.’ Ed pulls a pained face. ‘Can’t you remember the name of the place?’
‘Nope. It was about half an hour from Leo’s house,’ he replies.
‘Which direction?’ I ask, trying not to get cross.
‘Um. Right, I think.’ Ed licks the maple syrup off his plate.
‘Teddy. This is important. Did you pass anything that could give us a clue? A school, a church, a bridge . . .?’
‘We passed a pub called the Snail and Rocket. Or was it the Rail and Snocket?’ Ed is creasing up with giggles. I throw my hands up in frustration. Mum comes in and kisses us both good morning.
‘Mmmm. Pancakes,’ she says, appreciatively.
‘Or the Nail and Sprocket!’ laughs Ed, holding his stomach. Mum sees that I’m starting to fume and gives Ed a cautionary glance.
‘Sorry, Stick. I could show you.’
‘Show her what?’ Mum’s ears have pricked up.
‘Where he camped,’ I reply, before Ed has time to answer. ‘I was interested.’
‘You’re up to something,’ says Mum.
‘I wondered if we could go and take a look, that’s all.’ I try to sound as if I’m not bothered, either way. ‘It’s an interesting place.’ That sounded a bit lame.
Mum
’s got a strange expression on her face. She knows I’m not into geography. ‘Maybe tomorrow, if we get everything done for school,’ she says.
My heart sinks. There’s a long list of things to get ready for the new term, which will involve a trip to Southampton for some new trainers, a gum shield and sports bags for both of us. And tomorrow we’re having lunch with Rachel and her family. It’s our last two days of freedom. On Monday, we’ll be back to the old routine.
‘This isn’t anything to do with horses, by any chance?’ Mum says at last, holding my gaze. It’s no use pretending. She knows me too well. I nod.
‘They were in distress – Ed said so,’ I say.
‘Horses neigh for lots of reasons. I’m sure the owners dealt with it. I think you should put it out of your mind,’ Mum suggests, giving me a squeeze. ‘How about I take you to the pizza place for lunch while we’re shopping?’
‘Ya ya ya!’ is Ed’s reply. I smile in agreement, but my thoughts from last night won’t be quieted. Ed’s story lifted the lid off a jack-in-the-box in my mind.
Chapter Thirty-five
‘This is a BAD idea, Stick. You will be in so much trouble,’ whispers Ed. We jump as an owl at the bottom of our driveway hoots just above our heads.
‘We’ll both be in trouble, you mean,’ I say. I’m holding my mended bike still so that Ed can swing his leg over the back wheel. He sits himself on the metal frame and puts his arms round my waist.
I feel bad about involving him but I need him to show me where he heard the neighing. He’s really excited and I keep having to tell him to whisper.
‘Chocks away, Squadron Leader,’ he instructs.
‘Wilco, Wing Commander,’ I reply, pushing off with my left foot. Ed is humming the theme tune from The Dam Busters, one of Dad’s favourite old movies.
In seconds, we’re speeding down the lane, our progress helped by the last light of the day. I’m hoping that Mum will stay absorbed in her feature work, content in the knowledge that she has said goodnight to both of us. As far as she’s concerned, we’re reading in bed. If we find the location without a hitch, we could be back within an hour and a half, according to my calculations. I’ve left the utility room window open, so we can sneak back in without her ever noticing.
It’s risky, but I’m totally focused. Dad would never have abandoned a mission. I’m not turning back.
‘Stick, slow down,’ complains Ed, poking me in the ribs. We’ve only been going for about ten minutes.
‘Why?’ I ask, keeping my eyes fixed on the lane and my feet pushing the pedals.
‘Need a wee,’ he says, sheepishly.
I pull in to the verge and Ed disappears behind a tree. I use the opportunity to check the map with my LED pencil torch and flick on my bike lights. When Ed returns, I notice his pyjamas showing under his jeans.
‘What?’ he says, embarrassed. ‘I forgot to take them off, OK?’
We set off again, using the back lanes to Leo’s house and then following my plotted route through villages and across commons, past several families of grazing donkeys and Forest ponies, to the Snail and Rocket pub, which lies about four miles from our house. From here, I’m relying on Ed’s memory to get us to the location. We freewheel past at speed, trying to avoid attention, noticing the fairy lights in the crowded garden and the noisy banter emanating from the open door.
‘Up here,’ directs Ed, as we approach a right-hand turning, wobbling our way into it as he leans over too far, motorcycle style.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask him. The lane is single track and there’s an imposing metal gate with Private Road emblazoned on it just up ahead. The place looks like something out of a spooky film set with lines of tall fir trees disappearing into the thick gloom on either side of us. I shudder at their oppressive darkness and automatically check my mobile phone for signal. No bars. That’s not a good sign.
‘There’s a footpath on the left,’ Ed says and we are soon faced with a neat stile and a reassuring wooden signpost. ‘We went up there, on to that hill. It used to be an Iron Age fort,’ he explains. ‘They sacrificed a lot of girls there. Kidding,’ he adds, when he sees my less-than-amused face.
‘I’ll lock the bike up here,’ I say. ‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ For some reason, there are shivers going up my spine. Maybe it’s the dampness creeping up from the ground. That must be it. Nothing to do with all those stories about bad things happening to kids in the woods.
We walk and run, run and walk for about ten minutes, climbing the gentle ascent towards the stars. Eventually, Ed stops, turns in a circle and claps his hands.
‘This is it,’ he confirms. ‘Look. Those are the ashes of our fire. And that’s where I buried my cauliflower.Yeuch. Leo’s dad eats it RAW! Leo says he likes eating it but he doesn’t really. Anyway, I dug the hole when they weren’t looking. The peaches and brown sugar were nice, though.’
‘Teddy, that’s great to know, but we didn’t come here to search for vegetables.’ I’m casting my gaze down to the surrounding countryside. I can make out some fields beside the lane we cycled up where the tree line stops, some barns in the far distance, but nothing distinct. There are no lights anywhere, no sign of habitation. Everything is still and quiet, as if it’s holding its breath. I strain my ears for any sound, even the faintest echo of a creature’s call. Nothing.
‘Where did the neighing come from, Teddy?’ I ask.
‘Mmm. That way. No, that way. Oh, I don’t know. My ears can’t remember. Can we go now, Stick?’ asks Ed, hugging his arms round his body. An early autumn chill is wrapping us in a cold embrace. I give him a hug and rub his arms hard to make him warm again.
‘Stick?’
‘Shhh,’ I caution. ‘Listen.’ Ed pretends to turn to stone and holds a silly pose. He manages this for a whole minute. The landscape around us is still silent.
‘I’m bored now,’ complains the statue. ‘And I’m getting nins and peedles. Aaaaaaah,’ he moans, hopping about on one foot.
Disappointment and growing feelings of guilt for asking Ed to come on this night adventure start to well up in my chest. Ed stops hopping and lays a small stone respectfully on the earth near the charcoal.
‘Everything should have a grave. Bye, cauliflower,’ he says.
‘OK, Teddy. Last one to the bike is a cabbage full of slugs.’ I set off at a jogging pace so that Ed can catch me up.
‘Oi, that’s not fair. You started without me. Stick!’
We’re running back down the hill, stumbling over the edges of rabbit holes. I don’t mention to him that areas like this in the Forest are ancient burial sites and that we could be treading on the remains of long-rotten corpses.
This was a bad idea. What if Mum has discovered our empty beds? What if the police are scouring the countryside for us? Do you get a criminal record for wasting their time? The scale of the trouble we’re going to be in is beginning to hit home, but something is niggling at the back of my mind. I don’t want to give up yet, even though we should be heading back as fast as our legs can carry us.
‘I think we should have a quick look up that private road, just to make sure,’ I say.
I grab Ed’s hand to prevent him falling and hurting himself as I pick up the pace and we keep running, filled with a new urgency. We reach the lane, retrieve the bike from behind a tree and fumble with the combination lock. Ed shines the torch on it and I click the four numbers into sequence. With a clunk, the clasp releases, like a snake uncoiling. I realise my hands are trembling as I wind it around my handlebar column.
‘Stick,’ says Ed, in a hushed voice. He’s pointing to the metal gate a little way ahead, which is now open. ‘It wasn’t like that before.’ He gulps melodramatically.
‘Come on, let’s get moving,’ I whisper.
But we both freeze. Carried on the air, from the direction of the private road, the sound of frenzied barking and neighing suddenly assaults our ears. These are not animals spooked by the arrival of a fox in their yard. T
hey are calling out, in distress, in terror. And above the distant confusion of noise, one high-pitched call is so familiar, the hairs on the back of my neck stand rigid with fear.
Chapter Thirty-six
I’m flying close to the ground, unaware of my feet working like pistons, turning my pedals. My eyes are almost blind with fury. Breath sears through my nose and into my chest. I drive it out in gasps. My hands grip the handlebars with all my strength, sending shock waves up my trembling arms.
No threat, no pain, no ordeal will dissuade me from reaching my destination. Never have I been so focused, never so sure of my instincts. Adrenaline is coursing through my body like liquid fire. If I yell, my voice will spew out red and orange flames.
The tarmac gives way to rough track with deep ruts, curving down into a valley. I’m descending into oblivion, into a dark place that holds a dreadful secret. Stones slew away from my tyres, which skid over the fault lines in the caked mud and jam against the sides of grooves made by heavy vehicles.
Be quick, Ed. Raise the alarm. Tell them where I am.
I dropped Ed outside the Snail and Rocket only minutes ago with orders to get help. Now, I’m on my own, heading at full speed towards a horror I won’t let myself imagine. The animals’ cries are louder now, more anguished, guiding me towards them. And there are men’s voices, raised in aggression, and the low rumble of an engine turning over, its exhaust blowing and rattling, adding to the commotion.
Ahead of me, I can make out a run-down yard with two dilapidated buildings, a barn and a smaller store, now with its roof missing. In front of them, there’s a large trailer and an old Land Rover, whose headlights are shining my way. It’s the only source of light, revealing abandoned machinery rusting against a stone wall, iron skeletons dumped in a heap. I swerve my bike into the undergrowth, leaving it on its side, and continue on foot, hiding where I can, avoiding the bright beams.
Yelping, growling, shrieking, whining, snorting – the desperate alarms coming from what sounds like dozens of captive creatures is almost deafening.
Samphire Song Page 11