by Amanda Wills
‘You’re not still on about that are you? We haven’t even seen a badger in the woods, let alone a big cat.’ Seeing the indignant look on her brother’s face Poppy decided there was no point antagonising him. ‘OK, on the way there and back we’ll keep an eye out for paw prints, but while we’re waiting for Cloud we need to be quiet and still. We can’t afford to scare him.’
Charlie dipped his head in assent. Soon they reached the bend in the river and Poppy placed the bucket on the small beach. This time she’d added a scoop of soaked sugar beet to the pony nuts to give Cloud extra energy. To her surprise they only had to wait for ten minutes before the pony ventured out into the open. He headed for the food and wolfed it down, only looking up once he had licked the bucket clean. Keeping her voice low and reassuring Poppy began talking to him. She felt self-conscious at first but Cloud pricked his grey ears and watched her without moving. So she prattled on until her steady monologue became part of the familiar noises of the wood.
After what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes Cloud lowered his head and drank from the river. He gave them one last look, then, with a swish of his tail, turned and hobbled off. Poppy looked at Charlie, her green eyes shining. ‘He’s getting used to us, isn’t he? He watched us for ages without moving. He knows we want to help him, I’m sure of it!’
But Charlie had more pressing matters on his mind. ‘Yes, it’s brilliant, Poppy. But can we please start looking for big cat prints now?’
Over the next three evenings they gradually sat closer and closer to the bucket and when Cloud arrived Poppy kept up her chatter so he got used to the sound of her voice.
He was still hobbling but his stomach looked slightly rounder and his coat a shade less dull. He looked at them inquisitively as Poppy talked and she felt as though she was making real progress. She texted Scarlett every morning to update her, and wished the last precious days of summer away in her impatience to see Cloud each evening. She felt as though she was walking around in her own little bubble of happiness.
But on the fourth night Poppy’s bubble was broken. She and Charlie arrived in the clearing and she placed the bucket on the beach, confident that Cloud would turn up as usual. But half an hour passed, then an hour, with no sign of the pony.
‘Where is he?’ she wailed, looking around desperately. ‘I thought he was beginning to trust me. Is it something I’ve done wrong?’ Perhaps he’d been hit by a car, caught by George Blackstone or fallen down a ditch and broken his leg…
She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving in case Cloud was in danger. But it was getting late and she knew Caroline would be worried. She finally admitted defeat and they trudged back home.
‘I’m sure he’s OK,’ said Charlie. ‘He probably went off exploring and didn’t realise what time it was. It happens to me all the time.’
But Poppy was on edge all evening and after a fitful night’s sleep woke early. She let herself out of the house and ran all the way to the clearing. She could barely believe it when she found the bucket was empty. It gave her a glimmer of hope and made her more determined than ever to try again that night.
Charlie spent the day sneezing.
‘No badger-watching for you tonight I’m afraid, angel. You need an early night,’ said Caroline, as they sat down at the kitchen table to eat plates of pasta. Usually Caroline made her own pasta sauce but tonight it was out of a jar.
‘Can I still go? I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before we see a badger,’ said Poppy, her face turned expectantly towards her stepmother.
She could see Caroline wavering and pressed home her advantage. ‘It’s not far into the wood from the Riverdale fence. And I’ll take my mobile with me.’
‘OK, but only for half an hour. It looks like rain and I don’t want you going down with a cold as well, not with school starting so soon,’ she said.
Rolling grey clouds were chasing each other across the horizon like a herd of monstrous sheep as Poppy left the house. Once in the clearing she sat with her back against an oak tree, just a few feet from the bucket. For an agonising half an hour, worry gnawed at her insides. Then she heard a familiar rustle in the undergrowth. She was sure it was the sound of a large animal making its way closer. The rustling stopped. Poppy held her breath and waited. Branches crackled and Cloud appeared. He saw Poppy and walked straight over to the bucket. Exhaling slowly, Poppy began talking to him as he munched away quietly.
‘I’m going to stand up ever so slowly and see if you’ll let me stroke you. I’ll be quiet and gentle and I promise I won’t hurt you. I want to help you, Cloud, but you have to trust me.’ He looked at her, his flanks rising and falling with each breath and his ears flicking backwards and forwards. Something about the girl’s voice stirred a deeply buried memory. This girl brought him food in a bucket that smelt of his old companion, the donkey who’d always made him feel safe. Cloud’s leg ached and he felt tired. He could smell the first faint traces of winter in the air and he didn’t feel ready for the long, cold, dark months ahead. He stood still as Poppy approached infinitesimally slowly, her eyes cast down, her voice calm and gentle. He flinched as she raised her hand to his flank but remained still as she stroked him softly, still talking to him. The outside world disappeared, leaving just the brown-haired girl and the dappled grey pony set in sharp relief against the emerald green backdrop of the trees.
‘That’s it, there’s a good boy. You are so brave,’ murmured Poppy as she stroked Cloud’s neck and ran her hand over his withers and ribs. She felt him relax imperceptibly under her hand and he lowered his head and looked at her. A jolt of pure euphoria shot through her body and she struggled to keep her voice steady. She remembered the packet of Polos she had brought with her but as she slowly reached into her pocket for them the silence was pierced by the harsh ringtone of her mobile phone. Cloud’s head shot up, he turned on the spot and cantered unevenly off into the woods. Poppy’s elation shrivelled to dust and she looked in frustration at the screen.
Riverdale calling. Caroline! Furious and resentful, she pressed the green key. ‘I was finally getting somewhere and you’ve just frightened the living daylights out of him,’ she hissed without thinking.
‘Sweetheart, I’m just checking you’re OK. It’s getting late.’
The hurt in Caroline’s voice irritated Poppy intensely. ‘There was no need to phone. I’m perfectly fine,’ she snapped.
‘Don’t be like that, Poppy. I was worried about you. Are you on your way back yet? And who did I frighten the living daylights out of, anyway?’
Poppy reminded herself why she was supposed to be in the wood. ‘The badger, of course. I saw him close up for the first time,’ she lied.
‘Charlie will be fed up he missed it but I’m glad you’ve had an exciting evening. Anyway, come home now. I don’t want you out there on your own too late.’
Poppy felt like stamping her feet or hollering to the skies but knew it wouldn’t make any difference. As usual Caroline had borne the brunt of her anger. She picked up the bucket and took one last look at the curtain of trees through which Cloud had disappeared. A slight movement caught her eye and she squinted in the half-light, struggling to see what it was. Two soft brown eyes on a ghostly grey face were staring back at her through the branches. Her heart sang as she realised that Cloud was still there.
‘You brave, brave boy. I am so proud of you. And I’ll see you tomorrow, Cloud,’ she told him.
By the time Poppy opened the back door she was whistling cheerfully, her earlier frustration forgotten. Feeling benevolent towards Caroline she called, ‘I’m back! Would you like a cup of tea?’
Her stepmother walked into the kitchen and leant against the doorframe as she watched Poppy. ‘That would be lovely thanks, sweetheart. I was just going to make one myself.’
‘How’s Charlie feeling? Did he -? Hold on, have you been crying?’ asked Poppy, noticing Caroline’s red-rimmed eyes.
‘No, not really. Well, yes. A little,’ Caroline
admitted. She looked discomfited and Poppy was lost for words. In all the years she had known Caroline she’d never seen her stepmother shed a single tear.
‘What’s wrong? It wasn’t because I was cross when you rang, was it?’ Poppy was incredulous.
‘No. Well, not really. I’ve just been feeling a bit down recently and little things seem to set me off. It wasn’t your fault. It’s me.’ Caroline shrugged her shoulders and avoided Poppy’s eye as she crossed the kitchen to lift two dirty mugs off the draining board before rinsing them half-heartedly under the cold tap. Poppy looked around. Her head had been so full of Cloud that she hadn’t noticed until now that the kitchen was a state. Their dinner plates were still on the table and the remains of the pasta sauce had congealed like a sticky red scab around the edge of the saucepan. Caroline followed her gaze and shrugged again. ‘I know. It’s a bit of a mess, but I was just coming out to tackle it.’
Poppy said firmly, ‘No, you go and sit down. I’ll sort this lot out and I’ll bring your tea through in a minute.’
To her horror Caroline looked as if she might be about to burst into tears again, so Poppy turned and started clearing the table, feeling helpless in the face of her stepmother’s distress. Poppy knew Caroline well enough to know something must be very wrong and she had no idea how to fix it. As she loaded the dishwasher she wished her dad was home. He always knew what to do.
Chapter Sixteen
The bright autumnal days had been replaced by a relentless September mizzle that settled on the moors like a heavy overcoat and matched Caroline’s bleak mood. Poppy was feeling under pressure. There were four days left before term started and the thought of school made her sick with nerves. To make matters worse the annual drift was just over three weeks away and although she knew she was gaining Cloud’s trust it was a slow process and she was no nearer to catching him.
A sneezing and coughing Charlie was banned from joining Poppy on her nightly ‘badger watch’ until he was over his cold. One afternoon as he sat on the end of her bed, a string of green mucus hanging from each nostril, he asked her why she didn’t tell Caroline about Cloud.
‘She likes horses. She used to ride when she was your age, remember?’
Poppy wasn’t sure why she kept Cloud a secret, if she was honest. Caroline probably would have understood and tried to help, although the way she was at the moment she didn’t really seem to care much about anything. On the plus side her stepmother’s malaise meant that Poppy was enjoying much more freedom than usual. On the down side the house was a tip, the washing basket was overflowing and they were existing on frozen ready meals and jars. In Twickenham Caroline had fed the children nothing but healthy, organic food and they’d snacked on pumpkin seeds and fruit. These days she just slapped whatever happened to be in the cupboard or freezer into the oven. This week they’d had turkey twizzlers, oven chips and baked beans for three nights running. Charlie was in heaven, but Poppy was missing the ready supplies of houmous and fresh vegetables. She had a spot on her forehead and a couple of nights ago had even Googled the symptoms of scurvy.
‘I will tell her. Just not yet,’ promised Poppy.
The next morning Charlie was feeling better and was itching to get out after being cooped up inside for so long. The rain had stopped and Poppy suggested they take a picnic lunch onto the moor. She wanted to see if they could find Cloud and Charlie was desperate to discover a paw print. Caroline, pleading the onset of a migraine, was curled up in bed with the curtains drawn when Poppy crept in. It was so out of character that Poppy was beginning to wonder if her stepmother had lost the plot.
‘Caroline, would it be alright if we took a picnic up onto the tor? I promise not to let Charlie do anything silly.’ Poppy spoke slowly and with emphasis, as if she were talking to a half-wit. Grateful to be left in peace Caroline said they could go as long as they stayed within sight of Riverdale and had Poppy’s phone with them.
There wasn’t much in the cupboards but Poppy cobbled together a picnic of sausage rolls, crisps, half a packet of bourbon biscuits and the last of the raisins, in the hope that they would provide at least a small dose of vitamin C. She packed the food into her rucksack along with a couple of bottles of water, Charlie scooped up his binoculars and camera and they set off.
‘The ground is nice and soft so we should be able to see any prints quite easily,’ said Charlie, as he hitched the camera strap up his shoulder.
‘Can you also keep an eye out for Cloud’s hoofprints? I’m sure he can’t stay hidden in the wood all day. He must come out and graze sometimes. I was wondering if he ran with a particular herd of Dartmoor ponies,’ Poppy said.
They skirted around the edge of the wood at the base of the tor, inspecting the ground as they walked as if they were forensic officers examining a crime scene. Charlie found a smudged hoofprint in the mud that could have been Cloud’s but could equally have belonged to one of the larger Dartmoor ponies. They came across the same herd they had seen when they first moved to Riverdale, but there was no sign of the dappled grey pony.
‘Shall we have our picnic now?’ suggested Poppy, and they settled down in the shelter of a large boulder. She shared out the lunch and watched her brother with amusement as he dived on the food as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks. She stretched her legs out in front of her as she leant back on the boulder. ‘Can I borrow your binoculars, Charlie? I’ll see if I can see Cloud.’
Poppy adjusted the lens until the view in front of her swam into focus and she started scanning the moor, sweeping from left to right as she looked for Cloud’s familiar grey shape. But the vast expanse of green and purple moorland was deserted. Not a sheep, a rambler or a pony in sight. Even the crows had stopped wheeling overhead. The air was still and silent. Odd, thought Poppy, as she reached for a handful of raisins and munched thoughtfully.
‘It feels a bit weird up here today, don’t you think?’ she asked her brother, who was lying on his front watching a grasshopper rubbing his spindly legs against gossamer wings.
He shrugged. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Like the calm before the storm. It’s as if something’s waiting to happen. Don’t worry, I’m probably just imagining things.’ She handed Charlie the binoculars and he trained them on the grasshopper. The insect sprang away in a series of staccato leaps, making him jump.
A mosquito buzzed angrily and Poppy waved it away. The air felt sticky and she could feel a slick of sweat across her forehead. ‘Come on, let’s make a move,’ she told her brother. But Charlie was sitting as still as a statue, staring at the top of the tor. When she followed his gaze her hand flew to her mouth. Tucked behind another huge boulder was a black, distinctly feline-shaped head with small pointed ears and a jutting jaw.
‘Look at that!’ breathed Charlie. Poppy motioned to his camera. ‘Take a picture. Quickly!’ she said in sotto voce. He lifted the camera, zoomed in as far as he could and pressed the shutter a dozen times. The animal looked in their direction then jumped with a neat spring onto the rock.
‘Oh no, the battery’s run out,’ said Charlie. He swapped the camera for his binoculars and they watched as, with a flick of its long tail, the panther-like creature bounded off the rock with one graceful leap and disappeared behind the tor. Brother and sister looked at each other in disbelief.
Charlie was the first to speak. ‘Poppy, this is just amazing. A big cat, living on our tor! Tell me I’m not dreaming. You did see it too, didn’t you?’ he asked her, suddenly uncertain.
‘I saw something, goodness only knows what, but it did look like a cat,’ she admitted. ‘We need to go home and look at those photos.’ She shoved the remains of their picnic into her rucksack and they scrambled down the rock-strewn hill towards Riverdale.
Caroline was in the kitchen tidying up unenthusiastically.
‘Mum! You’re not going to believe this! We’ve found a big cat,’ shouted Charlie.
‘Really? Well, that is exciting. Was it a lion, a tiger or a leopard?’
‘No, we really did see one, didn’t we Poppy?’ He glanced at his sister for reassurance and Poppy looked at Caroline. ‘We saw something large and black. I don’t know what it was but it definitely wasn’t a sheep or a Dartmoor pony. But Charlie’s taken some pictures so we can show you.’
Caroline was glad of a distraction after spending the morning trying and failing to shift the feelings of lethargy and unhappiness that at times threatened to drown her. She took out her laptop, booted it up and slipped in the memory card from Charlie’s camera. Together they watched the screen as Caroline downloaded the photos. There was the tor, so familiar to them by now. Charlie pointed to the boulder where they had seen the animal. ‘Look! There it is,’ he cried with relief.
Indistinct though it was, they could definitely make out the cat-shaped head. Poppy gasped. ‘There - look. You can see its tail.’ And sure enough, a long black tail stuck out from the side of the rock.
‘Well I never,’ said Caroline in amazement. ‘That really is extraordinary. I wonder if it could be a panther or something?’
‘Of course it is!’ replied Charlie hotly. ‘I told you there were big cats on Dartmoor and I was right. This must be the same one Scarlett’s dad saw. He’d believe me,’ he said, his bottom lip wobbling.
‘I believe you, Charlie,’ said Poppy quietly. Although they had been a couple of hundred metres away she was in no doubt that what they’d seen was some kind of large cat.
‘What do we do now?’ demanded her brother, who was jumping from one foot to another, his blond hair tousled and his blue eyes shining.
‘What do you mean?’ Caroline asked, puzzled.
‘Well, do we call the police or the zoo - or do we start building the big cat trap I designed ages ago?’
‘I suppose we could call the Tavistock Herald,’ Caroline suggested. She had started out as a junior reporter on a local paper before moving to the BBC and knew they loved a big cat story - especially if there was a photo involved. The fact that a six-year-old had been behind the lens was the icing on the cake.