Chocolate Box Girls: Coco Caramel (11 page)

‘At least now we know it has a happy
ending,’ I comment.

‘Well, maybe,’ Lawrie says.
‘Having a mare in foal really complicates things. She’s not in great
condition and I’ve no idea when she’s due to foal. What if we’re
lumped with delivering it?’

‘We’d manage,’ I say
bravely, although I am starting to feel a little out of my depth.

‘Maybe,’ Lawrie says. ‘Right
now, anything we can do to rebuild her trust has to help. You’ve got patience –
maybe even a way with animals. I suppose everyone has at least
some
good
points.’

‘Even me?’ I huff.
‘Careful. You almost said something nice then. Are you feeling ill or
something?’

‘Funny,’ Lawrie says.
‘Look, I didn’t ask to be in this mess with you, you know. I can manage fine
on my own if there’s something else you’d rather be doing.’

‘That’s rich!’ I splutter.
‘Whose idea was this rescue? Mine, Lawrie Marshall, OK? If it wasn’t for me,
they’d still be stuck with that creep Seddon, half-starved and treated like dirt,
so don’t you tell me to push off and go and do something else –’

‘Calm down,’ he says. ‘I
didn’t say that. Look … can we try to get along? For the sake of the
horses? I don’t much like you and I know you don’t like me –’

‘That’s the understatement of
the year,’ I snap.

‘Fine,’ Lawrie shrugs.
‘Forget about getting along. Let’s just work out what needs to be done.
I’ve brought up a net of hay and some grain, plus buckets for water and
feed …’

I look around, taking in the feed buckets and
the hay. My own effort – a rucksack filled with hay and apples – looks childish by
comparison.

‘Seddon must have noticed by
now,’ I say. ‘He’s bound to go to the police. Is it really safe to
leave the ponies here?’

Lawrie shrugs. ‘I think so. I’ve
been up here tons of times over the summer and never seen another soul. Walkers usually
stick to the pathways and the house is pretty much a wreck – dangerous too, most of it.
The garden’s secure and the wall is too high for anyone to notice the ponies from
a distance, so I reckon they should be safe enough for now.’

‘Won’t Seddon search?’ I
frown. ‘The police too?’

‘They might,’ Lawrie says.
‘I just don’t think they’d look here. They’ll assume whoever
stole the horses is planning to sell them on, profit from them somehow … not
hide them out on the moors. Moving them both now would be a big risk, but if we sit
tight and keep them here, they should be safe. Trust me.’

‘Do I have a choice?’

Lawrie rolls his eyes. ‘If you have a
better plan, go
ahead and tell me,’ he says. ‘As long as
it doesn’t involve petitions or cupcakes iced with panda faces. And be careful
what you tell your friends about this – one careless word could endanger these
horses.’

‘As if!’ I protest.
‘I’d never do anything to put them in danger.’

‘If you do say anything about it,
leave me out,’ he adds. ‘I don’t want to be part of the gossip. This
isn’t a game, Coco … it’s serious, or haven’t you
noticed?’

‘Of course I’ve noticed,’
I scowl. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t exactly be spreading the word that
you’re involved. I did tell my stepsister Cherry, but she won’t tell anyone
– she promised.’

Lawrie curls his lip, as if he doesn’t
believe in promises, or in me for that matter.

‘So, do we make a rota for coming up
to feed and check on them?’ I ask. ‘Only it’s getting dark quite early
now that the clock’s gone back, and school doesn’t finish till half three,
so …’

‘Scared of the dark, are you?’
Lawrie shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll bring up lanterns and
candles, and you should carry a torch, obviously. How long did it take you
to cycle to the hazel copse? We can meet down there most days at
maybe half four, if you’re too chicken to come on your own. I’ll come up on
my own on Tuesdays and Fridays, after work. Those can be your days off, and maybe you
can do Saturdays for me in return? I have to take my little sister to dance class in
Minehead on Saturday mornings.’

‘No problem,’ I say. ‘I
can do Sundays too, obviously, to keep it fair.’

‘We can take turns,’ he shrugs.
‘Whatever.’

I bite my lip, glad to know I don’t
have to hike across the moors in the dark, alone – even if my companion happens to be
the scratchiest, spikiest boy in Somerset.

‘I didn’t know you had a little
sister,’ I say, wondering how she puts up with him.

‘There’s a lot you don’t
know about me,’ he replies. ‘She’s eight. I buy your cakes for her
sometimes. She likes them, even the ridiculous panda-face ones.’

‘You say the sweetest things,’ I
huff. ‘There was me thinking you cared about the plight of the giant panda.
Another illusion shattered.’

Lawrie gets to his feet, gazing into the
dusk at the two
ponies grazing the knee-high grass. ‘It’s
these two I’m bothered about right now,’ he tells me. ‘We may have got
them away from Seddon, but we have to keep them safe and work out what to do with them.
I don’t suppose your plan goes that far?’

‘Not yet,’ I admit.
‘I’m working on it.’

‘Work fast then,’ he says.
‘These two ponies are trouble. One of them is unpredictable, unrideable; the other
run-down, neglected, terrified of humans and in foal. They don’t stand much chance
of finding a happy-ever-after home if you ask me. That’s the trouble with bullies
like Seddon – the damage they do goes on and on.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Not keen on
bullies, all of a sudden?’ I ask.

‘Not keen on them, ever,’ he
says. ‘I know you think I am one, but you couldn’t be more wrong. That day
you found me scrapping with Darren Holmes from Year Six … well, I’d just
stopped him nicking a tinful of crispy cakes from some Year Five girl. He’s the
bully, and for the record, he’s the one who hoisted your panda hat up the school
flagpole too –’

‘Hang on!’ I interrupt.
‘That kid you had by the collar –
he
was the bully?’

‘That’s right,’ Lawrie
says. ‘OK, I probably shouldn’t have grabbed him like that. I know I
shouldn’t. Makes me no better than Seddon, I guess. But … sometimes you
just see red. I saw that Year Five girl and I thought, y’know, she could have been
my sister – I couldn’t let him get away with it!’

Shame floods me as I remember wading in to
drag Lawrie away from the weaselly Year Six boy. How did I get it so wrong? Instead of
stopping a bully, I helped one escape.

‘But … why didn’t you
tell me?’ I stammer. ‘You let me say all kinds of stuff – I feel awful now!
I remember the little girl too. She was buying the cakes for her mum’s
birthday.’

‘Most of them ended up in a
puddle,’ he shrugs. ‘I didn’t tell you because … well, you
wouldn’t have listened, would you? People like you never do. For the record, I
hate bullies just as much as you do. More, actually. I can guarantee that.
OK?’

I blink. What does that even mean? I look at
Lawrie,
taking in the proud set of his shoulders, the defiant tilt of
his chin, the way his fringe flops down over his face, shadowing his eyes and giving him
a distant, stay-away vibe. The look I mistook for surly aggression – could it be more
about self-defence? He is still quite new at Exmoor Park Middle School, and nobody seems
to know much about him. Perhaps he has been bullied himself?

Guilt lodges itself in my throat, awkward,
embarrassing.

‘Look, I’m sorry if I got it all
wrong, I really didn’t mean …’

Lawrie brushes off my apology.
‘It’s over now. Forget it. The ponies are fed and watered and safe.
It’s getting dark; we should head down to the road.’

How do you say sorry to someone who thinks
you’re annoying, who won’t let anyone get close?

I duck out through the rusty iron gate,
stopping to pick a tangle of jasmine flowers as I go. Their rich scent wraps itself
around me as I follow Lawrie Marshall slowly across the dark moor, keeping the
silver-glinting stream to our right. When we reach the road, I shove the bunch of starry
white flowers at him, grabbing my bike.

‘For your sister,’ I blurt.
‘She might like them.’

I think of another little girl, scared and
crying, watching her dad training Caramel to the point of exhaustion, and I pedal hard
all the way home, dynamo lights flickering in the
moonlight.

On Monday lunchtime, I call an emergency
meeting of the Save the Animals Club. I drag Sarah, Amy and Jayde down to the edge of
the playing fields and into the woods that skirt the school boundary.

‘Why here?’ Amy is complaining,
her Ugg boots sinking into wet leaves. ‘Why not the school canteen, or a corner of
Mr Wolfe’s classroom? This is crazy!’

‘And cold,’ Sarah grumbles as we
settle ourselves on to fallen logs and huddle into our coats. ‘Plus, we are
breaking school rules – we’re not allowed in the woods outside of PE cross-country
lessons, Coco, you know that!’

‘Which means it should be safe,’
I point out. ‘This is important!’

‘It had better be,’ Jayde huffs,
snuggling into her scarf.
‘If you’ve brought us out here
to start telling us about the plight of the South American great crested newt or the
Siberian mongoose, I will not be happy!’

I wish my friends were a bit more supportive
sometimes. They used to care about endangered wildlife and animal cruelty as much as I
did, or almost; but over the last year they have totally lost the plot. Lately, they
spend more time giggling about boys or flicking through the pages of the latest teen
mags, discussing music videos or fashion or glittery nail varnish. I despair of them
sometimes.

I watch, exasperated, as Jayde takes out a
dog-eared romance paperback and Amy flicks open a compact mirror to apply a slick of
lipgloss. At least Sarah is listening, for now.

‘I’m not actually sure there are
great crested newts in South America, but anyway, it’s nothing like that,’ I
say. ‘This is much closer to home. It’s big news – I happen to know that
local animal rights activists rescued two ill-treated ponies from Blue Downs House this
weekend.’

Jayde drops her paperback into the fallen
leaves.

‘Wow,’ she breathes.
‘Really?’

‘Blue Downs?’ Amy echoes, snapping
shut her compact mirror. ‘That’s near Hartshill, I think.’

Sarah doesn’t say anything, but her
eyes narrow – I know that she is remembering Saturday’s phone call and texts, when
I told her I was on a secret mission.

‘These local animal rights
activists,’ she says. ‘Let’s see. They would
be … 
you
, Coco, right?’

‘Well … sort of!’

My three friends sit up straight, eyes wide.
They are looking at me with a kind of admiration, which feels weird but nice.

‘No way,’ Jayde gasps.
‘You rescued two ponies? By yourself?’

I bite my lip. It feels wrong taking all the
credit, but Lawrie was very definite about not wanting to be mentioned.

‘I had to,’ I say. ‘They
were being ill-treated – anyone would have done the same. They are in a safe place for
now, obviously, but this has to stay secret. I can trust you, right?’

‘Of course,’ Amy says. ‘We
won’t breathe a word! Wow, Coco, I just can’t believe you did that, all by
yourself!’

‘Safest way,’ I shrug, feeling
guilty at the lie but pleased to have their attention again. Of course, if they knew
Lawrie was involved in the rescue, I’d have their attention all right – but not in
a good way. I give my friends an edited version of the kidnap, and they promise to keep
my secret, offering to chip in with apples, carrots and alibis in case I need to come up
with excuses for Mum and Paddy.

‘If the police come asking,
we’ll say you were with us,’ Sarah offers. ‘A sleepover, or something.
Maybe we could say we were up till midnight, and that we looked out of the window and
saw a big horsebox driving past. That would put them off the scent. They’d assume
the ponies were long gone then!’

‘Maybe,’ I say, but I know that
an alibi like that would never hold water, not for long. ‘Hopefully, the police
won’t actually question us.’