by Amanda Wills
Poppy picked up the basket and followed her stepmother towards the till where Barney stood waiting for them, his hands resting on his vast stomach.
As Caroline paid a woman with blonde highlighted hair scraped back in a ponytail stepped out from the furthest aisle, a small, thin girl scurrying in her wake. They queued behind Caroline. Poppy eyed them from under her long fringe. The woman was wearing leggings, satin ballet pumps and a denim jacket. Her daughter was clad in raspberry pink jeans, a navy parka coat and a dark grey knitted beanie hat that was pulled down low over her forehead. Most of Barney Broomfield’s customers wore Barbours and wellies. The two looked out of place.
Caroline noticed the mother and daughter standing behind her and smiled. The woman stared back, her heavily kohled eyes looking Caroline up and down. Then she rearranged her features into a half-smile and gripped her daughter’s hand. When she spoke it was with a nasal twang.
‘Alright?’
‘Have you met Shelley and Hope Taylor? They’ve moved into George Blackstone’s farm cottage,’ said Barney, as he scanned the tins of dog food. So this was the mysterious Hope, Poppy thought. She looked different wearing a hat.
‘How are you settling in?’ Caroline asked. ‘We only moved down from London in the summer but we absolutely love it here, don’t we, Poppy?’
Caroline turned to the girl, whose face was solemn as she watched the exchange. ‘Have you started school here yet, Hope? Poppy goes to the high school in Tavistock and her brother Charlie, who’s around here somewhere, goes to Waterby Primary.’
Shelley cut across her daughter before she had a chance to reply. ‘Hope is home-schooled, aren’t you, babe?’ Hope bobbed her head obediently.
‘She has a school at your home? Is it for everyone?’ piped up Charlie, who had appeared beside them with a plastic chicken dog toy and a beseeching look in his eye. ‘It squeaks when you squeeze it,’ he said. ‘It’ll help with Freddie’s special forces training.’
Caroline sighed. ‘Alright then. Give the chicken to Barney. Home-schooled means your mum or dad teaches you at home,’ she added, smiling at Shelley and Hope. ‘Why don’t you come over for coffee on Saturday?’
Poppy groaned inwardly. She had Cloud and Chester at home and Scarlett next door. She didn’t need any more friends. Hope looked about as enthusiastic as Poppy felt. Shelley looked at her daughter’s morose face and then at Poppy. ‘OK, why not? We’ll be there about eleven.’
On Friday morning Poppy sat with her form in the school hall for the annual harvest festival assembly. Four trestle tables had been placed centre stage behind the deputy head, who was rambling on about the season of mist and mellow fruitfulness while torrential rain hammered an angry beat against the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the school playing fields. The legs of the tables were splayed under the weight of hundreds of tins of baked beans and packets of rice and pasta, all destined for local pensioners - whether they wanted them or not. Poppy kept looking at her watch but it wasn’t making the time go any quicker. As the whole school shuffled to their feet to sing We Plough the Fields and Scatter, Scarlett nudged her. ‘What time are you picking him up?’ she whispered.
‘Straight after school. I’ve got to walk to the vet’s and Caroline and Charlie are meeting me there at four. Want to come? We can give you a lift home.’
‘You bet! I’ll text Mum at break and let her know I won’t be on the bus.’
The rest of the day trickled by as slowly as treacle. When the last bell sounded Poppy and Scarlett couldn’t get out of the school gates fast enough. As they walked into the surgery car park Caroline and Charlie appeared from reception, followed by the vet.
‘How’s that pony of yours doing? Are you fattening him up nicely?’
Poppy nodded. ‘He’s definitely put on a bit of weight and he’s had his shoe fitted. I just hope his foot is getting better.’
‘Give him time. When we X-ray him again we should get an idea whether it’s healing or not. It’s a waiting game, I’m afraid.’
They heard a woof. ‘It’s Freddie,’ cried Charlie. ‘He knows we’re here.’ He ran across the yard to Freddie’s cage and poked his fingers through the wire. The dog gave him a friendly lick.
‘We’ll X-ray Freddie’s foot when you bring Cloud over. With any luck they’ll both get the all clear. In the meantime Freddie also needs lots of rest. No walks until we know his fracture has healed and you’ll need to keep him on the lead when he goes outside to do his business.’
‘Oh, it’s OK,’ said Charlie, his blue eyes earnest. ‘We’re going to pay for all his food and stuff. He won’t need to go out to work.’
The vet looked nonplussed. Caroline laughed. ‘She means when he goes to the toilet, Charlie. Right, shall we let him out?’
Freddie stood as the vet opened his cage. He tottered out on three legs, his feathery black tail swooping back and forth like a windscreen wiper on full speed.
‘You were right, Poppy. He’s lovely,’ said Scarlett, giving the dog a pat. ‘What breed do you think he is?’
‘Oh, mainly German Shepherd with a smidgen of border collie, I should think,’ said the vet.
‘So he’s a police dog and a sheep dog rolled into one. How cool is that, Charlie?’ said Poppy.
‘A police dog and a sheep dog. That’s epic! He’ll be able to track down and round up. We could go out onto the moor and…’
‘Charlie! Don’t even think about it,’ warned Caroline. ‘I’m not having you going after that wretched panther again, with or without Freddie,’ she added, remembering the danger Poppy and Charlie had faced when Charlie decided to go hunting for big cats while she was in hospital with a broken wrist. Poppy had gone looking for him and the two children had become lost on the moor, sparking a massive rescue operation. ‘I need to know that you’re not going to be pulling any more stunts like that, Charlie.’
‘It’s OK, Mum. I promise I won’t.’
Caroline produced Freddie’s new collar and lead from her handbag. ‘Here you are, Poppy. You do the honours.’
Poppy stroked Freddie’s silky ears, eased the collar over his head and clicked on the lead, which she handed straight to Charlie. He whipped a dog treat out of his pocket. Freddie sniffed the treat and took it daintily from Charlie’s flat palm, his tail thumping.
The vet watched with satisfaction. ‘I think you’re all going to get along just fine. I love it when a plan comes together.’
Saturday morning found Poppy sitting cross-legged in the corner of Cloud’s stable, her history homework on her lap. The pony listened intently as she read extracts from a school textbook on the Roman Empire.
‘Did you know that Hadrian’s Wall took at least five years to build? And that when Mount Vesuvius erupted the lava flew twenty kilometres into the air? A flock of six hundred sheep was swallowed into a huge crack in the ground. Imagine that! But I’ve got to write about the Roman army, so I suppose I’d better get on with it. What is the difference between a legion and a century?’
Poppy flicked open the textbook to the page on Roman soldiers. She was chewing the end of her fountain pen and contemplating how to begin the essay when a scrabble outside made her jump. She looked up in time to see Magpie heaving his swinging stomach over the stable door. He landed with a heavy thud, picked his way fussily over the straw to Poppy and curled up beside her. She stroked him absentmindedly and was about to begin writing when she was interrupted again, this time by her brother.
‘Poppy, they’re here!’ Charlie announced. ‘Mum says to come and say hello.’
‘OK. I won’t be a minute.’ Poppy sighed, gave Magpie’s chin a tickle and kissed Cloud goodbye. She followed the brick path around the side of the house and, as she reached the front garden, saw Caroline talking to Shelley while Charlie and Freddie waited by the front door. Hope was standing awkwardly to one side, chewing a nail. She was wearing the same green coat and beanie hat that she’d had on in the village shop. She was so slight she could have b
lown away in the wind. Poppy’s natural shyness anchored her to the spot until Freddie noticed her loitering and woofed a greeting.
‘Poppy, there you are! Come and say hello. Why don’t you take Hope to see Cloud and Chester while I put the kettle on?’ Caroline suggested, leading Shelley indoors.
‘Who are Cloud and Chester?’ asked Hope.
‘Chester’s a donkey. He belonged to the lady who used to own Riverdale, but she moved to a flat in Tavistock and couldn’t take him with her. We kind of inherited him when we moved here. And Cloud’s my pony.’ Saying the words out loud still gave Poppy a thrill.
Hope’s features lit up like a beacon. ‘You have your own pony? No way! You’re so lucky!’
‘I still can’t quite believe it myself,’ Poppy admitted with a grin. ‘Follow me, it’s this way.’
As they walked around the house to the stables Poppy described how she’d found Cloud running wild on the moor and her desperate attempts to rescue him from the drift. ‘To cut a very long story short, he ended up at the pony sales where my dad bought him.’
Cloud was standing at the back of his stable. ‘He’s nervous around people he doesn’t know so don’t be offended if he doesn’t come and say hello,’ she told Hope, who hesitated by the stable door.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to a real horse before. There aren’t many in Croydon. Big, aren’t they?’
Poppy slipped through the stable door and scratched Cloud’s forehead fondly. ‘He’s broken a bone in his foot and needs to have complete box rest. That means he’s not allowed out of his stable until it heals. He’s due to have another X-ray in a fortnight,’ she explained.
‘I would love to learn to ride,’ said Hope, watching Cloud nuzzle Poppy’s pockets.
‘I’m afraid no-one can ride Cloud until his foot heals and Chester’s too old for riding, so I can’t help you there. But I could have a word with Scarlett if you like. She might let you have a go on Flynn. He’s a Dartmoor pony. She taught me to ride on him this summer.’
‘Would you?’ said Hope, her pale blue eyes shining. Then her face fell. ‘I don’t suppose my mum’ll let me. She’ll say it’s too risky or something.’
‘You don’t know until you try. Let me speak to Scarlett first.’
‘Thanks Poppy, you’re really kind. But you don’t understand what she’s like.’
Chapter Six
The fire in the lounge was crackling, sending sparks shooting up the chimney. Caroline and Shelley were perched either end of the sofa, sipping mugs of coffee. Charlie and Freddie sat on the rug in front of the fire, Freddie’s bandaged paw in Charlie’s lap. Magpie had retreated to the window ledge, where he eyed the dog with loathing. It was no surprise that Charlie’s counselling sessions had not had the desired effect and Freddie’s appearance had put Magpie’s whiskered nose severely out of joint.
‘I’ve lived in Croydon for most of my life,’ Shelley was saying. She noticed the girls’ arrival and patted the sofa beside her firmly, inviting her daughter to sit next to her. Hope, who had discarded her coat but was still wearing the dark grey beanie hat, sat down, leaving a noticeable gap between them.
‘What brought you to Waterby? Caroline asked.
‘It’s just the two of us these days, isn’t it, babe?’ said Shelley. ‘The last year hasn’t been great and I thought we could both do with a change of scene.’
‘Why? What happened?’ asked Charlie, his curiosity piqued. Caroline shot him a look but Shelley shrugged her shoulders.
‘It’s OK, we don’t mind people knowing, do we Hope? Last November Hope was diagnosed with leukaemia, weren’t you, babe?’ Hope nodded mutely. Poppy felt a swooping sensation in her stomach. Caroline looked shocked.
‘What’s luke…lukema?’ Charlie asked.
‘It’s cancer of the blood. She’d been losing weight and had no energy. We found out after our doctor sent her for tests.’
‘That’s awful,’ said Caroline.
‘Tell me about it. She’s spent the last ten months having chemotherapy. That’s why she lost her hair.’ Shelley reached over and pulled off Hope’s hat. The way she did it, almost with a flourish, reminded Poppy of a waiter lifting the silver platter from a dish of food. A single tear trickled down the side of Hope’s nose.
Her head was completely bald, her pink skin as soft and vulnerable as the snout of a mole. Hope gave her mother a dark look, snatched her hat back and tugged it down over her forehead.
‘Alright Hope, don’t get narky. I was just showing Caroline and Poppy your hair. Or should I say lack of it. I’m joking! Honestly, where’s your sense of humour?’
‘How is Hope now?’ Caroline asked tentatively.
‘Not so good. That’s why she’s not at school. Her immune system is so weak after all the chemo that she’d catch every infection going if she went to Waterby Primary. The oncologist has told us there’s nothing more he can do. But there’s a new treatment in America that’s having amazing results with Hope’s type of leukaemia. I just need to find a way of sending her there and paying for her treatment.’
‘Crikey, I don’t suppose that’s going to be cheap,’ Caroline said.
‘I reckon it’ll cost about ten grand, what with our flights to San Francisco, accommodation and the treatment itself. There’s no way I can afford that. Actually I’m thinking about setting up a fund to raise the money. I might call it Hope for Hope, or something like that.’
‘What a fantastic idea. We’d help, wouldn’t we kids?’
Poppy was still reeling from the news of Hope’s illness. She nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, of course. Scarlett and I could hold a cake sale at school.’
‘No offence babe, but it’ll need more than a cake sale. I could do with a story in the local rag. That’s what other families do and it always seems to do the trick.’
‘What about Sniffer? He’d help,’ said Charlie.
‘He’s a reporter on the Tavistock Herald. His real name’s Stanley Smith but everyone calls him Sniffer,’ explained Caroline. ‘He did a story on Poppy and Charlie when they saw the Beast of Dartmoor a while back. I’m sure he would be interested. I probably have his number here somewhere.’
Shelley clapped her hands. Poppy noticed she had a butterfly tattoo on the inside of her right wrist. ‘I’ll give him a call this afternoon. We might be able to go America after all, Hope. Wouldn’t that be wicked?’
Hope looked as though it would be anything but. She looked…weary. There was no other word to describe it.
The village of Waterby was still slumbering on Friday morning when a white transit van pulled up outside the Post Office and Stores. Only Barney Broomfield was up, the lights in his shop cheerily bright in the murky half-light. The driver hopped out of the van and hauled out several bundles of newspapers, which he stacked in an untidy heap at Barney’s feet. Barney hefted them one by one into the shop, sorting the national newspapers into one pile and the Tavistock Heralds into another, ready for his small band of paperboys and girls. It was a ritual he’d carried out at five o’clock every morning since he took over the shop over twenty years ago. The only lie-in he allowed himself was on Christmas Day.
After all the papers were sorted he made himself a cup of tea and picked up a copy of the Herald. He raised his eyebrows when he read the headline and saw the two faces staring solemnly back at him from the front page. ‘She’s a fast worker, that one,’ he said to himself, as he took a slurp of tea and settled down to read.
Poppy didn’t see the paper until that evening. She let herself in the back door after school and ran upstairs to change out of her uniform. Her dad peered around her bedroom door.
‘Hi Poppy, how was school?’
‘Fine,’ she replied.
He came in and sat down on the wicker chair by the window. ‘Anything exciting happen?’
‘Nope.’
‘Are you settling in OK?’
‘Yep.’
‘Charlie is having tea at Ed’s and Carol
ine has popped over to the farm to pick up some eggs. I’m in charge of dinner.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Poppy, impatient to see Cloud after a day apart. She pulled on a fleece top and eyed the door. Her dad sighed and stood up. He had been looking forward to a chat with Poppy. She had virtually moved into Cloud’s stable and he couldn’t remember the last time they had talked properly.
He tried again. ‘How’s Cloud doing?’
‘Good, Dad. He’s doing really well,’ Poppy finally turned her attention to her father. He could feel the happiness radiating from her. He’d taken some convincing to buy the emaciated grey pony at the Tavistock Horse Sales but it had been the right thing to do, there was no doubt. The girl and pony belonged to each other.
‘I’m glad. I’ve got to go to London for a couple of days tomorrow. The car’s coming to pick me up at eight. We can drop you off at school on the way through if you like?’
‘And Scarlett?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He smiled. ‘Right, you’d better go and see that pony of yours. We can have a chat in the morning.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ grinned Poppy. She kissed him briefly on the cheek before flying out of the room, her ponytail swinging. She paused on the landing as he called after her.
‘Oh, I almost forgot. Caroline said you should have a look at the Herald. It’s on the kitchen table.’
She grabbed the paper as she raced through the kitchen and out of the back door. Caroline had already brought Chester in from his paddock and the pony and donkey were both watching over the stable door for her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ll be two minutes, no longer. I promise.’ In the tack room Poppy scooped pony nuts, chaff and soaked sugar beet into two buckets. She swung open the stable door, tossed the newspaper into the corner and held out the buckets. ‘Here you go. Dig in.’
While they were eating she mucked out the stable. As she bent down to pick up the grooming kit she noticed the photograph on the front page of the Herald.