Bryony was really grateful to Emma, who had nothing to gain from all this. Emma was such a good friend, someone she could count on. Not like Josh.
Across the grass, Bryony could see her brother’s new gang making their way to the coconut shy. Dan Artt was in front – obviously – in his on-trend black hoodie and trainers. And for the fête he’d done his hair in a stupid gelled-up quiff!
Dartt was the master of swagger. Skulking in the shadows wasn’t for him. No, that was the job of ‘the others’, who were sloping just behind. There were three of them, built like gorillas, with deep thunderous glares on their faces. Finally, bringing up the rear, was her brother. He was walking a step or two behind the others like he didn’t quite fit in. And he looked more like a meerkat than a gorilla, being much weedier than the rest. Occasionally he appeared to forget to ‘slope’ too, but then he’d remember and quickly jump back in line.
Bryony hadn’t the foggiest idea why Josh would hang out with these boys. She’d once wondered if he was missing his old rugby friends and was trying to use Dartt’s gang to replace them. Or had she been too busy recently looking after Red to hang about with her brother like she used to?
Bryony couldn’t bear the thought that she’d driven her brother to this gang. For it was clear, even to her (after only being around a few weeks), that things always seemed to happen, or go missing, whenever Dan Artt was about. Smashed windows, broken fences, swings torn off their hinges were often left in his wake. Of course, though, it was never Dan. He always seemed to have an excuse. Why dirty his hands when he had minions, like Josh, to do his dirty work for him?
‘How much for that?’
‘HEY!’ came a voice. ‘How much for that, I said!’
‘What?’ Bryony was jerked back to reality by the cold sharp glare of Georgina. She was flanked by her schoolmates, all glaring at Bryony too.
‘That locket!’ Georgina pointed.
‘N-no, that’s—’ stuttered Emma.
‘I’m not talking to you!’ snapped Georgina.
Bryony’s hand shot to the locket catching the sun around her neck. The locket that held her dad close to her heart . . .
‘It’s not for sale,’ Bryony answered flatly, matching Georgina’s glare.
‘Oooooooooh!’ heckled Georgina’s well-dressed posse.
‘It is if I say so!’ snapped Georgina. Her white-blonde hair was shimmering and her porcelain face quite perfect. She stood there like one of the tall white foxgloves, beautiful but deadly.
‘Give it to me!’
Bryony stepped back. Then gathering herself, stepped forward again. She didn’t want Georgina to sense how nervous she felt.
They stood like an untouched game of chess. Firm and square, waiting for battle.
‘I won’t,’ said Bryony. ‘It’s my locket. And some things are not for sale.’
‘Huh!’ Georgina shouted. ‘Then I’ll take it!’
Before Bryony could dodge away, Georgina shoved Bryony’s hand off the locket and ripped it clean off her neck.
‘You—’ Bryony lunged at her, yelling wildly. But her cries were drowned out by the uproarious laughter coming from Georgina’s little gang.
The table was in the way, blocking Bryony from Georgina and the locket, which was now firmly in Georgina’s grip. With a smirk of victory, Georgina turned to leave. But suddenly something came flying through the air and – splat!!
Bryony blinked, trying to take in the scene. Georgina had stopped in her tracks and her beautiful blonde hair, which a moment ago had hung down her back like shimmering silk, was splattered in green ice cream with small brown sprinkles.
‘M-mint choc chip!’ Emma stuttered nervously, just about standing her ground.
Finally she’d managed to summon the courage to stand up to Georgina. But Emma had gone very pale and was shaking wildly.
‘How DARE—’ In the moment the ice cream had hit, Georgina – in shock – had dropped the locket which had landed on the grass near the stall. Bryony flew to snatch it up, but another hand just beat her to it.
‘Here, Bry.’ Josh stood back up and passed the locket to his sister. ‘And I’ll make sure we’ll fix the catch as well, don’t worry.’
‘Oi! What you doing?’ came a furious voice, and Dartt marched up, seething. He’d been watching the action from the coconut shy with his three thuggish mates.
‘Why stop a good fight – you loser?!’ Dartt spat, punching Josh hard on the shoulder.
‘What is it, anyway?’ Dartt looked at the locket glistening in Bryony’s palm.
‘Silver,’ he smirked. He held out a beefy hand. ‘Let’s have it, then.’
Bryony’s fingers snapped around the locket.
‘I had it first!’ Georgina rounded on Dartt.
‘Yeah?’ glowered Dartt.
‘Yes!’ thundered Georgina. ‘And this is my land so what I say goes!’
As Dartt and Georgina weighed each other up, Dartt clicked his fingers, glancing at Josh. ‘The locket – get it – now!’
Bryony’s eyes met her brother’s. What was he going to do? Side with Dartt and get off without bruises, or side with Bryony and make an enemy of Dan Artt?
‘That,’ answered Josh, looking squarely at Dartt, ‘belongs to my sister, and no one else.’
‘Enough!’ Georgina cried, her nose in the air. ‘I demand that, that . . . you leave my property. Or I’ll have you thrown out, ALL of you!’
Bryony could see people starting to look across. Dartt suddenly seemed aware of them too and shuffled, looking a bit shifty.
‘Huh! Who wants to stay, anyway?’ he snarled, barging Georgina out of the way.
‘And you!’ Dartt spun round to look at Josh now. ‘Traitor. You’ll be sorry.’
Dartt marched off, and a second later Georgina flounced away too. She smelled strongly of mint and left a trail of sticky drips behind her.
The three girls from her school suddenly looked most relieved to be finally rid of her.
‘Okay, helter-skelter time!’ beamed one. ‘Now she’s gone we can do as we like!’ And turning around, they skipped off giggling brightly.
Bryony slipped the locket into her jeans’ pocket.
‘D-do you think Georgina will get us thrown out?’ Emma asked nervously.
‘No,’ replied Bryony. ‘You live here too. But I expect that, after she washes her hair, there’ll be payback.’
Josh was quiet. He caught Bryony’s eye and put the hood of his sweatshirt down.
‘About these last few weeks,’ he mumbled. ‘I didn’t mean . . . it was just . . . well, sorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Bryony. ‘I know it’s been hard. Starting in a new place, and leaving everyone behind and missing, well . . .’ Bryony stopped and bit her lip.
‘Dad,’ said Josh softly. ‘Yeah, you’re right. It has.’
The stall had got noticeably quieter now, probably because of the argument. Josh offered to mind it for a bit if the girls wanted to have a break. Emma was keen to go and watch Will in the fancy dress parade at four o’clock and asked Bryony if she wanted to go too.
‘Um, you go on and I’ll find you in a bit,’ replied Bryony, slightly distracted. In the distance she’d just spotted a fluttering purple flag.
‘Hmm,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘I wonder . . .’
*
‘Ahh, you came!’ said a cheery voice trying to sound deep and mystical. ‘ ’Course, I knew you would!’ Mademoiselle Oiseau grinned. ‘Come – sit!’
The fortune-telling tent was humid and dark, and it smelled of the post office in town. That was because the post office and this tent had one thing in common – Miss Pigeon!
Bryony battled through a maze of net curtains to the centre of the mystical labyrinth. And there, on a deep green velvet armchair sat Miss Pigeon, dressed up as Mademoiselle Oiseau.
Her fortune-telling clothes were really over the top. And Bryony, despite her current flat mood, found – to her surprise – that she n
ow had to hold in a giggle.
Miss Pigeon was wearing a long, curly black wig with a sequinned shawl tied around her head. She had big, hooped earrings in her wrinkled ears and wore dozens of bracelets which jangled every time she moved.
On the low table in front of her sat a large crystal ball. Beside it was a small flowery teapot and an assortment of mismatched bone china teacups and saucers.
Bryony knelt down on a squashy purple floor-cushion and paid her one pound seventy-five. The tent, she noticed, was lit with a number of battery-operated candles and tea lights. When Mademoiselle Oiseau saw her looking at them she shook her mystical head.
‘Huh! Real ones aren’t allowed,’ she huffed crossly. ‘Health and safety!’
Bryony suddenly wondered why she’d come in at all. It wasn’t as if she believed that Miss Pigeon could actually see the future. It was simply because she felt so desperate to know what would happen to Red. Right now it felt like it was all so up in the air . . .
‘Right! Tea leaves for you!’ Mademoiselle Oiseau beamed.
‘S-sorry?’ replied Bryony, puzzled.
Mademoiselle Oiseau didn’t reply. Instead she picked up her flowery teapot and poured out Bryony a cup of tea in a yellow china cup which sat upon a pale pink saucer.
‘Here – drink!’ said Mademoiselle Oiseau, sliding the teacup to Bryony. ‘But mind you leave some tea at the bottom,’ she added. ‘And don’t slurp up the tea leaves neither as we’ll be needing ’em, see?’
Bryony nodded, although she didn’t see at all. This was all quite curious and odd. The tea was lukewarm and not very nice, but Bryony managed to drink most of it down.
‘Um, Mademoiselle Oiseau,’ Bryony said, ‘I was wondering if my future, kind of, involved a new . . . animal coming into my life?’
Bryony didn’t want to give too much away. Rather, she wanted to see if Miss Pigeon could actually work things out for herself. Making it too easy for the ‘Lady of Mystery’ would mean that Bryony wouldn’t know whether to believe her or not!
Mademoiselle Oiseau pointed to the teacup still in Bryony’s hand.
‘Well – swill it round, then, dear!’ the old lady said. ‘Then tip the tea leaves out on your saucer.’
With another nod, Bryony followed her instructions.
Mademoiselle Oiseau explained that Bryony’s tea leaves would reveal pictures that would help her predict Bryony’s future.
Bryony couldn’t see how. All she could see was a soggy brown lump that looked like a large crusty scab!
‘Ahhh,’ said Mademoiselle Oiseau, peering in closer. ‘Very, very interesting! What sort of animal are you hoping for, dear?’
‘Well, there’s this—’ Bryony stopped herself. ‘What do you see, Mademoiselle Oiseau?’ she asked.
Flicking back her fake curls, Mademoiselle Oiseau looked annoyed but returned her gaze to the tea leaves. After prodding them round with her spoon a bit, she looked suddenly rather excited.
‘Ahhh!’ she cried cheerily. ‘The mist is clearing. I see an animal with four legs . . . and a neck!’
Bryony looked around. There was no mist. Not even in the crystal ball!
‘And?’ said Bryony, trying not to sound impatient. Quite a few animals had four legs and a neck. Bryony had been hoping for something a little more specific.
‘And – wait! It has a face!’ cried the old lady brightly. ‘It’s becoming clearer and clearer. Yes – now then, my dear, how would you feel about . . . a tortoise?’
‘A t-tortoise?’ Bryony frowned. ‘Well, I do like tortoises but I like other animals quite a bit more.’
‘Well, lucky for you, then,’ Mademoiselle sniffed, ‘it AIN’T a tortoise I see in your future!’ Blowing her nose, she looked again.
‘A rabbit? No – wait! It’s bigger than a rabbit but . . . smaller than a giraffe. Oh yes! I see it now – why, it’s a little pony!’
‘A pony!!’ cried Bryony. ‘And . . . and – is he mine? O-or does he belong to someone else?’
‘He certainly loves you,’ the old lady answered. ‘And I see that you love him too.’
‘But . . . !’ cried Bryony. ‘Is he mine, do you think?’
‘It’s tricky, my dear.’ The old lady shook her head. ‘I see trouble ahead but you must follow your heart! I see water – and a car and—’ Suddenly she stopped, for Bryony was now on her feet.
‘S-sorry!’ stuttered Bryony. She should never have come. And trouble ahead! She certainly hadn’t wanted to hear that.
‘I’m sorry – I must go!’ Bryony cried, turning and running from the tent. She was even more confused than she’d been before she’d stepped inside it!
Outside, the afternoon sun dazzled her eyes. She rubbed them, staggering round the back of the tent for some shade to try and think straight. What now? Where now? What, if any, should her next move be . . .?
And then she saw it. And her heart missed a beat. Georgina Brook had returned with nice clean hair and a thoroughly rotten plan to go with it!
Payback.
Yes, this was it! But it was much worse than anything Bryony could have imagined.
For there on the grass, just behind the marquees, was Red – freed from his prison to give pony rides. Georgina Brook was determined that everyone would see him, in the hope that someone might buy him – here and now!
Around his neck Bryony saw a freshly painted sign . . .
Red looked so sad. Bryony could hardly bear it! His head was bent low, his ears flat back and his beautiful rich coat had lost its shimmer. His little kiss curl was still there, though. And those beautiful ears that loved to be tickled. And the star. The little star in between his eyes!
Suddenly Bryony couldn’t see for tears, which she let tumble fast and free. Red – he wasn’t hers, and if Georgina had her way, he never would be!
‘No, please . . .’ Bryony’s words were barely a whisper. She willed herself not to give up. She would go. Go and count the money she’d earned. She couldn’t let Red slip away. She’d beg Georgina to let her buy him if that’s what it took.
Bryony spun round to race back to her stall, and bumped into a boy.
‘S-sorry!’ she gasped. But the boy seemed distracted, and was looking over her shoulder . . .
‘Hey, is that your pony?’ he called.
Bryony turned to see Georgina nod back.
‘Yes!’ she smiled. ‘Come and see him before someone else buys him, quick!’
The boy ran over and Bryony trailed behind. Her legs had gone to jelly.
‘Hi! I’m Jonathan,’ the boy said to Georgina. ‘I’ve been looking for a bay gelding for ages. Does he jump well?’
‘Like a dream!’ Georgina beamed. ‘In fact I’m ever so sad to be selling him, but—’
‘You can’t!’ Bryony heard herself shout. ‘You can’t sell him to this boy!’
‘Says who?’ snapped Georgina, her pale eyes icy. ‘He’s my pony and I’ll sell him to whoever I like!’
Georgina turned to lead the boy away but Red had other ideas. As Georgina pulled his lead rein, he clattered back wilfully, snorting and flinging back his head to look at Bryony.
Bryony made towards him, then Georgina pulled harder and Red was dragged off behind them.
‘Right, Jonathan,’ Bryony heard Georgina say. ‘Get your parents and we’ll do the deal now!’
‘I c-can’t,’ answered the boy. ‘I’m not from around here. I’ve been up staying with my uncle for a week and my parents don’t collect me until tomorrow.’
‘Bother!’ cried Georgina, and Bryony could hear that her normal angry tone had returned.
‘I could phone Mum and Dad tonight?’ said Jonathan, his voice getting quieter the further away they went.
‘I could ask . . . bring the trailer,’ Bryony heard him say. Then his voice finally faded to nothing.
‘The trailer!’ cried Bryony desperately. Red was as good as sold. That was it. There was nothing she could do now.
When Bryony wandered back to the s
tall, Josh and Emma looked really pleased. Will was there too. He’d won the fancy dress and held out his prize money to Bryony.
‘I . . .’ Bryony stopped. ‘I d-don’t feel very well. I need to go home I think – sorry!’
‘Oh, no!’ Emma gasped. ‘Shall I pack up what’s left?’ There were only a few bits and bobs.
‘Thanks,’ answered Bryony, hurrying away.
‘Bry!’ called Josh.
‘Stay with Emma!’ replied Bryony. ‘I’m going home to bed. I’ll see you later!’
A few hours later, Josh tiptoed in, but Bryony was pretending to be asleep.
‘Bry,’ he whispered, putting down a tub of money on Bryony’s bedside table.
‘We made loads of cash. I’ll leave it here. You can count it in the morning, maybe? Your flower garden thingy got second place. Then Miss Pigeon won the jam competition and all war broke out when Miss Parsley hurled this dodgy crow thing at her. Coat hangers and crêpe paper everywhere, there was. Nightmare.’
‘How much have you got, then?’ Grandpa asked, when Bryony had finished counting.
‘£237.61,’ Bryony said with a sigh. She put down her pencil and Grandpa opened the car door and sat down on the driver’s seat beside her.
‘Bryony, I could always stay,’ he said kindly.
‘It’s okay,’ replied Bryony. ‘Honestly, Grandpa. I sort of always knew I’d never make enough money to buy Red anyway. And after yesterday and that Jonathan boy, I don’t know why I even bothered counting it! Georgina would never sell Red to me . . .’
Bryony had told Grandpa everything as he’d been cleaning his old car. Matilde now sparkled and her engine purred softly. She was clearly back to her beautiful self.
Storm clouds were gathering in the sky as they sat on Grandpa’s driveway. It seemed yesterday’s fête had stolen Sunday’s share of sunshine too.
Bryony tipped the money back into her rucksack. There’d be no more talk of Georgina.
‘Your car looks wonderful, Gramps!’ she said, forcing herself to smile.
‘Thank you, pumpkin,’ Grandpa replied quietly.
Bryony was determined not to spoil the day. Her grandfather had been waiting for this Sunday for ages. He was off to a vintage MG Midget show in Nettleton, a few miles north of Brook Dale. He’d been to this show every year since Bryony could remember. But every single time in the past he’d admired other people’s cars. Today he finally got to show off his own.
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