Pony Passion (10 page)

When I got in I went straight to my room and flung myself down on my bed. In a way, going to the Wentworth Show had made it all worse. It had brought home to me how much had changed. A few weeks ago I would have been so excited, sitting at the show thinking, “I’m going to do that one day.” Today, watching those gorgeous horses had just made me feel like a wimp and a failure.

I sat up, and looked round at my horse posters on the walls, and the pile of pony magazines by my bed. Even they had changed. My favourite belongings had become horrible reminders of what I couldn’t do any more. I felt like tearing them into tiny shreds.

But I didn’t. One by one, carefully, I took my
posters down and folded them on top of the magazines. Then I pushed the whole lot deep into the dusty shadows under my bed. Burying my face in the duvet, I burst into tears.

The next morning, as promised, I rang Rosie. “I’m so sorry about yesterday,” I said. “I hope I didn’t spoil it for everyone else.”

“You didn’t spoil it,” said Rosie. “We were worried about you, that’s all. How – er…” She hesitated.

“How am I?” I said, almost laughing. “You’re allowed to ask, you know! I’m OK. Much better.”

“That’s brilliant!” She sounded really relieved.

“Listen, I’m going to the stables this afternoon,” I said, “and I wondered if you’d mind coming too? I want to give back the riding hat Mrs McAllister lent me yonks ago. And…” Now it was my turn to hesitate, “…and I want to say goodbye to the ponies.”

“Say goodbye?” said Rosie, sounding concerned again. “But you can carry on seeing them, can’t
you? Lyndz, you know how much you love Bramble and the others!”

I was not going to cry. I was not. I swallowed hard and said, “Yes, I know. But if I can’t ride, going there will just make me feel sad. The ponies have lots of other people to love them and take care of them. They won’t miss me.”

“I bet they will—” began Rosie. But then she stopped herself and said, “Of course we’ll go with you. All of us. I’ll ring the others. The Sleepover Club sticks together through thick and thin!”

I was glad Rosie had said yes. If she and the others were with me, I’d have to hold myself together.

They turned up straight after lunch, Frankie and Kenny in one car, and Rosie and Fliss in another.

“I’ve persuaded Mum and Dad that we should have a big slap-up tea when we get back,” I said, showing off the carrier bag full of mini-rolls, muffins and Battenburg cake (my favourite!) that Dad had just lugged back from the supermarket.

“Lip-smackin’ good!” said Kenny in her best
cowgirl voice. “Can we have a little something for the road?”

“No, you can’t!” laughed Dad, snatching the bag from me in the nick of time. “I’ll see you later, gang. Now, shoo!”

We walked to the stables, which didn’t take long. As we turned the corner into the lane, I could see that Bramble was on her own in one of Mr Brocklehurst’s fields.

“Do you want me to run and ask Mrs McAllister for the padlock key?” asked Rosie. She knew that the gates to all the fields are kept firmly locked.

I shook my head. “It’s a combination lock, this one,” I said, “and I know the number off by heart.”

“Go on, then,” said Rosie softly. “We’ll wait for you in the yard.”

So, while my friends headed on towards the stable buildings, I trudged over to the gate, and a minute later I was in the field.

Bramble lifted her head and came trotting to meet me. I’d brought some pony nuts, so I fished them out of my pocket.

“Hey, Bramble,” I said, holding out my hand for her. When she’d finished eating, I laid my cheek against her neck, drinking in the familiar smell of her beautiful clean coat. I felt hot tears trickle down my nose. Bramble stood there patiently, as if she understood.

“It isn’t that I don’t love you – you know that, huh?” I whispered, stroking her over and over. “You’re the best pony in the world, Bramble. And I’ve loved riding you. I just… can’t do it any more.” I lifted my head to see the kind brown eyes looking at me softly. “Other people will love you now,” I said. I kissed her nose. “Goodbye.”

By the time I got to the gate I could hardly see a thing. But I sniffed hard and swallowed back my tears, rubbing my sleeve roughly across my cheeks.

I heard gales of laughter coming from the yard. Trojan was standing tethered outside his stall, all tacked up and ready for a riding lesson. Lisa Bentham was standing beside him, trying to teach Fliss how to feed him a piece of carrot.

“Aiiieee! It tickles!” Fliss squealed, turning her
head away and jigging from foot to foot, while Kenny, Frankie and Rosie collapsed in fits of giggles.

“Keep still, will you!” laughed Lisa. “You’ll spook him!”

It made me smile, too. But when the others saw me, their laughter faded.

“Can you watch Trojan for a moment, Lyndsey?” asked Lisa. “I need to have a word with Miranda.”

“No problem,” I said.

“Poor Lyndz!” said Frankie, rushing over as soon as Lisa had gone.

“No, I’m OK,” I insisted, shrugging her off. “Really. Thanks, Frankie.” The sight of my friends’ faces had made me realise what a downer I was putting on all our lives these days. “You know what, guys?” I said, giving Trojan a brisk pat and smiling round at them. “No more misery-guts Lyndz! I’m fed up with being gloomy and I’m pretty sure you must be, too. You don’t need to tiptoe round me any more. We’re the Sleepover Club! We should be having fun!”

“Too right!” said Frankie. “Yee-hah!”

“Now – I’ll just go and find Mrs McAllister and give her this,” I said, waving my riding hat. “And then it’s back to mine for a nosh-up!”

Rosie and Frankie cheered. Fliss was still wiping Trojan’s dribble off her hand. Kenny, meanwhile, was staring at something in the distance. “Hey,” she said, pointing towards Mr Brocklehurst’s field. “Is that pony allowed out?”

I turned my head. And stared. The gate of Bramble’s field was standing open. And there was Bramble, tail held high in excitement, trotting off down the lane that led out of the stables towards the road.

“But how—” I began. I was sure I’d fastened the gate as I left the field.

The next moment, an image flashed into my mind of Bramble trotting down the middle of the main road, while just round the bend, a car speeds towards her at sixty miles an hour, unable to see her, too late to brake…

“Noooo!” I screamed, setting off after her as fast as I could. “Bramble! Come back!”

But after a few steps I stopped. There was no way I could catch her. Desperate, I raced back to the yard. I thought of running to the office to tell Mrs McAllister, but every minute wasted was a minute longer that Bramble would be on the road, and in danger.

In that instant, I made a decision.

“Fliss! Untie Trojan’s reins!” I commanded. “Quick!”

Fumbling frantically, Fliss did as she was told. I jammed the riding hat I was still carrying on to my head and fastened the strap. Then I grabbed Trojan’s reins and put my hands on his back.

“Frankie, can you give me a leg-up?”

“Sure thing…”

A moment later I was in the saddle.

“Has she reached the end of the lane yet?” I said to the others. “Can you see which way she’s turning?”

“Uh, I can’t – oh, yes – she’s turning right,” said Rosie, who’d climbed on to the gate at the yard entrance to get a better view.

“OK,” I said, thinking quickly. “If I head across the fields I can try to cut her off at the bend in the road by the next village.” I squeezed my legs and directed Trojan towards the open gate. “Tell Mrs McAllister!” I yelled over my shoulder, as I pushed Trojan into a gallop.

I was vaguely aware of Frankie, Kenny and Fliss in a huddle in the yard, clutching one another in anxiety.

“Good luck, Lyndz!” I heard Kenny yell behind me.

And then I had to turn every ounce of my attention to Trojan. We were going to have to ride like the wind across Mr Brocklehurst’s farm. There were several fences between us and the far road, and with no time to lose there was only one thing we could do: jump them.

Later – much later – Rosie told me that Mrs McAllister had been furious when she’d found out what had happened.

“She was like a whole box of fireworks going off at once!” she said, her eyes wide at the memory. “She was tearing around, grabbing the collar and rope and her car keys, and all the time she kept shouting about who on earth could be stupid enough not to shut a gate, and about what she’d do when she got her hands on them. We were really scared she was going to beat you up or something!”

I was kind of glad I hadn’t been there at the time. Where I was, I had no chance to bother about Mrs McAllister or anyone else.

Trojan was going at a cracking pace, faster than I’d ever ridden before in my life. He seemed to know it was an emergency, and that we were going to have to do some crazy things.

We got to the far side of Bramble’s field in no time. But here the fence was just too high and I had to rein Trojan in. Growling with frustration I turned him, and we headed off along the fence, looking for a way round or through.

At the north end of the field, the fence gave way to a hedge. It was fairly high, and I didn’t fancy trying it, but I couldn’t see any option.

“Come on, Trojan, we can do this,” I said, urging him on, letting him know that I was determined to jump, that I was confident.

It’s too high – it’s got to be too high, I thought as we drew nearer to the hedge. But we had to
get to Bramble. I kept picturing her and that speeding car…Already we could be too late.

The next moment Trojan pushed off, his powerful hind legs underneath him. I leant forward, back straight, keeping my hands as light on the reins as I could manage.

Trojan powered through the air, his neck stretched forward. Then his forelegs uncurled to touch the ground. We’d done it – we had reached the other side!

I almost laughed with relief. But we weren’t done yet. We had to jump three more fences before we reached the village. Luckily, none of them were as high as the first hedge, and Trojan sailed over them like an old pro.

The village, Milton Hamlet, is like something on a holiday postcard, with rows of cottages and neat little gardens. What I must’ve looked like, clattering up the high street all flushed and anxious on a sweating pony, I’ve no idea – I probably spoiled the view!

I passed the church and the village shop, and
caught sight of a woman in a blue body-warmer whom I’d seen at the stables once or twice, though I didn’t know her name. And there, not far from her, stood Bramble, snorting and frightened, but unscathed.

“Have you come looking for this one?” asked the woman. “She seems to know you.”

It was true. Bramble had stopped pacing and was staring at Trojan and me.

“She escaped from McAllister’s stables,” I said.

“Let’s get her off the road,” said the woman. “My front garden will do as a pen.” She pointed to a nearby cottage.

Hastily, I dismounted, and led Trojan towards Bramble. Then, using Trojan and me as a kind of ‘guide fence’ to stop Bramble from bolting back along the road, the woman managed to herd her into the little garden.

“Phew! Talk about a relief!” said the woman. “How on earth did she get out?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I was sure I’d shut the gate, but…”

My voice trailed off when I saw the severe look on the woman’s face. Then her expression softened and she said, “You won’t make that mistake again, I expect. I take it you knew what danger she was in?”

“Too right,” I said. I could hardly bear to think about it.

At that moment Mrs McAllister’s Land Rover roared into view. Seeing us, she pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the engine. I saw her sit for a minute staring at Bramble. It wasn’t until then that I realised how funny Bramble looked – standing with her head poking out over the garden gate, framed by a beautiful arch of creepers, as if she was just watching the world go by.

Mrs McAllister was still gripping the steering wheel. I saw her rest her forehead on her hands for a moment. Then she collected herself and got out, striding across to the woman in the blue body-warmer.

“Sandra,” said Mrs McAllister, “I really can’t thank
you enough. I don’t know how this happened…”