by Amanda Wills
She tied Cloud and Chester to the fence behind their car and gave them the haynets she'd filled earlier. Satisfied they were happy chomping away, she helped Caroline put the finishing touches to their stall.
‘Have you decided who you're raising money for yet?’ Caroline asked.
‘Either the PTA or Charlie's tent fund, I suppose,’ she said, although she had little interest in either. She'd never attended Waterby Primary as they'd moved to Dartmoor when she was eleven. Her old primary school was miles away in Twickenham. And she would rather pull out her own fingernails one by one than join Charlie and his fellow Cubs for a night under canvas, even if the tent didn't leak.
She gave the handle of the tombola drum a hefty crank, imagining all the folded raffle tickets somersaulting inside like popcorn in a microwave. Her gaze wandered to the empty space next to their stall.
‘Who's supposed to be there?’
‘Some animal rescue charity, according to Pat.’ Caroline checked her watch. ‘But they need to get a shift on. The fete opens in fifteen minutes.’
As she spoke an ancient Land Rover came flying into the field. It narrowly missed the Methodist ladies' cake stand and drove straight over a couple of the guy ropes on the bunting-clad tea tent. It finally came to an abrupt halt in front of the McKeevers' stall. A blonde girl in her early twenties in cut-off denim shorts and a red tee-shirt leapt out and slammed the door shut behind her.
‘Is that for me?’ she said without preamble, pointing to the space beside them.
Caroline stepped forward, a smile on her face. ‘Yes. Do you need a hand setting up? Poppy and I can help, can't we Poppy?’
Poppy, who had picked up a box of after dinner mints and was pretending to read the list of ingredients, shot her stepmother a mutinous look. ‘I need to go and get ready.’
‘Nonsense. You can spare ten minutes.’
Inside the back of the Land Rover was a long trestle table and several tall display panels.
‘Pat said you're from an animal rescue charity,’ said Caroline.
‘Nethercote Horse Rescue,’ corrected the girl, pointing at the logo on her tee-shirt.
‘We'll help you unload,’ Caroline told her. But the girl shook her head.
‘I can manage.’
Ignoring her, Caroline nodded to Poppy to take one end of the top display panel. As they opened it up Poppy almost dropped it in shock. A huge photograph pinned to the royal blue panel showed a skeletal skewbald mare. She was so thin Poppy could count every rib. Her sunken flanks were covered in angry red sores, her head drooped listlessly and her eyes were dull. She looked hours away from death.
‘That's Kirsty. She was skin and bone when she came to us. She was riddled with worms and had infections in both her eyes. Our vet said she'd never pull through.’ The blonde girl's voice was matter-of-fact. She opened another fold of the display panel. ‘That photo was taken last week.’
Poppy shook her head. She couldn't believe the plump mare standing proudly in a field, her skewbald coat glossy and her eyes bright with life, was the same horse.
‘That's incredible.’
The girl dipped her head in acknowledgement. ‘I think so.’
Charlie appeared, his face painted like a Ninja warrior, the woollen donkey tail clutched in his hand. He looked the blonde girl up and down. ‘Who are you?’
‘Jodie Morgan. Who are you?’
‘Charlie McKeever. And that's my sister Poppy. But be very careful. She got out of bed the wrong side this morning.’
Poppy glared at Charlie, who raced back out of their gazebo holding the tail in the air like a pennant. Sometimes he was so embarrassing.
She helped Jodie unload the rest of the panels. Before and after photos of horses and ponies were pinned to each section, with handwritten stories alongside each one. In one of the pictures a horse had overgrown hooves so long they curled up like Aladdin's slippers. Others had matted coats, hollow necks and bony rumps. Poppy had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. How could anyone treat an animal so badly? It was beyond belief.
‘Some people complain our photos are too graphic and say we shouldn't use them because they upset people.’ Jodie gave a derisory snort. ‘I don't care. You can't sweep cruelty and neglect under the carpet. These pictures need to be seen. What do you think?’
Taken aback by her directness, Poppy glanced towards Caroline. But her stepmum was deep in conversation with the woman running the face-painting stand.
‘They are shocking,’ she said. ‘But I agree with you. People should know it goes on. And maybe it'll help with donations.’
Jodie's lips thinned. ‘If only. People have absolutely no idea how much it costs to run Nethercote. They seem to think I can feed the horses on thin air.’
Charlie re-appeared. ‘It's one minute to ten, Poppy!’ he cried. ‘You need to start the pony rides.’
‘Pony rides?’ Jodie asked.
‘My pony Cloud is over there with our donkey Chester.’
Chester's long brown ears had flopped forward as he dozed but Cloud was looking around with interest as fete-goers began streaming into the field.
‘Did you say Cloud?’ Jodie said.
Poppy nodded, wondering why the older girl was staring at the Connemara as if she'd seen a ghost. Then she had an idea. ‘I was going to raise money for new tents but I'd much rather give the money to help your horses. It might not be much, but anything is better than nothing, right?’
Jodie dragged her eyes away from Cloud. ‘Yes,’ she echoed faintly. ‘Anything is better than nothing.’
The next two hours passed in a blur of shortening and lengthening stirrup leathers, giving leg-ups and leading young riders up and down the length of the field as proud parents snapped away on their mobile phones. Poppy had been worried how Cloud would react to the swarms of people but he was basking in all the attention, standing patiently as he was stroked and petted, taking the Polos and tufts of grass proffered on countless sticky palms so gently that Poppy's heart swelled with love. Chester was an old hand at village events and when Poppy hit on the idea of charging fifty pence for the privilege of having a selfie with the donkey an orderly queue quickly formed.
Halfway through the morning Jodie appeared with a plastic cup of lukewarm orange squash.
‘Your mum sent me over with a drink. And you can put this on if you like,’ Jodie said, handing Poppy a red tee-shirt that matched her own.
Poppy pulled the tee-shirt over her head and smiled. ‘I reckon I've made about fifty pounds already.’
‘Wish I could say the same. People are so tight they won't even fork out the price of a cup of coffee.’ Jodie rubbed Cloud's forehead and he snuffled at the pocket of her shorts. She looked as if she was about to say something else, then thought better of it. She patted him on the neck and smiled briefly at Poppy. ‘Anyway, gotta go.’
By two o'clock the queue of children waiting for a ride had dwindled to nothing. Poppy left Cloud tied up next to Chester and went in search of Caroline. Charlie charged through the crowd towards her, shaking an old biscuit tin heavy with loose change.
‘I've made millions!’ he said. ‘Enough to buy ten tents, I reckon.’
‘I've made lots, too. I was going to have a count up and give the money to Jodie before I take Cloud and Chester home.’
‘She's gone.’
‘You're joking.’
‘Nope. She told us it was a waste of time and she'd have been better off staying at home.’
Poppy jiggled the coins in her pocket. ‘How am I supposed to get all this money to her?’
Charlie shrugged. ‘Ask Mum.’
Poppy found Caroline at their stall wrestling with the trestle table.
‘I was just about to come and find you. Are you all done?’
‘Done in, more like. I'm shattered. You have no idea how tiring giving pony rides is.’ Poppy collapsed on the ground. ‘And Charlie said Jodie's already gone.’
‘She had to get back for the ho
rses. I said we'd drive over tomorrow. There's a map on the back of the leaflet she was giving out.’ Caroline pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of her jeans. On the front was a picture of Kirsty the pretty skewbald mare looking inquisitively over her stable door. Inside were some of the before and after photos Jodie had used on her display board and on the back of the leaflet was a map.
‘It's really close,’ Poppy said, surprised. Nethercote was half way between Waterby and Princetown. In fact she and Cloud must have ridden pretty close the day before. And yet until today she'd had no idea the horse rescue sanctuary even existed.
Chapter Three
The sanctuary was at the end of a long and windy track flanked by fields of black-faced sheep. Nethercote itself was a squat stone farmhouse with a slate roof and incongruously tall chimneys. Ivy crept up the walls and net curtains blocked the view into every window, giving the house a shuttered look. As Caroline parked the car Poppy noticed a small sign pointing around the side of the house.
‘It says the rescue centre is this way.’
Poppy led Caroline and Charlie through a gate and into a wide strip of concrete sandwiched between two long rows of whitewashed stables that looked as if they had once been cow byres. On the wall by a door to what Poppy presumed was the feed room was a bell with a sign above, Please ring for attention. She gave the bell pull a tentative tug and jumped a foot in the air when Jodie appeared over the nearest stable door and barked, ‘Who is it?’
‘Only us,’ Caroline said.
The scowl on the older girl's face lifted fractionally. ‘Sorry,’ she said, pushing the stable door open. ‘People think that because we're an animal sanctuary they have the right to just turn up on the doorstep any time they like.’
Poppy fingered the small brown envelope in her pocket. ‘We've brought the money we raised yesterday,’ she said.
Jodie wiped her hands on her shorts. ‘Thanks.’
Charlie, who had been walking up the line of empty stables peering into each one, fixed his cerulean blue eyes on Jodie and said, ‘Can we have a tour?’
Caroline smiled apologetically. ‘I'm sorry about my son. He has no manners. We can see you're busy. Perhaps we'll pop by another day.’
Jodie checked her watch. ‘No, you're OK. I've got time to give you a quick tour. Show you where your money will go.’
‘I'd love to meet Kirsty,’ Poppy said shyly.
‘Kirsty's gone, I'm afraid,’ Jodie said.
‘Oh, no! What happened to her?’
‘Not gone gone. I mean gone from here. She was put up for adoption in the spring. She's gone to live with a family near Taunton. She's settled in really well.’
‘That's good,’ Poppy said, relieved that the skewbald mare was still enjoying life after the cruelty and neglect she'd endured.
‘We run an adoption scheme, otherwise we'd never be able to take on any more horses,’ Jodie said.
‘How does that work?’ Charlie asked, looking around with interest.
Caroline sighed. ‘Don't get any ideas, Charlie. We haven't got room for any more animals.’
‘I was just asking,’ Charlie said indignantly, then flashed a grin at Jodie. ‘We've already rescued our dog Freddie. We gave Chester a home when Tory couldn't look after him any more. And I suppose we sort of rescued Cloud. Dad says Riverdale's turning into a home for waifs and strays.’
Jodie finally smiled. ‘Good for you. Why buy an animal when so many desperately need new homes?’ She beckoned them to follow her to the fields at the end of the two rows of stables, where more than a dozen horses and ponies grazed, dozed in the sun or stood head to tail, swishing flies.
‘Once a horse or pony has fully recovered they go up for adoption and I put their details on our website. New homes are vetted and if everything is OK they have the horse on permanent loan, with the understanding that should the horse need to come back for any reason, they'll always have a place at Nethercote.’
Poppy gazed at the horses. An idea was forming in her mind. ‘Who's up for adoption at the moment,’ she asked.
‘Percy. He's the Welsh Section A over there,’ said Jodie, pointing to a cheeky-looking grey gelding with a bushy mane and a pink nose. ‘He's available as a companion. And Mr Darcy. I called him that because he's tall, dark and handsome.’ They followed Jodie's gaze to a dark bay thoroughbred gelding who was grazing next to a swaybacked chestnut mare. ‘He has a touch of arthritis so can only do light work.’
‘You haven't got any between fourteen and fifteen hands?’ Poppy said hopefully.
Charlie gaped at her. ‘You don't need another pony. You've got Cloud!’
‘Not for me, you twit. I was thinking of Scarlett. She's my best friend,’ Poppy explained, ignoring the fact that Scarlett hadn't spoken to her for a whole forty eight hours, the longest time they'd ever fallen out. ‘She lives on the farm next door to us. She's almost outgrown her pony but her parents can't afford to buy her a new one. I was wondering if you had anything that she could adopt.’
Jodie leant on the fence and stared at her disparate herd of horses and ponies. ‘Is she a good rider?’
‘Really good. She's been riding since she was two.’
‘She lives on a farm, you say?’
Poppy nodded. ‘They've got loads of lovely grazing and a spare stable and whoever came would have two Dartmoor ponies for company.’
‘There is someone who might fit the bill.’
Jodie whistled and a rangy chestnut gelding lifted his head and trotted over. He gave Jodie a gentle butt and she scratched his ear affectionately.
‘This is Red. He was born at Nethercote. We didn't realise his dam was in foal at first. Unfortunately we lost her the night he was born and I had to hand rear him. I started breaking him this spring. He's coming on well but he needs to go to a really experienced home.’
Poppy knew Scarlett would fall in love with the chestnut gelding the minute she saw him. He was a couple of inches bigger than Cloud and had a flaxen mane and tail, four white socks, an extra daub of white on his nose and kind eyes. Poppy imagined Red and Cloud cantering along a moorland track together, matching each other stride for stride. He was absolutely perfect.
‘She would have to come and see him first,’ said Jodie. ‘I only let horses go if I'm satisfied they are a good match with their new guardian.’
‘That won't be a problem,’ Poppy said. ‘I'll speak to her when I get home.’
‘Do you get upset when the horses go to their new homes?’ Charlie asked.
‘Can't afford to. A job like this toughens you up.’
‘He's sweet,’ said Caroline, pointing to an appaloosa pony who was lying down in the sun.
‘He looks like he's been out in a snowstorm,’ said Charlie.
He was right, Poppy thought. The white spots on the pony's chestnut back looked like snowflakes.
‘That's Biscuit. All the horses here have a story to tell, but his is probably the most incredible. If you read about it in a book you wouldn't believe it,’ said Jodie. ‘He was found by the RSPCA tethered to railings on top of a tower block of flats in the Midlands.’
‘I remember that!’ Caroline said. ‘I saw it on the news. They had to airlift him down by helicopter, didn't they?’
‘That's right. The lift was broken and they thought it would be less traumatic for him to be winched down by helicopter than to be carried down the twenty seven flights of stairs.’
Charlie was staring at Biscuit with his mouth open. ‘He lived on top of the building?’
Jodie nodded. ‘No-one knows for sure how long he'd been up there. And no-one was ever prosecuted. Neither the RSPCA nor the police could prove who he belonged to. He'd been kept alive on vegetable peelings, scraps of bread and rainwater. He was pretty thin and had terrible rain scald when he came to us.’
Poppy couldn't imagine what life must have been like for Biscuit, living on his own on top of a tower block, with sheer drops in every direction, at the mercy of the elemen
ts.
‘That's awful. How was he found?’
‘A new tenant moved in and tipped off the RSPCA. The inspector told me their call centre didn't believe him at first and they almost dismissed it as a prank call. Luckily for Biscuit someone decided to check it out.’
‘He looks pretty content now,’ said Caroline. Biscuit yawned, showing a row of yellow teeth, and collapsed, asleep, in the daisies.
Jodie smiled. ‘He is the most chilled out pony I have ever known. Sometimes, when things get on top of me and I fantasise about walking away from it all, I look at Biscuit and remember what all the blood, sweat and tears are for. He keeps me going.’
‘Do you run the centre on your own?’ Poppy asked.
Jodie gazed at Biscuit's snowflake-splotched flanks gently rising and falling. Poppy was shocked to see a look of bitterness darken her features, but the expression was so fleeting she wondered if she'd imagined it.
‘This is my dad's dream, not mine,’ Jodie said eventually.
‘So he helps you with the horses?’
‘He would if he could,’ Jodie conceded. ‘But he's away at the moment.’
‘Our dad's always away, too. He works for the BBC,’ said Charlie. ‘What does your dad do?’
Jodie bent down to pick a handful of grass for a bay mare who had wandered over to say hello. ‘He runs a small import business. Mobile phones, mainly.’
Caroline looked impressed. ‘Mobiles are big business. He must be doing well.’
‘Not really. It's a very confined market where he is. In more ways than one,’ she muttered.
Poppy remembered the envelope in her pocket.
‘Here's the money we made yesterday. I hope it helps a little bit.’
The older girl gave the ghost of a smile. ‘It'll keep the wolf from the door for a few days.’