‘Oh, sorry!’ gasped Emma. She passed it to Bryony, who undid the ribbon and carefully tipped out a small silver locket, which sparkled brightly in the palm of her hand.
Bryony opened the locket and, deep in thought, gazed at the contents for a moment. Then she turned it around for Emma to see too.
‘My dad,’ said Bryony, pointing to a picture on one side of the opened-out heart. The opposite heart had a tiny lock of hair safely encased behind the glass. Bryony remembered Dad’s curls, the same shade as hers. And his hair had been every bit as unruly too.
When she next spoke, Bryony’s voice was quiet.
‘This is my biggest treasure,’ she said. ‘I wear it when I need good luck.’
‘Will you wear it tomorrow to the fête?’ asked Emma.
‘Yes. I’ve never needed more luck than I will tomorrow.’
Carefully nestling the locket back away, Bryony slipped the pouch under her pillow. It was getting late, so the girls got into their pyjamas and settled down for the night, Bryony in her bed and Emma in a sleeping bag on the floor beside it.
As Bryony closed her eyes, she felt nervous but excited. Tomorrow was a very big day. She had to sell and sell and sell to even be in with the smallest chance of affording Red . . .
Hours later, as Emma snored softly, Bryony was still tossing and turning. Something had only just occurred to her. Something that made her feel sick.
As well as the usual locals, the fête would bring in other people too – lots of visitors from outside. All the more to discover that ‘Pony For Sale!’ ad in the post office.
It would only take one of them to decide to buy Red, and Bryony’s dream would be over . . .
Mum dropped the girls off at Gardener’s Cottage an hour before the fête was due to start. The Brooks had stipulated that no one was allowed to ‘jam up their front drive with vehicles’, saying that instead they must park on the lane outside the Manor and unload their cars from there.
Bryony’s mum had intended to do that until Emma’s dad had pointed out that he lived on that land too, and she was more than welcome to stop at his cottage for the girls to unload.
They had arrived in plenty of time to display all their competition entries, and set out their stall nice and neatly. Bryony longed to nip and see Red first. She’d been missing him so much! And he was so close, yet it felt like he was a million miles away.
‘Do you think I could just say hello?’ she asked Mum. ‘Just for one minute – I’d be quick!’
Mum shook her head. ‘Best not, love,’ she said. ‘Just stick to the plan, stay focused and try to stay calm around Georgina.’
Bryony sighed. Mum was probably right. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I just really, really miss him!’
Mum stayed by the car to look after the cat as the girls unloaded their boxes of sale goods and took them along to their stall.
‘Smart kitty!’ cooed Mum and Blueberry glared. Behind his very sweet-smelling right ear (and making it constantly twitch!) was the huge lilac bow, firmly back in place after yesterday’s dress rehearsal.
‘I do hope he cheers up, though,’ grumbled Bryony as she and Emma headed off.
‘I’m sure he will!’ Emma replied optimistically.
They followed the pathway down from the cottage which brought them out on the Manor’s smooth back lawns.
‘Wow . . .’ gasped Bryony. Emma’s dad had worked so hard. The lawns, freshly mown, looked as smooth as velvet. And the shrubs and flowers were at their very best – not a twig, not a petal out of place. He’d had Will to look after all week too, more than happy for Emma to off go and help Bryony with the competitions.
‘The locals do love the fête,’ Emma said. ‘And as you can see, they also like to decorate . . .’
There was handmade bunting draped from tree to tree, and there were neat bunches of balloons everywhere!
The girls unpacked their bits to sell and arranged them neatly on their stall. As they did, Bryony noticed some familiar villagers setting up their stalls and games too.
Abi, the riding instructor from Seaview Stables, was running the coconut shy. Next door was the Fish-a-Dish-Hoop-La stall run by Saul Salmon the fishmonger. Emma said if you hooped five or more rubber fish standing upright in little yellow buckets, you’d win a free fish supper in a pretty pottery dish.
There was also a traditional skittle ally run by someone Bryony didn’t know (yet!). And in the centre of the games a striped wooden helter-skelter twirled up into the cloudless blue sky, and Cabbage Patch Charlie stood ready to man the mats.
Further down the lawns were two huge white marquees surrounded by a huddle of smaller ones. They reminded Bryony of a flock of snow-white swans!
‘One of those bigger marquees,’ explained Emma, ‘is the competition tent. It’s where our entries will be displayed and judged, and where the pet show happens too.’
‘And the other one?’ asked Bryony.
‘Oh, that’s the food tent,’ replied Emma.
Outside it Bryony saw a couple of girls she’d met from Seaview Stables the day she’d taken Red to the beach.
‘Hi!’ Alice called, and Bryony remembered that she rode the pretty palomino. And the other girl, Hari, who had been on the Welsh Connemara cross, waved.
‘Hi!’ Bryony waved back to them, smiling. But even as she did she thought again of Red. He’d love to be friends with their ponies if only he were hers . . .
‘Oh, and see that coloured marquee?’ Emma said. ‘Now that’s for Mademoiselle Oiseau!’
She led Bryony towards the only marquee that wasn’t white, but a mysterious teal blue. It was painted all over with little gold stars and on the top fluttered a pale purple flag. A large sign in the shape of a crystal ball stood just outside its entrance. It was entwined with ivy and Bryony read it:
‘Mademoiselle Oiseau?’ said Bryony. ‘Hang on a minute, doesn’t “Oiseau” mean “bird” in French?’
‘Yep!’ grinned Emma. ‘That’s Miss Pigeon’s fortune-telling tent!’
Bryony grinned too. ‘Do you think she makes them up? Her “all-seeing” predictions, I mean.’
‘Well . . .’ replied Emma thoughtfully. ‘She does get some things right. Like she predicted at the Christmas Eve fête that it would snow on Christmas Day – and it did!’
Emma, Bryony saw, looked rather impressed. But Bryony couldn’t help thinking that Mademoiselle Oiseau only had to check the weather forecast to have known that!
The smaller marquees had various crafty things for sale, or demonstrations of woodturning, weaving or pottery. There was certainly going to be lots going on.
Now that the girls’ stall was set up, they hurried back to the car to get their competition entries. Then they took them along together to the judging marquee.
Inside it was ever so busy, with serious-looking people putting out their things and secretly eyeing up the competition.
Bryony and Emma started to set out their entries, and arrange them as neatly as they could. Each item had a card with a number on too and a description of what they had made.
As Bryony was popping the final card on their scare-crow, she spotted Georgina Brook. Bryony bristled, but it was bound to happen sooner or later.
Georgina was setting out her ‘Afternoon Tea’ entry but she was not alone. Fussing round her were three girls, all in expensive-looking clothes. Bryony pointed them out to Emma.
‘They’re from her posh school,’ Emma whispered. ‘Not friends. Just girls who hang on to her on fête day because it’s at her house.’
Georgina must love hangers-on, thought Bryony. She seemed really comfortable playing the princess and lording it over them. She was pointing, and seemed to be telling them exactly how her cakes were to be displayed.
With that, Georgina spotted Bryony too, and her lips curled into a smirk.
‘Oh, look!’ called Georgina. ‘It’s Little Miss Too POOR to Buy a Pony of her Own!’
‘Well, at least I’m not a—’
/> ‘Bryony . . .’ Emma whispered nervously. ‘Remember what your mum said. Stay calm . . .’
‘Fine.’ Bryony took a big, deep breath, willing herself not to be riled. But the fête hadn’t even started yet and already Georgina knew just how to wind her up!
They carried on arranging their competition things. Then Bryony gave their crow one final fluff up as it sat beside a brilliant traditional-looking scarecrow in dungarees and a big straw hat.
‘All done, then!’ said Emma, whisking Bryony back outside.
Bryony was still fuming about Georgina but the phrase that kept going round in her head was pony of her own.
Georgina’s words had made Bryony want to see Red more than ever. Maybe she could nip there now? But then . . .
‘Time to get Berry!’ Emma said, starting off across the grass. ‘Come on, Bry,’
‘Okay,’ sighed Bryony. ‘But I hope Mr Grumpkins is in a better mood, that’s all!’
Back at Gardener’s Cottage, Bryony’s mum was talking to Emma’s dad out in the sunny garden. She was pointing at his beautiful hollyhocks lining the crooked path when suddenly it struck Bryony that both of them had flowers in common. She briefly wondered if he might know of a shop that Mum could maybe rent in town. If and when, of course, she felt ready . . .
Will was with them too, wearing a most unusual costume. It consisted of huge green crêpe-paper leaves Will had used his handspan as a template for. On his head was a bright red bobble hat, with other red bobbles sellotaped along his leafy arms.
The girls, who were going to be busy on their stall, weren’t entering the fancy dress. Will had offered to do that for them, and give any prize money he might win to Bryony.
‘He’s meant to be a giant tomato plant!’ whispered Emma. ‘Just in case you were wondering, Bry.’
‘Ah . . .’ smiled Bryony. ‘I can see it now! Hey, Will!’ she called over as they reached the garden gate. ‘I really like your costume!’
‘Thanks!’ Will cried, flashing a big gappy smile.
Bryony thought Emma’s little brother was great, and her dad was too. Mr Lawrence had sandy yellow hair and was very calm and kind. And although the Brooks kept him terribly busy, he always made time for everyone.
Bryony would hate being gardener here as the place always had to look ‘perfect’. Emma had told Bryony during one of their sleepovers that Arabella Brook, though very polite, was also very particular. If she had her way Emma’s dad would be working day and night!
As for Austin Brook, Georgina’s father, he was a lawyer and worked away a fair bit. When he was home, though, according to Emma, he was mostly snappy and didn’t like to be disturbed.
Bryony suspected that the Brooks didn’t pay Mr Lawrence that much either. She knew that Gardener’s Cottage came free with the job, and wouldn’t be surprised if the Brooks thought that this was enough! Emma didn’t seem to have many different outfits but Mr Lawrence had noticeably fewer. He mostly wore old linen shirts and blue faded trousers. And occasionally he was seen in a threadbare olive-coloured jacket.
‘Mum, where’s Berry?’ Bryony suddenly asked. They’d left him in his carry-case in the shade of the oak tree but it had now disappeared off the grass.
‘Oh, no!’ gasped Bryony, suddenly remembering little Arthur. Berry was a devil for not exactly chasing birds (as he was too lazy to chase anything), but he was very good at lying in wait and then he had a mean left hook! She quickly scanned the ground for stray feathers and any other evidence of a scrap.
‘Don’t worry, Bry!’ said Mum. ‘Mr Lawrence took Berry into the cottage to stay cool. And we gave him some cream – which he loved!’
Bryony breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Phew!’
Mr Lawrence went to get him. ‘There you go,’ he said, passing the carry-case back to Bryony.
She checked. Berry was snoring loudly, blobs of cream, like hailstones, dotted round his whiskers – greedy guts!
The pets were judged as soon as the fête opened. Then Mum and the other pet owners could take their little darlings home. The last thing the Brooks wanted was a riot in their spotless garden!
Bryony walked with Emma and Will to the stall, then carried on with Berry to the judging tent. On her way, however, she couldn’t resist taking a really quick detour to the stables. Just one tiny peep at Red was all she wanted. Just a peep!
They were almost there when, out of the blue, Berry started to yowl most unhelpfully.
‘Shhh!’ hissed Bryony. Did he have to do that now? What was making him cry out like this? Then she remembered. Cream! It occasionally made his tummy a bit dodgy. Mum must have forgotten.
‘Oh, dear, you’ll be okay, though,’ Bryony whispered. ‘But, please, shush.’
Scowling, Berry turned his back on her, but at least the yowling stopped. Bryony carried on, rounding the corner into the stables. The yard wasn’t empty, so she ducked back out and peeped around the wall instead.
‘Grrr!’ Bryony huffed under her breath. Georgina Brook and her school posse were there, laughing and pointing into Red’s stable. Bryony could just make out his beautiful ears. They were flat back, which meant he wasn’t happy.
‘Useless!’ Bryony heard Georgina scoff and guessed at once she was talking about Red. How dare she!
Bryony retreated – slowly, and most reluctantly, willing Berry not to yowl. But luckily no one had seen them come or go.
Just then, the village clock struck two. The pet show would be starting any second!
‘Quick!’ gulped Bryony. She’d have to be fast or Berry would be disqualified! She belted back to the judging marquee, arriving just as they were closing the tent flaps.
‘S-sorry!’ panted Bryony, slipping inside. ‘Just in time!’
She made her way carefully across the tent, carry-case held high. Random pet dogs were running wild, chasing their tails, or in the case of two pugs – each other! A twitchy sheepdog was attempting to round them up. And a frog on the loose was croaking very loudly, pursued by three boys with a jam jar!
In his allocated space along a vast trestle table, Bryony swiftly unloaded Berry onto a neat velvet cushion and propped his show-card in front of it. She’d written his details in her very best handwriting . . .
‘Now, please do try to look elegant,’ she whispered to the grumpy cat.
The judge was a lady in a smart country jacket who wore a badge saying:
She marched along the line like a sergeant major, examining the pets one by one. Most of them, Bryony thought, were actually a little bit dull. Timid guinea pigs, sleepy hamsters, and the odd stick insect (which Bryony suspected were just sticks!). And Jed Jenkins, the farmer’s grandson, had brought along a billy goat that did nothing but nibble! It particularly seemed to like the judge’s pencil . . .
‘No!’ barked Mrs Honeywell. ‘Jed Jenkins, kindly stop – um . . . does the goat even have a name?’
‘Goaty McGoatface,’ answered Jed, nodding.
‘Well!’ Mrs Honeywell gave a rather sniffy tut. ‘Stop him chewing!’
Finally she halted at Blueberry Muffin who, to Bryony’s surprise, was sitting aloof and tall. His coat was soft, and he still (just about) smelled of Mr Fluffy’s cat shampoo. Thankfully too, he hadn’t yet ripped off his bow.
Berry let the judge examine him with a glare but no nasty swipes.
‘Very twinkly eyes!’ Mrs Honeywell noted.
Then, when things were going so well, Berry started to hack. And, throwing back his head – ‘Caaaacchhh!’ – coughed out a lumpy grey thing!
It landed – SMACK – between the judge’s eyes and she reeled back, slightly dazed. Time seemed to stand still for a moment now as Bryony willed her not to tumble. ‘Don’t fall . . . don’t fall . . .’ she chanted desperately under her breath.
But it was no good, for . . .
‘Argggh!’ cried Mrs Honeywell, the goat-nibbled pencil flying from her grip. The clipboard went after it, then countless bits of paper – flapping about like crazy white doves! Br
yony closed her eyes, hoping that when she reopened them, things would be back to normal.
But no.
Mrs Honeywell was now flat on the floor under a mountain of paper.
‘Th-that CAT!’ she spluttered. ‘The little horror – it spits!’
‘No!’ Bryony cried. ‘That’s a furball!’
She could feel her ears burning.
‘He didn’t mean to,’ blushed Bryony. ‘It must have been the cream that brought the furball up! I’m so sorry!!’
Bryony could feel hundreds of eyes now fixed squarely on her. She spotted Georgina, who couldn’t have looked more delighted!
‘Kindly take your cat and his . . . furball home!’ Mrs Honeywell now hissed at Bryony. She was peering, cross-eyed, at the hairy grey lump still stuck to the bridge of her nose.
‘And could someone pass me a wet wipe or SOMETHING!’ she bellowed.
Wishing the ground would swallow her up, Bryony bunged Berry into his carry-case and fled outside, back to her mother.
‘How—’ began Mum. But Bryony was in no mood for questions! Dumping a very disgruntled Blueberry, she turned on her heel and disappeared off back to Emma on the stall.
‘So—’
‘Don’t even ask, Em!!’ Bryony puffed, still red and completely mortified.
‘Oh, dear,’ gulped Emma quietly.
‘Yep,’ Bryony groaned.
But the good thing, Bryony now saw, was that their stall was very busy. The girls had been cunning with their pricing and it looked to be working too. They had priced a few key things very cheaply to get the crowds hooked in, so that they’d be tempted with things that were a lot more expensive.
They both proved excellent sellers too, and were – for quite a while – flat out! Finally, when it got a tiny bit quieter, Emma slipped off and returned with two ice creams.
She passed one to Bryony.
‘Thanks!!’ Bryony cried.
‘It’s only an ice cream!’ grinned Emma.
‘No, not for the ice cream,’ Bryony smiled. ‘Although strawberry does happen to be my favourite! No, I meant for everything you’ve done since I got here.’
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