Winter at Follyfoot

By

Sabrina

 

(Normal service has been resumed; back to the 1970s with this one, set the winter after “Dapple Grey”)

 

 

Chapter One

 

In the dampened quiet of a snowy landscape, the shot was deafening.

 

Dora bit her lip, trying hard not to cry, but knowing behind the closed doors of the loosebox one of the Follyfoot horses – a personal friend – had gone forever, the tears welled in her eyes.

 

Ashamed of herself, thinking she should have toughened up by now, she hid in Copper’s stable and buried her face in his chestnut neck as she gulped and hiccupped. Copper nuzzled her back, his hot, sweet breath smelling of hay as his muzzle inquisitively touched her wet cheeks.

 

Poor old Andy!  The lame grey pony had been with them six months, coming to them in the autumn with an horrific case of laminitis that had almost seen him put down on the spot. Careful treatment, lots of soaks in cold water, a strict diet and several vet visits had brought him back to normal, or as normal as he’d ever be, permanently lame with sidebone that stopped him bending his off fore fetlock joint as easily as he’d like.  In the end, it wasn’t the laminitis, or the sidebone, but cancer that signalled the pony’s death knell.

 

Dora had noticed Andy’s discomfort and unwillingness to eat a couple of weeks ago, and had called in the vet, Dave Brown. Dave had poked, prodded, ran a couple of tests and today had returned and given the verdict.

 

Like most of the horses at Follyfoot, Andy had been relinquished by his owners who no longer had the time or space or interest in caring for him. In his case, Andy was found abandoned by owners who had moved house and left him eating his way happily and quickly through a couple of bags of oats left in the field for him – presumably until they either ran out and he starved, or someone took pity on him. The owners couldn’t be found – so Follyfoot, or rather Dora, was responsible for Andy’s mounting vet bills.

 

“We can operate as it appears to be benign,” Dave told Dora and Steve, “But he’s an older chap. If it was a young horse, a fit horse, I’d recommend it. In Andy’s case, the bloody thing’s getting bigger by the day really. Unless you’re desperate to keep him a bit longer and operate, which wouldn’t be cheap, I’d recommend putting him down. Kindest thing.”

 

Dora said nothing, gazing at Andy’s trusting old face. She’d already used some of her own money on Dave’s tests, as the Follyfoot coffers were running low. She’d probably have to use more to buy hard feed, as the snow had firmly covered the fields of Follyfoot and not a blade of grass stuck up for horses to graze on. But she’d grown fond of Andy, who greeted her happily each morning even now…

 

“No question, really, is there?” said Steve. “We’ll have to put him down.”

 

“Oh, Steve!”

 

Steve pulled her to one side and Dave tactfully turned away and lit a cigarette. “Dora, surely you don’t intend to pay for an operation? Follyfoot can’t pay for it. Are you going to be like your uncle? Lady Bountiful, doing good deeds here and there? This is a business, Dora. Our business. Our dream. We have to run it like a business and cut our losses when there’s no choice.  If it was Copper, I’d understand. But Andy? He’s a great little pony, but he’s come to the end of the line. You know it. And we’ve still got a couple of months of snow to go. We need everything we’ve got to pay for food – not operations for Andy.”

 

He was right, of course. But Dora still glared at him. “Our business. So we make the decisions together, right?”

 

“This one surely didn’t require a board meeting!” Steve glared back. “I thought you’d grown up enough not to still be seeing rainbows when, frankly, it’s gonna drop another load of snow any minute.”

 

“You just might have asked me first if I was happy to lose Andy.”

 

“Right. Are you happy to lose Andy?”

 

“Of course not! But yes, it’s the only thing to do, I suppose…  poor old chap.”  She stroked Andy’s hairy face and the pony nudged her trustingly. “Oh Steve, look at him, he’s so…so…”

 

“Sick. And will get sicker. Dora, say goodbye to him and let’s get it over with before you change your mind and do something daft and you and I end up having a bloody great fight about it. Neither of us can run this place without the other…think about that.”

 

It wasn’t something she wanted to think about, at least not right now. Losing Andy was bad enough, losing Steve intolerable.  She hugged the pony goodbye and didn’t watch as Dave got his humane killer from the car.

 

When it was over Steve found her in Copper’s stable, wiping her cheeks and pulling straw from the horse’s tail. He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, holding her close.

 

“Do you want to phone the knacker’s or will I?”

 

“Steve!”

 

“Well, girl, you want us to make joint decisions, don’t you? We’ll have to get Andy taken away.”

 

“That’s so insensitive.” Dora pushed him away. “You phone them. Surely we don’t need a board meeting to decide that.” She mocked his tone.  “You must know I’m too upset.”

 

“Believe it or not, girl, I’m upset too. I don’t like seeing animals die. I don’t like making decisions to take their lives. But we’re having a hard winter, and we both have to be tough and practical. I’ll bet you that in the next couple of days there’ll be another horse turn up here to fill Andy’s stable, another needy case. Maybe two or three, horses that we can’t fit anywhere, because we’re full up. What do we do then? At least it was quick for Andy, and he’s had six months of kindness, food and affection. What about the horses we have to turn away, who might die slowly and painfully, freezing or starving to death?”

 

“We’ll find a way,” Dora said mutinously. No way would SHE turn a needy animal from Follyfoot’s door!

 

“Think about it… and THEN we’ll have a ‘board meeting’!” Steve rubbed her back, and she didn’t pull away. “I’ll make that phone call. Don’t go into Andy’s stable, will you?” he said more gently.

 

Dora watched him go, wanting to both run after him and throw a heavy object at his head. His practicality could be so annoying!

 

Instead, she thought. Teaching riding was something she could do to bring money in. In winter, teaching at Follyfoot was out of the question; you needed an indoor school to do it. And very few of the Follyfoot horses were suitable mounts. So she could ask at some of the riding schools in the area if they needed extra teachers.

 

Dora headed for the study. The third riding school she rang, which was 30 minutes’ drive away, told her they might be able to use her.

 

“Dora from Follyfoot! Haven’t heard from you in ages. One of our teachers got thrown last week and broke her leg. Plaster from toe to hip,” said the hearty voice of Betty Fraser on the other end of the line. “She took classes on Wednesday and Friday afternoons and all day Saturday. How does that fit in with you?”

 

Dora agreed that she could teach at those times, and privately hoped the rate of pay would make up for her not being around to help with Follyfoot’s evening feeds.

 

“Lovely,” said Betty. “Why don’t you come over today and we’ll try you out with our beginner’s class? Can you be here in an hour?”

 

Avoiding Andy’s stable, Dora found Steve brushing Alex’s spotty coat, the horse leaning against him with dreamy eyes, lower lip flopping in ecstasy. “I’ve got a part time job.”

 

Steve peered at her over Alex’s back.  “As what?”

 

“Teacher at Northmoors Riding School. Two afternoons a week and Saturdays. It’ll bring some money in for us, at least.” Dora challenged him with her hazel eyes to say anything bad about the idea.

 

“Might cover the petrol you’ll use,” he said wryly.

 

“Oh, Steve! Honestly!” Dora all but stamped her foot. “You were wondering how we’ll manage this winter. At least I’m doing something to try and keep us going!”

 

He put down the body brush and Alex woke up with a start, nudging Steve’s arm. “Come here, girl,” he said softly, ducked under the horse’s neck and put his arms around her. “Seriously, good for you. I hope you can handle working there AND here, ‘cos we can’t afford to put anyone else on.”

 

Dora relaxed and leaned her head on Steve’s shoulder, feeling his muscly back with exploratory hands. “Thanks. I need your support with this one, Steve.”

 

“You got it.” He kissed her hair. “Now get out of here, the knacker’s van’s due any minute.”

 

Dora shrugged her warm winter coat more closely around herself and started up the Land Rover, shivering. The car was freezing inside, and had something that was called a heater but didn’t live up to its promise. As she started down the hill, driving slowly on the slippery road, she passed the knacker coming up for Andy, and tried to concentrate on what she could say to impress Betty Fraser, rather than the lifeless body of the pony she left behind her.

 

Northmoors Riding School had the air of prosperity past. Dora hadn’t visited for a couple of years and it was clear that any profit went straight on the horses themselves. The indoor school looked like one more heavy snowfall would knock the roof in, and the stable doors were all in need of another coat of paint; navy blue, once glossy, had peeled away in strips to reveal the different layers of colour that lay beneath.

 

“Hard times,” Betty agreed, following Dora’s gaze. “Less people are learning than we used to have. I think the kids would rather stay inside watching television. Anyway, we get by. Princess Anne helps.”

 

Dora had a visit of Princess Anne, headscarf tied firmly around her chin, mucking out and shouting at the beginners, and grinned.

 

“Teenage girls,” Betty boomed on. “They see her riding and winning and want to ride. Hope to snare a handsome Mark Phillips for themselves.”

 

Dora glanced at Betty. The older woman’s face was curiously sexless, with its heavy brows and thin lips. Her salt and pepper hair was cut short in a practical, no-nonsense style, and her body solid and shapeless. She wondered whether Betty would fancy Anne or Mark; from the way she herself was being assessed, she suspected the former.

 

“Slim little thing, aren’t you?” Betty commented. “’S long as you can ride well and teach well and have a good voice for shoutin’, you’ll do fine. Beginners should be here soon. Have to saddle up. Come along.”

 

Betty strode across the yard, Dora hurrying to keep up. The tackroom was much as she expected. Old saddles, but polished well. Bridles just as ancient, and so supple and dark from oil they were almost black. There might not be much money here, so the existing tack was nurtured.

 

“Do you own all the horses, or do you take liveries?” Dora asked as Betty loaded her up with tack.

 

“Both. Most livery owners look after their own horses. Live locally in the villages, you see. Get less money from them that way but don’t have to hire extra help to look after their horses.”

 

Dora was getting used to Betty’s abbreviated sentences. “Black horse, end box. Headshy so bridle him carefully.”

 

The black horse bloated out when Dora put the saddle on; she saw him take a huge breath. “Sneaky old boy, aren’t you?” She stroked his neck; he’d been clipped for the winter and his coat was growing back in like satin. “You’re a sweetie, you really are. Now let’s get that bridle on.”

 

Easier said than done, she discovered. The black simply put his head high out of Dora’s reach and rolled a triumphant eye at her. Not to be outdone, Dora felt in her pockets and found a pony nut, which she held down at waist level.

 

The black horse sniffed, and lowered his head to lip the treat from Dora’s hand. Swiftly she slipped the bit into his mouth as he opened it, and whisked the bridle over his head before he could toss it up in the air. “Got you that time!”

 

She tightened the girth and led him into the yard, where a gaggle of five chattering, giggling girls had materialized. Dora estimated they were all between ten and thirteen, Thelwell kids in their jodhpurs and hard hats.

 

“Hello,” she smiled, “I’m Dora, and I’ll be taking your lesson today. Who normally rides this horse?”

 

“I do,” said the tallest of them. “Did you know Jackie broke her leg last week? She was out on the moors with the adult riders and got thrown. They said she’ll be in plaster for YEARS!”

 

“Months,” corrected another girl, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “AND there’s three pins in it.”

 

“Four,” said another. “She’ll never walk again.”

 

“Yes she will!”

 

“She’ll need a stick.”

 

“No she won’t! My mum’s a nurse at the hospital and she said Jackie’s going to be fine.”

 

“Enough!” Dora laughed, her head reeling. “Let’s get the horses, shall we?”

 

Betty was leading two more ponies over and two of the girls grabbed the bridles and planted loud, smacking kisses on the ponies’ noses. “Pippin! Oh, I love Pippin!” “Dandy’s better, aren’t you, Dandy?”

 

It was so noisy, compared to Follyfoot where the noisiest thing was Ron playing his guitar.

 

Dora helped Betty saddle up another two ponies, with the smallest girl in attendance, chattering nineteen to the dozen about Sammy the skewbald pony, and how she was learning to trot and by the time she was Amanda’s age she’d be jumping.

 

Finally all five – Dora learned that, oldest to youngest, they were Amanda, Julie, Penny, Roberta and Lucinda – were mounted and in the indoor school.

 

With Betty watching carefully from one corner, Dora started her lesson by asking what the girls knew, and getting them to demonstrate their riding skills one by one. It seemed they were all learning how to rise to the trot, and Dora warmed to her task, gradually forgetting about Betty and losing herself in the lesson. The girls seemed to like her, too, and after half an hour they were all laughing together when Sammy broke wind every stride for half a minute.

 

By the end of the hour lesson the girls had all learned how to rise to the horse’s leading leg when they trotted a figure eight, and Dora was pleased at their progress. From the smile on Betty’s face, so was she.

 

After the girls had unsaddled and kissed their ponies and run shrieking to their parents about how they’d enjoyed their lesson, Betty heaved a sigh of relief in the now silent yard. “Very good. They like you. Can you handle them? Good. See you on Friday, then?”

 

Dora drove back to Follyfoot in a cheerful mood. She liked children, and the girls had been a pleasure to teach. She was rather looking forward to Friday.  The sun was setting into a cloudbank as she left, and by the time she turned the Land Rover off the yard was in darkness and the lights in the farmhouse warm and welcoming.

 

She blew on her hands and raced inside. “I’m hired,” she told Steve. “I start on Friday.”

 

“What’s the place like?”

 

“A bit shabby and falling down, but the horses seem to be in good condition. The girls are sweet, they’re all around eleven or twelve. It’ll be fun, I think.”

 

“Fun, she says,” Slugger grumbled, lifting the lid of a pot and stirring a stew that smelt delicious – which didn’t reflect how it might eventually taste! “Little monsters at that age.”

 

“Oh, come on, Slugs. You give children riding lessons in the summer, and you enjoy it.”

 

“I lead tiny tots around on the donkeys. They’re too small to talk back.”

 

Dora grinned. She knew Slugger genuinely enjoyed it. He was a natural with little kids, joking with them and pulling faces to cheer them up if they looked like crying.

 

“’Ave any of ‘em got older sisters?” Ron asked hopefully, and Dora giggled.

 

“Oh, Ron! You’re hopeless!”

 

“That’s what his last girlfriend said,” Steve put in, ducking Ron’s playful punch.

 

“That’s it. I’m goin’ home to eat with me Dad.” Ron put on a hurt face and wound his scarf tightly around his neck.

 

“You’ll miss my stew,” said Slugger. “I made plenty.”

 

“Gawd, what a shame! I’ll never forgive meself for missin’ your stew, Slugs. I’ll be sad all night.”

 

“Get on with you!” Slugger swatted at Ron with a tea towel, and Ron headed for the door.

 

“Ta raa, all. See you tomorrow.”

 

“That stew DOES smell good, Slugs,” Steve said with a rather surprised note in his voice.

 

“Me secret recipe,” Slugger said smugly, giving it another stir. “It’s almost ready. Who’s gonna set the table for me?”

 

As Dora collected knives and forks, she looked out through the kitchen window and saw a dark shape moving near the gate. “Steve, there’s someone out there!”

 

Steve grabbed the flashlight that lived on the kitchen dresser and was out the door in a flash, Dora right behind him.

 

In the darkness they could see a horse silhouetted against the cloudy sky, a slight figure leading it into the yard.

 

“Someone’s dumping a horse on us,” Dora whispered.

 

“Right,” said Steve firmly. “We’ll fix that. If they can dump it they can pay for it.” He cleared his throat and ran into the yard. “Stop right there!”

 

There was a gasp. “Steve?” said a nervous little voice from behind the horse.

 

Steve turned the flashlight on; the horse started, throwing its head up so Steve could see who was holding it.

 

“Callie?”

 

She’d grown several inches since she’d gone to boarding school; neither Steve nor Dora had seen her in nearly a year, as her mother had remarried, to a well-to-do businessman who took them on summer holidays to Italy and winter holidays to St Moritz. She was thin, almost too thin, her pixie face hollow-cheeked and her hair escaping from the tight plaits she still wore it in, hanging in dirty curls around her face. Her clothes looked filthy and miles too big.

 

“I had to bring him, Steve. He was starving, he’d been dumped in a tiny field with no grass left and no food or water.”  Tears welled in her eyes. “You can’t turn him away.”

 

Up close, adolescence had hit with a vengeance. Callie had a violent eruption of pimples on her forehead and chin. Ducking from the torchlight, she covered her face with her hands and sobbed as Steve patted her shoulder.

 

“We won’t turn him away, you know that.”

 

Callie clung to him and Steve felt slightly uncomfortable as he felt her small breasts pressing against him; her legs shuffled closer to his. She’d had a tremendous crush on him when she was younger, he remembered. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage her if she still had it. He looked over his shoulder to Dora and motioned for her to take over.

 

“I’ll put the horse away, Callie,” he said gently. “Dora will take you inside.” He disentangled himself from her thin, strong arms.

 

Dora pulled a hanky out of her jeans pocket. “Here, Callie. Blow your nose. Heavens, you’re shivering! Come into the house.” Gently she guided Callie in through the gate and into the hallway.

 

“What on earth are you wearing?” Dora exclaimed as she saw Callie in the hall light.

 

“I’ll tell you later,” Callie whispered. “My own clothes got soaked when I fell into a pond last night on the way here, and I had to wear something dry. It was so cold, Dora.” She sniffed and let her heavy, woven shoulder bag drop to the floor.

 

Understanding slowly dawned on Dora. “You’ve run away from school.”

 

Callie nodded, shamefacedly. “It’s so awful, Dora. I don’t fit in. There are no horses there, and the girls are horrible to me. They deliberately aim hockey balls at my legs.The kindest thing they call me is Spotty.” She blew her nose again, loudly. “If I didn’t run away I’d die. Honestly. I’d kill myself, it’s so awful.”

 

“What about your mother? She must be beside herself. I’ll ring her and let her know you’re safe.”

 

“No!” Callie grabbed Dora’s arm. “She’s not home, anyway. She and Charles have gone to Spain for Charles’ work.”

 

“Well, I’ll have to phone the school. They’ll be terribly worried, Callie. When did you run away?”

 

“Three days ago. And I fixed it,” Callie said triumphantly. “I forged a note from Mum saying she was taking me out of school to go to Spain with them.”

 

“And when they get back from Spain?”

 

“I won’t go back, Dora. I won’t!  I’ll just run away again if you make me.” Callie’s blue eyes burned with a determined little flame.

 

Dora sighed. She’d suffered boarding school from the age of eight and knew how awful it could be. In Callie’s case, she’d won a scholarship to the school, and was a very bright student – in other words, someone who needed taking down a peg or two by the other girls. That, combined with her soft heart and her longing to be somewhere with horses, made Callie a natural target for the more spiteful girls in her year. “You can’t not go to school, Callie, you’re only, what, sixteen, and you’re so bright, you have to finish school and go to university.”

 

“I’ll stay here and go to the local comprehensive. There’s a bus stop only a mile from here.”

 

“You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you? I think Anna might have something to say about that. To say nothing of me and Steve.”

 

“You don’t want me.” Callie’s eyes brimmed again.

 

“I didn’t say that.” Dora groaned. “But if you go to a local school, you should be living with your mother and Charles, not with us.”

 

“Want to stay here,” Callie muttered mutinously.

 

Dora sighed. “We won’t talk about that now. Let’s get you into a hot bath and clean clothes.” She propelled Callie up the stairs. The girl was almost as tall as she was; her jeans would probably fit.

 

While Callie soaked three days of grime off in a hot, scented tub, Dora went back to the yard, where Steve was settling the new horse into Andy’s stable.

 

“She ran away from school.”

 

“I guessed that much,” Steve agreed, watching the horse tuck into a hot mash, snorting with contentment. “We might have trouble on our hands with that one. This horse, at the moment, is stolen as far as the law is concerned. We’ll have to find the owners. Or get the police to. This horse wouldn’t last another week if Callie hadn’t have taken him.”

 

In the torchlight Dora could count the horse’s ribs, even under the rough, shaggy bay coat. His backbone stood out in a jagged line. She stroked the animal’s neck fondly. “How can people just abandon a horse like that?” she said, and Steve knew her well enough to recognise a rhetorical question when he heard it.  “He’ll be alright now, though. He’ll live.” She gave the horse a final pat. “Come on, let’s go in and tell Slugger there’s one more for dinner.”

 

*   *   *

 

Callie took nearly an hour to soak her troubles away in the bath. By the time she came downstairs, pink-faced from the hot water, her hair several shades cleaner and hanging in waves to her waist, and dressed in Dora’s clean jeans and sweater, Slugger’s stew had mysteriously manage to burn and he dished out dried grey meat with unidentifiable vegetables.

 

“That’s what I love about Follyfoot,” Callie sighed as she sat down.

 

Slugger grinned. “See, someone likes my cooking!”

 

“Oh, no, Slugger, it’s just that things don’t change here. You’ve always served up awful food.” Callie prodded a chunk of meat experimentally. “What was this meant to be? It looks like it could bounce.”

 

Slugger sniffed. “Burgundy beef.”

 

“I didn’t know we had any burgundy,” Dora said. “We’d be better off drinking it than sacrificing it.”

 

“No gratitude, you young folk. Back in the war, people’d kill for a stew like that.”

 

“Last one standing DOESN’T have to eat it,” joked Steve. “Sorry, Slugs, it smelt fantastic earlier.”

 

“Yeah, well, if we didn’t have people and horses dropping in unannounced it would have been perfect,” Slugger said. “What you doing running away, young Callie?”

 

Callie swallowed her meat with an effort. It was very chewy. “I’d been planning it since summer. We went to Italy for summer, and I didn’t want to go. I wanted to go to a riding camp instead. Charles won’t let me have a horse because he says it’s a waste if I’m away at school.  I told them I wanted to go to the comprehensive so I could have a horse at the local stables and look after it every day, but since I won that rotten scholarship they made me take it and go to Highcliffe. Mum goes away with Charles on his business trips, you see, and they won’t let me stay home alone. As if I’m a little kid!

 

“School’s horrible. The girls there laugh at me because I don’t fit in, I’m not posh like them, and because they all have boyfriends and I don’t. There’s a boy I really like –“ she looked at her plate, unwilling to look Steve or Dora in the face “-but he doesn’t know it. And anyway, what I really want is a horse, and to be with horses. We used to do riding lessons at a riding school near Highcliffe, so it was okay at first, I had horses I could see each week, but they stopped that earlier this year because one of the girls got hurt and parents started complaining.

 

“And I get picked on for being smart, so this term I did badly on purpose, and the teachers wrote to Mum and Charles was furious with me. He said he was going to send me to a riding camp next summer and now he’s changed his mind. So I’ve got nothing to look forward to, no horses, no friends. So I ran away,” she said matter-of-factly.

 

“I planned it carefully. The headmistress thought Mum and Charles were taking me to Spain with them for a fortnight, so I did what Charles would do and ordered a taxi to pick me up at school. I could only afford to go five miles in the taxi and after that I walked.”

 

“It’s fifty miles,” Dora pointed out.

 

“I didn’t have any money,” Callie said. “The girls in my dorm found my pocket money and stole it, then bashed me when I reported it and lied to the teachers and said they knew nothing about it. Another thing I hate about them. So I walked. I hitched a ride from a nice lady –“

 

“Callie!” Dora scolded.

 

“She was a lady, she was nice,” Callie said defiantly. “and she took me almost half the way. When she dropped me off I found the horse. I was walking out of a town and there he was, in this awful little field. He’d eaten every bit of grass, and all that was left was mud and snow. He had a water trough but it was just about empty and iced over. I think it only got filled when it rained. The lady had given me a sandwich to eat so I gave it to him. I led him out of the field and let him eat grass by the road where the snow had melted, and waited for hours to see if anyone would come and look after him, but they didn’t, so I took him. I was heading for Follyfoot anyway.”

 

Steve shook his head. “You’re mad, Callie. That’s stealing.”

 

“His owner doesn’t want him. Or he might be dead and nobody knows about the horse,” Callie suggested. “Anyway, we only got a couple of miles closer that night because poor Starburst wanted to eat grass, he was starving.”

 

“Starburst?” Dora raised her eyebrows.

 

“He’s got a star on his forehead,” Callie said practically. “So we kept moving slowly. I found a plastic bucket in a council bin, so I could get him water, and found a rope I could use to lead him chucked in a ditch. Just me and Starburst, we were both heading for freedom and friends.” She sighed.

 

“It was easy in the daytime, but it got really cold at night. The first night, I found an old house that had been abandoned. The windows were all smashed, but I got us both inside and lit a fire in the fireplace so it was warmer. The next night, it was lucky we were in the country because I waited till it got dark and snuck me and Starburst into a barn when no-one was looking. The only problem was when I went to get him water, it was really dark and I fell into a pond on the farm. Honestly, the water was freezing, there was ice on the top until I broke it falling in.”

 

“You poor kid,” said Slugger. He’d left his dinner untouched, rivetted by Callie’s story.  He patted Callie’s skinny shoulder.

 

“So my clothes were all soaked. I’d never been so cold in my life.” Callie shuddered at the memory. “I took them off and curled up in the straw in the barn till I got warm. Starburst was tired so he lay down and I lay next to him. He’s such a sweet horse,” she sighed.

 

“I hardly slept that night, I was so worried the farmer would find us. So we left at about five. I had to put my wet clothes on again, but as we walked away I saw a scarecrow in one of the fields near the road – the moon was up by then – so I nicked its clothes.” She giggled.

 

Dora had a vision of a naked, embarrassed scarecrow clutching its straw arms over its body and started to laugh too. Steve thought it a great joke and he and Slugger were soon howling with laughter.

 

“And from there,” Callie finished when they’d all caught their breath, “It was only about ten miles to here. It took us all day because I had to let Starburst graze a bit. Speaking of food, I’m starving. I only had enough money to buy a breadroll this morning. Even this tastes good,” she said, forking up another piece of meat.

 

Callie was so hungry she ate two servings of stew; the first time anyone had ever been brave enough, Steve said. By the time she’d finished her eyelids were drooping.

 

“Come on, Callie, I’ll make up the spare bed for you,” Dora said kindly, and Callie, spent from her adventure, hugged Slugger and then Steve.

 

He thought she spent a little too long with her arms around his waist, and when she gave him a swift, almost daring, kiss on the cheek, he felt her lips part against his skin. Not what he wanted, he thought, wishing her a pleasant and simple “Good night”. She’d hero-worshipped him in the past, but in his eyes she was still a child; at a dangerous age, but still a child.

 

Stolen horses…runaway schoolgirls…it was all he needed! Steve sighed, and ran his hands up into his hair as Callie, with a backward glance, followed Dora to the stairs.

 

Chapter Two.

 

Dora didn’t know whether to be glad or happy they had an extra pair of hands at Follyfoot to help while she was teaching at Northmoors. She drove over to give her first official lesson on Friday with her head full of Callie and her problems.

 

Dora had, without any guilt, ransacked Callie’s shoulder bag that first night to find the address of Anna and Charles in Spain. With some trepidation, she placed a call to their hotel, and was relieved to speak to patient, sweet Anna rather than Charles, whom she hadn’t met. Anna, naturally, was horrified that Callie had run away. She knew Callie wasn’t happy at school but had no idea she’d been so utterly miserable. And as for stealing a horse! Could they keep Callie there till she and Charles got back from Spain, then they’d decide, Anna, Charles and Callie together, the best thing for Callie to do? Dora agreed

 

Steve, meanwhile, had been busy trying to track Starburst’s owner. He and Ron had taken Callie back to where she’d found the horse, so they had an address to give to the police. In the meantime it was agreed with the police that Follyfoot would foster the horse; Steve had a hunch Starburst would live out his days at the farm. He’d met bad owners before; they simply denied owning the horse and said someone else had dumped it on their property.

 

Callie herself was in her element, bounding out of bed in the darkness to start mucking out and measuring food for the horses’ breakfast. “This is where I want to be,” she said at least ten times on Friday. She could also be a liability; she dreamily brushed the horses for hours on end, her head in the clouds, when there was other work that needed doing, or left the hosepipe running and flooded the yard, distracted by one of the horses who obviously needed patting. She spent the most time with Starburst, patiently combing knots out of his mane and tail, brushing his fluffy mammoth coat and oiling his cracked old hooves.

 

Before Dora left to give her riding lesson, Steve told her he thought Callie had a crush on him, and she laughed it off. “She’s a kid, Steve. At that age I had massive crushes on boys. The thing is with crushes, you know it’s never going to come to anything. It’s not like having a real boyfriend. A crush is unattainable, someone you daydream about. It’s harmless. You should be flattered. If I were her, I’d have a crush on you, too.” They were in the tackroom; Dora wound her arms around Steve’s neck, pressed her body against him and kissed him lingeringly on the lips. “As it is, I can do this, because what we’ve got is real, not a teenage crush.” And she kissed him again, feeling his body respond against hers, flicking her tongue into his mouth.

 

“What you do to me, girl,” Steve groaned, “You have no idea. You’re going to get in the car and drive off now leaving me like this, aren’t you?”

 

Dora grinned wickedly. “Well, I could kiss you again before I drive off.” And did. When she finally opened the door of the Land Rover her body was on fire, too. For the first time she regretted taking the teaching job – she’d much rather lock the tackroom door and tumble on the pile of old horse rugs with Steve!

 

By the time she reached Northmoors her thoughts had turned from Steve to Callie and now to the five girls who awaited her with happy shrieks.

 

“Who remembers how to do the rising trot?” she asked, and was almost deafened by the response.

 

Back at Follyfoot, Callie had seen Dora snog Steve in the tackroom. It wasn’t intentional, she hadn’t been spying. At least, not at first. She’d been going to find a rug to put on poor Starburst, he was so skinny that he needed more warmth, when she heard Steve and Dora talking about teenage crushes, and correctly assumed they were talking about her.

 

So Callie listened outside the door, and, when it gone quiet, peeked around to see Steve and Dora in each other’s arms.

 

She could have tapped both of them on the shoulder and informed them that what SHE felt for Steve was real, too, that at sixteen she’d outgrown silly crushes, but instead she crept away and waited till Dora had driven off.

 

Steve was still in the tackroom, grinning to himself. He had an erection like a flagpole thanks to naughty Dora; he’d have to think of something horrible – Lewis Hammond came to mind – to get back to normal.

 

His back was towards her as he tidied up the tangle of bridles hanging on one of the hooks. Callie crept in, and gently ran her hands down his back before resting them on either side of his hips and leaning her head on his shoulder blades. She sighed with pleasure; all year she’d dreamed about coming back to Follyfoot, to Steve. His muscly body was even nicer in reality than in her daydreams, if her fingertips were anything to go by, and she longed to find out what he looked like under his clothes – would that be better than the daydreams too?

 

Steve shook his head. “What did you forget, Dora? Another kiss? Come here, girl, before I change my mind!”

 

He spun around to find Callie instead, her face close to his, her arms twining around him like lithe snakes.

 

Steve stepped backwards. “Callie! What are you doing?”

 

“Dora’s gone, Steve. But I’m here. You look like you need some company.” She looked pointedly at his crotch.

 

Steve discovered that he didn’t need to think about Lewis Hammond for his erection to melt like ice cream in the sun. Callie, her lips parted and blue eyes looking at him longingly, did the job perfectly.

 

“Callie, no.” Steve caught her hands and pulled them away from his back. “It’s not going to happen.”

 

“Why, Steve? Don’t you like me any more?” She held on to his hands with her own, and Steve struggled free.

 

“Callie, of course I like you, but you’re a friend, a mate, and you’re only sixteen. Dora and me – we’re an item. I’m faithful to Dora. You and me – no.” Carefully he edged around her so he was nearer to the door.

 

“But I won’t be sixteen forever. I’ll be a grown up soon. And I love you, Steve, I’ve loved you for ages.” She flicked her hair around her face; loose of its plaits, it made her look older, as did the eyeshadow and heavy black eyeliner she’d put on that morning.

 

Steve groaned. “Callie, I love Dora. Not you. Like I said, you’re a friend, and you’ve been a good friend. Don’t ruin it.”

 

Callie bit her lip. Her eyes were suspiciously bright, and Steve dreaded the inevitable tears, for to comfort her would make it even worse, and not to comfort her would be heartless. “Why don’t you love me? Do you think I’m ugly and spotty too, like everyone else does?”

 

“Of course you’re not ugly, Cal. But like I said, I love Dora. We’ve got something special, her and me. One day you’ll find someone and you’ll have something special, too,” he said carefully.

 

“You’re my something special, Steve!” Callie cried. “I’ve been waiting for you, you’re the only one for me. Won’t you at least try? What if you break up with Dora one day? We could be fantastic, we could have lots of horses together…”  Her voice trailed off as Steve shook his head.

 

“Out of the question, Callie. Dora and I aren’t breaking up. The right one for you is still out there somewhere. You should be thinking of horses, and what’s going to happen about school, not me.”

 

“You think I’m just a silly kid!” Callie’s eyes flashed. The tears had gone, to be replaced by anger. “I’m not a kid, Steve. You’ll realise that soon enough!” She stormed past him, back into the yard, and Steve let out a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in.

 

“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Where did all that come from?”  He ran one hand through his hair as he heard Callie slam the door to Starburst’s stable.

 

Ron sauntered in, rubbing his hands. “Bleedin’ cold out there. What’s up, Steve-o? Callie looks upset. Tell her Starburst was gonna follow Andy to the great beyond, did you?”

 

“She made a pass at me, and got upset when I said no,” Steve replied shortly.

 

Ron grinned. “At that dangerous age, is she? Maybe I could help her there.”

 

Steve glared at him.

 

“Only jokin’,” Ron said hastily, seeing the fire in Steve’s eyes. “Come on, mate, I like ‘em a bit nearer me own age. Callie’s still a kid. Growin’ up fast, though, isn’t she?”

 

“Too fast,” Steve grumbled. “I don’t feel comfortable with her around at the moment, Ron. Do me a favour mate, and hang about until Dora gets back, will you? And can you work all day tomorrow, while Dora’s teaching?”

 

“Me, work?” grinned Ron.

 

“Well, be here, anyway!” Steve said with a rueful grin.

 

Ron thought of the day he’d planned. There was that bird he met last Saturday, and they’d planned to spend the afternoon in a warm cafe – or, if Ron had his way, a warm bed. He tossed up between the bird – what was her name again, Robyn? – and loyalty to his mates. He had her phone number; maybe she’d agree to meet a bit later in the day, and Gawd only knows he had more chance of bedding her after a night at the pub feeding her Babycham or something. “Yeah, okay,” he said finally. “You owe me one, though, mate.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve said gratefully. “Can you give me a hand feeding this lot? I think Callie’ll sulk for at least the next hour.”

 

*    *    *

 

Dora had her hands full with the girls. Betty was taking a private lesson as well in the indoor school with one of her livery pupils and had set up two jumps down one end of the school. Of course, the girls – able to control their ponies at the trot with wobbly hands and heels that kept creeping up – clamoured to learn jumping, and Dora firmly told them that was out of the question just yet.

 

The livery pupil didn’t help, either. Twice his horse got excited and thundered down to the other end of the school where Dora was telling Amanda to gather her reins and Lucinda not to grab onto the saddle with one hand.

 

She was relieved when the lesson ended. The ponies had been excited by the other horse, and even stolid Pippin threatened to break into a canter. When five o’clock came Dora made them dismount and lead their horses back to the yard, which they did with groans of regret.

 

Betty was still busy so she supervised the girls unsaddling their ponies, and rubbing them down.

 

Finally the ponies were rubbed down, given water and blankets, and the tack put away – with Dora making sure they wiped the bits clean at the very least. The girls cantered off to their parents and Dora had time to look around.

 

Eighteen horses she counted. The liveries were more obvious; they boasted newer blankets, and headcollars with shiny brass nameplates. The riding school ponies and horses wore shabby blankets that in some cases didn’t fit very well, but their bedding was clean and their eyes bright. She wandered from box to box, patting each horse and letting them sniff her hands.

 

The stable yard was L-shaped, and on the long end of the L, the end box had both doors shut. Dora didn’t bother opening them; it was the standard message of ‘nobody lives here’. She shoved her hands in her pockets, wishing she’d brought gloves, and walked back to the tack room, where it was at least warm, with a bar heater glowing in one corner.

 

Noises outside told her Betty had finished the livery lesson, so Dora, warmed up again, went out and made her farewells and agreed to be there at 9.30 the next morning.

 

The sun had gone to bed ages ago, and stars overhead promised a frosty night. The drive back was slow; a car had gone into a ditch on one of the roads and the police and tow truck caused a traffic jam. Dora was in a cranky mood by the time she got home; she was hungry and wished she’d thought to have a mug of tea at Northmoors.

 

She raced into the house, shivering, and found the mood in the kitchen as icy as the yard outside.

 

Steve and Callie were sitting at opposite ends of the table, their faces stiff. Slugger was keeping up a running commentary on how good the sausages looked and how tonight’s mash would be a winner, it really would. Ron, a huge grin on his face, sat between Steve and Callie, rocking back on his chair.

 

“What’s going on?” Dora said, looking from Callie to Steve.

 

“Nothing,” muttered Callie, daring Steve to tell Dora with a glare on her face.

 

“Hmm,” Dora said. “Do you want to talk about this nothing?”

 

“No.” Callie mutinously stuck her lower lip out and fiddled with the cruet set until she knocked the pepper pot over.

 

Steve caught Dora’s eye and mouthed, “Later” at her.

 

Ron played an imaginary violin and Callie looked as if she’d burst into tears. “Stop it, Ron!”

 

“How’s Starburst?” Dora said pleasantly to Callie as she helped Slugger dish out the sausages, which looked for once perfectly cooked.

 

Callie’s face brightened for a moment. “He’s much better. I can see him putting weight on already. You wouldn’t believe how much he ate tonight.”

 

“Be careful how much you feed him. Remember, he hasn’t eaten much lately and we don’t want him to get colic. I hope you didn’t give him too many oats.”

 

Callie shook her head, and launched into a long monologue about exactly what she’d fed him that day; Steve sighed with relief and helped himself to the mashed potatoes.

 

“Slugger, me old mate, what went wrong with dinner tonight?” Ron said, smacking his lips as he finished his first sausage.

 

“What went wrong, he says. Nothing went wrong, young Stryker, it’s perfect,” Slugger protested.

 

“That’s what I mean. The sausages aren’t burned and the mash ain’t too lumpy. Best meal you’ve cooked in years.”

 

Slugger threw the potholder at him and Ron howled with laughter, throwing it back.

 

Dora and Steve smiled at each other, and Steve rubbed his leg against hers under the table.

 

Callie finished her dinner quickly, and said, “I’m tired, I think I’ll go to my room.”

 

Dora said: “Are you okay, Callie?”

 

“I’m fine. Goodnight, everybody.”

 

And this time she didn’t go around the room giving hugs and kisses, much to Steve’s relief.

 

“Ah, young love,” said Ron when they could hear her footsteps moving around upstairs.

 

“Oh, dear,” said Dora.

 

“Oh dear is right,” Steve agreed. “She made a pass at me today, saying she was all grown up and had been waiting for me. She wasn’t very happy when I told her I wasn’t interested and that she should be thinking about horses and school.”

 

Dora winced. “Ouch. I can see why she’s upset. She doesn’t want to be thought of as just a kid. Maybe I should go and see if she’s okay.”

 

Steve grinned. “Since she seems to think you’re the reason I’m not responding to her flattering adoration, it’s probably not a good idea.”

 

Dora sighed and put her face in her hands. “What an afternoon! I’ll be glad when Anna and Charles get back from Spain.”

 

“Me too,” said Steve feelingly. “Why don’t we go down to the pub for a quick one? Ron? Coming?”

 

“Best idea you’ve had all day, Steve-o.”

 

“Will you be okay here with Callie, Slugger?” Dora said. “Can you handle her?”

 

“I’ll tuck her in with a teddy bear if she gives me any trouble,” Slugger said. “Get off with you, and leave me to me telly. On the Buses is on.”

 

Upstairs, Callie watched from the window as Steve and Dora walked hand in hand to the Land Rover. It was useless, she realised; he only wanted Dora, and he thought she was just a kid. Little Callie the schoolgirl. Tears welled in her eyes, and she curled up on the bed, miserable with the awful pangs of a first love rejected.

 

Chapter Three

 

By Saturday lunchtime Dora’s head was reeling, trying to remember the names of all the children she’d taught that morning. At 9.30 she’d taken a lesson in the school, sharing it with another of Betty’s private classes. At 11 she’d taken an intermediate group for a hack on the moors, where it was bitterly cold and the wind, straight from the snowy mountains of Scotland, blew south with a vengeance. They’d kept warm by trotting and cantering, but all six pupils and Dora were relieved to get back to the yard and its comparative warmth.

 

Dora discovered her afternoon would be spent giving private lessons, sharing the indoor school with Betty.

 

Her first pupil was a man in his twenties, who spent the entire hour trying to chat her up as he bounced around on the back of the black horse who was hard to bridle – Dora discovered the horse was, imaginatively, called Blackie.  Blackie’s rider, John, had hands like fists of ham, and Dora, hoarse-voiced by then anyway, told him over and over to let the horse have a bit more rein and to use his legs to help control Blackie.

 

“Come over here and show me what you mean,” John leered through slightly yellow teeth. Dora gritted her own and adjusted the position of his hands and the length of the reins before standing back and ordering him to trot on. He finished the lesson by asking her out for a drink, telling her she was much prettier than the unlucky Jackie. Dora refused, and suggested perhaps he’d rather learn with Betty if he couldn’t concentrate on his riding. She shuddered as he drove away.

 

After that the overweight middle-aged woman who was her second lesson was a relief. Dora put her on a lunge rein for twenty minutes, making her ride without stirrups or reins to get her seat deeper. The woman joked about how she’d bounce her weight off as a result.

 

By four Dora longed to go back to Follyfoot. The long day was over, and she made herself a cuppa in the tackroom, helping Betty clean saddles between sips. She’d just rinsed her cup out when she heard a commotion in the yard – horses whinnying, and the slap of a hoof lashing out against the wooden stables again and again.

 

Betty sighed and put down her sponge.

 

Dora said, “I’ll go,” and followed the source of the commotion before Betty could get up.

 

To her surprise, it came from the end stable, the one with closed doors.

 

With some trepidation, Dora unbolted the top half of the stable door, and it swung open on squeaky hinges.

 

“Don’t!” gasped Betty, running after her.

 

But it was too late. Light flooded into the stable and Dora gasped.

 

The dark brown horse swung away from her, and stood against the back wall of the stable, throwing his head up in dismay at the sudden brightness. Even with the weak light of the setting sun Dora could see the ugly, red patches down the sides of him, raw and bleeding. The stable floor was squalid, covered in manure, with hay trampled into it, the bedding not even visible beneath the thick layer of dirt.

 

“What on earth-?” she began.

 

“He’s on treatment,” Betty said quickly.

 

Dora glared at her and opened the bottom half of the door before Betty could stop her. The horse cowered from her, his ears flattened. As she reached for his headcollar he lunged at her with his mouth open, and Dora ducked away, feeling the rush of air beside her as the horse snapped.

 

“Jesus,” she said, moving around the stable before the horse could attack her again. He was too thin, too, his ribs showing through his coat. “You poor thing.”

 

The horse eyed her warily, his ears still back, but flicking forward occasionally as she spoke to him calmly and kindly, her voice falling up and down in a gentle cadence.

 

“Poor old boy, what’s happened to you then?  What a mess those sores are, they look very painful, don’t they? Poor old thing, will you let me look at them?”

 

She was finally able to get close enough to see the scabs around the edge of each sore. As she did, the horse’s head whipped around again and she jumped backwards, but the horse wasn’t after her, he bit and worried at one of his sores, scratching it, making it bleed again.

 

Dora was disgusted, and turned on Betty. “What’s wrong with this horse? Why is he in this condition?” She opened the door and got out again quickly as the horse made another lunge for her. “What does the vet say?”

 

“It’s mange,” Betty admitted. “Won’t let us near him to treat it. Got him from the sales a month ago, and he looked okay then. Bit skinny, but sales horses often are. Obviously drugged for the sale. Got the beggar home and he wouldn’t let me in the stable to feed him. Broke out in sores in the first week. Have to take my chance feeding him, bugger’s bitten me twice this week. Throw hay in twice a day. Can’t muck him out. Can’t get ointment on him. Tried to tie him up but he broke the headcollar. Kicks, too.”

 

“So you keep him in a dark stable, half-starved, with no treatment?” Dora felt the rage rising inside her, wanted to hit out and scream with frustration.

 

“Have to shut the doors, can’t let the kids see him like this.”

 

“Oh, for God’s sake! Where’s your telephone? I’ll phone Steve, we’ll take him. We’ll look after him. Properly.” She glared at Betty. “This is cruelty, Betty, what you’re doing to him.”

 

“Now, hang on, Dora. Trying my best. Only me here and you need two people to do anything with him.” Betty’s face wrinkled in concern. If Dora put it about that she was cruel to her animals, she’d lose business, might even be shut down. “Cruelty’s a strong word.”

 

“Look at the horse, Betty! Don’t YOU think it’s cruel to have him like this?”

 

“How else can I manage him?” Betty yelled back. “I give him hay, but that’s all he’ll let me do!”

 

“Where’s the phone?” Dora demanded.

 

“You’re not ringing the police,” Betty threatened, grabbing Dora’s coat and pushing her against the stable wall.

 

God, she was strong! Dora felt frightened, a rush of blood and adrenalin making her fingertips tingle. She tried to wriggle free but Betty had her pinned tight. She pulled at Betty’s arms but it was like pulling at a tree trunk.

 

“I want to ring Steve,” Dora managed. “We’ll take him to Follyfoot. We’ll treat him.” She felt herself taking short breaths and controlled them, breathing deeper, more steadily, till the fear subsided.

 

Betty finally let her go. “He cost me what I’d pay you for this week. Take him – and don’t ever set foot in this yard again. Phone’s in the office.” She pushed Dora roughly across the yard, and listened as Dora, with a shaky voice, told Steve to bring the horse lorry.

 

“If Ron’s still there, bring him too. We’ll need all the help we can get, he’s in an awful state and he’s vicious as well. Yes, I know. Mange is contagious. I don’t know where we’ll put him either but we can’t leave him here. Steve….” She felt the tears welling behind her eyes. “Steve, hurry. Please hurry. And … and …” she looked at Betty, glaring at her with gimlet eyes and a jaw like a bulldog. “I need you.” She almost said, “ring the Police,” but Betty’s strength had left bruises on her, and she didn’t want more, or worse.

 

It seemed years before Dora heard the familiar rattle of the lorry’s engine and saw the welcoming yellow lights in the yard. Betty had stood near the office door, daring Dora to make a move, her arms folded, looking more like a nightclub bouncer by the minute.

 

Now Dora ran for it, darting past Betty and bolting to the lorry with racehorse speed.

 

“Steve!” She hugged him before he’d even got both feet on the ground. “Oh, Steve!” She felt herself shaking with relief, and couldn’t stop. His arms were tight around her, reassuring and warm.

 

Ron jumped down from the lorry, whistling. “Wot ‘ave we ‘ere, then? No trouble, I hope.”

 

But Betty had locked herself in the office; a twitch of the curtain at the window told them she was watching carefully.

 

“Let me at her,” Steve suggested grimly.

 

“It’s not worth it, Steve,” Dora said. “Don’t make things worse. Let’s just take the horse, and get out of here.”

 

Steve let out a long whistle as he shone his flashlight on the horse. “We should call the police, you know.”

 

“Let’s get him home first. I want to go, Steve. Betty…she’s a bit scary. She could make trouble for us, I think.”

 

Steve didn’t like walking away from a situation like this, but Dora was clearly distressed. He’d call the police from Follyfoot.

 

It took Dora and Steve fifteen minutes to get two leadropes onto the horse’s headcollar, crooning to him all the while. Ron tried to help but backed away when the horse tried to take a chunk out of his arm.

 

“I’d leave the bugger here, he’s a nasty one,” Ron said, rubbing his arm.

 

“Do something useful then and get the lorry open,” Steve snapped.

 

The horse wheeled and spun as they led him into the yard, plunging and kicking, his unshod hooves slipping on the stones. He threw his head wildly in the air, escape in his mind, but Dora and Steve clung tight to the leadreins.

 

Steve had had the presence of mind to pack a haynet in the lorry, and he asked Ron to bring it out.

 

“Show it to him, and we’ll lead him up the ramp with it,” he suggested.

 

The fresh, delicious hay made the horse prick his ears, but it was a slow and patient job to encourage him up the ramp. Not for anything, even hay, did the horse want to go into the dark recesses of the lorry, but finally greed got the better of him, and he lunged up the ramp and after the food, with Ron yelping in fright and almost dropping the haynet.

 

As Dora said, if it hadn’t been so awful it would have been funny; she hadn’t seen Ron move so fast in ages.

 

The curtain twitched again as Steve started the lorry and Ron the Land Rover.

 

As they drove back to Follyfoot, Dora nestled against Steve’s side and the horse occasionally whinnying and kicking behind them, Dora told him how Betty had pushed her against the stable wall, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel.

 

“I’m calling the police from the next phone box we find,” he promised.

 

“Don’t make trouble, Steve, she didn’t really hurt me, she just frightened me. Follyfoot doesn’t need enemies like her, she could say horrible things about us to all the horsy people around.”

 

“We’ve got the horse, haven’t we? The evidence.” Steve’s face was pale with anger. “What’s up with you, girl? You’re usually the first to fight for justice.”

 

Dora chewed her thumbnail. “Sometimes I wonder if justice is worth it. Helping the horse is more important. She’ll only get a fine and a grudge against us, and her other horses might suffer if she loses business and can’t afford to look after them properly. It’s the horse that matters… getting him better, making him realise all people aren’t out to hurt him. He’s only vicious because he’s been beaten in the past, I’m sure.”

 

Despite the darkness of the lorry she could make out the set line of Steve’s mouth. “Sometimes, girl, I don’t understand you at all.”

 

Dora said nothing, but Steve took one hand off the steering wheel and put his arm around her shoulder, holding her tight as they drove slowly along the dark lanes to Follyfoot.

 

It was only after they shuffled horses around to isolate the new horse as much as possible, and carefully unloaded him, dodging his teeth and hooves, and settled him into a stable where he plunged his head into the full manger with a desperate noise, that they discovered Callie was nowhere to be found.

 

*    *    *

 

“Dinnertime, I calls out, but she didn’t come,” Slugger said. “So I looked in Starburst’s stable and she wasn’t there either. She’ll come in when she’s ready. These kids, always off sulking somewhere.” He ladled out potatoes and meat in a rather watery sauce onto four plates.

 

Dora sighed and sat down to her rather tasteless dinner.

 

“You look pale, girl. What happened at Northmoors?” Slugger asked, tilting Dora’s face up to his as he put Ron’s plate on the table.

 

“A long story, and I hope it doesn’t put you off your dinner,” Dora began.

 

“Wouldn’t take much to do that,” Ron muttered, but he sat back and listened as Dora talked.

 

“So after all that, you’re out of a job, didn’t get paid for it, and you’ve brought a mangy horse back to Follyfoot,” Steve said finally. He shook his head, but his eyes met hers kindly.

 

After Ron had gone to his bird, and Steve helped Slugger wash the dishes, they waited for Callie. But she didn’t come home.

 

Chapter Four.

 

Callie sat in the darkest corner of the pub, her face in the shadows so nobody could see how young she looked. She’d plastered her face with makeup, covering the worst of the spots, and wore so much eye makeup her eyelids felt heavy.

 

She’d borrowed one of Dora’s dresses – not that Dora would ever notice! – and a fiver from the housekeeping money. Wearing one of Dora’s coats, she’d stolen down the stairs and crept out of the yard while Slugger was mending a pair of socks by the fire.

 

It had been a long walk to the pub, but it had warmed her up, and nobody had questioned her age when she ordered a vodka and tonic. She looked just like the two girls sitting in the far corner, giggling together with their boyfriends, cigarettes held carefully and stiffly in their fingers as if they were trying to look sophisticated.

 

She made the first drink last ages, and was aware of young men glancing in her direction then looking away again.

 

Feeling slightly tipsy, she ordered a second with a giggle, and went back to her corner. The pub was filling up, it was Saturday night and the warm atmosphere and even warmer fire that crackled and burned in the huge fireplace drew people in.

 

“Well well, if it isn’t little Callie, all grown up.”

 

Callie had been watching the fire; she looked up to see a familiar face leering down at her. “Lewis Hammond.”

 

“Thought you went off to school?”

 

“I did, but it was so juvenile and boring I ran away,” Callie smiled sweetly. She couldn’t stand Lewis, but then, nor could Steve, and what better way to make Steve realise what he was missing and feel bad  than to take up with Lewis, a man he hated?

 

“What you drinking?” He went to the bar and came back with a pint for himself and another vodka and tonic for her, not telling her it was double strength.

 

He offered her a cigarette, and she hesitated, but then, wanting to appear grown up, took it and tried not to cough as he lit it for her with a smirk on his face.

 

When she’d swallowed carefully she said, “Weren’t you in prison?”

 

“I was, but got out on good behaviour. Prats! Good behaviour and me. What a joke! I found out the Pinecrest had been sold and Mum had walked out on Dad while he was inside. I broke my leg after that riding one of your stupid horses, and now me and Dad live in a house in the village,” he said bitterly. Lewis, surprisingly, had stayed out of trouble since his leg had mended, simply because all his mates had found jobs and girlfriends while he was inside or convalescing, and didn’t want to indulge in simple pleasures like nightriding and terrifying people. So Lewis spent his days on unemployment benefits, avoiding getting a job, and spending his money at the pub.

 

Lewis pushed his thick fair hair away from his face and took a long pull at his pint. “Where you staying, Callie? With your Mum and her fancy man?”

 

Callie shook her head, the drink making her less guarded than she should be. “At Follyfoot.”

 

Lewis pulled a face. He hadn’t even seen Ron Stryker since he left prison, and hadn’t caught up on the gossip.  “Lady Dora and Steve the stuffed shirt.”

 

“He’s not a stuffed shirt,” said Callie hotly.

 

“Fancy Steve, do you?” Lewis grinned lazily, noticing Callie’s blush beneath her pancake makeup. “Does he fancy you, then?” Wheels spun in Lewis’ head; Steve would be irate if he knew Little Miss Innocent, the kid who helped in the stables, was enjoying his company – and he intended her to enjoy it!

 

Callie, caught in Lewis’ direct blue gaze, shook her head mutely.  “So he doesn’t do this, then?” Lewis ran a finger down Callie’s cheek and let the tip of it rest on her Passion Pink lower lip.

 

Callie shook her head again, disturbed and intrigued, and took a huge gulp of her drink.

 

“Or this?” Lewis edged closer, lifted her chin with one finger and kissed her lightly on the lips.

 

Callie shuddered, but felt a tug of excitement at the same time.  Lewis smiled, and kissed her again, nudging her lips open with his tongue.

 

This was new territory to Callie; he tasted of beer and cigarettes, but his lips were surprisingly soft. She thought to herself, I’m snogging Lewis Hammond, and the thought wasn’t as horrifying as it could and should have been. Hesitantly, she kissed back.

 

“Little Callie, all grown up,” Lewis murmured, and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

 

Here was someone who didn’t think she was a kid! Callie let him kiss her again, smelling the faint animal tang that was Lewis’ aura.

 

“Finish your drink, Callie, and we’ll go back to my place. I’ve got more booze there and it’s cheaper than buying drinks here,” Lewis suggested smoothly as he wiped the smudged lipstick from her face with the tip of one finger.

 

That’ll show Steve, thought Callie smugly.

 

That’ll show Steve, thought Lewis triumphantly.

 

*    *    *

 

“Eh oop, Ron, you just missed your mate!” The barman called as Ron and his new bird Robyn entered the pub, blowing on their hands.

 

“Wot mate?” said Ron, elbowing his way to the bar. “Wot you want, love?” he asked Robyn.

 

“Lewis,” the barman said, automatically pulling a pint for Ron and raising his eyebrows at Robyn, a curvy blonde in a huge fake fur jacket.

 

“Lewis Hammond? Wot’s he up to these days? Babycham for the lady I think.”

 

“Pulling girls, what do you think? Made a beeline for a little lass sitting in the corner there and had his hand in her dress in ten minutes. Mind you, she looked too young for him, even though she told me she were eighteen and had slapper’s makeup on. Looked a bit like that lass who used to help you in the stables, Anna Sheppard’s kid.” Expertly he opened a Babycham and filled a glass for Robyn.

 

Ron frowned. “Straight up? Like Callie? What did she look like? Long brown wavy hair? Skinny? Spots? About as tall as Robyn here?”

 

“Yeah, that’s her.”

 

“Jeez. Sorry, Robyn, luv, we’ve gotta go.”

 

“Ronneeee! I haven’t even started me drink yet!” Robyn’s face creased.

 

“Serious, luv, Callie’s only sixteen, and she’s in trouble if she’s gone with Lewis. We gotta stop ‘em.” Ron put coins on the bar and grabbed Robyn’s hand.

 

“You go,” she said sulkily. “I’ll stay here. Maybe I’ll be here when you get back, maybe I won’t.”

 

Ron dropped her hand and glared at her. “When someone’s in trouble, I help ‘em, right? See you round.” He spun on his cowboy heel, the fringes on his leather jacket flying out.

 

Ron’s bike sputtered into life at the third attempt, and Ron swung it out of the pub carpark.

 

Bloody Lewis! Still causing trouble! He cursed his old friend. They’d been mates for years, but when Lewis had injured poor old Casper in the quarry last spring, their friendship had fallen apart. Ron had turned a blind eye to Lewis’ escapades in the past, but Dora had been so upset and Ron himself shaken at the sight of the injured pony, that he’d left Lewis well alone since. He missed the long motorbike rides they used to have, but Lewis…he’d got wilder and wilder over the years.

 

He puttered around the village, keeping the bike as quiet as possible and cutting the motor before he got to the Hammonds’ house.

 

Lights were on upstairs and downstairs. Ron crept to the front of the house and peered through the tiny gap in the curtains. It was the living room, and Lewis and someone who appeared to be wearing Dora’s green and white dress were lying on the sofa in a clinch. Lewis looked like he was kissing for England. When he came up for breath, laughing, Ron could see the girl was Callie.

 

For a moment he watched; Callie clearly wasn’t there on sufferance, she wound her arms around Lewis’ neck and pulled his face down to hers again.

 

Ron frowned. What was she playing at? Callie loathed Lewis, he’d teased and tortured her since she was a child helping out at Follyfoot.

 

Quietly Ron tried the doorhandle; it turned smoothly, and Ron slipped silently into the hall.

 

He listened at the door, hardly daring to breathe.

 

“So,” Lewis said between giggles, “you sure you don’t want old Sir Steve now?”

 

Callie’s response was another giggle.

 

Ron had heard enough. He knew Lewis well enough to realise that seducing Callie was a form of revenge on Follyfoot, and suspected that Callie only wanted to prove to Steve she wasn’t a child.

 

Taking a deep breath, he walked into the living room. “Wotcher, Lewis. Wotcher, Callie. Wot’s going on, then?”

 

Callie shrieked.

 

Lewis’ face turned to thunder. “Get out, Ron, this is between me and her.”

 

Ron sat down in an easy chair, acting as unconcerned as he knew how. “Nah, mate, it’s a bit more than that, innit? You’re both using each other to get back at Steve, aren’t you?  Let’s see, Callie tells Steve she loves him, he tells her he’s not interested, she lets you kiss her and take her home to get Steve jealous. ‘Ell of a price to pay just to get Steve jealous, don’t ya think, Callie? I don’t think Steve’ll think much of you at all after this. Of all the blokes you could’ve picked….d’you think Steve’d ever be interested in a girl that had slept with Lewis?”

 

Callie gasped. She hadn’t thought of it that way. She tried to sit up, but aside from Lewis’ arms pinning her down on each, her head seemed to be revolving lazily – or was the room turning?

 

“Mind your own business, Ron,” snarled Lewis. “She’s here with me ‘cos she wants to be.”

 

“You comin’ home, Callie?” Ron said kindly, watching Callie’s fumbling attempts to button her dress up with fingers that had mysteriously turned to thumbs. “Let her go, Lew, you know this ain’t right. She don’t want you, she’s probably imaginin’ you’re Steve when she’s got her eyes shut and you’re kissin’ her.”

 

Callie’s face turned scarlet and Lewis, with an exasperated sigh, sat up and pulled her up beside him. “Go home, little girl, back to your hero,” he sneered. He glared at Ron. “I’ll see YOU later.”

 

“Not if I see you first, mate,” Ron grinned, and pulled Callie to her feet. “Come on, no harm done, except you look A right git covered in bright pink lipstick, Lew.” He dragged Callie out into the cold air before Lewis could stop them.

 

Callie shivered. “Ron, I’m sorry, I – I don’t know why I –“

 

“Shurrup and get on the bike, kid. Can you hang on to me or are you too drunk? We don’t want to hang about ‘ere, trust me on that.”  Ron kicked the starter and his bike blessedly started first time.

 

Callie clung to him, tears running down her face, ashamed at her behaviour and how close she’d come to sleeping with Lewis, not because she fancied him but simply to get back at Steve. “I would’ve done it, you know,” she yelled to Ron over the crackle of exhaust.

 

“I know. Lucky I was there, wasn’t it?” Ron yelled back. “Stryker to the rescue!”

 

Ron stopped the bike at the bottom of the hill leading up to Follyfoot. “Here, Callie, wipe your face, you don’t half look a mess.” He unwound his bandanna and gave it to her.

 

By the time Callie had cleaned the black mascara from her cheeks, the bandanna was filthy. “Are you going to tell Steve and Dora about Lewis?”

 

Her eyes were huge and frightened. God, thought Ron, she’s such a kid still. Too much of a sheltered life in that posh school, and her head in the clouds all the time.

 

“Nah,” Ron said finally. “I’ll just say I found you at the pub, drowning your sorrows. But you owe me, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“So lay off Steve. Him and Dora, they’re meant for each other. He’s not for you, Callie. Find someone else. But not Lewis, right?”

 

Callie bit her lip and nodded. She held out her hand. “Deal.”

 

Ron shook it. “Deal.”

 

“Come on, then, I got a bird who might or might not be waiting for me in the pub.”

 

*    *    *

 

Dora had waited up and was ready to blow Callie sky high when she walked in, but Ron said, “She’s okay, she’s been at the pub discovering booze and she needs to go to bed.”

 

“I’m sorry, Dora.” Callie hung her head. “Were you really worried?”

 

“Yes, I was. We all were. We thought you’d run away somewhere else.”

 

“I’d have left a note if I did,” Callie said defensively.

 

“How polite of you.” Dora bit back a smile. “Come on, give me my dress back and go to bed. You’ll probably have a raging hangover tomorrow. Your mum’s flying back from Spain early after all; she rang here tonight and I had to say you were in the bath.”

 

“Sorry, Dora. Is she going to take me away from here?” Callie bit her lip.

 

“I’m afraid so. In fact, she’s taking you back to Spain for the week. You need to sort yourself out. I didn’t blab, by the way, about Steve. I simply told her you were unhappy at school. You’ll have to sort all that out between yourselves.”

 

“Oh, Dora! Thanks! I can’t believe you’re still such a friend, when you know how I feel about Steve.” Callie threw her arms around Dora’s waist and hugged her tight.

 

“You’ll find your own Steve,” Dora said softly. “Especially if you can go to a local school and meet more boys. Come on, time for bed. It’s been a long day for me, and I’ll tell you all about it, and the new horse, in the morning.”

 

*    *   *

 

Three weeks later Dora watched Callie lead Starburst proudly into his new trailer. Callie, glowing with delight, was like a different girl. Happiness had made her spots all but disappear and her face had lost its pinched, drawn look.

 

Charles, she said, had bought a small farm fifty miles away, and they were going to move there, and she could have a horse and go as a day pupil to the local grammar school. Of course, she wanted Starburst. The police had determined that he’d been abandoned, and nobody had claimed him.

 

Starburst himself had piled on weight and looked like a different animal. Dora thought there might even be a bit of thoroughbred blood under that massive coat.  She helped Callie load him up and he pulled happily at a haynet while Callie fussed with his new blanket and bandages.

 

Charles, when Dora and Steve met him, was a pleasant grey-haired man who’d been working madly the last year to secure a business deal that would allow him to sell his companies for a profit and do what he always wanted – retire early and live on a farm.  “Anna and Callie will love it,” he told them. “I’m just sorry for Callie’s sake it’s taken so long for me to get there. She’s a secretive girl and we had no idea she was so desperately unhappy. It’s like living with a different person now.”

 

He pressed a cheque into Dora’s hand, insisting it was for paying for Starburst’s board for the last few weeks; Dora, when she looked at it, thought he’d added two zeroes too many – either that or he thought Starburst survived on caviar!

 

Callie insisted on hugging everyone goodbye, and gave Steve an extra squeeze. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Sorry for being a pain.”

 

“Be happy, girl,” he told her, and gave her a hug in return.

 

Dora wondered why Callie and Ron winked at each other, but decided not to ask. Knowing Ron, it could be anything!

 

Callie waved madly out of the car window until the car and trailer merged with the thawing landscape, the white car vanishing behind hillocks of snow.

 

“Back to work then,” Steve sighed. “I’ll give you a hand with Trident.”

 

Trident – the horse Dora had rescued from Northmoors – had started to fill out. For the first couple of days it had been a real exercise to get into his stable to feed him or muck him out. Steve had joked about getting a suit of armour. However, with Steve and Ron hanging onto Trident’s head, Dora had been able to put feed in the manger. Once Trident learned nobody was going to take it away, or hit him, he started to relax. It had also been a three person job to dress his wounds, but Dora was gentle with him and by the end of the first week she only needed Steve or Ron to hang onto his head. With regular antibiotics, the mange sores were healing up and the horse had stopped scratching them.

 

It had taken a lot of patience, but now Trident pricked his ears rather than flattened them when people came up to his stable. He’d even learned to whicker for his breakfast like the other horses.

 

“He’ll be fine by the spring,” Dora said. “We’ll be able to turn him out in the field.” Slowly, so she didn’t frighten him, she lifted a hand and scratched his face. Trident’s ears twitched, but he didn’t move.

 

“Come on, girl, let’s get his wounds dressed and go in for a cuppa. Spring’s still a long way off,” Steve said.

 

Slugger jogged across the yard, making Trident throw his head in the air.

 

“’Ere, telephone,” he said. “Some bloke with an old ‘orse he needs a home for. We got a stable now Callie’s taken Starburst, haven’t we?”

 

Dora and Steve exchanged glances and sighed.

 

“Spring’s still a long way off,” Dora echoed softly, and followed Slugger back to the house, the telephone, and the horse that would soon have a new home.

 

 

The end

 

© Copyright 2006, Sabrina Davis.