Ponies at Owls' Wood (7 page)

Jess agreed, but thought it better to say nothing. Cyn had no idea that the two of them had met.

‘She's something to do with Pete's new business,' said Cyn, ‘but he won't say exactly what the new business is. Do you know?'

Jess changed the subject. Much as she longed to talk to Cyn about what Pete was up to, she knew that doing so could only cause trouble.

‘I'll go and look for eggs,' Jess said instead.

Jess saw Cyn's eyes moving towards the corner cupboard where she kept the gin.

‘No, I know, let's go over and see Gran first,' she said quickly, ‘she'll give us a cup of tea.' It took a few minutes to steer Cyn out of the kitchen and into the late afternoon sun. Cyn blinked at the brightness and smiled at her niece.

‘What are you going to find to do for the next few weeks?' she asked.

‘Dunno yet,' replied Jess. ‘D'you want to come swimming with me? We could get the bus at the bottom of the hill, it goes right to the pool?'

‘That sounds nice,' said her aunt. ‘Or we could go to the new multi-screen I've heard they've got in Mettlesham.'

Jess wished that such a thing might happen, but doubted Cyn would actually do it.

‘I'd like that too,' she answered anyway.

Gran was sitting in her usual chair. Cyn settled down at the table for a chat while Jess put the kettle on, hanging about in the tiny kitchen waiting for it to boil. She got three mugs out of the cupboard and was getting down the cake tin from the shelf when there was a rap on the door and Pete stuck his head in.

‘I want you,' he said to Jess, ‘get out here now.' He took her arm and pulled her down the steps of the caravan. ‘Now, tell me about your little friend in the wood.' Jess could hear Cyn laughing from the far end of the caravan as Gran was telling one of her stories.

‘What friend?' Jess held his gaze.

‘The girl.'

‘I don't know what you mean,' said Jess. ‘What girl?'

Pete still had hold of her arm and he began to squeeze it hard. His yellow smoker's thumbnail dug into her skin.

‘I know you're up to something you little tyke,' he said. ‘Perhaps it's time you learnt a few lessons from me. I've been too kind, I reckon. You think it would be good to tell your friend about those ponies don't you? Well, I'm telling you now so you'll understand, that if you so much as hint at their existence to a soul on this earth, and that includes Cyn and your overweight and nosy gran, you will be in the kind of trouble you've never even
dreamed
of. Do you understand?'

He didn't wait for her reply. He pushed her back up the steps and into the caravan.

‘Whatever have you done to your arm?' asked Grace as Jess carried in the mugs of tea and set them down on the table. She tried to keep her hand from shaking.

‘Been stung I should think,' she replied, and scratched at the sore red place to be convincing.

‘Are you all right love?' asked Cyn. ‘You look a bit pale. Maybe a wasp got you. That can turn people pale if it's a shock.'

‘I'm fine,' said Jess. ‘D'you want me to cut up the cake Gran?'

Five minutes later Pete was shouting for Cyn, and Jess's aunt left her alone with her gran, her plate of cake half eaten.

‘I'll finish Cyn's bit,' said Grace. ‘Now, what did Pete want you for? I may be old and fat but when my hearing aid is in I can hear some things you know. The caravan door makes a bit of a noise and that's not a wasp sting on your arm. What's going on?'

For a moment, Jess was tempted to tell her gran everything, but stopped herself just in time. Gran would phone the police, Cyn would go crazy, and Pete would do them all in.

‘I think I've made a new friend Gran,' said Jess, deciding to risk part of the story. ‘I met her down in the wood and I've asked her if she wants to come over tomorrow.'

‘Well that's nice,' said Grace, ‘but why has that upset Pete?'

‘I told him I didn't know her,' said Jess. ‘He seemed really angry and I was scared, so I stupidly said I didn't know anything about her. Pete didn't believe me.' She rubbed her arm.'

‘I'll swing for that man,' said Grace. ‘What's your friend's name?'

‘Hannah. She's got a pony and she's going to ride over tomorrow while Pete's out.'

‘Well, that's easy then,' said Grace. ‘We'll tell Pete you just met her tomorrow. It's not a lie so much as an adjustment of the timing of events. I can't think what he's making such a fuss about.'

7

Stolen Ponies

Hannah wasn't sure what she should tell Tom. He would still be expecting to go to the Chase the following day so she'd have to tell him something, and especially as so much had happened. He was a year older than her and could be a pain, but he had helped her and she was beginning to think maybe he wasn't so bad. On the other hand, the secret wasn't really hers to tell, and she didn't want to get Jess into trouble. If Tom decided he should tell his parents that would make things worse. She'd have to make him promise not to. She presumed that the man who'd shouted at him was the same man she'd met in the wood, and that he was Cyn's boyfriend Pete. She shuddered whenever she thought about that meeting, and she had thought about it a lot that afternoon. She decided to talk to Jess about Tom the next day, and see if she would agree to let Tom help them.

It was late afternoon by the time she'd seen to the horses and biked home. Talia was waiting for her.

‘Why haven't you had your mobile on?' she demanded. ‘I've been trying to get you all day. What have you been up to? Charley's been on the phone going nuts because she couldn't get you either.' Hannah looked at her mobile.

‘Oops, sorry, I turned it off while I was riding and forgot to put it on again. What does Charley want? I was only talking to her on Monday night.'

‘Her pony's been stolen,' said Talia, ‘you'd better give her a call.'

‘What?' Hannah ran to the telephone in the hall and dialled Charley's number. Charley's father answered.

‘She'll be glad to hear from you Hannah,' he said. ‘She's very upset. We've been on to the police, but they say that there've been a lot of thefts lately and they haven't got time to call on everyone personally. They just took the details. Delia is micro-chipped, so we're hoping that'll help.'

Charley came on the phone in floods of tears.

‘Tell me what's happened,' Hannah insisted. She felt sick as she waited for Charley to stop crying and speak.

‘I went up to the field this morning,' said Charley. ‘The horses have been out overnight for a few weeks now, and Ella and I went together. We were going to go for a ride. But when we got there the gate was open. There were marks like lorry tracks in the gateway, and the grass was flat all around. It was terrible. No Delia, and Ella's pony's has gone too. There are three others missing. They've loaded up all of them from that field. I can't bear it Hannah. What do you think will have happened to them?'

Hannah thought about Jess's story of the meat men, and tried to keep her voice steady as she replied.

‘I guess they'll send them to a sale. If Delia's chipped the police should be able to trace her. I've read that the microchip people help by sending details to the sales so that horses can be checked.' This didn't sound like enough to say, but Hannah couldn't think of anything genuinely comforting. She thought about poor Delia in the hands of rough men, and shuddered.

‘Oh Charley, it's so horrible. I wish I could help.'

Charley was crying again as she asked, ‘What's happening at yours? You said about horses at High Farm. Have you found out any more?'

Hannah hesitated. Charley was already frightened and she didn't want to make things worse. She'd have to give a version of events that didn't scare her friend even more. Speaking very quietly so that Talia wouldn't hear, Hannah told Charley about the building in the wood, and Jess and her family. She finished by saying, ‘We're planning to rescue the ponies from the wood on Friday, but I do know that Delia's not with them. I'd have recognised her at once. I think Derbyshire's too far away from here anyway.' She didn't mention the destination of the stolen ponies because she was sure that in Charley's place, she wouldn't have wanted to hear.

‘Hannah, you've
got
to call the police,' said Charley. ‘Those people that have lost their ponies will all be feeling like I am, and it's too terrible.
Please
call them.'

‘I've promised not to yet,' said Hannah. She tried to explain about Jess and her fear of her uncle, but Charley wasn't listening.

‘Call them!'
she repeated, ‘or I will. But it's better if you do it, since you're the one who's seen them.'

Hannah sighed. ‘I don't know,' she said. ‘The police have been there once and nothing came of that. You could come down and stay Charley but I guess you want to be on the spot in case Delia's found.'

‘Yes, I do,' said Charley. ‘I'll ring later if I hear anything. I just want my Delia back. But Hannah, you've
got
to phone the police.'

Hannah said goodbye then ran up to her room. She looked out of the window at the quiet village street. How could this be happening here? And what should she do? She'd promised her new friend Jess that she would keep her secret and help her get the remaining ponies safely away from Pete and the meat men, but she could also understand why a desperate Charley wanted her to ring the police. Why was life so difficult, and how could she do the right thing by everyone at once? She thought about Charley and Delia, and realised that if she failed to help them and the worst happened, she'd never be able to forgive herself. On the other hand, if Jess was murdered by Pete she'd never forgive herself either.

She sat on her bed with her knees clutched tightly to her chest, thinking and wondering. After five minutes, she decided: she'd ring the police anonymously, and that way Jess couldn't possibly be blamed. She grabbed her mobile and, checking that her bedroom door was safely closed, she got the number of the police station in Mettlesham from the phone book. She dialled.

‘Mettlesham Police Service desk. Can I help you?'

A woman's voice, and she sounded cross before Hannah had even said anything.

Hannah's voice faltered. ‘I'm ringing about some ponies in Owls' Wood,' she said.

There was a groan from the woman at the other end.

‘Not another one,' she said. ‘May I ask how old you are?'

‘What?' asked Hannah. What had her age got to do with it?

‘12,' she replied.

‘Well,' said the woman impatiently, ‘we've had several reports about this and they've all turned out to be nothing. Our officers have attended the property and have been assured by the owner of High Farm, Mr Peter Bawden, that there are no ponies at that property other than one that belongs to him. If you want to help the police you can stop wasting our time, and speak to your parents about your concerns. If they are convinced, they can ring this number.'

‘But …' Hannah was going to go on and say that she'd actually seen the ponies. She'd thought she could do this without mentioning Jess or anyone else, just say that she'd found them when she was walking in the wood, but the policewoman had put the phone down.

Hannah felt close to tears. Grownups were hopeless. Someone of 12 should be taken seriously, not cut off before she'd had a chance to speak. And there was no point in telling her father. She was sure he'd just tell her to stay away from the whole thing; he was busy and his interest in animals was zero. No, she'd tried for her friend Charley's sake, and now she would go it alone with Jess. Once they'd got the ponies into her field where they could all be seen, the police would have to listen. Nine ponies would be evidence – Hannah could see the strength of Jess's argument.

Hannah was afraid for Delia, but then she thought about Polly. Was she safe? There was still no lock on the gate.
I'll die if anything happens to Polly,
she thought. She couldn't stop her imagination from running overtime. Horse meat. Who could possibly think about eating it? But she knew that people did. They had to get the ponies out.

Her mind went round in circles as she tried to imagine the rescue and how they would manage it, until eventually, curled up and as miserable as she could ever remember feeling, she went off to sleep.

In the morning she woke with new determination. Her fears for Polly were reinforced by worry about Delia, and she knew that however frightened she was of Pete, she and Jess needed to work out the details of their plan.

‘Dad, you
must
get the lock for the field,' she reminded her father for the twentieth time since hearing about Delia, ‘a really big padlock that no one can open.'

‘Don't worry pet. I promise I'll get hold of a lock.' Her father looked as if he might remember, although he was in his usual early morning state. ‘I'm hoping your mother will ring tonight. That would be good, wouldn't it?'