by Jean Ure
‘There’s a horse sanctuary over Spindle Down,’ said Deirdre. ‘Spindle Down Rescue … they might be able to help. I’ll find their number for you. But look, while you’re here, you wouldn’t feel like exercising some of the dogs for us, would you?’
We can never resist an appeal to exercise the poor abandoned dogs at End of the Road. They are so lost! And so bewildered. Where have their people gone? When are they going to come back for them? Sometimes, sadly, their people have died and there is no one left to take care of their beloved pets. Other times, people have simply decided they can’t be bothered having a dog any more so they bring them along to Meg and say, ‘Either you take it or we have it put down.’ Occasionally they have even been so cruel as to just dump them and drive off, leaving the poor dog alone and broken-hearted. Dogs are so trusting, and so loyal! And they ask so little. Just to be loved and looked after. I was still living in hope that one day soon Mum might give in and let me adopt one of them. It would be hard to choose just one out of so many, but as Katy had so wisely said, just because you can’t rescue all of them doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do what you can.
We spent an hour in the field throwing a ball and running and chasing. By the time we arrived home Mum was in a bit of a frazzle, wondering where I had got to.
‘I thought you were coming straight back?’
‘We did a bit of helping out,’ I said.
‘I just wish you could do a bit of helping out here,’ grumbled Mum. ‘I can’t keep an eye on your brother and get on with my work and decide what we’re going to have for dinner and—’
‘Mum,’ I cried, ‘don’t worry! I’m here now. I’ll decide about dinner. I’ll even get the dinner! And I’ll keep an eye on Benjy. You just sit there nice and quietly and do your work. I’ve just got to make a quick telephone call. I won’t be a minute!’
I had promised Katy that I would ring the Spindle Down Rescue people as soon as I got in. I’d hoped I could do it without Mum finding out, as she tends to get a bit fussed about our dedication to animals. She thinks we take it too much to heart and that it interferes with schoolwork. Unfortunately she came into the kitchen as I was making the call and I saw her eyebrows go shooting up. Not that she really heard much because all I got was an answerphone message saying to please ring back in the morning unless it was an emergency – which was the bit that Mum heard.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘Is it?’
I hesitated, then put the phone down. I didn’t want to put people’s backs up. I muttered that it wasn’t an emergency yet.
‘But it will be, if nothing is done!’
Mum groaned. ‘What is it this time?’
I told her about Rosie. She shook her head. ‘Not again!’ she said. ‘I really can’t bear it!’
‘Bear what?’ I said.
‘All the heartache and the breast-beating and you and Katy in floods of tears and wanting me to keep turkeys in the kitchen and wombats in the garden, and—’
‘Mum, I have never wanted you to keep a wombat in the garden,’ I said. I wasn’t even sure what a wombat was.
‘You wanted me to keep a turkey in the kitchen,’ said Mum.
‘Only for one night.’ It hadn’t been much to ask, had it? A turkey in the kitchen for just one night? Some poor Christmas turkey that had managed to escape from a horrible turkey farm? We’d found him wandering at the end of the lane. What were we supposed to do? Just leave him there? He could have stayed with us, if End of the Road hadn’t taken him in.
‘Wombats, turkeys, I don’t care,’ said Mum. ‘I’m certainly not having a horse in the back garden.’
Sadly I told her that a garden our size would be far too small for a horse like Rosie.
‘Good,’ said Mum.
‘It’s not good!’ I said. ‘Her life is at stake!’
‘Hannah, please don’t,’ said Mum. ‘Life’s a big enough struggle as it is. I really can’t cope with anything more.’
I explained to Mum, as patiently as I could, that now that we were officially Animal Samaritans Katy and I were dedicated to helping animals in need whenever and wherever. You couldn’t just turn it on and off like a tap: it was a lifetime’s commitment. You had to be prepared for a bit of heartbreak.
Oh, but lying in bed that night, tossing and turning, I had more than just a bit of heartbreak. I had nightmares. I kept imagining that poor sweet girl being dragged away to the knacker’s yard, terrified, not knowing what was happening, smelling all the blood and the fear … maybe even being put on a boat and taken off to France to be slaughtered over there. I knew about these things. I desperately hadn’t wanted to, but if you have promised to devote your life to animals you cannot just close your eyes. Katy and I had both signed petitions. We’d seen pictures of the poor frightened horses, crammed into the dark holds of the cross-Channel ferries, sometimes without any water, sometimes in agony with broken legs. And then, at the end of the journey, horrible rough men pushing them and pulling them, shouting at them, hitting them, forcing them towards their death.
I tried desperately to stop dwelling on it, but the images were in my head, and I couldn’t get rid of them. It got so bad I had to stuff a hanky in my mouth to stop myself from screaming. At midnight I grabbed my phone and texted Katy: Are you asleep? She texted me back: No, I can’t stop thinking about Rosie. I told her that I couldn’t stop thinking, either. We agreed that one of us must ring the sanctuary first thing in the morning. I said that I would do it, and there and then I made a vow: our sweet gentle horse was not going to end her days in pain and fear. Not if Katy and I had anything to do with it!
Next day was Monday, and so of course we had to go to school. There is always something that has to be done. Something that gets in the way of the really important stuff. Such as, in this case, ringing the sanctuary. I did try, on my mobile, but it was too early in the day and there was the same answerphone message as before. I began to despair. They still wouldn’t be there by the time I got to school, and once I reached school I’d have to hand my phone in to the office because they are really strict about people not having their phones in the classroom and I couldn’t see Ms McMaster, who is the school secretary, letting me make a call before assembly. She is not the most sympathetic of people. I once told her – thinking she would be interested – that I had seen a dear little mouse scuttling about by the recycling bins. All I wanted was for her to give me my phone back for just a few minutes so that I could take a photo. She wasn’t having any of it! Just told me to hurry along because the bell had rung.
Mum wasn’t having any of it, either. She wanted to know what I was doing, messing about on my phone instead of getting off to school. I told her that I was just ringing the sanctuary and she said, ‘Not at this hour of the morning! Look at the time … you’ll be late for school.’
Late for school! What did late for school matter when Rosie’s life was at stake?
I said this to Mum and she said, ‘Hannah, we’ve had all this out before. Your schoolwork comes first. After school is the time for rescuing animals.’
Like there is a set time for it! Like between the hours of half past eight and half past four animals must manage as best they can.
I said, ‘Mum, this is an emergency! Please, Mum! Let me just wait till someone’s there.’
She wouldn’t, of course. They have this absolute obsession about school. Like if you just miss five minutes of it your entire life will be a disaster.
‘Come on, Hannah!’ Mum gave me a little push in the direction of the door. ‘Don’t keep Katy waiting.’
Benjy, banging his spoon up and down in his cereal bowl, took up the cry. ‘Don’ keep Katy waiting! Don’ keep Katy waiting!’
I told him to shut up and Mum said, ‘Hannah …’
‘I don’t suppose you could do it?’ I said.
‘Do what?’
‘Ring the sanctuary! See if they could take Rosie!’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said Mum. ‘As if I haven’t got enough on my plate! Why c
an’t the people at the stables do it, if they’re so bothered?’
I’d never thought of that. Why couldn’t they? I guessed because Mrs Foster didn’t actually care, in spite of what Bethany said. She just wanted to get rid of poor Rosie the quickest way possible. But Bethany cared! Why couldn’t she have rung the sanctuary?
I found it really depressing that not even Bethany was prepared to lift a finger to help that big gentle horse. I felt the tears spring to my eyes. Mum obviously saw how upset I was.
‘All right, all right!’ she said. ‘I’ll ring them for you. If it’s going to set your mind at rest, I’ll do it.’
‘Oh, Mum! Thank you!’ I rushed at her and hugged her. ‘You know what you’ve got to say?’
‘Tell me,’ said Mum.
‘You’ve got to say that there’s this darling beautiful horse that’s got damaged lungs because of being in a fire and if someone doesn’t rescue her immediately she’s going to the knacker’s yard!’
‘So you want them to come and take her away?’
‘Yes.’ I nodded.
‘Leave it with me,’ said Mum. ‘I’ll see what I can do. You just get off to school and try to stop worrying.’
I got off to school but I couldn’t stop worrying. I said to Katy, ‘Why couldn’t Bethany have rung the sanctuary?’
Katy agreed it was a puzzle. After all, Bethany loved Rosie as much as we did. She couldn’t bear the thought of her going for horsemeat.
‘People just seem to let things happen,’ said Katy sadly. ‘They just can’t be bothered.’
Like Bethany. It had probably never even occurred to her to ring up a sanctuary. When horses couldn’t earn their keep any more they were sent off to be slaughtered. It was just the way it was.
‘I suppose,’ said Katy, ‘it takes a bit of an effort.’
I said, ‘Tell me about it!’ And then I added that that was all the more reason for people like us to be Animal Samaritans. ‘Because we’re prepared to make an effort.’
It was only our second week back at school after the summer holidays. Our new class teacher was Mr O’Sullivan, who all the girls were mad about. Well, all except me and Katy. We didn’t have the time for that sort of thing.
‘All this dribbling and drooling,’ said Katy, ‘when they could be out there rescuing animals!’
The Mouth and her best friend Caley Hooper were two of the main droolers. At break that morning they proudly showed everyone how they’d tattooed the letters PO’S on their arms in felt-tip pen. The P, they told us, stood for Paul, which apparently was Mr O’Sullivan’s first name. I have no idea how they discovered that.
Caley loftily said, ‘We have ways of finding out.’
Soppily went and asked him, I bet.
Please, sir, what does the P stand for, sir? Is it Peter, sir? Is it Patrick, sir? Oh, sir, please, sir, tell us what it stands for, sir!
They’d become almost hysterical about it. It seemed that Paul O’Sullivan was the name of some singer they were mad about.
‘Coincidence or what?’
‘Paul O’Sullivan,’ swooned Motormouth.
‘Never heard of him,’ said Katy.
‘Me neither,’ I said.
The Mouth curled her lip. ‘That’s because all you ever think about is animals!’
‘Yes, and we’re thinking about one right now,’ said Katy. ‘About a poor horse with damaged lungs that people want to murder.’
‘Oh, heavens!’ Caley clapped her hands to her ears. ‘They’re off again!’
‘They can’t help it,’ said the Mouth. ‘They just won’t face the hard reality.’
‘But why only care about animals? Far worse things happen to human beings.’
‘Human beings aren’t murdered just because they’re sick!’ retorted Katy.
Of course they ignored that. They always ignore things when they haven’t got an answer.
‘Just think,’ said the Mouth, ‘of all those people that are starving.’
Like she cared!
‘If you didn’t waste all your time and energy on animals—’
‘Not to mention money,’ said Caley. She had seen us that day in the shopping centre, putting all our change into the Animal Samaritans collecting tin. ‘If you didn’t give all your money to animals, you could give it to Oxfam and help people.’
‘Do you give all your money to Oxfam?’ said Katy.
Oh, brilliant! That got them. Caley turned bright scarlet and Motormouth snapped, ‘I do when I can!’
‘You do when you can? That doesn’t make any sense!’ said Katy. ‘You either do give all your money or you don’t give all your money. And if you don’t give all your money—’
‘You might just as well shut up,’ I said.
I get so sick of people telling me and Katy that we ought to be helping human beings instead of animals. Like human beings are so much more important. And anyway, all these people, what do they do? Nothing! They just have a go at me and Katy. It absolutely annoys me.
Which is why I told Caley and the Mouth they might as well shut up, and why they told me to go boil myself and next thing I knew we’d all got into this great slanging match, with insults flying across the room and bouncing off the walls. Mr O’Sullivan walked right into the middle of it, just in time to hear Motormouth screaming ‘Pig’s bum, you abject idiot!’, which I reckon served her right.
Mr O’Sullivan said, ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ and Motormouth turned red from head to foot like some kind of human pillar box. She even had her mouth open! I felt like posting my maths book in it.
I thought about Rosie all day long. I kept wondering if Mum had telephoned yet, and if so what the sanctuary had said. They might even have sent a horsebox and rescued her already!
‘I’d hate not seeing her again,’ I said, ‘but I wouldn’t mind so long as she was safe.’
‘And we could always go and visit,’ said Katy. ‘Spindle Down isn’t that far. We could get there on our bikes!’
All we wanted to do at the end of school was to go rushing home. Instead we had to stay on for a boring rehearsal for the end-of-term show. Well, that’s not quite fair because it wasn’t really boring. It was all about the Peasants’ Revolt, which happened in 1351 and was led by a man called Wat Tyler, who was like the people’s hero but was double-crossed by King Richard II and viciously murdered. Not having enough boys in the class meant that some of us – mostly the taller ones – had to be soldiers, while all the rest were peasants. Katy and I were peasants, which made the Mouth sneer but which we were glad about as we were both very firmly on the side of the people. If I had been around at the time, I would certainly have revolted! Motormouth, needless to say, sucked up to the king. She was playing the big bad captain, brutally riding people down with her horse.
Normally I enjoyed rehearsing, even though we had lots of songs to sing and I can’t sing to save my life! Caley Hooper kept hissing, ‘You’re flat!’ and screwing up her face like she was in agony. Ha! Maybe she was. Maybe my voice was my secret weapon. I could just go and sing into her ear whenever I wanted to annoy her. But I didn’t really feel like singing that afternoon. I felt like racing home as fast as I could and finding out whether Rosie had been saved!
It was half past five before we got back. Katy had to go straight in for her tea, because her mum is really weird about mealtimes. If they don’t happen when they’re supposed to happen she goes a bit loopy; same if anyone treads mud across the kitchen floor or spills juice on to the carpet. You always have to be extra specially careful, like walking on eggshells.
Katy says she can’t help it. ‘She’s a bit obsessive.’
Like we are about animals, except it seems to me that animals are worth being obsessed about, whereas who could possibly get worked up about a splodge of mud on the kitchen floor?
Katy called after me as I rushed off down the lane. ‘Let me know what’s happened!’
I reached our cottage, which is the last one in the row, a
nd went tearing through the back door. Benjy immediately hurled himself across the kitchen, going ‘Hannah see, Hannah see!’ and thrusting a sheet of drawing paper at me.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘A sausage with legs! How lovely.’
‘Not a sossij! It’s a dog.’
‘A sausage dog!’
‘Not a s—’
‘Benjy, please, not now!’ I said. Any other time I would have indulged him but I only had one thought in my mind at that moment. ‘Mum?’ I pushed past Benjy and went through into the hall. Mum was in the front room, at her desk. ‘Mum, did you ring? What did they say? Are they going to take her?’
‘Oh!’ Mum sprang round. Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, my goodness, Hannah! I’m so sorry! I clean forgot!’
‘Mum!’ I wailed. I couldn’t believe it! She’d given me her word.
‘Oh, Hannah, I’m sorry, I truly am! I tried them twice this morning and they were engaged both times, then the agency rang wanting to know if I’d finished this translation because it’s needed really urgently, and I got into a panic and … I’ve been working ever since!’
I couldn’t get mad at her. It’s not very often that Mum lets me down. And she was so apologetic! She obviously felt bad about it. All the same it was a bitter blow.
‘Try them now,’ urged Mum. I did, but of course it was too late: I just got the answerphone again.
‘I’ll do it first thing tomorrow,’ said Mum. ‘I will, I promise!’
What could I say? That tomorrow might be too late?
Miserably I said that I had better ring Katy.
‘Tell her,’ said Mum, ‘that I’m wearing sackcloth and ashes!’
Whatever that meant. I think it meant she was truly repentant. But what good was that if Rosie had already been sent off to meet her fate?
Katy came to the phone all bubbly and eager and full of hope. ‘Hannah! What happened?’
I felt terrible having to break the news. If it had been Katy’s mum who had let us down, I am not sure I would ever have been able to forgive her. I certainly wouldn’t have behaved as well as Katy.
For a few seconds she didn’t say anything, either because she was in the middle of eating her tea or because she didn’t trust her voice not to give way. And then I heard a gulping sound, like she had a lump in her throat. And then she said, ‘Oh.’ And then, very bravely, ‘I suppose it doesn’t mean as much to your mum as it does to us. She doesn’t know Rosie.’