Rescuing Rosie

by Jean Ure

  ‘She’s promised faithfully that she’ll ring tomorrow,’ I said.

  ‘If Rosie’s still alive!’

  ‘Oh, don’t!’ I begged.

  ‘Maybe you should ring the stables,’ said Katy. ‘You could tell them what we’re trying to do. Then maybe they wouldn’t mind keeping her a bit longer.’

  I desperately didn’t want to ring the stables. I was terrified in case it was Mrs Foster who answered. But one of us had to ring, and I thought probably it had to be me as it was my mum who’d gone and messed up.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it.’

  It wasn’t Mrs Foster, that was one relief. It was a girl I didn’t know. One of the ones who helped out.

  ‘Rosie?’ she said. ‘She’s not here any more … she’s gone.’

  ‘Gone?’ My voice came out in a terrified squawk. ‘You mean—’

  ‘She’s gone to a school over at Farley Down.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Relief flooded over me. Just for a moment I’d felt all cold and shaky and broken out into a sweat. On jellified legs I wobbled back into the sitting room, where Mum was still beavering away at her translation.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘You won’t have to ring the sanctuary.’

  ‘Oh, Hannah!’ Mum stopped typing and stared at me in anguish. ‘They haven’t—’

  ‘No! She’s gone to another stables.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that! You’d never have forgiven me.’

  ‘Well, I probably would,’ I said, ‘because I know you can’t help forgetting things. I know your memory isn’t what it was.’ She is always telling me this. ‘But I’m glad I haven’t got to!’

  ‘So am I,’ said Mum. ‘I would have felt so bad! I may not be as obsessed as you and Katy, but I still hate the thought of an animal being wilfully destroyed. That’s a very satisfactory conclusion! Now perhaps you can sit down and concentrate on your homework.’

  And she says me and Katy are obsessed! At least we admit that animals are our passion. Mum doesn’t seem to realise how much she goes on (and on!) about school and homework and how important it is to study.

  ‘I must just tell Katy,’ I said.

  ‘Well, don’t be on that phone for hours!’

  ‘I won’t,’ I said. ‘I’m only going to tell her.’

  I could have texted, I suppose, but it’s nicer to actually talk when you have good news. I couldn’t resist being just a little bit naughty, though.

  When Katy answered the phone I said in these very low and tragic tones, ‘Rosie has gone.’ I probably shouldn’t have, because suppose Katy had had a heart attack or fallen down in a faint and cracked her skull? I never thought of that at the time. I just thought how overjoyed she was going to be! It was only afterwards I felt bad about it.

  ‘G-gone?’ she quavered, just as I had when the girl at the stables had told me.

  ‘To another school! Over at Farley Down.’

  I announced it triumphantly. Farley Down was only a short bike ride away. We could easily go there and visit!

  I waited for Katy to give a great screech of triumph. We had done it! We had saved Rosie! Instead, in a doom-laden voice she said, ‘A riding school? But she’s not supposed to work!’

  ‘Oh.’ I’d been so overjoyed to think that Rosie wasn’t being sent to the knacker’s yard that this hadn’t occurred to me.

  ‘Maybe they won’t expect her to work?’ I said hopefully.

  ‘So what would they want her for?’

  ‘Just to … go out on beginner rides?’ I said.

  ‘She was already doing that! Everybody said she wasn’t earning her keep.’

  ‘Well! I don’t know,’ I said. ‘All I know is she’s not being turned into horsemeat!’

  Angrily I switched the phone off. I’d been so relieved! I’d been so sure it was good news. Now Katy had gone and spoilt everything! Why couldn’t she have let me go on being happy for just a little bit longer?

  I stumped grumpily off to have some tea and do my boring homework. It was maths, and I am useless at maths. So is Mum unfortunately. She can help me with almost everything else, but she says that as far as she is concerned maths is just gobbledygook. That is a Mum word: gobbledygook. To me maths is double gobbledygook. As a rule if I am stuck I go wailing next door to Katy, who is some kind of mathematical genius, but when you’ve just crossly cut someone off on the phone you can’t very well ask them if they’ll kindly do your maths homework for you.

  I scrawled down lots of gobbledygook answers and spent the rest of the evening curled up on the sofa glumly watching television. I didn’t particularly want to watch television and afterwards wished I hadn’t because they had this truly horrible documentary about people killing elephants and sawing off their tusks, and all these pictures of dead elephants came flashing on to the screen before I realised what was happening. It really upset me. I went to bed feeling in total despair with the world and humankind. I also had lots of little flickers of anxiety darting to and fro about my brain. Why had that riding school taken Rosie? What did they want her for? What were they going to do with her?

  It was another night I spent tossing and turning. I felt like battering on my bedroom wall and waking Katy. (Her bed is just the other side.) If I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t see why she should. I’d been happy until she’d started putting ideas into my head!

  Of course I apologised the next morning; we are never mad at each other for long. Katy apologised too. She said, ‘I know you thought you were giving me good news and maybe it is good news. Maybe she’s gone to a place where they don’t mind if she doesn’t earn her keep.’

  ‘Because maybe they’re rich?’

  ‘Well, either that,’ said Katy, ‘or they could just be like us and love animals.’

  That cheered us both up. We had visions of Rosie living in a beautiful green meadow with lots of juicy grass and interesting plants for her to nibble at and trees to keep the sun off her, and a big cosy barn where she could go if it was cold. And there would be all the other horses, all the riding-school horses, to keep her company, and she would never, ever have to work again, except maybe just the odd amble through the countryside when the weather was nice.

  That is how horses ought to live. Not shut away in stalls.

  I was so happy thinking of Rosie in her field! It didn’t bother me in the least when Ms Timbrell told us to mark one another’s maths homework and I got three out of ten. Katy, who was the one marking me, was far more upset than I was.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just all wrong!’

  ‘Who cares?’ I said. I had more important things to worry about than maths homework, and anyway no one can be good at everything.

  Ms Timbrell could hardly believe it. ‘Hannah Rosenthal,’ she said, ‘what is the matter with you?’

  Earnestly I said, ‘I don’t think I have a mathematical type of brain.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you?’ said Ms Timbrell. ‘Shall I tell you what I think?’

  She seemed to be waiting for an answer, so I nodded my head.

  ‘I think,’ said Ms Timbrell, ‘that you simply don’t pay attention.’

  I assured her that I did, though it is true my mind does sometimes tend to drift off and that I did once find that I had filled two whole pages of my maths book with pictures of horses instead of triangles and stuff. I still don’t know how it happened! I seem to go into these sort of trances.

  ‘It is just really difficult,’ I said, ‘when you don’t understand anything.’

  ‘You understand that two and two make four,’ said Ms Timbrell. ‘At least, I take it you do?’

  The Mouth sniggered.

  ‘Yes?’ said Ms Timbrell. ‘Two and two make four?’

  I nodded.

  ‘In that case …’ She waved my maths homework triumphantly in my face. ‘How do you come to the answer minus six for question number two?’

  Everybody in the class just fell about. Even Katy giggled. An answer of minu
s six was apparently ridiculous. How was I to know? I thought very hard of Rosie in her field.

  ‘It’s all gobbledygook,’ I said.

  ‘You can say that again!’ said Ms Timbrell. ‘Honestly, Hannah, there are times when I really do despair.’

  There were times when I despaired, too, but about more important things than only getting three out of ten for my maths homework. So long as Rosie was safe I wouldn’t have cared if I’d got no marks at all.

  Katy told me at breaktime that she would have helped me if I’d gone round to her place, but I assured her that it was absolutely not important.

  ‘In my list of priorities,’ I said – Mum is always going on about her list of priorities, ‘maths is somewhere right down at the very bottom.’

  ‘So what’s at number one?’ said Katy.

  I told her to take a wild guess.

  ‘Rosie?’ She nodded. ‘I’ve been lying awake every night worrying about her!’

  I said, ‘Me too. Maybe now we’ll be able to sleep.’

  I did wake up just once in the night thinking about what Katy had said earlier – why would another riding school want a horse that couldn’t earn its keep? – but I quickly squeezed my brain tight shut and started going through the alphabet naming animals, a is for antelope, b is for bear and so on, which is this thing I do when I want to keep the horrid thoughts at bay (like after seeing the film about the elephants being killed, or reading something upsetting in the paper).

  Next morning, as we turned in through the school gates, Motormouth came clomping up to us. (Clomping is how she walks: clomp, clump, all self-important.)

  ‘Did you hear about your horse?’ she said.

  Katy, immediately agitated, said, ‘What?’ at the same time as I said, ‘Yes! She’s gone to another stables.’

  ‘Farley Down.’ The Mouth looked at us pityingly. ‘I wouldn’t want a horse of mine going there!’

  It was Katy, in a small tight voice, who said, ‘Why not?’

  ‘I just wouldn’t. They’ve got a foul reputation!’

  ‘Why?’ I said. ‘What do they do?’

  ‘Everybody knows what they do … they run their horses into the ground.’

  ‘But Rosie can’t be used!’ I said. ‘Only for beginner rides.’

  ‘They wouldn’t care. They send their horses out lame. And they don’t feed them properly. I knew a girl that used to ride there. She had to stop because she said all their horses were knackered. It’d have been better if your one had been sent for slaughter. At least by now it would all be over.’

  Well! That put paid to our happiness. We were plunged once again into deepest despair. Katy, very nobly, didn’t remind me that she had had her doubts. She did her best to look on the bright side.

  ‘You know what Motormouth’s like. She just says things to get us going.’

  ‘That’s what we thought before,’ I wailed. ‘When she said about Rosie being sent to the knacker’s!’

  ‘Well, and she was wrong, wasn’t she? Because it hasn’t happened!’

  ‘No, she’s just been sent to some horrible place that’s going to work her to death!’

  ‘We don’t actually know that,’ said Katy. ‘She could just be making it up.’

  But I had a horrible feeling she wasn’t. When someone has their own pony and moves in horsey circles they get to hear about these things.

  ‘Mrs Foster wouldn’t have let them take her if they weren’t going to treat her properly,’ said Katy.

  ‘She might if they gave her some money,’ I said. ‘Or even if they just came and took her for free. She was going to have to pay the knacker people.’

  ‘Really?’ Katy looked frightened. She obviously hadn’t known that. It was something that Bethany had told me.

  ‘Let’s go to the stables after school,’ I said, ‘and see what we can find out.’

  We had to go home first, as always, to stop our mums having panic attacks.

  ‘We’re just going to the stables,’ I told Mum.

  Of course she wanted to know why, so I just babbled some gobbledygook story about how we wanted to do a bit of research and went rushing off before she could start digging too deeply. I knew if I told her the real reason she’d only roll her eyes and go, ‘Oh, Hannah, for goodness’ sake! I thought that was all sorted?’ Maybe it was. Maybe the Mouth had just been making things up. Oh, I did hope so!

  We found Bethany at the stables. She said, ‘Hi, you two! Good news about Rosie. Did you hear?’

  Katy and me looked at each other and grinned. Bethany thought it was good news! So much for Motormouth.

  All the same, now that we were there I thought we should make certain.

  ‘They won’t work her to death,’ I said, ‘will they?’

  ‘They shouldn’t be working her at all! They know she’s got damaged lungs.’

  ‘Just beginner rides,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, and maybe a bit of ring work.’

  ‘Are they rich?’ said Katy.

  Bethany looked bewildered. ‘Rich?’

  ‘Or just animal lovers,’ I said.

  ‘Oh! I see what you mean. I don’t know. I don’t know much about them. What makes you ask?’

  ‘Someone told us they rode their horses into the ground,’ I mumbled.

  Bethany frowned. ‘Maybe they used to. I believe they’ve recently changed hands. I’m sure Pippa wouldn’t have let her go there if she didn’t think she was going to be looked after.’

  There was a silence. I did so want to be convinced!

  ‘Who told you, anyway?’ said Bethany.

  I said, ‘The M— I mean, Tara.’

  ‘Oh! Well! Tara. She’s a bit of a doom merchant. I shouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. At least it’s not the knacker’s yard!’

  She smiled hopefully, but Katy didn’t say anything and neither did I.

  ‘Okay, well! See you at the weekend? Same time as usual?’

  Katy opened her mouth to say yes, but I stepped in very smartly. ‘We can’t make it this weekend.’

  Katy looked at me in surprise. ‘Why can’t we?’ she hissed, as we left the stables.

  ‘Because I had a sudden thought … I think we ought to go and ride at Farley Down.’

  ‘Farley Down? Why?’

  Katy may be a mathematical genius but there are times when she is really slow on the uptake.

  ‘So we can check on Rosie,’ I said. ‘Make sure she’s all right.’

  ‘Oh! Of course.’ Katy brightened. ‘Good idea!’

  ‘I’ll ring up and book,’ I said.

  ‘Tell them I want something gentle,’ pleaded Katy. ‘I don’t want to be put on a racehorse!’

  She needn’t have worried: there weren’t any racehorses at Farley Down. It was a mean, miserable sort of place. The Mouth hadn’t been making up stories; I hated it the minute I saw it! The yard was covered in hay and horse dung and bits of machinery. And all the poor horses were kept in stalls so narrow they could hardly turn round. They couldn’t have turned round anyway, because they were tethered with their heads facing the far end so they had nothing to stare at but a bare blank wall. It is cruel to keep horses tied up like that.

  One of the first things we saw was a handwritten notice that said TIOLET. TURN OF THE ****** LIGHT! (signed) G. Chislett, Prop. (I put the row of stars as they spelt out a word that I am not allowed to use, but which I wouldn’t anyway as Mum says people only swear when they run out of vocabulary. I never run out of vocabulary!)

  Katy, in mystified tones, asked me what a prop was. I had to admit I wasn’t quite sure but thought it probably meant he was the owner.

  ‘Whatever he is,’ I said, ‘he obviously can’t spell.’ And he obviously didn’t have a very good vocabulary. Imagine pinning up such a rude sort of notice!

  ‘Do you think that’s him?’ whispered Katy.

  A small, scrawny man had just come out of a dilapidated shed, which was obviously the office. He was shouting angrily at someone acros
s the yard.

  ‘I thought I ****** told you to get that ****** horse tacked up?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Chislett!’ A girl came backing out of one of the boxes. Her face was bright red; she looked almost on the verge of tears. ‘I couldn’t get him to stand still!’

  ‘Couldn’t get him to ****** stand still? What do I ****** pay you for?’

  I honestly thought, for a moment, that he was going to burst at the seams, his rage was so immense. Katy and I exchanged horrified glances. This horrible violent man was now in charge of our beloved Rosie?

  I’d been anxiously looking all around but I couldn’t see Rosie anywhere, though lots of the stalls were empty so maybe, I thought, she had been allowed into the field. Not that it was much of a field, but better than being shut away in a dingy stall.

  Two tatty-looking ponies were brought out for me and Katy. They were called Dusty and Solo and they were such a pathetic pair. I felt so sorry for them! They made Jet and Freya seem like quality (which we knew they weren’t because the Mouth had taken care to tell us).

  The girl who took us out was called Natalie. She was old Chislett’s daughter. She didn’t look much like her dad as she was quite long and skinny, but she obviously had his sweet nature, ha ha. (That is a joke.) She was really sullen and hardly talked at all. And the ride was dead boring! Those poor ponies didn’t even want to trot, let alone canter. And I think they’d totally forgotten what it felt like to enjoy a good gallop. Katy was probably quite relieved, but I began to understand how the Mouth had felt that first day when Bethany wouldn’t let her take off.

  I pushed and prodded until Dusty broke into a reluctant half trot and I was able to catch up with Natalie.

  ‘Have you got a horse called Rosie?’ I said.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Natalie. ‘I’ve been away for a few days. What’s she like?’

  ‘She’s a strawberry roan,’ I said. Despite being so worried, I couldn’t help feeling just a little bit proud of my new horsey knowledge. ‘About sixteen hands?’