by Jean Ure
‘I’ll look later, I promise! Right now there’s something very serious that I have to do. Katy and I are trying to make some money to rescue a poor sick horse. We’re looking for things that we can sell. It’s really urgent! But whatever you do, you mustn’t tell Mum. It’s a secret. Okay? Just you and me!’
Benjy solemnly promised that he wouldn’t breathe a word. He said that he had some things I could sell.
‘Shall I go and get them?’
I said yes, all right, and he went scampering happily off, leaving me to see what I could uncover amongst all the mess and the muddle that somehow seemed to have accumulated in my bedroom. I don’t know where it all comes from! It just gathers. And most of it, sadly, the sort of rubbishy stuff that no one would want to buy. But I had to have something! I knew it wasn’t any use taking clothes, even ones I did my best never to wear. Mum would be bound to notice they’d gone. It would be, ‘Whatever happened to that little cardigan Nan knitted?’ or ‘Where is that dress we got you for Auntie Susan’s wedding?’ Yuck, yuck, yuck!
In the end all I could come up with were a few books (ones I’d grown out of), some china ornaments that I was really reluctant to part with (I had to keep reminding myself that Rosie was far more important), a bar of soap in the shape of a cow that I’d never been able to bring myself to use, and a few odd bits and pieces, such as jigsaw puzzles and painting sets and stuff, that had been at the back of my cupboard for so long I reckoned Mum was sure to have forgotten about them.
I had just fetched a big carrier bag from the kitchen and packed everything into it (quickly, quickly before Mum could appear and ask me what I was doing) when Benjy staggered in carrying his entire wardrobe: T-shirts, sweatshirts, shorts, jeans. Even shoes and socks! He dumped it all on my bed and proudly announced that it was for ‘the poor sick horse’. I didn’t know what to say! I didn’t want to hurt his feelings but I had to explain that Mum would go demented if I sold all his clothes.
We took them back to his room and he let me help myself to a few books and toys instead. He was so anxious to help the poor sick horse! I really think that one day, when he is old enough, he will become an Animal Samaritan himself.
Katy was waiting for me with a big holdall. She had had the same problem as I had, trying to find stuff that her mum wouldn’t miss. We agreed that our mums probably had loads of stuff of their own that they didn’t really need any more but neither of us had liked to ask for fear of them finding out about old Chislett and how he was holding our poor Rosie to ransom.
‘Mum told me just the other day,’ said Katy, ‘that I was taking this whole animal thing too far.’
‘Yes, mine says that,’ I agreed.
‘But how can you take it too far?’ said Katy. ‘Most people don’t take it far enough!’
‘Most people,’ I said bitterly, ‘don’t take it anywhere at all.’
We staggered up the road with our bags and headed for the indoor market that is held every weekend. What we thought we’d do, we’d go go round all the stalls and ask the stall owners if they were interested. We would see who offered the best price.
‘I mean, look,’ said Katy, opening her bag to show me. ‘A padded coat hanger!’
I said, ‘What’s a padded coat hanger?’
‘It’s a coat hanger that’s padded … It’s even got a little bag of smelly stuff hanging off it.’
‘Cool!’
‘Well, people do seem to like them,’ said Katy. ‘Mum’s got so many I didn’t think she’d miss just one. Oh, and, look, a bottle of perfume! Mum just opened it to have a sniff. It’s called Bijou of the Orient. I should think anyone would want that!’
‘And my china ornaments,’ I said.
Well! You would have thought so. I don’t know what is wrong with people. Those were good ornaments. There was a little squirrel eating a nut and a little donkey pulling a cart and the cutest little bunny wearing a red suit. Okay, so maybe the donkey had a chip out of one of his ears, but it hardly showed. Yet all we got, for the books, and the ornaments, and the padded coat hanger, not to mention all the other lovely things we’d lugged with us, was a measly five pounds! I would have thought we’d get at least twenty.
Katy was a bit despondent about it as well, though she bravely tried to look on the bright side.
‘At least it’s five pounds more than we did have.’
‘But we’ll never get enough at this rate!’ I wailed. ‘I haven’t got anything else I can sell!’
‘No.’ Katy stamped viciously on an empty Coke can and squashed it flat. ‘There’ve got to be other ways of making money!’
We agreed that we would meet up next day and discuss it. Then we would write out a list: WAYS OF MAKING MONEY.
‘And then,’ said Katy, ‘we’ll try them all, one after another, until we get enough!’
In the end I had to tell Mum why it was I wanted my pocket money in advance. She said that a vague ‘horsey thing’ wasn’t good enough.
‘Be more specific!’
I said, ‘Why? Why do I have to?’ I could hear my voice, all whiny and protesting.
Mum said, ‘I want to be sure you’re not frittering it away on something stupid.’
I felt like shouting, ‘It’s my money! I can fritter it if I want!’ But I knew it would only make her angry and tell me not to take that tone of voice.
‘Well?’ said Mum.
I heaved a sigh and mumbled, ‘It’s for Rosie.’
‘Not again!’ cried Mum. ‘I thought that was all settled?’
I said, ‘Well, it’s not! They’re not looking after her properly. Mum, they’re killing her! They just don’t care! And she’s all tied up in a horrid little box where she can’t even turn round. It’s like a prison cell!’
‘Maybe horses don’t mind being tied up,’ said Mum.
‘They do! They hate it! It’s not right! They ought to be free to run about. You shouldn’t ever keep a horse tied up so it can’t move! It’s wicked! It’s—’
‘All right, all right!’ Mum threw up her hands. ‘I give in! You don’t have to lecture me. Just tell me what you’re planning to do with this money you’re asking for.’
I brightened. ‘We’re going to buy her back!’
‘With two weeks’ pocket money?’
‘Well … no. We’ll need a bit more than that.’
‘A good bit more, I should think!’
‘We’re going to discuss it this morning.’
‘After you’ve done your homework.’
‘Oh, well, yes! Of course,’ I said, doing my best to sound all keen and eager. ‘Of course we’ll do our homework first.’
‘Hm!’ said Mum.
‘I don’t suppose you have any ideas how to make money?’ I said.
Mum gave what I think is called a mirthless laugh.
‘Please,’ I begged. ‘This is serious!’
Mum said, ‘Oh, Hannah, making money is always serious. I spend my entire life struggling to make money! I’m sorry, sweetheart, I really don’t know what to suggest.’
Glumly I reported this to Katy. She said, ‘Hey, guess what? I just had an idea!’
I looked at her hopefully.
‘Maybe we could do that crowdfunding thing … you know? When you go on the internet and ask people to send you money? You can raise thousands that way!’
I hesitated.
Katy said, ‘Well?’
I said, ‘Mm … I s’pose.’ I didn’t mean to throw cold water on her suggestion but I felt instinctively doubtful. It just sounded too easy!
Katy was obviously a bit annoyed. She said, ‘What d’you mean, you suppose? It’s what people do! They do it all the time! Look.’ She typed something into Google. ‘See? GoFundMe … all you have to do …’
All you had to do was set up an account. We tried! We typed in the name of Mum’s bank, and the name of Katy’s mum’s bank, we even put in details of Katy’s bond thing that she wasn’t allowed to touch, but none of it was any good. I wailed th
at I’d known it was too easy!
‘That’s no reason to give in.’ Katy said it very fiercely. ‘We just need a grown-up, that’s all. Someone with a bank account … ask your mum! See if she’ll set it up for us.’
‘Why not ask yours?’ I said.
‘Well, I could try,’ said Katy, ‘but you know what she’s like … She doesn’t care about animals. She just doesn’t think they’re important. Yours,’ she assured me, ‘is far more likely to be sympathetic.’
Mum usually was quite sympathetic; just not when she was struggling to finish a translation so that she could pay some bills.
‘Oh, Hannah, please!’ she cried. ‘Not now! If I don’t get this thing off double quick, we’re going to be in trouble! If it’s that important, why not try asking your friend at the sanctuary?’
That was what it always came back to: why didn’t we ask Meg? But as Katy sadly reminded me, when I suggested it to her, Meg was away trying to raise money for her own animals.
‘She’s doing this walking thing.’
‘A sponsored walk!’ I looked at Katy, suddenly excited. ‘Maybe that’s what we could do?’
‘What, walk?’
‘Why not?’
‘Where would we do it?’
‘Anywhere! Round the playing field.’
‘But who’d sponsor us?’
‘Your mum – my mum – your dad. You were going to ask your dad—’
‘I will!’ said Katy. ‘I’ll ring him tonight. That still only makes three people. They’re not going to give us enough money!’
‘People at school,’ I said. ‘Mrs B. The lady in the newsagent’s. The milkman, the postman … anybody! What we need to do, we need to print out some forms and get people to put their names down saying how much they’ll sponsor us for. I can print them out on Mum’s computer. No problem! Then we can ask people to fill them in and then all we have to do is just walk. Write it down! You’re supposed to be making a list.’
Obediently Katy picked up her pen and wrote, WAYS TO MAKE MONEY on a page torn from my homework book. Then: No. 1 Sponsered Walk.
‘Actually it’s spelt with an O,’ I said. ‘Not that it matters.’
‘Then why mention it?’ snapped Katy.
Honestly, she is so oversensitive. She didn’t have to bite my head off!
‘Think of other things,’ I said.
We sat and thought. Katy chewed her pen, I chewed my thumbnail. Every now and again Katy would go, ‘We could always—’ And I would go, ‘What?’ And Katy would go, ‘No. That’s no use!’
If it wasn’t Katy, it was me.
‘How about—’
‘What?’
‘No! That wouldn’t work.’
‘We’ve got to think of something!’ cried Katy.
‘I know!’ I sprang up. A brilliant idea had come to me. ‘If we cycled out to Sainsbury’s, we could make a fortune offering to take people’s shopping trolleys back for them.’
Katy wrinkled her brow. ‘Do people want their shopping trolleys taken back?’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘they might do. If they were old, or parked miles away, or had sprained their ankles or – or had little kids or …’
Katy was giving me that look she gets when she reckons I’m talking rubbish.
‘I always take Mum’s back,’ I said. ‘She says it’s really helpful. And she’s not even old!’
‘So how often do you go shopping with your mum?’ said Katy.
I said, ‘Well … now and again. Stop being so negative! Let’s just go and do it.’
‘What, right away?’
‘Why not? It’s a good time! It’s what people do on a Sunday. They go to the supermarket! And there’s the DIY shop as well. We could make oodles.’
Katy still seemed a bit hesitant, but as she obviously couldn’t think of anything better she reluctantly agreed to give it a go.
I said to Mum, ‘After we’ve been to the stables …’ I couldn’t bring myself to say, ‘After we’ve been for a ride.’ It was bad enough taking my riding money off her, without telling a whopping great lie, pretending we were going for a ride when we actually weren’t. ‘We’re going to go to Sainsbury’s,’ I said, ‘to ask people if we can put their shopping trolleys away for them.’ And, of course, give us something for our trouble. I reckoned the least people would be willing to give was 50p. Maybe even a pound if they were feeling generous. It would soon mount up!
‘Well, just be polite about it,’ said Mum. ‘Don’t make a nuisance of yourselves.’
The Sainsbury’s car park was simply swarming, just as I’d known it would be. So was the DIY shop next door. But Sainsbury’s, I thought, was the more promising.
Katy and I chained our bikes to some railings and set off.
‘I suppose,’ quavered Katy, ‘that this is all right?’
I said, ‘Of course it’s all right! We’re not going to mug anyone. Just ask if we can park their trolleys for them.’
‘But I don’t know what to say!’
‘Look, I’ll show you,’ I said. ‘Nothing to it!’
I marched up to two women that were standing talking. One of them had a full trolley; she was obviously going back to put everything into her car. The other had an empty trolley; she had obviously just come from her car.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, ever so polite. ‘Would you like me to take your trolley back for you?’
‘Take it back?’ The woman laughed. ‘I’ve only just got it!’
‘Oh.’ I felt my cheeks fire up.
‘What happened?’ said Katy.
‘Nothing! She hadn’t done any shopping yet. I’ll try another one.’
This time I went up to an old lady who I could see had trouble walking.
‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘Have you already done your shopping?’
That old lady! She got hold of quite the wrong end of the stick.
She said, ‘I have, my dear. It’s yours if you want it.’ And she beamed and pushed the trolley at me as if she was doing me a good turn.
I knew that Katy was watching, all ready to say I told you so. Told you it wouldn’t work!
‘Really, I meant could I just take it back for you,’ I gabbled. ‘Because it’s a long way to walk and I thought maybe you’d like someone else to do it, instead of you having to.’
‘Oh! Well, that’s very kind,’ said the old lady. ‘Thank you so much!’
With that, she turned and started to walk off. Desperately I called after her: ‘I’m an Animal Samaritan!’ I jabbed a finger on my badge, so she could see that I was genuine. ‘I’m trying to raise money to help a poor sick horse!’
That old lady turned out to be ace. She understood at once what I was saying!
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘you’re collecting. You really ought to have a proper collecting tin, but never mind. You’re saving my legs, so I’m not complaining! Here you are.’ She pressed a coin into my hand. ‘For the poor sick horse. Every little helps!’
She’d only given me 20p but perhaps, I thought, it was all she could afford. At least it was a start!
After that, I told everyone what I was collecting for. Some people were sympathetic, but lots couldn’t have cared less. A few were really horrible. They not only didn’t give me anything but told me I ought to be ashamed of myself: ‘Pestering people!’
Katy came up to me almost in tears because one woman had been extra specially mean.
‘She said she had a good mind to call the police!’
‘Well, she can call them as much as she wants,’ I said, ‘we’re not doing anything wrong. It’s a free country! All we’re doing is just trying to earn a bit of money. It’s not like begging. We’re offering a service!’
Katy sniffed, and scrubbed at her eyes. ‘How much longer do we have to stay?’
Poor Katy! She really hates having to go up to complete strangers and talk to them. It doesn’t bother me; I’ll talk to anyone. The nastier some people were, the more determined I became. I reminded Katy th
at it was for Rosie. I said, ‘Think of that poor frightened horse shut up in her prison cell … we’ve got to get enough money to rescue her!’
We stayed at Sainsbury’s until five o’clock, by which time even I thought we had better get back home before our mums started on their panic attacks. In any case I didn’t want Katy reduced to a nervous wreck! We still had our sponsored walk to do.
‘How much have we made?’ said Katy.
We turned out our pockets. Katy had made six pounds and an old French franc that some cheating person had given her: I had made £10.20. Katy promised that she would make out proper accounts as soon as she’d had her tea.
‘We have to keep a note of everything.’
‘And somewhere to keep all the money!’
Katy said she knew where we could put it. She said she had an old moneybox her gran had given her. ‘It’s got a proper lock and key!’
‘So where will you keep the key?’
Katy said she would put the key on a piece of string and tie it round her neck.
‘What about when we have to change for PE? They might think it’s jewellery and confiscate it!’
In that case, Katy said, she would hide it in her old teddy bear. She said some of the stitches had come undone and she would simply slip the key in there.
‘No problem!’
‘So long as it doesn’t disappear deep inside and you can’t get it out again.’
‘So I’ll leave the string hanging out! Okay?’
She was beginning to sound a bit irritable. I didn’t want to keep raising objections, but someone has to think of these things. She wouldn’t be very happy if she had to cut open her teddy bear to get the key back.
‘Okay?’
I didn’t say, ‘Suppose your mum sees it and decides to investigate?’ It seemed wisest not to. So I told her that was an excellent idea and we happily parted company.
When I got in, Mum asked me how we’d done. Proudly I announced that we had made £16.20 and a French franc.
‘Oh dear!’ said Mum. ‘That’s not a very good return for all your hard work.’
I was a bit disappointed when she said that. I thought we’d done quite well! I said, ‘It’s sixteen pounds twenty that we didn’t have before.’