The Riverdale Pony Stories Box Set (Books 1-6)

by Amanda Wills

  ‘Yes, I have a black Connemara mare called Star.’

  ‘I have a Connemara, too. He’s dappled grey. He’s got a fractured pedal bone and is on box rest at the moment. He hasn’t been ridden for years. That’s why I wanted lessons with your Gran. Talking of which, I’d better go. Thanks for the help.’

  Poppy led Rosie out of the stable, checked her girth, pulled down the stirrups and swung into the saddle. Bella was leading Buster and Hope into the indoor school and she cast her eyes over Rosie’s tack as Poppy joined them. ‘Good job. Now are you both ready?’

  Poppy grinned at Hope and they both nodded.

  ‘I’m going to lunge Hope and Buster while you work on your transitions, Poppy. I want you to think about your impulsion and keeping those transitions smooth and balanced.’

  Poppy was so absorbed in the lesson that the hour flew by. She sat tall in the saddle and tried to give Rosie clear instructions when she wanted to walk or trot.

  ‘Rosie was going well for you today, Poppy. Well done,’ said Bella. Poppy beamed with delight.

  On the way home the girls chatted to Caroline about their lesson.

  ‘I think Sam likes you, Poppy,’ said Hope out of the blue.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He spent the whole hour watching you. He was standing by the door. Didn’t you see him?’

  Poppy had been so engrossed in her lesson that she hadn’t noticed. She fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat and wound down the window.

  ‘What’s wrong, Poppy. Are you feeling car sick? Do you want me to pull over?’ asked Caroline, looking at her in the rear view mirror.

  ‘No, it’s a bit stuffy in here, that’s all. I’m fine.’ Poppy could see her own reflection in the mirror. Her face was flushed. The car’s heating must be on overdrive.

  She turned to Hope and replied as nonchalantly as she could. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, he was watching Rosie, not me.’

  Hope shrugged. ‘If you say so.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Poppy and Scarlett met several nights after school the following week to bake batches of dog biscuits for the Hope for Hope Appeal. Caroline had chanced upon a bone-shaped biscuit cutter nestling between a pile of Kendal mint cakes and boxes of fishing tackle in the village shop and the girls used it to cut dozens and dozens of dog-friendly treats. After a couple of burnt batches they had finally – with Caroline’s help – got their biscuit-baking down to a fine art. It was torture for Freddie, whose gaze never wavered from the growing piles on the kitchen table.

  The day of the dog show was dry and bright, the sun low in a powder blue sky. The show was being held south of the village in a field normally grazed by black-faced sheep. A show ring had been roped off and cars lined the perimeter. As the McKeevers’ car bumped through the gate Charlie exclaimed, ‘I’ve never seen so many dogs in all my life. They’re everywhere!’ He was right. Dogs of all sizes, from German Shepherds to miniature dachshunds, strained on leashes or sat patiently while their owners chatted. Poppy watched, fascinated, as an over-excited West Highland terrier raced three times around its middle-aged owner, its lead coiling around the man’s tweed-clad legs like a boa constrictor. Blissfully unaware, the man turned to move. He would have fallen flat on his face if it hadn’t been for a passing marshal, who shot out a steadying arm just in time.

  The McKeevers were directed to their pitch and Caroline parked their estate car next to the dry stone wall that marked the edge of the field.

  ‘Scarlett said she would meet us here. Her dad and Meg are giving a sheepdog demonstration later,’ said Poppy, as she helped Caroline unload a trestle table and four folding camping chairs from the boot of the car. They had cut long trails of ivy from the hedge at the back of the stables to decorate their sage green table cloth which Poppy arranged with the cellophane bags of dog biscuits as artfully as she could. She had photocopied and laminated the Tavistock Herald’s story about Hope’s fundraising appeal and was just taping it to the front of the table when Scarlett arrived.

  ‘Hi Poppy! The table looks great. I love the ivy. What a good idea. And the biscuits look delicious. But we still haven’t decided how much we are going to charge,’ she said, without drawing breath.

  ‘Why don’t you ask people to make a donation to the appeal in return for a bag of biscuits instead of charging a fixed price? You might find that people will give more,’ suggested Caroline.

  ‘And we could chop a few biscuits up into little pieces to offer as samples. Just to get them interested,’ said Poppy.

  As a marketing strategy the free samples did the trick and soon a small knot of people, dogs in tow, had gathered around. Scarlett may have been a liability in the kitchen but she was a natural saleswoman.

  ‘I can’t think of a better cause. It’s so important for Hope to get to America,’ she told people, watching with satisfaction as they ferreted around in purses and wallets to find five and ten pound notes which they readily exchanged for a bag of home-made dog biscuits.

  Poppy was serving a customer when Scarlett nudged her and said, ‘Look, there’s Hope and her mum.’ She looked up and saw Shelley striding towards their table, Hope a couple of paces behind, her slight frame wrapped in a knee-length padded coat and her head bare.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Shelley asked, her eyes roving over the table, taking in scattered crumbs and the remaining bags of biscuits. Poppy watched Shelley’s eyes linger on the jar of money in front of Scarlett. It was stuffed full of notes. The last time they’d checked they’d counted more than two hundred and fifty pounds. Poppy had been staggered at people’s generosity.

  ‘I thought we could sit Hope behind the table to see if she can drum up a bit of extra business,’ Shelley said.

  Caroline looked appalled. ‘Are you sure she wants to?’ she asked faintly. But Shelley appeared not to have heard and prodded her daughter forcibly in the back. ‘Well, go on then! Go and sit down next to Poppy. I’m going to get a cuppa.’ With that she turned on her heels and disappeared in the direction of the refreshment tent.

  ‘Why aren’t you wearing your new wig, Hope? Your head must be freezing,’ Charlie said.

  ‘My mum told me not to. She said we’d make more money for our trip to America if people could see my bald head,’ the girl answered. Poppy felt doubly sorry for her. Imagine having cancer and a mum like Shelley. Life really threw some people a curve ball.

  But Shelley was right. People were now happily handing over twenty pound notes for one bag of dog biscuits with their faces full of concern, wishing Hope a speedy recovery. The girl’s pale face was flushed with embarrassment as she mumbled her thanks. Poppy knew exactly how she felt – she would have hated the attention, too.

  By ten to twelve the girls had completely sold out. A quick count up revealed that they had made just over four hundred pounds in less than three hours. Poppy and Scarlett high-fived each other, whooping with pleasure. Hope sat watching them, an unreadable expression on her face.

  Caroline had walked Charlie and Freddie to the show ring as the best rescue dog class was due to start at noon. There was no sign of Shelley.

  ‘Come on, let’s go and watch Charlie and Freddie. He’d never forgive us if we missed their big moment. Do you want to come with us, Hope, or stay here and wait for your mum?’ said Poppy.

  ‘I’ll come if that’s OK?’ Hope answered diffidently, her thin arms crossed and her shoulders stooped. Her whole demeanour appeared apologetic. Not for the first time Poppy thought how different she was from the brash Shelley.

  Hope followed the two friends to where Caroline was watching Charlie and half a dozen other people walking their dogs around the show ring.

  Charlie’s face was the picture of concentration, his eyes fixed firmly ahead as he followed the elderly woman in front of him, Freddie trotting obediently by his side. After a couple more circuits of the ring the judge motioned everyone to line up with their dogs. He worked his way along the line, chatting to the owners and assessing their pets. Scarl
ett, who went to the Waterby Dog Show every year, was giving Caroline and Hope a running commentary.

  ‘Look, he’s checking that dog’s conformation now,’ she said, as the judge ran a practised hand over a shivering brindle and white whippet, its ears flat and its tail between its legs. Freddie, who was standing two dogs down, looked totally at ease, his pink tongue hanging out and his feathery tail wagging nineteen to the dozen.

  Suddenly Poppy spied Shelley standing on the far side of the ring. She was about to tell Hope but something made her pause. Shelley was talking animatedly to a grey-haired man wearing corduroy trousers and a brown hacking jacket that had seen better days. He was in his early sixties, Poppy estimated. He had the sort of puffed out chest and arrogant expression that reminded her of a cockerel. Shelley pointed to the McKeevers’ car. The old man looked over and broke into a wheezy laugh that soon turned into an almighty coughing fit that seized his whole body, the convulsions bending him double.

  ‘Who’s that man Shelley’s talking to?’ Poppy whispered to Scarlett.

  Poppy watched her friend’s face cloud with confusion.

  ‘It’s George Blackstone!’ Scarlett exclaimed, her voice low. They watched as Shelley patted the spluttering old man gently between the shoulders. But when she saw the two girls watching her Shelley stepped smartly away from Blackstone, pretending to watch the dogs in the ring.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ said Poppy.

  ‘It’s a bit strange,’ admitted her friend. ‘They look far too cosy for a landlord and his tenant.’

  Poppy was still puzzling over the possibility that Shelley and George Blackstone knew each other of old when she heard a shriek and a volley of excited barking from the ring. She looked over to see the judge handing Charlie a small silver cup before bending down on one knee to fix a red rosette to Freddie’s collar. Caroline, Hope and Scarlett were cheering and Poppy joined in as her brother and Freddie trotted around the ring together, both grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘Did you hear what the judge said?’ gabbled Charlie as he re-joined them. ‘He said Freddie was the bestest rescue dog he’d ever seen and he was the winner by a mile. I can’t believe it! We didn’t even get a chance to show our latest trick.’

  They watched as Charlie stood in front of Freddie and commanded, ‘Roll over!’ He smiled with satisfaction as the dog lay down, rolled over and sat up again, his tail wagging.

  Poppy hadn’t noticed Shelley return. She was talking with Caroline.

  ‘We need to make a move. Things to do. People to see. You know how it is. I’ll take the money now then, shall I?’ she said.

  ‘Oh, yes, I guess that makes sense, although I’ve got to go into Tavistock on Monday. I can easily pay it into the Hope for Hope Appeal account at the bank for you,’ Caroline offered.

  ‘No, you’re alright. I’ll have it now thanks.’

  Caroline had locked the money in the car and Poppy watched as her stepmother and Shelley walked over to get it. As if she sensed Poppy’s eyes on her retreating back Shelley turned and shot her a look. Her face was hostile and there was an expression in her eyes that Poppy couldn’t place. It was only as she lay in bed that night, mulling over the day, that she realised what it was.

  Defiance.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Poppy’s dad flew out to Syria on the Monday of half-term. During the three week trip he would be responsible for sending daily reports back to London on the crisis in the Middle East. His taxi turned up after breakfast and Poppy, Caroline, Charlie and Freddie lined up outside the front of the house to wave him off. He shook the dog’s paw and hugged Poppy and Charlie before wrapping his arms around Caroline, holding her close. Poppy looked down at her feet, not wanting to see Caroline’s face. Her stepmother always looked a bit weepy when her dad left for an assignment and Poppy was worried it would set her off. She used to feel utterly desolate when he was away. These days, now she and Caroline were so much closer, she didn’t feel as alone as she used to, but she still missed him deeply. It was hard when the only time she saw him was on the six o’clock news.

  When the taxi had disappeared down the Riverdale drive Poppy scooted around the side of the house to the stables. Today was an important day. She had decided to try to tack Cloud up for the first time. She’d discovered his old saddle and bridle at the back of the tack room soon after they’d moved to Riverdale, but had assumed it had belonged to Tory’s old mare, Hopscotch. Festooned with dusty spiderwebs, the leather was cracked and brittle with age.

  ‘No, that’s for Cloud,’ Tory had said, when Poppy had shown her. ‘I should have thrown it away. It’s Caitlyn’s saddle and bridle. We had them specially made for Cloud. I don’t like to think of you using them, Poppy. What if they bring bad luck?’

  But Poppy, who wasn’t afraid to walk under ladders and never worried about spilling salt, dismissed Tory’s fears as irrational. Caroline ordered a specialist leather cleaner and conditioner from the internet and Poppy spent hours working on the leather until it felt supple under her fingers.

  Cloud was still finishing his breakfast. Poppy mucked out his stable and re-filled his water bucket while he ate. Despite wearing a stable rug his winter coat was thick and she spent the next half an hour giving him a brisk groom, chatting away to him all the while. She felt a flutter of nerves as she wondered how he would react to wearing tack. The last time he’d been ridden was at the hunter trial when Caitlyn was killed. Poppy held his head in her hands and gazed into his brown eyes.

  ‘Do you remember that day, Cloud? The day you fell and Caitlyn died?’ she said softly. He turned his head to look out of the stable door at the sound of Caitlyn’s name, as if expecting her to stride in, her long, blonde hair swinging, and her skull cap under her arm. Poppy fought the usual feelings of jealousy and inadequacy and wondered if she would ever have enough self-confidence to believe she was equal to Caitlyn.

  ‘I’m here, Cloud,’ she whispered. ‘I know you miss Caitlyn but you mean everything to me. You are my world.’

  He turned and whickered and she felt her heart swell with love.

  ‘Here goes. I promise I’ll stop if you don’t like it,’ she said, reaching for the bridle. Cloud had never been head shy with Poppy and as she unfastened his headcollar she ran her hands over his head, giving his poll a scratch and kissing his nose. She held the bridle and eased open Cloud’s mouth. Unlike Rosie he accepted the bit straight away and Poppy slid the headpiece over his ears as if she’d been doing it all her life. ‘You clever, clever boy,’ she told him.

  Poppy lifted the saddle from the stable door. She showed it to Cloud and let him sniff it. She felt his muscles tense as she placed it gently on his back. She watched his face for a reaction. His ears twitched back and forth but he didn’t move. She reached for the girth and buckled it up loosely. Cloud remained still. He looked different in his tack. Taller, more imposing somehow. All she wanted to do was jump on his back and gallop across the moor, just the two of them, Poppy and Cloud. Instead she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face deep in his mane. She felt certain that the day would come. She just had to be patient.

  ‘Shelley’s asked us to have Hope for the day on Saturday. She’s got to go to London to see Hope’s oncologist,’ said Caroline that afternoon.

  ‘On a Saturday?’ Poppy was sceptical.

  ‘That’s one of his clinic days, apparently. Shelley’s going to drop her off early and then drive up to town. She’s hoping to be back just after tea.’

  An orange sun was peeping over the horizon when Shelley’s car accelerated up the Riverdale drive, sending gravel flying. Shelley left the engine running as Hope let herself out. Poppy, watching from the lounge window, heard Shelley bark an instruction to her daughter. Hope nodded obediently, her shoulders hunched. Poppy waited until the car had disappeared down the drive before she opened the front door and let Hope in. She had no desire to see Shelley.

  The temperature had plummeted overnight and the grass in
the paddock was stiff with frost. Hope helped Poppy muck out and feed Cloud and Chester and Poppy showed her how to groom the old donkey before they turned him out.

  ‘Shall we show Hope the Riverdale tor?’ asked Charlie, when they finally went inside, their hands red with cold.

  ‘That sounds fun. It’s where you saw the big cat, isn’t it?’ said Hope.

  She was wearing her wig and in the warmth of the kitchen her cheeks were rosy. No-one meeting her for the first time would ever have guessed she was in remission from cancer, thought Poppy.

  ‘How’s the appeal going, Hope?’ asked Caroline. The Herald ran a story every week about the latest fundraising events. It seemed that the people of Waterby had taken the girl’s plight to their hearts.

  ‘OK, I think. But Mum deals with all that. I try not to think about it.’ Hope looked far from pleased at the prospect of a life-saving trip to America. But then who would, thought Poppy. It would be nothing but tests, scans, treatments and more tests. Hardly what you’d call a holiday.

  The three children let themselves out of the back gate and began the steep climb to the top of the tor. Conversation petered out as they negotiated rocks and tussocks, Freddie bounding along beside them. Hope was soon breathing heavily. She stopped, wincing as she clutched her side.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Poppy asked in alarm.

  ‘It’s a stitch. I’m fine. Just unfit I guess,’ she replied.

  Eventually they reached the rock where Poppy and Charlie had seen the panther months before. Charlie went down on hands and knees to show Hope exactly where the big cat had stood. Poppy sat on a wide, flat boulder and looked back at Riverdale. She could just make out Chester grazing in his paddock. From this distance he was the size of the toy donkey in Charlie’s farm set. Hope sat down beside her, her knees drawn up under her chin, her wig slightly askew.

  ‘The view from here’s amazing. There’s Riverdale and Ashworthy, and if you look over there you can just see the roof of the Blackstone farm. And I think that white building to the left of it is your house. Can you see it?’