by Amanda Wills
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Poppy! Wake up!’ The command was whispered in her ear, dispatched on a wave of warm breath that tickled her earlobe. Poppy pulled the duvet over her face. ‘Go away. I’m asleep,’ she muttered, rolling over to face the wall. But Charlie was not deterred that easily. He tried a different tack.
‘Poppy?’ he wheedled through the duck down duvet. ‘Poppy, please wake up. It’s Christmas! Santa’s been. My stocking’s full of presents!’
‘What time is it?’ she growled.
‘I don’t know. It’s still dark outside but it must be nearly morning. I’ve been awake for hours.’
Poppy turned over and grabbed her alarm clock. Twenty to five. Charlie had been given strict instructions the night before not to wake Caroline and their dad before half past six. Poppy sighed. ‘We’ve got ages before we can open any presents. You must be freezing. Come on, hop into bed and I’ll warm you up.’
Charlie’s feet were like blocks of ice. She shuddered as he wound them around her legs. He put his thumb in his mouth and mumbled, ‘Will you tell me a story while we wait?’
Poppy knew she had no chance of getting back to sleep. ‘Oh alright then, seeing as it’s Christmas,’ she said. ‘What kind of story?’
‘One about how Freddie and Cloud used to live together on the moor and how they became friends with the panther. Please,’ he added as an afterthought.
Poppy paused. She never minded talking about Cloud. ‘Once upon a time there was a beautiful Connemara pony called Cloud. His dappled grey coat was the colour of slate and snow and his mane and tail rippled like molten silver as he galloped across the moor. He was wild and untamed yet had the kindest, biggest heart. His best friend in all the world was a dog called Freddie, who was loyal and brave. Freddie was the best companion any pony could hope to have by their side. One day, as Cloud and Freddie walked together through the Riverdale wood -’ As Poppy’s story of adventure and derring-do unfolded she felt Charlie grow heavy beside her, his breathing slowing. She felt tiredness seep through her body and soon she, too, was sound asleep.
By a quarter past seven Charlie was awake again. By half past he had ripped open all the presents in his stocking and was sitting on the end of his parents’ bed surrounded by wrapping paper, his hair sticking up and his eyes shining. Poppy took her time, examining every present before opening the next. A new hoof pick and mane comb, Polos for Cloud and Chester, the latest pony book by her favourite author. Her dad and Caroline sipped tea and watched them indulgently. Once the stockings were opened the McKeevers moved downstairs to the lounge. Charlie shrieked with joy when he saw another pile of presents under the tree. Her dad lit the fire and Poppy and Charlie distributed the presents. Poppy was delighted with a pair of cream jodhpurs, black leather jodhpur boots and a smart blue New Zealand rug for Cloud.
‘I thought that he’d be needing a rug soon. It won’t be long before his foot is better and you’ll be able to turn him out. And you’ll be riding him before you know it. You’ll need your own jodhpurs and boots then. You can’t borrow Scarlett’s brother’s old ones forever,’ Caroline said.
Poppy had thought long and hard about what to give Caroline. The answer had come to her as she’d rootled through her jewellery box looking for a silver bangle a couple of weeks earlier. She’d checked with her dad and although he’d looked a bit choked he’d said he thought it was a brilliant idea.
‘I hope you like it,’ she said as she handed the brightly-wrapped present to Caroline. She watched her stepmum’s face as she untied the ribbon and prised open the wrapping paper. Inside a layer of white tissue paper was a small silver locket on a simple silver chain. Caroline gasped. ‘But Poppy, wasn’t this your mum’s?’ she asked, her brows furrowed.
‘It was. But it’s yours now. I wanted you to have it. Have a look inside.’
In one window of the locket was a tiny photo of her dad, taken on holiday the year before. His face was tanned and his hair windswept. He looked every inch the famous BBC news correspondent. In the other window was a picture of Poppy and Charlie, both laughing. Charlie had set the timer on his camera to take the photo, but had taken so many attempts before he’d managed to get the settings right that they’d had a fit of the giggles. Caroline was silent as she studied the photos. Poppy held her breath. What if it had been a terrible mistake and her stepmum hated the thought of wearing Isobel’s old locket? But when she looked at Poppy her eyes were bright with tears. ‘Oh Poppy,’ she said. ‘Will you help me put it on?’
Poppy swept her stepmum’s blonde hair over one shoulder and fiddled with the two ends of the chain. The clasp closed safely around the final link like two circles on a Venn diagram, indelibly entwined. She hoped the locket would in some small way make up for the years she’d spent giving Caroline the cold shoulder, subconsciously blaming her for her mum’s death. There was a wistful look in her dad’s eyes. Christmas must be tough for him too, she realised.
‘Your mum would have been so proud of you, Poppy,’ he said, a catch in his voice. ‘So very proud.’
The snow continued to fall, silently and steadily. By the time the McKeevers had demolished a small mountain of bacon sandwiches Riverdale had been blanketed in white. Caroline put the turkey in the oven, wiped her hands on a tea-towel and checked the clock.
‘It’s half past nine. We’ve got plenty of time for a walk before I need to put the potatoes on. Though we’d better make sure we have lots of layers on,’ she said.
A bracing walk on Christmas morning was a McKeever family tradition that went ahead whatever the weather. Poppy could remember Charlie as a baby, bundled up in a white snowsuit, riding in a baby backpack on their dad’s shoulders like a Maharaja atop an elephant, as they strolled along the Thames to Richmond and back. When Charlie was older they’d driven up to Richmond Park and watched herds of red and fallow deer grazing below old English oak trees, their branches stark against the pale December sky.
Poppy grabbed a couple of carrots on her way out and called softly to Cloud and Chester from the back door. Their heads appeared over the stable door. ‘I think I’ll turn you out for a couple of hours this morning, Chester.’ Cloud stamped his foot impatiently and whinnied. ‘I’m sorry Cloud. I know how desperate you are to go out with him. But it won’t be much longer, I promise.’
‘Look at Freddie! He’s gone crazy!’ cried Charlie. The McKeevers watched as the dog raced around in circles, flicking sprays of snow into the air with his nose, barking with delight. His joy was contagious and Charlie, his cheeks pink, ran behind him laughing loudly. Poppy lay down and waved her arms and legs in the snow. She sprang up and pointed at the marks she’d made. ‘Look, a snow angel!’
‘So which way are we going to go?’ asked her dad.
‘Let’s walk through Riverdale wood. The stream will look so pretty in all this snow,’ suggested Caroline, and they set off across the field to the right of the house until they reached the post and rail perimeter fence. Poppy remembered the first time she and Charlie had explored the wood, the day after they’d moved to Riverdale. Then the trees had been heavy with bright green leaves and the air had been warm and still. Now snow flurries swirled around them as they climbed the fence and the bare branches were covered with a layer of white. Charlie led the way, Poppy close behind him. Freddie bounced back and forth, snapping at snowflakes and weaving between them as swiftly as a Prince Philip Cup pony in a bending race.
The McKeevers followed the stream until the trees started to peter out and they emerged onto the open moorland at the base of the tor. A herd of woolly Dartmoor ponies were grazing on the horizon. Just seeing them made Poppy shiver and she wondered if Cloud would have survived the harsh winter had he not been caught in the drift. She fell behind as they skirted the tor and began heading for home. She had the beginnings of a headache and her legs felt leaden. Caroline waited for her to catch up.
‘Are you OK Poppy? You look very pale.’
‘I am a bit tired,’ Popp
y admitted. ‘The early start must be catching up with me. I don’t know how Charlie does it.’ They watched the six-year-old as he streaked towards them, his red coat as bright as a holly berry against the snow-covered moor. Freddie raced after him, a black and tan shadow at his heels. Charlie slid to a halt a few feet in front of them and clutched his sides dramatically.
‘I’m so hungry. Can we please have Christmas lunch now?’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Before long the McKeevers were pulling crackers and laughing at the terrible cracker jokes.
‘What’s the best Christmas present in the world?’ asked their dad. Everyone shrugged and Charlie, by now completely over-excited, yelled, ‘I don’t know! What is the best Christmas present in the world?’
‘A broken drum – you just can’t beat it,’ he replied, to a chorus of groans. Caroline and Poppy had decorated the dining room with armfuls of holly and ivy. Candles flickered on the mantelpiece and the table was laden with enough food to feed at least a dozen people. Poppy was sure the roast turkey must smell delicious but she suddenly had no appetite.
‘How are you feeling, sweetheart?’ asked Caroline, watching her push the food about on her plate.
‘Actually, I don’t feel too good. Sort of hot and cold at the same time.’ It was true. One minute she was shivery and the next she was boiling. The thought of eating even a mouthful of turkey made her queasy.
‘Sounds like you might be coming down with something. I’ll do Cloud and Chester tonight. You stay beside the fire and we’ll find a nice film to watch,’ said Caroline firmly.
By six o’clock Poppy’s head was throbbing and she felt overwhelmed with tiredness. Caroline felt her forehead. ‘You’ve got a temperature. Come on, let’s get you to bed.’ Once she’d changed into her pyjamas Poppy sank into bed gratefully. Caroline brought her a hot water bottle and a mug of hot lemon and honey.
‘I think you’ve probably come down with the flu. Drink this, it’ll make you feel better, and then try to sleep.’ Caroline bent down to kiss Poppy’s forehead. ‘Sleep tight, sweetheart.’
Poppy slept badly. One minute she was throwing off the duvet, her body burning up, the next she was shivering. By morning her throat was raw and her body felt like lead. She doubted she could have stood up if her life depended on it. Caroline brought her a piece of toast and a mug of tea.
‘I’ve mucked out and fed Cloud and Chester. I’ve turned Chester out for an hour or so. It’s been snowing all night so I’ve put him in the small paddock with a haynet. They are both fine, though missing you,’ Caroline said. Poppy gave her a wan smile.
The tea and toast sat untouched on her bedside table. She dozed fitfully. Every half an hour or so Caroline, her dad or Charlie would poke their head around the door to see if she needed anything. At lunchtime her dad appeared with a bowl of chicken soup on a tray.
‘Caroline says please try to have a little, even if it’s only a couple of mouthfuls.’
Poppy pulled herself to a sitting position and her dad plumped up the pillows behind her. ‘I remember doing this for your mum when she had the flu,’ he said, perching on the end of the bed.
‘I don’t remember,’ said Poppy. Her head felt woozy and her muscles ached. She’d never felt so feeble in her life.
‘You wouldn’t. You were only about six-months-old. Your mum was wiped out for almost a week. I had to look after you both.’
‘Do you still miss her?’ It was the first time she’d ever asked her dad how he felt.
‘Of course I do. I always will. But we’ve been lucky, Poppy. Your mum would have been happy for us, I know she would.’
‘I do, too.’
Later there was a knock at her bedroom door and Caroline called softly, ‘The doctor’s here to see you, Poppy.’
She was puzzled. Surely a bout of the flu didn’t warrant a home visit by their GP? The door creaked open and there was Charlie, wearing the doctor’s dressing up outfit he’d loved when he was four. The arms of the white coat reached his elbows and the plastic stethoscope bounced jauntily on his chest. In his hand he carried a small red case with a white cross.
‘Where’s the patient?’ he asked, walking over to Poppy and feeling her wrist for a pulse. ‘Yes, she’s definitely still alive,’ he announced with a grin.
‘We thought it might make you laugh,’ said Caroline. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘The same. Is Cloud OK?’ she croaked.
‘Yes, he’s fine. I’ve just brought Chester in. We’re completely snowed in. I haven’t even seen a snowplough go past. And there’s more snow forecast tonight. Good job we’ve got plenty of food in. I think it’s going to be a few days before we can get the cars out.’
‘I made an awesome snowman, Poppy,’ said Charlie. ‘I wish you were well enough to come and play.’
‘I’m sorry, Charlie. Maybe I’ll be better tomorrow,’ she said, her head sinking back into the pillows.
‘It’s OK, you can’t help it. Mum says I can feed Cloud and Chester tonight, can’t I Mum?’
Caroline smiled. ‘Yes, you can.’ She turned to Poppy. ‘He’s desperate to help. I’ve told him how much they both have.’
Poppy nodded. She felt an overwhelming desire to sleep. Noticing her eyelids flutter, Caroline chivvied Charlie out of the room and closed the door gently behind them.
Chapter Twenty-Six
That night Poppy’s dreams were vivid. Hope was sitting in a tiny round room at the top of a stone tower, carefully plaiting her long blonde hair as she whispered and giggled with Caitlyn. Caitlyn handed Hope a pretty turquoise box and said to her, ‘Inside is the key to Cloud’s heart. Use it well’. The image became fuzzy and suddenly Hope was galloping Cloud around the indoor school at Redhall Manor, egged on by Shelley, who was standing in the middle of the school, cracking a lunging whip. Cloud galloped faster and faster, his flared nostrils and the whites of his eyes showing his terror. Poppy, watching from the side, tried to run towards them but it was as if her arms and legs were caught in treacle. She shouted and when Shelley turned around Poppy’s blood ran cold. The face staring back at her wasn’t Shelley at all. It was George Blackstone. He roared with anger when he saw Poppy and bellowed, ‘You thief! You stole my pony!’ Poppy tried to run but her legs refused to move. Cloud slowed to a standstill, his flanks heaving. Poppy watched helplessly as his legs buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor with a loud crash.
She woke with a start, her heart thudding. It’s a dream, she told herself. But she could still hear crashing and banging. She sat up in bed and tried to identify where the noise was coming from. Apart from the usual creaks and sighs the house was quiet. It seemed to be coming from the stables.
Poppy looked at her clock. Half past four. She slid out of bed and tried standing up. Her legs felt wobbly but at least they worked. She reached for her clothes, dressed quickly and crept downstairs. In the kitchen she grabbed a torch and flung on her hat, gloves and coat. She unlocked the back door and slipped out of the house like a sprite, heading for the stables.
The security light at the back of the house came on as Poppy crunched through the snow to the stables as quickly as she could. As she neared the old stone building she heard a strange grunting noise. Her heart in her mouth, she looked over the stable door. Cloud was standing in the middle of the stable, his head low, breathing rapidly. Chester, standing at the back, hee-hawed loudly when he saw Poppy’s frightened face.
‘Oh no!’ she cried, reaching for the bolts on the door. Cloud sank to the ground and started rolling, his legs thrashing wildly in the air inches from the old donkey, who shrank back into the far corner. Poppy stopped, her head still woozy. I don’t know what to do, she thought helplessly. What should I do?
As if sensing her panic Chester hee-hawed again. The sound spurred Poppy into action. She ran into the tack room and grabbed Cloud’s headcollar. Within seconds she was edging around the stable trying to avoid his flailing hooves. Once she was behind his head she knelt dow
n and tried to put the headcollar on. But her hands were shaking and every time she got near he jerked his head away.
‘Cloud, you must stay still. Just for a minute,’ she pleaded. For a beat he stopped moving and she grabbed her chance. The headcollar finally on, she stood up and pulled on the lead rope. ‘Up you get. Come on Cloud, stand up.’
Cloud rolled on his back, kicking his stomach, and Poppy tugged again, no thought for her own safety. ‘You can do this Cloud! Stand up!’ He grunted, gathered his legs together and stood up shakily. There was blood on his cheek and his neck was dark with sweat.
Colic. It must be colic, Poppy thought frantically. But what to do? They were completely snowed in – there was no way the vet would get here, even in a Land Rover. She racked her brain, trying to remember what her pony books said. Walking every half an hour, that was it.
‘We need to walk, Cloud. To stop you getting a twisted gut.’ She looked at his foot, encased in its special shoe. ‘Your foot will have to take its chance. This is more important.’ He seemed calmed by her voice and she kept talking as she led him slowly out of the stable. Although the back of the house was banked in snow the old stone building had protected the yard from the worst of the drifts and Poppy coaxed the pony up and down the length of it.
‘Five minutes’ walking every half an hour. I think that’s what we need to do,’ she said, trying to inject some confidence into her voice. Cloud walked slowly, stopping every so often to kick or bite at his stomach. ‘No, my beautiful boy. You mustn’t do that. Keep walking. Please,’ she begged.
After five freezing minutes she returned him to the stable and investigated the blood on his face. He’d grazed his cheekbone thrashing around in the stable and flinched when Poppy tried to touch it. He was restless and pawed at the ground. He tried to roll again but Poppy held his lead rope firmly and managed to stop him lying down. She checked her watch every couple of minutes and when twenty five minutes had passed she led him back out of the stable for another five minutes of walking. She’d lost all feeling in her feet long ago and her fingers felt icy despite the gloves. Every time Cloud stopped and arched his neck or made the strange grunting noise Poppy felt panic rise up. Horses died of colic. What if Cloud had already twisted his gut? An image of an obscenely pink intestine curling around itself like a giant worm inside her pony’s stomach danced in front of her eyes. She shook her head, casting the mirage aside, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. She wondered if she should go for help, wake up Caroline and her dad, call the vet. But the vet would never make it through the snow and there was nothing her dad or Caroline could do. Anyway, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Cloud, not even for a minute.