Pony Passion (4 page)

That meant no riding for six weeks.

And no gymkhana.

Talk about a major downer. The next morning I felt like I had my own personal black cloud hovering right above my head. It seemed so cruel that I’d put in all that hard work, practising for the gymkhana, and now I wasn’t going to be able to take part.

I’d even chosen the spot on my bedroom wall where I was planning to hang my winner’s rosette. “Poor Lyndsey,” said Dad when I told him at breakfast. “Talk about riding for a fall!”
He thought this was brilliantly funny. I scowled into my Shreddies.

My problem with Frankie’s sleepover was solved now, of course. I should have been glad. But I couldn’t help thinking I would’ve found some way to do both in the end, if only I’d racked my brains hard enough…

Still, arriving at school cheered me up. I was so chuffed Mum hadn’t let me ring my friends the night before. What I would’ve missed out on!

First there was Kenny, who raced into the playground as usual, then stopped dead in her tracks so that at least three people cannoned into her. It was like that moment in a soppy film when the hero and heroine spot each other for the first time. Except, the way Kenny stared at me, you’d have thought I’d grown three heads.

Then Frankie bounded up and was about to jump on me for a piggyback when Kenny shouted “No!” and launched herself at Frankie in a flying rugby tackle. They ended up sprawled in a heap. I could hear Frankie’s voice coming from
somewhere under Kenny, saying, “Hey! What was that for, rat-face?”

But before Kenny could answer, Fliss – who’d just that minute turned up with Rosie – shrieked, “Omigosh, Lyndsey! You’ve hurt your arm!” as if I didn’t know, which sent Rosie and me into fits of giggles. Fliss stood there saying, “What? What’s funny?” which only made us laugh more.

Soon I had the four of them clustered round me, all asking questions at once.

“Did you actually break it, then?” said Frankie, rapping her knuckles on my cast. I nodded.

“Was the bone sticking up through your skin?” asked Kenny, looking hopeful.

“Urgh! I think I’m going to be sick,” said Fliss.

“It does sometimes,” said Kenny indignantly. She frowned, thinking. “Maybe it was a greenstick fracture.”

“What’s one of those?” asked Rosie.

“I’m not sure,” said Kenny, “but I’ve heard my dad talking about them.”

“Maybe it means your bones have gone mouldy,” suggested Frankie.

“Urgh!” That was Fliss again. She was looking a bit green herself. Then she said, “Don’t worry, Lyndz. Do you remember when I broke my ankle?” Do I! Before yesterday I would’ve said it was one of the most dramatic days of my life. Fliss and Kenny had been trying out some dance moves at one of our sleepovers, when Fliss had come a cropper and ended up with her leg in plaster.

“You’d think a broken bone would look funny when it mended, wouldn’t you? But, see…” She waggled her ankle in front of her “…you can’t tell, can you? It hasn’t gone fat or anything.”

“What do you mean? It’s a balloon!” shrieked Kenny, and dodged niftily when Fliss tried to kick her. Fliss has delicate little ankles and is dead proud of them.

Thankfully, before this could turn into a full-scale foot fight, the bell rang.

“Been in the wars, Lyndsey?” said Mrs Weaver as we all piled past her into the classroom.

“Riding accident,” I said. It sounded good, I thought – grown-up and kind of glamorous.

It was cool, too, when people started asking if they could sign my cast. But Mrs Weaver barked, “Leave that for break-time!” and made everyone go back to their seats.

It turned out that this morning we were going to see the exhibition at Cuddington library Mrs Weaver had told us about. In all the drama with my arm, I’d clean forgotten about our projects.

Two teachers were going with us: Mrs Weaver and Miss Walsh. Before we set off, Weaver gave us one of her behaving-in-public lectures. “Remember that there will be other people besides you looking round the exhibition. And that means I expect very grown-up, considerate behaviour from everybody,” she said. “If anyone misbehaves, Mrs Proctor, the head librarian, will never let groups from Cuddington Primary go there again.”

“Library ban! Aaargh! A fate worse than death!” whispered Kenny, clasping her hands to
her throat and doing some blood-curdling eye-rolling. But then Weaver spotted her and gave her one of her speciality frosty stares.

The library’s not far from our school, so we walked. Mrs Weaver made us go two by two, in a crocodile. Rosie had to go in front of me with Regina Hill, but luckily I got paired up with Frankie, and Kenny and Fliss were behind us, so we could all chat on the way.

That was the good bit. The bad bit was that in front of Rosie and Regina were the M&Ms, and they just couldn’t resist smirking over their shoulders every two seconds.

“Top riding skills, Collins,” said Emma ‘the Queen’ Hughes at one point. “You must be really good.”

Beside her, the Goblin was sniggering. “D’you fall off everything you sit on?” she asked. “Even the loo?”

“That’s right, kick a girl when she’s down!” yelled Frankie. “You are the meanest slimebags in the history of the entire world!”

“Francesca Thomas! If you don’t start behaving yourself this instant we shall all turn back and head for school!” boomed Mrs Weaver from the head of the line.

“They started it,” muttered Frankie. It was probably a good job Mrs Weaver didn’t hear.

“Last night my sis showed me a clip on the internet from The Lord of the Rings,” said Kenny behind me. “And the goblins are sooo gross. They look exactly like Berryman.”

“We should’ve told the director,” giggled Rosie. “Think how much money they could’ve saved on make-up if they’d cast those two!”

That made us all crack up, and gave me an attack of hiccups that lasted the rest of the way to the library.

Cuddington library never used to have exhibitions like this, but a couple of years ago it got a chunk of lottery money, and now there’s a brand new gallery built on at the back. Chimney-sweeps and Crinolines – Leicestershire in the Victorian Era said the
signs as we went in through the big sliding doors.

“I have a feeling,” said Frankie gloomily, “that this is going to be a serious yawn.”

The first room was full of glass cases. Some of the things in them were quite interesting – ancient lacy gloves, hats with feathers on, old children’s toys and a thing called a mangle for squeezing water out of washing – but half the cases seemed to be full of rusty tools.

“We’ve got junk like this in the shed at home,” said Fliss, wrinkling her nose.

“You should take it to the Antiques Roadshow, then,” said Rosie. “It could be worth a fortune!”

We hurried on, to a doorway marked Victorians Come To Life. From beyond it you could hear singing and laughter and people chattering. “Sounds more fun in here,” said Kenny. “Follow me, troops!”

Through the doorway, we found ourselves in a really posh sitting room, like something out of a stately home.

“Cool!” said Rosie, looking about. “It’s like Madame Tussaud’s!”

“Madame Two-what?” said Kenny.

“That place in London with all the waxworks,” said Fliss.

Rosie was right. There was a waxwork of a woman in a long dress by the piano, and another waxwork (a man) sitting playing. Another couple were sitting on an enormous sofa drinking cups of tea, and an older man was standing by a window. They’d put a picture on the other side of the glass to make it look like a real street outside. Hidden somewhere there must have been a tape recorder, because you could hear the woman singing and the piano playing, and a murmur of voices as if the people on the sofa were chatting.

“It’s wicked!” I said. “What d’you reckon, Frankie?”

Frankie hadn’t said anything since we’d come into the room. Now I noticed she wasn’t even beside me – she was still standing by the entrance, staring at her shoes.

I went over to her. “What’s up?”

“Look, don’t tell the others,” she said in a low voice, “and I know I’m a complete wimp – but waxworks give me the screaming ab-dabs.” She glanced up at me briefly. “Can I hang on to you, and not look, and you can kind of lead me through?”

“Seriously?” I couldn’t quite believe it. Fearless Frankie, the feistiest girl in the west, scared of a load of dummies? “They’re not alive, you know. They’re not going to jump out and bite you.”

Frankie winced. “I’m always thinking they’re about to move. Like walking zombies or something.”

“You’ve been watching too many scary films,” I laughed.

“Some people are scared of snakes – or wasps, or mice. I’m scared of these, that’s all,” said Frankie grimly. “Now are you going to help me or aren’t you?”

“All right, all right, keep your hair on,” I said. Biting my lip to stop myself from grinning,
I inched closer to Frankie so she could take hold of my good arm without anyone noticing. Then, as if we didn’t have a care in the world, we strolled into the next room.

On the way we passed the M&Ms, and I saw Emily nudge Emma and nod in our direction, whispering something behind her hand. I presumed she was just being snide about my arm again. Later, I wished I’d taken more notice.

I forgot all about the M&Ms as soon as we got into the next room. It was really dark and the air was filled with noise – clangs and crashes. It was supposed to show you what it was like in a Victorian mine, and it was dead realistic.

“This is awesome!” I said. “Frankie, you’re really missing out!”

But she wouldn’t look up. “Just – keep – going – will you?” she said through gritted teeth, her nails digging painfully into my arm. I should’ve told her to hold my plaster cast, and I wouldn’t have felt a thing!

I guess if you were wobbly about waxworks it must’ve been pretty spooky. The room was dim and shadowy, and the waxworks weren’t grouped in one area, behind a rope barrier – they were dotted about all over the place. To get from one side of the room to the other, you had to weave your way amongst them.

That didn’t bother me. But something else caught my attention. “Look – oh, poor thing!” I said, dragging Frankie to where a waxwork of a woman stood next to a model pit pony. “How cruel to make ponies work in a place like this,” I said, ignoring Frankie’s tugs at my arm. “They must’ve been so scared.”

If I hadn’t had my mind filled with those poor pit ponies, I might have spotted that something was up. As it was, I was just about to turn round and set off towards the door when Frankie jerked suddenly as if she’d had an electric shock, and let rip the most blood-curdling scream I have ever heard in my life.

The waxwork next to us, the woman, had moved. Not just moved – it had stuck out an arm and grabbed Frankie. For a second everything she’d said about zombies came flooding back and I was pretty panicked too.

Frankie hadn’t stopped screaming. It wasn’t one “Eek!” and it was all over – she was shrieking, again and again, and making a dash for the exit, pushing and shoving in her panic to get out. She even managed to knock over one of the waxworks, which toppled against another one, and sent them both head-first into a wagon of coal.

Everyone else in the room – not sure if The Incredible Hulk was about to burst in, or if one of the waxworks had a bomb under its hat – started jostling around, some people heading for the exit, others back the way they’d come and some people just milling about, asking each other what’d happened.

Meanwhile, standing right where Frankie had left me, I saw something no one else spotted: a
person emerging from behind the waxwork that’d ‘moved’. Even in the dim light I could see a really slimy smirk spread all over her face.

“What happened? Where’s Frankie?” said Kenny, suddenly right at my elbow.

Before I could reply, an announcement came over the tannoy, like at the supermarket. Except instead of, “Supervisor to checkout three, please,” it said, “Cuddington Primary group, go to the exit immediately.”

“Uh-oh,” said Kenny. “Weaver’s pulled the plug. Come on.”

We had to assemble outside in the car park, where Miss Walsh was standing, her face as sour as if she’d been sucking a whole bag of lemons.

“Don’t you dare make a noise!” she hissed, as we shuffled into a group and waited for Mrs Weaver to arrive. Frankie had been standing beside Miss Walsh, digging her toe into the gravel, but now she came and joined the rest of us. We eyed each other, but didn’t say a thing.