by Amanda Wills
Chapter 4
By tea-time the removal men had unloaded all the furniture and Poppy had been overloaded with enough information on Chester’s likes and dislikes to write, ‘The A to Z Encyclopaedia on Donkey Care.’
“By rights donkeys don’t like living on their own but there again Chester has always had -” Tory paused, gave a quick shake of her head and carried on. “You need to turn him out after his breakfast every morning and his stable needs to be mucked out every day. He needs fresh water in his stable every night and you also need to make sure the trough in the field is kept topped up
“He loves his salt lick and he has a scoop of pony nuts a day, half in the morning and half when you bring him in for the night. There’s a sack in the dustbin in the tack room. It’ll see you through until you get a chance to go to Baxters’. That’s the animal feed place on the Tavistock road,” Tory added, seeing Poppy’s puzzled face.
“I’ve also left you his headcollar and his grooming kit. I’ve no use for them where I’m going.” Tory was leaning heavily on her two sticks and her eyes had grown misty. “Anyway,” she said, visibly collecting herself. “Use the dandy brush for his body and the body brush for his head. You might need to take the curry comb to his tail - he’s a terrible one for getting knotted in thistles. And you also need to make sure you pick out his feet twice a day. They say a horse is only as good as his feet, and the same goes for donkeys.”
Poppy was glad of her books. At least she’d be able to work out which brush was which. But Tory hadn’t quite finished. “He’ll also need his feet trimming once every couple of months. He’s not due for six weeks but I’ve left the farrier’s phone number with your mum.”
“Caroline’s not my mum, she’s my stepmother,” Poppy replied automatically. Tory looked at the thin, pale-faced girl and felt a wave of sympathy. It must have been a rollercoaster of a day. “Here’s Chester’s headcollar. Why don’t I show you how to put it on and you can have a go at grooming him. He’d like that,” she said.
The donkey came up, nuzzled Poppy and obligingly held his head perfectly still while she grappled with the leather straps and, under Tory’s directions, put the headcollar on. As she picked up the dandy brush and started tackling the donkey’s thick grey coat she asked, “What did you mean when you said earlier that Chester wasn’t on his own?”
“Nothing for you to worry about, pet.”
Poppy could have sworn the old woman suddenly looked shifty, although she had no idea why. The rhythmic sweeping of the dandy brush and Chester’s occasional friendly nudges had a calming effect and for the first time that afternoon Poppy felt her spirits rise.
“I really am sorry about before. I didn’t mean to be so ungrateful. And I promise I’ll look after Chester properly.”
“I know you will, pet. I’ll go back to the flat happy now I know he’s in good hands. I’ll miss both him and -” she looked over towards the woods and stopped abruptly.
“Well, it would be lovely if you could come and visit Chester - and me. It would be nice to have a friend here,” Poppy told the old woman.
“I’d like that, pet. And you’re always welcome to come and see me in my rabbit-hutch of a flat. But be careful of Mrs Parker. She’s the warden and she’s a formidable character. I’ve rubbed her up the wrong way already and I’ve only been there five minutes.”
They spent the next hour working together companionably, grooming and feeding Chester and settling him down for the evening. With Tory guiding her, Poppy picked out the donkey’s feet and untangled at least five burrs from his tail. By the time they’d finished Tory’s nephew had arrived to drive her back to her new flat. Clasping Poppy’s hand as she stood propped up on her sticks by his car Tory said, “Goodbye Poppy, see you soon. And thank you for looking after Chester. He means the world to me.”
Poppy smiled. “Thank you for letting him stay at Riverdale. He can be my pretend pony. Who needs the real thing anyway?”
Charlie was unpacking his action heroes in the hall and Caroline was busy finishing tea when Poppy returned indoors.
“Your dad’s upstairs making up our beds. Why don’t you come and help me lay the table. Dinner will be ready in a minute,” said Caroline, drying her hands on a tea-towel.
Poppy looked at her stepmother. Caroline was tall, blonde and blue-eyed - the polar opposite of Poppy’s mum, Isobel, who had been green-eyed, dark and petite. Poppy knew deep-down that Caroline wasn’t your archetypical wicked stepmother. She was kind and patient and always put the children first but from the first day her dad had introduced them Poppy had felt prickly and defensive. She couldn’t even begin to explain why. But she noticed the way Caroline would suddenly scoop Charlie up into a hug, smothering his apple-pink cheeks with butterfly kisses. She tried not to feel jealous when Caroline tickled her irrepressible brother until giggles convulsed his whole body or when she stroked his hair absentmindedly while she was reading the paper or watching television. The pair had such a close bond and they strongly resembled her fair-haired father. Poppy, who was the spitting image of Isobel, felt like the cuckoo in the nest.
As she leant over to unpack the knives and forks from one of the dozen or so cardboard boxes in the kitchen, a fan of dark hair hiding her face, Poppy mumbled an apology to Caroline. Fortunately her stepmother wasn’t one to hold a grudge.
“That’s OK, sweetheart. Your dad and I were just worried about you. I know how excited you were about the pony. Right, let’s get this show on the road. Can you tell the boys dinner’s ready?”
Before she went to bed in her new room at the back of the house, Poppy slipped out to say goodnight to Chester. It was a still night and the silence felt alien after the 24-7 noise of London. The donkey was quietly munching on some hay but when he saw Poppy’s head poke over his stable door he came over and gave her a nudge.
“Tory said you like Polos. I’ll make sure we get some tomorrow. Do you miss her?” Poppy asked, as she stroked the donkey’s velvety nose. The expression in his soft brown eyes was unreadable but he gave her another nudge, as if to say, ‘Yes, of course I miss her, but you’ll do,’ and Poppy felt a mixture of gratitude and protectiveness towards her new charge. An owl hooted, followed by the distant sound of a horse neighing. Chester lifted his head and gave a plaintiff hee-haw in return.
“Must be one of the Dartmoor ponies. I didn’t realise they would be so close,” Poppy said, half to herself. “I’ll take Charlie exploring tomorrow. It’ll be fun to have real wild ponies on our doorstep.” And she kissed Chester’s nose, crept back into the house and took herself off to bed.