by Amanda Wills
‘Sorry,’ she mouthed, grabbing something to wear from the untidy tangle of clothes on the floor at her feet. Within seconds she was dressed and creeping down the landing, tiptoeing to avoid the creaky floorboard outside her dad and Caroline’s room. In the kitchen Freddie lifted his head and watched her pass. ‘I can’t take you tonight Freddie, I’m sorry,’ she told him. He thumped his tail against the floor anyway.
Letting herself out of the back door, she saw with satisfaction that the weather forecast had been right. The low cloud cover had lifted to reveal a full moon and a sky bright with stars. She crossed the yard to the tack room and shone her torch inside. She could hear Cloud moving restlessly in the stable next door and her heart fluttered. The beam of light picked out his saddle and bridle and she scooped both up and closed the door behind her.
Cloud had been easy to catch that afternoon, after all. She’d stood at the field gate and given a low whistle and he’d cantered straight over to her.
His head appeared over the stable door now and he whickered softly. ‘Shh,’ whispered Poppy, her finger to her lips. ‘We mustn’t wake anyone.’
She’d practised tacking him up so many times over the last few weeks that she could have done it in the dark. But tonight she didn’t have to. The moon cast a silvery glow over them as she fastened buckles and pulled down stirrup leathers. Cloud stood perfectly still while she worked. By the time she was ready to lead him out of the stable she felt calm and composed. His unshod hooves made only a muffled sound as she walked him to the gate that led to the moor.
Poppy knew she was taking a risk. Her natural inclination was always to play safe, to do everything by the book. Tomorrow she would. She’d listen to Bella’s advice, start slowly, take baby steps. But not tonight. Tonight was for the two of them. Poppy and Cloud. For once in her life she wanted to throw caution to the wind.
Together they stood quietly at the very edge of the moonlit moor, gazing at the Riverdale tor, Poppy’s hand resting on Cloud’s flank, their breathing in time. She took a deep breath, checked his girth, gathered the reins, edged a toe into the stirrup and, with a single fluid movement, swung into the saddle.
As Poppy lent down to whisper in Cloud’s ear, he lifted his head, a ghost horse in the moonlight. She squeezed her legs and he danced on the spot. She laughed wildly and gave him his head. As they galloped towards the tor she crouched low over his neck, urging him faster. But Cloud needed no encouragement. The ground sped by as he stretched out his neck and lengthened his stride. Poppy felt his energy course through her. She felt elated, fearless.
But most of all, she felt complete.
Into the Storm
Chapter One
The sun was already peeping over the horizon when Poppy McKeever tugged open her curtains, her heart as heavy as a millstone. Vapour trails criss-crossed the tangerine orange sky and the flute-like warbles of song thrushes and blackbirds rang around the old stone cottage on the edge of the moor. There wasn't a breath of wind. It was going to be another beautiful day. But Poppy felt numb.
She opened her window, looked down at the stable below and whistled softly. A loud heehaw drowned out the birdsong and two noses appeared over the wooden door. The first was brown and hairy, the colour of milk chocolate. It belonged to Chester, the donkey she'd inherited when they'd moved to Riverdale. The second was silver grey. Cloud pushed his handsome head over the stable door and looked up. He saw Poppy's pale face framed in the window and whickered. She blinked back tears, rubbed an impatient hand across her eyes and eased the window closed.
A muffled buzz made her jump. She'd forgotten she'd set her alarm for the crack of dawn and had shoved the clock under her pillows so the ringing didn't wake everyone. It had been a complete waste of time. She'd barely slept. She'd spent most of the night staring, hollow-eyed, at the ceiling.
Silence restored, Poppy headed for the landing, trying her best to ignore the packed holdall in front of the wardrobe. She'd gone to bed in her jodhpurs and a long-sleeved tee-shirt so she didn't have to squander even a few minutes of the precious time she had left getting dressed.
Chester had pushed Cloud out of the way by the time she reached their stable. Poppy scratched the donkey's wide forehead and he nibbled the zip of her fleece. She darted into the tack room, returning with Cloud's saddle and bridle. The leather gleamed in the early morning sun. Poppy had spent hours the night before cleaning his tack when she should have been packing. But she had wanted everything to be perfect for their last ride.
Cloud stood calmly as she ran a body brush over his dappled grey summer coat. The Connemara was muscled and fit, a far cry from the skeletal, blood-stained pony he had been the previous autumn. She sniffed loudly. As if sensing her distress Cloud turned his head and nuzzled her hair.
‘We'll ride up to the top of the tor and watch the sunrise,’ Poppy told him. Chester watched with solemn eyes as she sprang into the saddle and turned her pony towards the gate that led to the moor.
Excited by the prospect of an early morning ride, Cloud danced through the gateposts and up the stony track that meandered lazily around the base of the tor. Poppy squeezed the reins, coaxing him into a walk.
‘Soon,’ she promised him.
They skirted the Riverdale wood, passing a small herd of Dartmoor ponies. A chestnut mare with a skewbald foal at foot looked up and whinnied. Cloud arched his neck and snorted back. Soon the olive-green slope of the tor lay before them, as inviting as a racetrack. Poppy gathered her reins and clicked her tongue. Cloud picked up a canter, his neat grey ears pricked. Poppy urged him faster and he lengthened his stride into a gallop. She didn't need to guide him. After living wild on the moor for so long Cloud was as sure-footed as the native ponies and he raced nimbly past boulders and tussocks, never putting a foot wrong.
By the time they reached the top of the tor there was colour in Poppy's cheeks and a light sheen of sweat on Cloud's neck. She slid off him, flung her arms around his neck and finally let the tears fall.
‘Oh Cloud, I'm going to miss you so much,’ she gulped. He regarded her calmly with his beautiful brown eyes. Poppy buried her face in his mane and sobbed noisily as the sun rose in the forget-me-not blue sky behind her.
Charlie was swinging on the stable door by the time they arrived back at the cottage. He took one look at Poppy's tear-stained face and his eyes widened.
‘What's happened?’
‘Nothing.’ Poppy felt drained. The last thing she needed was an interrogation from her seven-year-old brother. She jumped down and led Cloud towards his stable.
‘Shall I get Mum?’
‘No!’ she snapped. ‘I'm fine. Cloud's fine. We're. Both. Fine.’
‘Well, you look like you've been crying to me,’ he pressed.
Poppy glared at Charlie. She knew she'd get no peace until she told him what was wrong. ‘I was upset because I don't want to say goodbye to Cloud, if you must know.’
‘Upset? Why?’
‘Why do you think? I don't want to leave him.’
Charlie was quiet as he watched Poppy untack her pony. You'd have thought from the tragic look on her face that someone had died. He couldn't understand it. She'd been so excited when she'd found out.
‘Poppy -’ he ventured.
‘What now?’ She spun around and shot him a look that would have sent a lesser soul scurrying for cover. Their dad had always advised him against reasoning with emotional women, but Charlie was nothing if not tenacious. He took a deep breath.
‘I don't understand what all the fuss is about. You're only going for five days.’
OK, so she probably was over-reacting, Poppy reflected as she flung her holdall into the boot of their car and waved goodbye to Charlie and her stepmum Caroline. But she was going to miss Cloud like crazy. She caught her dad's eye in the rear-view mirror as they bumped down the Riverdale drive.
‘All set?’ he asked.
‘I guess so.’
‘I thought you were looking forward to thi
s holiday?’
Poppy had been, but now she wasn't so sure. ‘Look, there's Scarlett,’ she said, changing the subject.
Her best friend was waiting at the bottom of the drive, perched on a tan leather suitcase that looked like a relic from the turn of the century.
‘Great case, Scarlett. Is it vintage?’ asked Poppy's dad, as he heaved it into the boot.
Scarlett cackled. ‘No, just ancient! We never go on holiday and it was the only case Mum could find. It smells of lavender and mothballs, so I think it must have been my granny's. I'm so excited. I didn't sleep a wink last night,’ Scarlett grinned as she slid into the seat beside Poppy.
‘Me neither,’ said Poppy, her grey mood lifted marginally by the sight of Scarlett's freckled face and her best friend's infectious enthusiasm.
‘I wonder what the ponies will be like. I hope I get something a bit fizzy.’ Scarlett's Dartmoor pony Blaze was a safe, steady ride and no amount of oats made a difference to her even temperament.
‘I wish I could have brought Cloud. What if he forgets all about me?’ Poppy brooded. She felt anchorless and unsettled knowing her pony would be so far away. He wouldn't be the first thing she saw every morning when she looked out of her bedroom window. She couldn't slip out of the back door after breakfast and give him her last triangle of toast. The days would seem empty and meaningless without the routine of mucking out, making up feeds, changing water and grooming. Most of all she would miss riding him. Poppy always felt as if she'd come home when she was on Cloud's back. They were a perfect fit.
She rested her forehead against the window and watched mile after endless mile speed by. It was early summer and the motorway verges were lush with new growth. Scarlett hadn't stopped talking since the minute they'd left and Poppy had tuned out long ago. She rolled up her fleece jacket into a makeshift pillow and had just drifted off to sleep when she was woken by the tinny American drawl of the McKeevers' sat nav.
‘In one mile take the next right,’ it instructed.
Scarlett clutched Poppy's thigh. ‘We're nearly there, Poppy! What's the place called again?’
‘Oaklands Trekking Centre,’ Poppy said, batting her friend's hand away. She was suddenly plagued by worry. What if all the other riders were better than her? Scarlett had learnt to ride before she could walk, but Poppy had been riding for less than a year and was still inexperienced. What if everyone else was way older than them and too cool to make friends? But that wouldn't matter, she told herself. She still had Scarlett.
‘What an idiot,’ Poppy's dad tutted, frowning into the rear-view mirror.
A silver saloon with its headlights flashing was a hair's breadth from their bumper.
‘Why doesn't he overtake us if he's in that much of a hurry?’ asked Poppy.
‘Good question,’ said her dad. ‘Some people shouldn't be on the road.’
He eased his foot off the accelerator and pulled over. As the other car passed they stared at the driver, a man in his fifties wearing dark glasses and leather gloves.
‘Old enough to know better,’ Poppy's dad muttered.
‘And he's on the phone!’ shrieked Scarlett. Sure enough, a slim black mobile was tucked between his neck and shoulder.
The car accelerated hard past them with a throaty growl and kicked out a plume of black smoke from its exhaust. Poppy wrinkled her nose as her dad pulled back onto the road.
‘In two hundred metres take the next right,’ the sat nav commanded.
Scarlett was on the edge of her seat. ‘Look, there's the turning!’ she cried.
Poppy felt a flutter of nerves. She looked ahead and froze. Through the dazzling early summer sunshine she could see a blur of black and white. A large animal had bolted from their left and was heading at full pelt for the opposite side of the road.
‘No!’ Poppy screamed. The silver car was still accelerating, heading straight for the careering animal.
Scarlett's hand flew to her mouth. ‘He hasn't seen it. He's going to hit it!’
Just when a collision seemed inevitable there was a screech of brakes and the silver saloon slewed to a halt with centimetres to spare.
Poppy exhaled loudly. ‘That was close.’
‘What on earth was it?’ said her dad.
‘A cow, I think. I'll go and shoo it out of the way.’ Poppy unclipped her seatbelt and scrambled out, squinting into the sun. Before she'd taken more than a couple of steps up the road the silver car had roared off and the animal had disappeared. All that was left of the near disaster were some black skid marks on the tarmac and the smell of burning rubber.
Poppy was looking around in bewilderment when Scarlett joined her.
‘Did you see which way it went?’ she asked her friend.
Scarlett pointed at a blue and white sign, on which the words Oaklands Trekking Centre were painted in large letters. She looked up the long, potholed track behind them. ‘I think it went up there. But I'm not sure it was a cow, Poppy.’
Chapter Two
‘FRANK!’ A woman's voice sliced through the warm air. ‘If you do that ONE MORE TIME there'll be trouble. And that's not a threat, it's a promise!’
Poppy and Scarlett paused at the five bar gate at the end of the driveway and looked at each other uncertainly. Poppy fumbled with the latch and as the gate swung open she saw a woman heading towards them, reading glasses on her forehead and a pencil stuck behind one ear. Following closely behind her was a black Shetland pony with a mischievous glint in his eye. The woman looked flustered but smiled as she held out her hand in greeting.
‘You must be our competition winner. Poppy, isn't it? And Scarlett? I'm Nina Goddard, the owner of Oaklands. Nice to meet you.’
As Poppy shook the woman's hand she noticed a red-brick chalet bungalow opposite an immaculately-swept concrete yard, which was lined with two large weather-boarded barns standing at right angles to each other. Towering over the barns was a massive oak tree, at least twenty metres tall and in full leaf.
Nina set off towards the bungalow, calling over her shoulder, ‘Follow me, girls. Everyone else is already here. We're just about to have lunch then I'll show you your ponies for the week.’
Poppy gave her dad a quick hug.
‘See you both in a few days. Have fun,’ he told them.
‘Oh, we will,’ said Scarlett, still grinning. She grabbed Poppy's arm and began dragging her after Nina. ‘Come on, let's go and meet everyone.’
Poppy's pulse quickened as Nina opened the door to a large lounge and ushered them in. The buzz of conversation petered out and she felt several pairs of eyes swivel in her direction. Her palms felt sticky. She wiped them on her jeans, hoping no-one would notice. She knew she sometimes came across as distant, even aloof. She usually relied on Scarlett to chat enough for them both, but for once her best friend was silent.
‘Hi everyone. This is Scarlett and Poppy, our final two trekkers. I'll let you say hello while I finish off in the kitchen.’ Nina checked her watch. ‘Lunch will be in about ten minutes.’
Poppy gazed around the lounge, registering two large squashy sofas, a scattering of beanbags in bright, primary colours and a widescreen television fixed to the wall. And faces. Lots of faces.
She remembered the advice her stepmum Caroline had given her when she'd admitted she was worried about meeting the other trekkers.
‘People love talking about themselves, Poppy. Ask them where they live, what their hobbies are and look like you're interested in their answers, even if you're not. Try not to hide behind your fringe. And remember to smile,’ she had advised. ‘It works every time, I promise.’
Poppy licked her lips, pasted on a smile and took a step forward.
‘Hello, I'm Poppy, and this is Scarlett. We've just driven up from Devon. What about you?’ Her eyes swept around the room again, looking for a friendly face. Her gaze settled on a stunningly pretty girl, who was lounging on an orange beanbag. A couple of years older than Poppy and Scarlett, she was enviably tall and slim.
‘I'm California. Cally for short.’ Cally gestured airily to the girl sitting next to her. ‘This is Chloe. And that's Jack and his little sister Jess.’ The others murmured hellos but Poppy was too overwhelmed to take in either their names or faces.
Cally flicked her long blonde fringe away from her face. She had clear, glowing skin, perfectly straight teeth and eyes that were neither blue nor grey but a blend of both. It was the kind of face that graced the covers of teen magazines. Poppy thought back to that morning, when she'd gazed critically at her own reflection in the bathroom mirror as she'd brushed her teeth. Sludge green eyes, pale skin that flushed at all the wrong moments, a heart-shaped face and shoulder-length brown hair that Poppy called mousey but Caroline assured her was caramel. Oh, and a globule of toothpaste on her chin. She rubbed the spot self-consciously and made herself speak.
‘California. That's an unusual name.’
Cally looked bored. Poppy realised she must get told this all the time and felt her cheeks redden.
‘You could say. I've got my dippy mother to thank. It's because she's always wanted to go there. Fat chance.’
Scarlett, still speechless, was looking at the older girl with something approaching awe. Poppy elbowed her in the ribs. She shook her head as if she was coming out of a trance.
‘I think it's an amazing name. So unusual. I've never been to America. In fact I've never been anywhere. The only time we ever leave the farm is to visit all our ancient relatives, which is so boring. That's why I was so excited when Poppy won the riding holiday.’
‘You won the holiday?’ said a stocky boy. He pointed the television remote control at her accusingly. ‘How?’
To her horror Poppy found she was the centre of attention again. ‘It was a short story competition,’ she said. ‘I've never won anything before. It was a complete surprise,’ she added, remembering to smile.