Samphire Song (14 page)

‘Don’t come down till we call you, Jodie,’ calls Mum. I’m sitting on my bed, taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself for the challenge I’m about to face – phoning Leila. It doesn’t help that I can hear low voices in the kitchen, some giggles and someone saying ‘Shhh’.

Mum and Ed have been up to something for days. There have been secret mobile calls, family conferences to which I’ve not been invited, shopping trips ditto, exchanged looks and odd questions, a bit like an interrogation. For example:

Ed: Apart from he who shall not be named, what spesh thing would you really, really like in the WHOLE world? Anything, from skiing off Mount Everest to surfing on molten lava?

Me: (yawning) Oh, I don’t know. A chocolate factory.

Ed: (narrow eyes, making notes with his fluffy ostrich pen) Is that a visit or a whole one to yourself?

Mum has been behaving equally weirdly, talking about the flowers in the garden one minute and then asking whether I’ve spoken to Rachel lately, or considered going to the stables, or joining an after-school club, almost in the same breath. I think she hopes if she says it quickly, I won’t get stroppy and stomp off.

It’s true I have been a moody dudey, as Ed would say. After Samphire went away, I hit what our doctor says was a ‘bit of a wall’ for a month. I was off school, off food, off life. All the tests I was sent for came back negative. The educational psychologist I was referred to concluded that the shock of selling my horse had reawakened the grief of losing Dad and this added to the stress and worry of Ed’s illness. I was suffering from PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. It would pass. We had to be patient. I needed complete rest
and a great big chill pill (Ed’s suggestion).

School was OK about it. I started getting work sent home, just like Ed. He and I would sit at the kitchen table, doing catch-up and betting who could finish first. I think it was actually good for Ed to have the company. He’s had a lot to deal with since the operation. There have been some blips – a couple of infections that had us really worried. But he’s always so positive. ‘So far, so goodie gum drops,’ he keeps saying and now his consultant agrees, which is the best news ever.

Mum flitted about, pretending to be busy, when we both knew she was watching us like a hawk. I heard her crying on the phone one night. When I asked her about it the next day, she said she was talking to A.C. and that sometimes she gets lonely, even though we’re here all the time.

Then something unexpected happened. Mum’s old editor, Rubber Gloves, phoned to offer her a contract for regular features on a new gardening magazine, working from home. Mum said that once the work
started, we would be able to manage very well, as RG had worked a minor miracle and payment for the work would be really good. So I decided to do two things. The first was to take the big step of going back to school. While Ed is busy with his planes, which is most of the time, Mum can concentrate on her writing, without me getting under her feet. It was weird getting on the bus again, but after just one day, it felt like the same old, same old. My teacher was lovely. She wrote ‘Welcome back, Jodie’ in big letters on the whiteboard and the Glossies told me they were going to buy me a manicure set, now I was horseless, then changed their minds. It was a kind gesture, sort of, but Ed put it very succinctly.

‘Dur.’

I sat with Poppy on the way to school and she gave me an envelope. Inside was a CD she had put together for me – all her favourite tracks. I love all of them. It looks like we have exactly the same taste in music. I think we might become friends.

Rachel pops in at home sometimes and tells me the stable gossip, but I haven’t been back there yet. Just thinking about the place makes me feel panicky. I hold the lock of Samphire’s mane in my hand at night and in my dreams, we’re riding together. Dad is usually with us and we’re laughing in sunlight. It’s horrible waking up and remembering the truth. My subconscious seems to have got stuck in the past, muddling my memories, taunting me. Sometimes, I have nightmares. Samphire is tied up in a burning stall and although I’m there, I can’t move to raise the alarm or rescue him. His screams make me cry out and Mum comes running. On those nights, I usually end up in her bed, on Dad’s side, with my eyes wide open until the dawn starts to break.

So the second thing I decided to do was to make a call, which is why I have the phone in my hand. It’s taken me a long time to work up the courage to ring the number on the piece of paper I’ve kept in a drawer for the last five months. I’ve tried to run through the conversation I’m about to have and prepare myself for
things not going too well. I’m not sure I’ll cope if the news isn’t positive. Whatever happens, I have to know what the situation is.

I count the tones and am up to twenty when a young, female voice answers.

‘Hi?’ she says, a bit out of breath.

‘Hi, is that Leila?’ I ask. My voice is trembling slightly.

‘Yeah. Who’s this?’

‘It’s Jodie Palmer, Samphire’s last owner. I was wondering how he’s settled in with you.’

‘OK,’ Leila responds. I can hear something like indifference in her tone.

‘That’s good,’ I say. My mind is racing.
Just do it, Jodie
. ‘But I wanted to say my situation has changed and I’m serious about buying him back. If you wanted to sell him, I could give you two hundred more than you paid for him.’

‘Cool. Maybe. Yeah. I’m sort of over horses, especially crazy ones,’ she sighs. ‘My dad’s been saying we should
get rid of him before the winter.’ My heart leaps.

‘Could I speak to him, please?’ My heart is hammering in my chest. I might be just a conversation away from getting Samphire back.

‘He’s out, sorry,’ Leila answers.

‘Could you pass my message on to him when he gets back? And ask him to phone me?’ I’m almost begging.

‘Sure. What’s your number again?’

I give her my home phone and my mobile, and Mum’s mobile for good measure. Leila writes them all down, says ‘OK, bye,’ and rings off quite abruptly. There was so much more I wanted to ask. In what way has Sam been ‘crazy’? Has he thrown her, or just been disobedient? Is he eating well or is he pining? But Leila obviously didn’t want to discuss it. The important thing is, she may soon be ready to SELL HIM BACK TO ME!

That’s why I’m kissing the phone receiver and doing a little dance next to my bed.

For the first time in months, the knot in my
stomach is loosening and a surge of energy flows through my body.

Now Sam’s return is a real possibility, I must start saving big time. Mum said that, in a couple of months, she would be able to help with Sam’s livery costs again. But I have to raise the lump sum for his purchase. I’ll do it, somehow. As soon as Mum and Ed say I can come downstairs, I’ll tell them the good news.

Our family cloud suddenly has three silver linings: Ed’s consultant says he can go back to school very soon; Mum’s worry lines are disappearing now she has the offer of work . . . and I’m going to bring Samphire home where he belongs.

‘OK, Jodie, we’re ready!’ calls Mum.

I’m running downstairs, two at a time. The kitchen door is closed and there is scuffling behind it. I turn the handle and push, waiting a moment before peeping round into the room. My eyes are met by banners and things going pop and helium balloons and quite a few familiar faces grinning at me.

There’s Rachel and Sue, Mum and Ed, Rachel’s mum and dad and, looking through the open back door, Rambo with a ribbon in his mane. He looks ridiculous, but cute. I’m wondering how they got him into the back garden when I notice a heap of presents on the table and all my favourite nibbles on big plates near the cooker.

‘Surprise!’ they all shout, letting off some more poppers.

Seeing all of them and Rambo, a huge rush of emotions floods through my system; sadness, excitement, even a burst of happiness. If Dad and Samphire were here, it would be the best, best, brightest birthday ever. I hug them all in turn and Rambo most of all.

His mouth is exploring my pockets for slices of apple and he nickers, disappointed, when he doesn’t find any. I take a whole one from the fruit bowl and offer it to him. He whinnies in thanks and makes us all laugh.

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STICK!’ yells Ed above the racket. It is already, thanks to my family and friends. It’s the perfect time to put Plan A – Rescuing Samphire – into action.

‘Hi, everyone. Wow, thank you for all this. I don’t know what to say, except . . . I have an announcement.’ And I tell them what I hope to do.

Rachel, who is always totally fantastic, immediately says, ‘How can I help?’

From today, a new phase of my life has begun. I’m on a mission. Look out world. Jodie Palmer is coming back and she means business!

Chapter Twenty-nine

‘Come too,’ pleads Ed, nearly yanking my arm out of its socket. ‘It’ll be fun at the beach, Stick.’ Piles of coins and notes, which I’ve been counting on my bed, cascade into each other. Erg, now I’ll have to start again.

‘I can’t. I’ve got homework and then I’m walking Snap, Crackle and Pop,’ I tell him. These are the yappy terriers that live down the lane. Their owner has had a hip operation and needs help with their exercise, so I’m walking them regularly in my quest to save up. I also have a morning paper round, lead young kids on pony walks from the stables and help out with yard duties. Rachel and I did a cake sale at the stables this week, which raised fifty pounds.

Mum’s been fantastic, as usual, and has given me a
thousand pounds from her feature writing money. I’m on track to raise the extra twelve hundred for Sam’s purchase by the end of this month.

Leila’s dad hasn’t called yet. Mum says I should ring him again when I’ve reached my target. And by then, she should be able to add some cash if necessary.

‘I’ll let you fly the Spitfire,’ Ed says. His computergeek mate Leo is loitering just outside my door, probably picking his nose. Leo’s mum has offered to take them out today.

‘I’m sorry, Teddy,’ I say, gently. ‘I need to work.’

‘How much have you got?’ my brother asks, eyes wide at the sight of so many ten-pound notes.

‘About nine hundred. Just three hundred to go before I make that call.’

‘You’re doing a good job, Stick,’ my brother says.

‘Trying,’ I nod. ‘I’ll get there. Have a good time, OK? And don’t decapitate anyone, Wing Commander.’

‘Affirmative, Squadron Leader,’ replies Ed, saluting me.

‘Bye, Leo,’ I call.

There’s an odd shuffling sound and the clearing of a throat. ‘Yeah. Laters,’ comes the shy, nasal grunt from the hallway.

I watch out of my window as Leo’s mum reverses her car from our driveway into the lane. I can see the boys in the back, heads and hands moving like manic puppets, excited to the point of frenzy. I’m thinking how much Dad would have loved flying planes with Ed, sharing boy-time with him. Leo, who loves all things technical, is a good match for Teddy, though. It’s funny how reading the spec of aircraft out loud passes for conversation between them. When they speak on the phone, it’s like a code, full of numbers, followed by, ‘Aaah, sweet.’

The air coming through my window is full of summer scents. Birds are hopping about, pulling worms from the damp grass. I’m longing to be outside. Suddenly, my maths prep seems less than appealing and I’m putting on my trainers.

‘Doing the dogs!’ I call to Mum as I rush through the hall downstairs. She’s on the phone, doing research for her feature on gazebos.

‘See you soon,’ she mouths at me, her hand over the receiver.

Moments later, I’m outside on my bike, pedalling furiously, lifting my legs in the air as my tyres swish through the shallow puddles by the verges. It’s so great to be moving, breathing in the energy all around me. A warm wind whistles around my ears, whispering hope into my heart. It’s a good start to Sunday, even if the hour to come will be full of terrier squabbles, muddy paws and mini poo bags.

My hands are off the handlebars and I’m perched up on the saddle, hurtling down a small hill, which ends in a curve. Snap, Crackle and Pop’s cottage is about half a mile further on. With luck, I might be able to freewheel some of it.

But just as I hit full speed, a glimpse of something white and large among the trees distracts me from
my descent. I brake cautiously, aware that it’s coming closer, keeping pace with me. Glancing sideways, I realise it’s a stunning grey with an adult female rider, turned out in smart cross-country kit, travelling at full canter. She’s urging the filly on with determination. They are keeping pace with me on the parallel forest track, navigating the mulch-covered pathway with precision. The horse looks like an experienced eventer and must be about seventeen hands – my heart is thundering in unison with its hooves, enthralled just by the sight of it, majestic in sunlight, a regal vision flashing intermittently between the lines of trees.

I slow the bike so that they will reach the bend before me and I’m rewarded with a full view as they cross the lane and set off on a new bridle path, which borders a stream. I watch impressed as they easily jump a large trunk obstructing the track. Two seconds later, they are gone, forging further into the Forest, leaving me in awe, with a new ambition surging through my veins.