Ponies at Owls' Wood (2 page)

‘Give your mum a smile,' her father had told her, ‘and wave as if you're happy for her. She deserves some time for herself.'

‘Why does she want to go?', asked Hannah, ‘singing's pointless, if you ask me.'

‘Well,' said her father, ‘we didn't ask you. We'll go home and be fine. I'm quite capable of looking after everything, you'll see.'

‘But you can't even cook!' exclaimed Hannah.

‘Anyone can cook,' said her father, and Hannah felt her heart sink deep into her trainers.

Her parents had always believed that everyone in the family should be able to do as they wanted, so long as it didn't upset anyone else. But the theory hadn't really been tested before, and as Hannah pointed out, her mother going upset
her.

‘For heaven's sake, it's only for five weeks!' said her 16-year-old sister Talia. ‘What you mean is that you're
inconvenienced.'
Talia had begun to adopt a lofty air lately, and liked to think that she knew everything.

Her brother Liam was also unconcerned. He spent his life on the sofa anyway, and at 14 was just grateful that nobody was after him to make him wash.

Thank goodness for Polly. It had been Hannah's mum who had shared her interest in ponies and had persuaded her dad to agree to her having one, even though money was tight. Together they'd searched the ads in the free paper for one to have on loan, and also registered their interest with a local rescue centre, in case there should be a riding pony that needed re-homing.

Hannah had despaired of ever finding a pony that matched what its owner said about it. ‘Good to catch' seemed to mean that the owner wished they could catch it, and ‘excellent manners' appeared to mean anything but. Hannah had tried one lame horse and one with a sore back who bucked her off as soon as she mounted. Nor had the owners always been friendly. Too often Hannah had come home disappointed; sure she would never find a pony to call her own.

Then the rescue centre had come up with Polly, a 14.2 hands bay mare, abandoned by her owner at a livery yard because of unpaid bills and eventually donated to the centre for re-homing. They described Polly as good natured but badly in need of love and attention. Hannah and her mum had rushed to see her as soon as possible.

They'd found her tied up in the yard waiting for them, and as soon as Hannah saw Polly she knew that this was the one for her. Polly was not as showy as some they had visited, but she had kind, intelligent eyes, three white socks and the loveliest thick black mane and tail. Her expression appeared to Hannah to be rather sad, as if she'd given up hope of ever having a proper home and had resigned herself to remaining at the whim of fate, moving from one place to another but not really wanted anywhere.

‘I want you though,' Hannah had told her, ‘and I'll never abandon you. We'll go out for lovely long rides together and have fun.' She'd stayed and stroked Polly's neck while her mum chatted to the manager of the centre and made arrangements for Polly to be transported over to the village as soon as they could clinch the deal on Mrs Walters' field. The rescue people had warned that Polly was prone to overeating and would have to have a restricted diet and plenty of exercise. A bit of extra good news was that Polly's former owner had handed over her tack and rugs, so that all Hannah's mum had to come up with was a donation and lots of signed paperwork.

Two weeks later, Polly had been delivered to Mrs Walters' field and Hannah had been able to offer grazing to Charley's pony too.

That had all happened last summer. Everything had gone well, and Charley and Hannah had ridden their ponies almost every day in the holidays, and as often as possible over the winter months. Polly had settled and she and Hannah were devoted to each other. But now they'd been left alone, with no friend to share the field and Hannah felt that her whole life had fallen to pieces.

Arriving home, Hannah took her bridle from the peg in the hall and went into the kitchen hoping for something to eat. But supplies were low. Her father tended to forget about shopping. She made herself some toast and tried not to think about bacon or beans. Talia came into the kitchen.

‘What have you been up to?' she asked, in a bored voice. ‘I suppose you've been with that stupid pony. Is she still fat?'

‘No,' said Hannah, ‘but I've put up my notice anyway.'

‘Nobody goes up that hill, you know,' said Talia.

‘You making toast?' called Liam from the sofa, where he was watching television as usual. ‘There's just been something on about horses, Hannah.'

‘What?' Hannah asked.

‘Oh just something about some kids finding a load of them up near the Steeple Chase. Will you do me a bit of toast?'

‘What did it say about the horses?'

‘It said they were tied up and looked like they'd been dumped.
Please
make me some while you're there?'

‘Oh all right,' said Hannah, putting more bread in the toaster for her brother. She spread butter on and took it in to him.

‘There,' she said, ‘now tell me about the horses.'

‘Something about the village kids going up to the Chase on their bikes and seeing some horses. They told someone in the pub and the police were called, but they couldn't find anything. The police said the kids must have made it up. That's all I can remember.'

Hannah felt a shiver of anxiety.

‘You must remember something else,' she said, but Liam had lost interest and was flicking the channels. For the twentieth time that day, Hannah missed Charley, and then, still keen to go for her ride, she finished her toast, changed, and set out once again for the field, Polly's bridle hanging from her shoulder. She wondered if she'd have the courage to go in the direction of the Chase. What could it mean – loads of horses tied up and dumped? Nobody, surely, would make up a thing like that?

The Steeple Chase was a long grassy track about 2 miles from Polly's field, and 4 from Hannah's house in West Brook. Hannah often rode Polly in that direction because you could get a good canter uphill, although she usually stopped short of the brow of the hill. There was an isolated farmhouse there, with a couple of large barking dogs that Polly didn't like. The farmhouse could also be reached by the lane, which continued to run parallel to the track before it stopped at a dead end. Below the track and the farm was a stretch of dense woodland.

The farmhouse had a gloomy and uncared for feeling about it, although Hannah knew that two women lived there because occasionally she'd caught glimpses of them. One looked to be about the same age as her mother, and the other was old and extremely fat. Although Hannah would have loved to live in a house with its own land, she never envied High Farm, as it was called. No good having all the paddocks in the world if the house was so creepy.

When she cycled back up to Polly's field, Tom was still there. He appeared to have taken his bike to pieces and was staring at one of the wheels with a spanner in his hand.

‘Want some help?' Hannah asked. She'd mended loads of punctures and felt herself to be something of an expert.

‘Just hold this will you? I need the frame to keep still so I can get the wheels back on. Are you going riding?'

‘Yes,' replied Hannah. She held the frame and was relieved that she was strong enough to keep it still while Tom turned the bolts to secure the wheels and piece his bike back together. ‘I'm going down the lane and up the Chase.'

‘Be careful then,' said Tom. ‘I heard a thing on the news about some horses up there. D'you want me to come with you? I could ride my bike.'

‘Not really,' said Hannah, ‘you'd never keep up. And I don't want to walk Polly the whole way.'

Tom shot her an irritated look.

‘Oh all right then, but try not to be a pain.'

Hannah brushed Polly and saddled up. As they set off down the lane she realised that Polly was pleased to have Tom riding along beside her. Her pony slowed if he slowed, and vice versa, which meant that they went downhill rather faster than usual, and then when they turned on to the track she was amazed to find that Tom could ride the bumpy grass as fast as the overweight Polly could canter. Polly seemed to be taking care not to swerve out and knock him flying. It was a success.

It was a lovely day for riding but Hannah's stomach felt tense, and the nearer they got to High Farm the more she worried about what Liam had told her. What were they going to find?

‘I can't bear it if someone's being cruel to horses,' she told Polly quietly while Tom bunny jumped patches of rubble on the track. She stroked her pony's neck as they rode. ‘If there are horses in trouble we'll have to help them.'

They slowed as the farm buildings came in sight. Tom hadn't been up this way before.

‘We'll have to watch out for the dogs,' Hannah said. ‘Polly and I usually turn round and go back if they're loose. Can you see anything?'

‘What! Are you wanting to turn back already?'

‘No,' said Hannah. ‘I'm just saying.' She pointed to a narrow pathway off to their left. ‘That's the way down into Owls' Wood.'

‘My dad used to work with a bloke that kept Owls', said Tom. ‘He was really interested in them, and hawks and falcons. Used to take them to shows at the weekends.'

‘Tom, do you think you could just concentrate? Can you see anything?'

They were within 20 metres of the farm when Hannah reined in sharply and Polly began to back up. A scruffy white van was parked in the middle of the track and two dogs were staring out from the back of it. They started to bark loudly. To add to Polly's anxiety there was a pile of old plaster stacked up on the grass verge, with bits of dusty paper flapping in the breeze. Over the top of it, Hannah could see the farmyard, and she caught a glimpse of a bright white caravan parked at the far end. It appeared to be smart and new, and had a flag on its roof. Guaranteed to make any pony spook. But it didn't look as if they'd be able to get past the van. Hannah looked at Tom, who seemed unconcerned.

‘Maybe we should turn back,' she said.

‘Scared eh? You wait here,' said Tom, and he got off his bike and left it lying on the ground. He walked ahead towards the van and as Hannah watched him, her eyes also seemed to catch a movement in one of the upstairs windows of the house. But when she looked there was nobody there.

‘Clear off!' A man's voice was shouting at Tom, ‘or I'll set the dogs on you. If you're another one coming about horses, there aren't any except one that belongs to me. So bugger off and mind your own business, this is private land!'

‘It's not private land,' Hannah said to Tom as he came back to his bike. ‘It's a bridle path. Are you all right? You look a bit funny.'

‘Come on,' said Tom, ‘let's go.'

They'd only been back on the lane for five minutes when a blue car Hannah recognised came past them, narrowly missing Polly and Hannah, and forcing Tom onto the opposite verge. A wave from the female driver was small consolation to Hannah as Polly danced about and snorted.

‘I've seen that car before,' she said, remembering the shop and the mottled legs.

‘Lunatic,' muttered Tom.