Dapple-Grey by Sabrina

Dapple-Grey

Sabrina

I had a little pony

His name was Dapple-Grey

I lent him to a lady

To ride a mile away.

She whipped him, she slashed him,

She rode him through the mire;

I would not lend my pony now

For all the lady’s hire.

- Mother Goose nursery rhyme

Dora poured a bucket of water on the Lightning Tree, leaned her face against its rough, ancient bark, closed her eyes and made a wish. Far above her grew five bold green leaves, striving proof that dreams do come true. For so far, hadn’t she stayed at Follyfoot, and found love with Steve?

“Waste o’time that is,” Slugger told her, leaning over the fence next to her. “What did you wish for, anyway?”

“Oh Slugs, you know I can’t tell you. It won’t come true then.” Dora frowned. This was a big wish, a wish for money for Follyfoot. As always, the farm was run on a shoestring, and the shoestring right now, with every stable full and the weather not yet warm enough for horses to be out all night, was fraying in the middle. She had her own allowance from her parents, but many arguments with Steve about running the place as a business and not putting her own money in meant she only used it for Follyfoot in a real emergency. Which this wasn’t….not quite yet, anyway.

“Wishing won’t put feed in their mouths,” said Slugger, reading her mind.

“We have to do SOMETHING. I’ve put ads in the village for schooling horses, but nobody’s rung up. Maybe we could start teaching children again…”

“Not on your nelly,” grumbled Slugger. “If you do, include me out. I’m too old to be running after them little buggers when their ponies bolt with ‘em.”

“It wasn’t THAT bad. There were some nice children last year,” Dora mused. “The real trouble is finding enough decent saddles to put on the ponies.” Follyfoot saddles were like the horses: clapped out and on their last legs. “And the ponies enjoy it. The fitter ones enjoy a bit of work.”

“All two of ‘em,” Slugger returned, draining his tea. “You could try ringing some of the people who owe us money. Now THAT would be useful.” He stumped back to the farmhouse, muttering about his stew burning.

A soft breeze touched Dora’s face and curled up into the tree, rustling the delicate leaves. Dora looked up and watched them dancing against the sun. It was going to be alright, it really was, she had to believe it.

For good measure, she poured another bucket onto the tree then trudged off to brush Copper, who whickered delightedly and leaned against the curry comb, enjoying the sensation, his ridiculously long eyelashes sun-kissed as he dozed.

Dora was so engrossed in brushing him she nearly didn’t hear the car pull up. It was the creak of the gate that made her look up and see a girl not much older than herself, dressed in jodhpurs and a sweater, looking around the yard with interest.

“Hello!” Dora called, putting the brushes down and leaving Copper tied to the side of the stables.

“Hi there,” the girl returned, pushing wild brown curls out of her eyes. “Are you Dora Maddox?”

“Yes.” Dora surreptitiously wiped her dirty hands on the back of her jeans before offering to shake hands.

“I’m Jeannie Foster. My husband and I have bought the Pinecrest Hotel.”

Dora’s eyes widened. So the Hammonds had sold up! Village gossip had, for once, passed Follyfoot by. All she could hope for was that they’d move far, far away when slimy Sidney and Lewis the louse were released from prison.

Jeannie continued: “We’re doing up the stables and we’re going to offer pony trekking. In fact, we’ve got our first booking for this weekend, and the problem is, we’re short of a horse. Someone in the village suggested you might be able to rent us one. Even long term, if the horse is well-behaved.”

That breeze again. The flutter of leaves. Dora smiled. “We’ve probably got a few horses who are fit enough to do it.”

“That chestnut looks nice.”

“Oh, I can’t let you have him. He’s my own horse and really, he’s too flighty for trekking. He’s not a beginner’s ride at all. There are a couple of ponies who are quiet and reliable.” Dora led Jeannie to the stone wall near the field and pointed. “That little grey – Casper – might be okay for you, and the skewbald next to him.”

“I like the grey,” Jeannie agreed. “He’s what, about fourteen-two?”

“About that. He’s cobby enough to carry a big child or light adult, anyway.”

“Can I try him out?”

“Sure.” To Dora’s embarrassment, Jeannie followed her into the tackroom, which had the most mismatched arrangement of tack in Yorkshire. She selected the best of the pony saddles and a snaffle bridle, then caught Casper with a handful of oats and slipped the bridle over his head.

Jeannie was a capable rider, and she soon had Casper moving easily on the bit. Dora was impressed. The little grey had come to them a few years before, when his mouth had been ruined by Lewis Hammond and the Night Riders and his owner had found him uncontrollable afterwards. Now it had healed, and really, the pony was too good to stay here.

“He’s just what I need,” Jeannie called, as she pushed a surprised Casper into a canter. “What a lovely pony!”

Dora watched as Jeannie rode up and down the field before finally bringing Casper to a halt and jumping off. “He’ll be great. Can you bring him over tomorrow? And I’ll pay you a week in advance on a trial basis. If he doesn’t work out, I’ll bring him back.” She mentioned a sum that would feed three Follyfoot horses for a week, and Dora was delighted.

More money than sense, as Dora told Steve afterwards. “Jeannie seems really nice. She’s ridden horses all her life and it’s been her dream to have a riding school. Her husband came into some money so they moved up here and bought the Pinecrest Hotel.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. The Pinecrest’s old owners had left a bad taste in his mouth, and he said so.

“I know what you mean,” Dora agreed. “I can’t think of the place without thinking of the Hammonds trying to shut us down, but now it’s under new management it’s like a fresh start. And if Casper works out for them we might be able to lease them more horses. At least for the summer, when they’ll be busiest.”

“And we get them back in winter, when we have to have all our horses inside, and we can’t afford to feed them all.”

There it was again; Steve the practical, Dora the dreamer. She sighed. “Don’t be so negative, Steve. It’s money coming in now….and we really need it at the moment.” She leaned over the gate, looking at the rolling hills and, beyond them, the moors.

Steve caressed her back. “Sorry, girl, but someone has to think of the future beyond next week. If Jeannie really DOES like Casper, why don’t we sell him to her? Then it’s her problem next winter keeping him fed and warm.”

“I hate selling horses…saying goodbye,” Dora muttered.

Steve sighed. “Dora, you’d have every horse in the world living here if you could, wouldn’t you? And you’d take care of every one, spend time with it, love it and care for it. That loving nature of yours is what makes you so special. But sometimes you have to let go. Casper is relatively young and fit. Think about it.”

Dora’s face was set in a look Steve knew only too well. Her back had tensed and Steve let his hand drop.

“Why don’t you see how Casper goes with Jeannie over the summer, and then think about selling him? By then you’ll be used to him not being here and won’t miss him so much,” Steve suggested.

“I don’t know,” Dora muttered. “I could always dig into my allowance if we need the money to look after him. There’s enough there to help us, Steve.”

“We agreed that we’d run Follyfoot as a business, girl. OUR business. Without your allowance unless it’s a matter of life and death,” Steve said firmly. “I just said think about selling him. I didn’t say we SHOULD sell him. Just to think about it. Okay?” He leaned over the rails with her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Okay,” she agreed finally, and every line of her body and face was in mutiny.

Steve sighed a rather exasperated sigh. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her to watch vivisectionists perform horrific acts on Copper. SHE was the one complaining that they had to do something to make more money, and this was the perfect answer. Continuous payments for Casper over the summer, then a lump sum at the end of the trekking season that would help pay for the other horses over winter. For Caspar’s stall would be full by then…there were always more horses needing a home. As a horse lover, Dora was superb. As a businesswoman, she let her heart rule her head far too often.

“I’m going in for dinner,” he said finally. “Coming?” He touched her shoulder and she finally turned and walked with him, gazing at the ground. “It’ll be fine, Dora. Fine. Really.”

“Yes,” she said, but very glumly.

“Think on the bright side,” said Steve as he opened the farmhouse door and Slugger’s stew hit them in the nostrils. “We might even be able to buy food for ourselves that Slugger can’t make such a mess of.”

* * *

The next morning Dora had brushed Casper until he gleamed as much as a grey horse ever gleams. She trimmed around his fetlocks and withers, and by the time she and Steve loaded him in the trailer he looked smart and dandy.

The Pinecrest Hotel, when they pulled into the forecourt fifteen minutes later, dazzled in the sunshine under fresh paint and an elegant new sign at the front. The slightly smutty feel that the Hammonds had exuded had gone, replaced by a friendly atmosphere and spotless stables.

Dora’s heart lightened. Casper would be happy here!

Glossy long heads popped out of looseboxes as she led Casper down the ramp, and a volley of whinnies greeted him.

“Thanks so much for bringing him over, Dora,” Jeannie said, showing Dora a loosebox with several inches of fresh straw and a full water bucket. “Put him in here.”

“You’ve done wonders with this place,” Dora said. “It looks completely different.”

“You should see the house! We’ve done up all the rooms. It was cockroach heaven when we got here, we thought we’d have to torch the place and start again. It’s been an insane month redecorating it all.” She patted Casper and scratched his forehead kindly. “But now we’ve advertised in Horse and Hound, Country Life and The Lady and a few other places, and we’re getting lots of enquiries and best of all, bookings.”

Dora introduced Steve and Jeannie her husband Peter, a tall, angular man with a shock of orange hair, who said he’d never been happier to hang up his suits and wear wellies and corduroys. After a tour of the stables, where Steve and Dora met seven horses and ponies who seemed friendly and happy and well-fed, Jeannie suggested coffee in the house.

Mrs Hammond’s domain, a dingy kitchen which always had a patina of grease and grime on every surface, had been transformed into a light, airy room with lime green walls, sparkling white cupboards and yellow curtains. The grease had gone forever, and Dora was feeling much happier about leasing Casper and even Steve’s suggestion of selling him by the time she’d finished her coffee.

Jeannie and Peter were going to be good friends, she could just feel it. Like she and Steve, they were young and passionate about their business and horses.

Dora and Steve pored over maps with them and suggested the best routes for trekking for beginners, as this weekend’s group were.

“I’ll be leading the ride,” Jeannie said, “As Peter doesn’t ride yet, although I’m determined to teach him.”

“One end kicks and the other end bites. I’m not sure I want to sit in the middle,” Peter grinned, and Jeannie elbowed him in the ribs. “Ouch!”

“You should learn, darling, there are lovely rides out there, we could have such fun together,” Jeannie insisted. “And when we’ve got lots of trekkers we’ll need two people on the rides.”

“I could help,” offered Dora.

“That would be lovely,” Jeannie agreed, “But at the moment my sister is coming to stay for a bit in the summer and she’ll probably help. Although if you wanted to join me this weekend, you can make sure I’m following the map and not getting lost. I’ve got a half day trek on Saturday and Sunday.”

“We’re pretty busy, Dora,” Steve reminded her. “How are you going to find time to spend the weekends trekking?”

“Oh, Steve, I’m sure I could spare this Saturday at least,” Dora said. “And after all, it’s in Casper’s interest that I show Jeannie the best places to go.”

Steve agreed, and drained his coffee. “Half your luck,” he said. “The moors are beautiful in spring. Your trekkers will love it.”

Dora and Steve agreed as they left that the Pinecrest was in good hands. Even if the pony trekking side of the business took a while to build up, the hotel was so nice now – and Jeannie and Peter so friendly - that it would draw people from all over the county and beyond.

Dora’s hands touched the crisp notes and shiny coins in her pocket as she walked back into Slugger’s kitchen which, despite the light, floral wallpaper and familiar, pretty blue and white crockery, felt old and dingy compared to the glossy new Pinecrest. “Ah, but it’s Follyfoot,” she said to herself. “And I can’t imagine Slugs cooking with lime green walls and yellow curtains.” She put the money in the old tin that served as household money, petty cash and the emergency fund.

Over dinner that night Steve wound Slugger up, telling him they were going to use the money from Casper’s lease to put in a new kitchen with orange walls and do Slugger’s bedroom up with hot pink wallpaper and snow white shag pile carpet.

“Over my dead body,” Slugger grumbled. “You won’t get a second helping of bangers and mash, young Steve, if you keep it up.”

Steve looked at the lumpy mash on his plate, and the remnant of sausage that was so burnt it had turned to charcoal. “Lava lamps each side of your bed. And we’ll get rid of your easy chair and give you a nice new beanbag.”

Dora joined in. “And a Jacuzzi in the bathroom.”

“For that, you two are washing up. What’s a Jacuzzi, anyway? Sounds like an instrument of torture, and I wouldn’t put that past you two young beggars. Shag pile, he says!” Slugger snorted. “Lava lamps, he says! I’m goin’ to watch the telly. You make sure you get them dishes sparkling now.” He shuffled off, then poked his head back around the door. “There’s nothing wrong with this place. Nothing!” Slugger shut the door firmly, and the horse brass that hung near the Aga fell to the floor with a clunk.

Dora and Steve looked at each other and giggled.

“I can’t really see orange walls in here, can you, Steve?”

“Not in a million years. Here, I’ll wash, you wipe. It’s perfect, just as it is. It’s home.” He picked the horse brass up and hung it carefully back on the wall.

Dora, wiping the plates carefully, wondered as the long spring evening lengthened into gold, how Casper was settling into his new surroundings. She was sure he’d be fine.

* * *

Early on Saturday morning Dora rode an eager Copper over to the Pinecrest Hotel, where trekkers were saddling horses and ponies under Jeannie’s watchful eye.

A young girl had been allotted Casper, and Dora approved the way she checked the girth before mounting in case Casper had bloated out when the saddle was first fastened.

Clouds scudded across overhead, but one look told Dora they were harmless and that by lunchtime the sky would be blue. It would be a perfect day for trekking, with enough coolness in the air to ensure the ponies didn’t get too hot.

“Did you want to lead the way, Dora?” Jeannie asked.

“No, I’ll go at the rear. It’s your trekking business,” Dora said. “I’ll just tell you if you’re going the wrong way.”

“Great.” Jeannie swung up onto a sturdy bay with a star on his forehead. “Come on, everyone! Let’s go!” She cast a look around the riders to ensure they all had their hard hats on and their stirrups the right length.

The string of horses crossed the lane and took a bridle path out of the village towards the moors. Dora listened idly to the conversation in front of her: how beautiful it all was, was that a buzzard over there, look at the heather, my horse wants to go faster, my horse wants to stop and eat grass, this beats working in the garden, I must tell my friends about this place…

Mostly she enjoyed having time out with Copper, who needed the exercise. He fidgeted at the bit, working his jaws, and tried to jog, but she held him to a walk.

Up ahead the moors opened, rolling and wild. High rocky tors soared above the heather; waterfalls big and small rocketed over stones, the water clean and cold and sparkling. Dora thought there couldn’t be a more beautiful place than Yorkshire, with its rolling moors and dales, and the scatterings of villages nestled in dales, their church spires studding the sky.

“Now everyone,” Jeannie shouted back, “We’re walking, okay? Walking. Not trotting, cantering or galloping. We may have a canter later, but for now, we’ll keep to a walk. If you’re having trouble, tell me or Dora, who’s at the back on the chestnut horse, and we’ll put you on a leading rein.”

Jeannie had chosen her horses well. Despite the fresh air and tantalising space around them, they were content to plod as Jeannie led the trek up to the top of a ridge so the riders could see the moors spread around them.

“I wish I’d brought a camera,” moaned one of the riders. “This is simply gorgeous!”

The girl on Casper couldn’t stop grinning. She was delighted with the pony and told Dora so when they halted to look at the view. “He’s so nice to ride. He’s really quiet.”

“Good,” said Dora approvingly. “If you’re gentle with him, he’ll be gentle back to you. Casper is a very sweet pony.”

Jeannie kept her flock under control as the horses walked carefully down the hill, then moved the pace to a trot at the bottom, when they were back on flat land. Both she and Dora watched the riders to ensure they could all control their mounts, but they all seemed to have a reasonable degree of experience and soon the horses settled to a steady pace.

Copper longed for a gallop, and fought Dora’s hands and legs, snorting impatiently. “Sorry old boy,” she whispered, “Not today. We don’t want them all bolting.” She patted his neck.

Jeannie had planned a route that took them in a wide circle, with a lunch stop near a stand of rocks with yet another breathtaking view of the moors unfolding around them. She’d packed sandwiches and water bottles into the saddlebags that hung off each horse except Copper, and took an extra lunch out of her own pack for Dora.

The horses grazed contentedly while their riders sat on heather, leaned against the cool rocks, listened to curlews cry, ate lunch and gave glowing reports to Jeannie about the horses, the moors and the day in general. Dora thought Jeannie couldn’t have got off to a better start.

Dora told the others about Follyfoot, and how it helped old or unwanted horses. The others were fascinated, and made much of Casper when they heard his story. They all promised to call in on the way home tomorrow, when their weekend at the Pinecrest was over, to meet the other horses. Dora doubted they’d all come, but hoped at least a couple of them would…and drop some money in the collection box on their way out.

She and Jeannie exchanged smiles; it was good to help each other!

The sky was clear blue by the time they’d mounted again. Jeannie had chosen cleverly and took the ride down a hill and round a corner into a little dell, where the riders gasped at the sight of hundreds of bluebells in flower under the trees, with a tumbling waterfall thundering down a hundred yards of slippery rock above them. The horses fidgeted at the noise and spray, but none of them – even Copper – was upset. It was a perfect end to a perfect ride, and by two o’clock they were walking back into the village, the horses’ hooves sounding odd on tarmac again, and dismounting in Pinecrest’s yard.

Dora waved goodbye in the knowledge that Casper was thoroughly enjoying his new role, and promised to ring Jeannie on Monday to find out how the rest of the weekend had gone.

Copper was too tired to be flighty on the hack back to Follyfoot and Dora rode dreamily, sated by the sun on her back.

Steve caught Copper’s bridle at the gate and held him while Dora dismounted. “How was it?”

“Fantastic! Jeannie’s done her research well. She took us up Bagshott Tor, we had lunch on another tor – you know, the one we call The Standing Stones – and then back through that waterfall in the bluebell woods not far from the village.” Dora loosened Copper’s girth. “Casper behaved beautifully; he’ll really fit in there.”

“Good.” Steve lifted Copper’s saddle. “He’s a nice pony, and he needs the work.”

“You and I should do that ride one day, Steve. It’s so beautiful.”

“You’re right. One day when it’s not too busy we can take some time off. I’m sure Ron and Slugger can hold the fort for a while.” It had been ages since Steve and Dora had taken their horses on a really good long ride. Steve thought longingly of the open moors. It was rare these days that he got to spend more than an hour at a time in the saddle.

Dora stretched. “I’m dying for a cup of tea.” Tiredly she picked up Copper’s bridle and started for the tack room, but she stopped when she saw an unfamiliar lorry trundling towards the gate.

“Who’s that?” wondered Steve. The lorry looked old and battered, and belched clouds of blue smoke behind it.

Then Ron’s cheerful face hung out of the driver’s side window. “Wotcha, Steve-o, got us a load of straw!”

“What do you mean, mate? We’ve already got straw!” Steve yelled over the clatter of the engine as he opened the gate.

“Got a whole load of it,” Ron shouted back. “Met a bloke in the pub, had straw going cheap.”

Steve groaned. “Ron, we CAN’T have stolen stuff here! I’ve got a prison record, remember?”

“Nah, mate, it ain’t stolen.” Ron cut the engine – the lorry hiccupped and shuddered – and jumped out of the cab. “This bloke’s a farmer, so he gave it me cheap. Cut out the middle man, eh? Even let me borrow his lorry. Even loaded it up for me.” Ron rubbed his hands cheerfully. “Don’t I get a ‘thank you, Ron, you’re marvellous, Ron, you’ve saved us money, Ron’?”

“Thank you, Ron, you’re marvellous, Ron, you’ve saved us money, Ron,” Dora said obligingly. “How much was it?”

Ron touched the side of his nose. “Never you mind, girl. Bloke owed me a favour, didn’t he?” He and Steve unbolted the tailgate of the lorry.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Smells a bit musty, Ron.”

“Nah, mate, it’s fine. It’s the lorry that’s musty, not the straw. Look at this!” Ron pulled a handful out of the nearest bale and sniffed it appreciatively.

Steve sighed. His pleasant Saturday afternoon looked like work after all. “Let’s get it unloaded, then.”

He was still suspicious of Ron’s straw as he heaved bale after bale into the barn. It had that distinct odour that told him it had been rained on. Still, maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought. At worst they could spread it around the gate to the field, where it was always muddy and churned from hooves pawing at the gate to get back to the stables.

“I’d better get the lorry back,” Ron said finally, as without a twinge of guilt he smoked a cigarette and watched Steve heave the last few bales out of the lorry, up into the barn and stack them on top of the pile. “Left me bike at the farmer’s place. Hey, Steve, did you and Dora want to come to the pub tonight?”

Steve glanced at Dora, who was leaning on the stone wall tiredly sipping a mug of tea. Slugger had gone to visit his sister and would be back tomorrow, and they’d have the cottage to themselves. Although Dora’s ‘cooking skills’ made Slugger look like a cordon bleu chef, she was planning to attempt Chicken Marengo, one of the very few dishes she’d mastered at finishing school. “No, mate, thanks anyway. We’re having a big night in.”

Ron winked and clambered back into the lorry. “Half your luck, mate.”

Steve was still unsure from time to time about what Ron felt for Dora. He was her friend, but he’d also walk through fire for her. Unrequited love? Possibly. What did Ron think about, when he was alone in his bed? For, despite the girls Ron always managed to find, he seemed to be alone more often than not. Steve shook his head; none of his business, Ron and his girls. And Dora was unaccountably his own love, and he hers in return. He turned his thoughts to feeding the horses and bringing them in. The sooner they did, the sooner they could relax in each other’s company.

* * *

Moonlight streamed through the window, casting shadows and light across the bed, transforming Dora and Steve into pale blue creatures of another world.

Steve lay on his back, feeling Dora’s fingers comb through his long hair and her nails scratch his scalp in an exquisite tease. He groaned in pleasure.

Dora, kneeling over him, kissed first his closed eyelids then his lips, feeling his mouth respond under hers and his five o’clock shadow rough against her face. She drew her fingernails down the sides of his head, caressing the silky hair, then down his neck onto his arms, and felt him shudder. Still drawing her nails down his arms – so wiry, so muscly – she moved her mouth down and kissed his chest, thinking him an alabaster statue in the strange light, moving ever downwards, using the tip of her tongue to make him writhe beneath her touch in a way no statue ever did.

She felt him hard underneath her; he was hers for the asking.

Smiling, her eyes glinting in the half light, Dora took.

* * *

Dora woke early the next morning; the moonlight had been so beautiful she hadn’t drawn the curtains, and now the sun streamed through and turned both of them golden. The sheets and blankets were twisted and tumbled, and her shoulders were cold.

She nuzzled closer to Steve and pulled the blankets up, resting her face on his chest. Last night had been especially good. Perhaps it was knowing Slugger wasn’t in bed down the hall that had loosened their inhibitions. It had been a night of sleeping briefly then waking and making love again and again before finally sleeping the deep sleep of the truly sated.

And Slugger was still away, not due back until after lunch. Dora reached up a hand and stroked Steve’s hair, pushing it off his face - she loved the way he wore it long – and back against the pillow. She still had some energy left… Steve woke to her kisses on his belly and before she knew it he’d rolled her onto her back, had pinned her down, giggling, and was devouring her first with his eyes then his hands and his mouth.

The horses were fed late that morning.

* * *

Slugger returned from his sister’s with pots of jam and marmalade, a bag of home made biscuits and a pleasantly full tummy of Sunday roast to find Steve and Dora shouting and shrieking in the barn.

“Over here! Hurry up!”

“Oh, Steve! Don’t kill it -!”

Thwack!

“Missed the bloody thing!”

“Oh, Steve, I can’t watch!”

“Dora, there’s dozens of them! We have to –“ THWACK! “- get rid of them!”

Slugger sighed and put his bag of goodies on the wall. Never a dull moment with these two, there wasn’t.

“Slugger!” Steve shouted. “Grab a shovel and help us!”

“Grab a shovel, ‘e says,” sighed Slugger, shuffling off to find one. That roast seemed hours ago now. “What’s the problem, anyway?”

“Rats, Slugger! Rats in this bloody straw Ron got us!” Steve panted and chased a sleek, swift rat, whacking his shovel hopelessly behind it.

Dora covered her eyes. “I can’t do this!”

“Listen girl,” Steve told her, “We have to get rid of them. They’ll eat the feed otherwise. All that feed. Think of that.”

Dora thought, but still couldn’t bring herself to hit a rat on the head with a shovel.

“You’ll never catch ‘em, lad,” Slugger said, after leaning on his shovel and watching Steve pursue a rat under a wheelbarrow. “You need terriers, you do. I’ll ring up Arkwright. He’s got terriers.” He handed his shovel to Dora and headed for the cottage.

By the time Ron arrived for evening feeds, having had a half-day off, he found Bill Arkwright urging his six ragged, hairy mongrel terriers around the barn with a voice that could act as a foghorn: “Barney! O’er ‘ere lad! Gem! Here, girl! Tap! Round t’back!”

The dogs yelped and yipped and yodeled, but the rat population was slowly being brought down. Bales of straw had been ripped open and the air was full of musty dust; straw cascaded down from the barn into the yard in a pale river.

“Wotcha, mate, what’s goin’ on?” Ron quizzed Steve.

“Your bloody straw, that’s what,” Steve said shortly. “Full of rats.”

Ron’s face dropped. “And here’s me gave him a tip won him three hundred quid. I’ll get the bastard for that.”

“Just do us a favour, Ron. No more cheap straw.” Steve looked glumly at the barn. It would take hours to sort it out. To put the awful, musty, rat-infested straw in one pile and the decent stuff – which the terriers, excited to the point of hysteria, were happily destroying with their multitude of sharp teeth – in another.

Dora had vanished on Copper’s back. She couldn’t bear to watch the terriers do their work, hear their excited cries as they pounced on the rats, shaking them and breaking their necks. She was on the moors, giving Copper the gallop he’d missed the day before, feeling the wind tug at her hair and the fresh air in her lungs.

When she arrived back an hour later Bill Arkwright had almost lost his voice and the exhausted little dogs were panting happily at his feet. “They’ve got ‘em all,” he said hoarsely. “Else they’d still be looking.” He held up a heavy-looking potato sack. “And these rats’ll feed the lads for a couple of days. Put ‘em in the icebox I will. Thanks for that, love.” He patted Dora’s shoulder and she tried not to feel sick.

Arkwright and his now quiet dogs strode en masse to his ancient Land Rover, and headed home. Two of the dogs stuck their rough, wiry heads out the window and yelped a hoarse goodbye from bloodstained mouths.

“God,” groaned Steve. “Now to sort it out. Ron! Ron! Put your fag out and grab a pitchfork!”

Dora was actually glad that none of Jeannie’s trekkers turned up on the doorstep – although, she reflected as she sorted good straw from bad and tried not to cough, right now she’d have been glad of a few extra hands!

* * *

Over the next few days the ratty straw found it way to the field, where it was tramped into the mud by the horses.

Ron turned up one morning with a black eye, having had a few drinks at the pub the night before and seeking out the farmer, who turned out to be a better fighter and much more sober at the time.

“C’mon Slugger, gimme a steak for me eye.”

“Give ‘im a steak, ‘e says. No way, young Ron. Them steaks are too good for you. I’m going to cook them for our dinner. Very nice they’ll be.”

“Not when you’ve finished with ‘em, mate,” Ron retorted. “I’ll have one now while it’s still tender.”

Slugger pushed him out of the kitchen. “Garn, get back to work, lad. You should know better than to pick a fight in the pub by now. Go on, shoo! Or it won’t be steak you’ll be getting – I’m sure Bill’s still got a couple of them rats left!”

Ron got no sympathy from Steve or Dora, either. Dora’s stomach still churned when she thought of the rats and the eager terriers. What Ron did get was a new girlfriend, a bird he met at the pub and impressed with a highly fabricated story about how he got the black eye, punching out a man who’d tried to break into his dad’s house.

Jeannie phoned the next week to tell Dora that Casper had been wonderful on that first weekend and that she was really pleased with him. Did Dora want to meet up for a chat and she’d pay her a month in advance for him?

Dora drove over to the Pinecrest, and Jeannie suggested they head to Leeds for lunch and a bit of shopping.

“I do miss doing the girly stuff,” Jeannie sighed, as they headed off in her late model Rover, which still smelt luxuriously of new car and fresh leather. “Buying clothes. And makeup.”

Dora wrinkled her nose - girly stuff not being a favourite pastime of hers - and mentally rewarded herself on not wearing her usual horsy garb of jeans and sweater. She’d dressed in a peasant top and red flares for a change. “I hardly ever buy clothes. Don’t really have the need for them.”

“There’s not much to do in the evenings by way of entertainment around, is there?” Jeannie laughed.

“Lots of amateur theatre around the place. Local bands and dances; they’re rather fun. The cinema. And of course the Women’s Institute,” Dora added solemnly. Jeannie caught her eye and they both giggled uncontrollably.

“I can’t make jam to save my life,” Jeannie said, finally, wiping tears of laughter from her cheek with one hand.

“And as for knitting….I leave that to Slugger.” Dora spent the rest of the journey explaining how she came to be at Follyfoot and who everyone at the farm was and what they did. When she told Jeannie about the rats the other girl shrieked and agreed riding off into the sunset while the poor things were being caught was the best thing to do.

Leeds was bustling, the shops bright with the new season’s fashion. Dora thought bitterly about the allowance she had for herself, that she couldn’t spend on Follyfoot, and bought a long, flowing white dress patterned in tiny colourful gypsy flowers, together with a new pair of boots. Steve would adore her in it; she’d have to make sure she had the opportunity to show it off this summer. She decided to wear it out of the shop and put her other clothes in a carrier bag. While Jeannie went for a facial Dora had her hair trimmed at the best stylist’s she could find, handing over a scary sum of money to keep her trademark feather cut looking fresh.

They ate a late lunch at a coffee shop, lingering over their toasted sandwiches, and coffee far nicer than you could get within ten miles of Follyfoot.

“Oh, this has been fun!” Jeannie sighed, draining the last of her coffee. Her feet were surrounded by carrier bags, her face had been expertly made up by the beautician, and she lit a cigarette with a languorous flick of her lighter. “Want one?”

Dora didn’t smoke, and shook her head. She realised she’d had a great day despite the ‘girly stuff’. “We should do this more often.” She sniffed her wrists. She’d tried out half a dozen scents in the department store and smelt predominantly of roses.

“Back home to the grind, then?”

“What grind?” grinned Dora. “Fresh air, horses… I could never live in the city.”

“I don’t think I could again now, either. Coming in for a day is still fun.” Jeannie stubbed out her cigarette and collected her bags. “How did I manage to buy all this?” She wondered out loud, struggling to rise under the burden of her purchases. “And how far away did I park the car again?”

Back at the Pinecrest, Dora patted Casper, who whickered happily when he saw her, while Jeannie dumped her carrier bags in the house.

“He’s a super pony,” Jeannie said, when she came back to the yard. “I’ve got more bookings this weekend and he’ll be out on the moors again. And I’m even booked up for the next four weeks. I can’t believe how well this is going.”

“I’m so glad.” Dora hesitantly hugged Jeannie and kissed her new friend on the cheek. She’d never really had a close female friend before, not since boarding school.

“You’ll have to come out with us sometime. And bring Steve,” Jeannie said. “I’m determined to get Peter up on a horse so perhaps Steve can encourage him.” She waved Dora goodbye.

Dora, aware she smelled and looked divine, felt a bit odd driving the old, hay-littered Land Rover into Follyfoot and stepping down elegantly from behind the steering wheel in her new, very white, long boots.

Steve was in Alex’s stable, and almost dropped the curry comb he was holding. He let out a long whistle.

“You look beautiful,” he told her. “I love the dress. And the sexy boots. And your hair. You look like a film star or something.” He was afraid to hug her, not wanting to make her smell of horse. He settled for kissing her soft, pink mouth. “I’ll have to take you out to show you off.”

Dora thought “Women’s Institute” and nearly got the giggles again, but mentioned a pub about ten miles away which did excellent meals and had a beer garden just right for long spring evenings.

“Ron can help with the feeds. You go into the cottage. Don’t change your clothes. Don’t change anything. Just wait for me.” He kissed her again, hard, and she could smell a faint, exciting tang of horses and sweat. “But if you can find me a clean shirt, that’d help.”

Slugger was surprised and delighted to see Dora all dressed up – he privately thought that spending all day in old clothes around horses wasn’t really the way a young lady like Dora should spend her life, she should have a bit of fun now and then – but disappointed to hear she and Steve were going out.

“I was making a stew,” he said plaintively. “Got some nice parsnips this morning.”

“Invite Ron to share it,” Dora suggested, admiring the high heel and platform soles on her shiny boots. Ridiculous footwear for Follyfoot, but so sexy looking. She did love boots.

“Ah, there’ll be leftovers,” said Slugger comfortingly. “I’m making a big pot.” He smiled beatifically and stirred his stew.

Steve showered and changed in record time, and suggested they drive to the Colonel’s and see if they could borrow the sports car for the night. “That dress deserves better than a Land Rover.”

The Colonel, seeing his niece looking positively radiant, agreed. “Dora, you look splendid, my dear. I agree, you need to go out in a good car.” He tossed the keys to Steve, and noted with approval the neatly-pressed shirt, clean trousers and freshly-shaved chin. Yes, Dora had chosen well; he’d look after her and be proud to be with her. “Bring the car back tomorrow. And drive carefully,” he shouted after them as the car spat gravel down the driveway.

Steve loved driving the little red car; low to the road, it always felt like you were going fast, even if you weren’t. The spring evening was all blue and gold, with a dazzling sunset promised for later. Steve drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on Dora’s thigh, lifting it only to change gear with a snarl of the engine.

The pub was packed, the jukebox blaring out “Rock On” by David Essex, but Dora managed to wangle a table in the garden by smiling sweetly at the publican, who carefully wiped down the chairs so she didn’t get her dress dirty.

Steve was aware of other men casting admiring glances in Dora’s direction, and felt an absurd rush of proprietary pride. He was with the most beautiful girl not just in the pub, but, in his mind, the entire universe.

He read the menu and grimaced at some of the prices. But what the hell, they so rarely went out -! “Let’s have a plate of oysters kilpatrick to start with,” he suggested rashly.

Dora began to say they were expensive, but thought better of it. Steve had his pride, even if he didn’t have much money. Instead she giggled: “You know what they say about oysters!” and tapped her feet to Blue Swede’s “Hooked On A Feeling”.

“Maybe we should ring Slugger and see if he could go to his sister’s again for the night!” he grinned in return.

Dora adored oysters; Steve hadn’t had them terribly often but was learning to appreciate them, as long as he swallowed them very quickly and didn’t think about them too much. Smothered in bacon and sauce, they were really quite tasty, he discovered. He let her have most of them, though, as the expression of ecstasy on her face when she ate the first one was priceless.

Dora tried to choose the cheapest thing on the menu as a main course, but Steve urged her to pick what she wanted. “I got a good tip from Ron for the races last week,” he lied. “Order something nice.” Dover sole won out over a pie. Steve ordered the pie for himself and drank beer instead of wine to make up for it.

They lingered until the garden was in darkness, with spotlights picking out the bushes behind them, and the jukebox had been choked in the middle of Suzi Quatro’s strident voice as the bar was shut. “What a lovely night,” Dora sighed. “Hasn’t it been wonderful?”

“It’s not over yet,” Steve said gently. “Want to go home? And see if those oysters work? I can’t wait to help you out of that dress and those boots.”

“I can’t, either.” Dora took Steve’s arm and he escorted her to the red car and opened her door with a flourish. The drive back was slow and enjoyable, with Dora’s head on Steve’s shoulder as he drove well under the speed limit, not wanting the drive to end on such a clear, starlit night, but longing too to get Dora home.

And if the moon had dwindled to a tiny crescent, high in the sky, and no pale silver gleam came through the bedroom window, it didn’t matter. Not in the least. Steve did an admirable job of removing Dora’s clothes, laying them carefully on a chair, and the room smelled of roses from her hot skin as she tumbled onto the bed with him. As he kissed her, they were all he could smell, sweet summer’s promise, intoxicating him as much as Dora’s lips, mouth, tongue and body did.

* * *

The wonderful night gave way to an awful reality the next morning. Dora hung over the loo, sick. “It must have been the oysters,” she muttered to herself, trying to think of things that would stop her retching. “Or the sole. Or too much wine.”

She sat on the bathroom floor, unable to contemplate the bacon she could smell wafting up the stairs.

“Dora? Are you okay, sweetheart?” Steve rattled the doorhandle.

“I’ll be fine. Go and have your breakfast, Steve.”

She waited until she heard his footsteps on the stairs then dragged herself upright to see if there was anything in the bathroom cabinet she could take to stop herself feeling sick. The only remotely useful thing there was aspirin. Cursing, she pulled out the contents of the cabinet to be sure.

And then it struck her.

The unopened box of tampons. How long since she’d had the curse? Dora sat heavily onto the loo, counting on her fingers. By her reckoning, she was two weeks late.

“Oh, no,” she whispered, trying to tell herself she’d been late before, and this was just another such time.

She counted again, and came to the same conclusion. That night…that wonderful night when Slugger had been away. They’d taken precautions, Steve was willing to use condoms, but condoms weren’t always perfect. What if one had had a hole in it?

“I CAN’T be pregnant,” she whispered to herself. “We can’t have a baby at the moment. There’s too much to do. Too many horses need us. And we don’t have enough money.”

Her stomach heaved again. It must be the seafood, she told herself, trying not to think how nauseous she’d been too about the rats.

Fifteen minutes later she was sure she had nothing left to throw up, and felt much better. Just a bad fish, she said to herself, and had to believe it.

Dora washed and dried herself, contemplating her flat stomach with one hand. No, she couldn’t be. Could she? She’d have to see a doctor and find out. Until then, she mustn’t mention her fears to anyone, least of all Steve.

How would Steve react if she told him she was having his baby? Would he be delighted, or angry in case he felt she’d trapped him? She could see him as a proud father, giving his children the childhood he’d missed, with lots of love and stability and joy. But on the other hand, he was young, like her, and with a lot of living to do, and had even said in the past he didn’t want children until he was at least 25 or even 30. Dora shuddered at the thought. She couldn’t bear to lose him, to have to make a choice between a baby and Steve; the very thought made her feel sick again, but she swallowed and gulped fresh air and concentrated on the black specks of birds circling in the sky which she could see through the window. She dressed mechanically in her usual jeans, which felt no tighter than usual.

Downstairs, she told Slugger she just felt like toast and tea.

“But I saved you some bacon,” Slugger protested. “You know you love bacon. At least let me make you an egg, girl. You need a good start to the day and eggs are good for you, eggs are.”

Dora mouthed the last behind Slugger’s back and grinned despite herself. “Just toast. Seriously, Slugs, I think I ate a bad oyster last night and I don’t feel so good.”

Slugger snorted. “Oysters! Who’d eat oysters? Mucky things they are.” He whisked a slice of toast onto a plate and handed it to her.

Dora forced the toast down and drank only half her tea. She still felt squeamish, and decided that working in the yard would take her mind off it. And Steve and Ron had done all the hard work so far this morning.

As the morning wore on, and Dora groomed five of the horses, she felt better. But all the time she brushed the shiny coats, she was almost in a daydream, wondering about the baby that just might be growing inside her. She wasn’t ready to be a mother – was she? She wasn’t even 21, she had a business to run, and far too much to do with her life, Follyfoot and Steve before she wanted to have children.

But if it WAS a baby? Dora had a vision of a sweet girl child – Jennifer, perhaps? – with hazel eyes and wavy brown hair with ribbons in it, wearing toddler dungarees, patting Copper’s nose. Or a boy, with Steve’s dark, gypsy looks – she liked Jake for a boy’s name – pouring a little bucket of water on the Lightning Tree, spilling some on his tiny yellow wellie boots. She felt a sudden pang that hit her in the chest; if only it was true, if only Jennifer or Jake was a reality. It would, actually, be wonderful, no matter what the impact was on the rest of her life.

She laid her cheek against Copper’s, breathing in his lovely horsy smell. “A baby, Copper, what if I’m having a baby?” she whispered. How long could she go on riding for? She’d read that if you ride regularly anyway, you can certainly keep riding through the early and even mid stages of pregnancy assuming you don’t fall off or do anything else that might injure the baby.

Copper nuzzled her hands, explored them for treats then blew gustily in disgust at finding them empty.

“I’ll see the doctor, and have a pregnancy test,” Dora decided. All this daydreaming about Jennifer or Jake was silly; she’d have to know one way or the other, and soon.

Dora sneaked into the house when she saw Slugger talking to Steve in the barn and rang her doctor’s surgery, hand over the mouthpiece and talking quietly in case Slugger came back inside.

The receptionist said, “Dr Thompson isn’t in this week, she’s on holiday. We’ve got a locum, he’s very nice, would you like to see him?”

Dora thought and decided no. “It’s not really urgent, and I’d rather see a woman doctor, if that’s fine with you.” She booked in for the following Monday. Five more days of wondering.

As she walked out of the office, Slugger walked back into the kitchen, rubbing his hands. “’Ow about some of that nice stew for lunch, then?”

Dora’s stomach heaved at the thought. She dashed for the bathroom and wondered whether it really was the oysters.

* * *

Steve was worried. Dora had been unusually pensive the last couple of days. She’d always been quiet and rather withdrawn, but in the last months she’d blossomed; they’d had fewer fights and lots more laughs, in fact, life couldn’t be better. She’d been sick for a couple of days this week – he should have known better than to suggest oysters at a place that was far from the sea – so maybe that was it.

Or perhaps it was her friend Jeannie, and the chance Jeannie had to get out and ride every weekend. Things were so busy at Follyfoot at the moment, with every stable full, that even Saturdays and Sundays left them little time to themselves.

Steve decided that tomorrow, Saturday, things would be different. If the weather held, and they’d had a pretty dry spring so far, they’d put all the horses out in the fields after breakfast, and go for a long ride on Copper and Alex. Out on the moors. Just the two of them and a bag of sandwiches. Explore the places they hadn’t been to for ages, perhaps meet up with Jeannie and her trekkers and have some fun. Ron and Slugger could hold the fort.

Steve sought Dora out and found her sitting on Copper’s wooden manger, staring dreamily into the stable, her arms crossed over her stomach.

“Hey, girl.”

“Hey yourself.” She smiled.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, and you and I are going riding.”

“We are?”

“Out on the moors. For hours. Copper and Alex need it, and to be frank, I do too. I haven’t had a decent ride in ages.”

“And I had that lovely time with Jeannie a couple of weeks ago, and you didn’t get the chance to come too. Yes, let’s do it.” Dora’s face brightened, a rare, uncomplicated grin spreading over her face, and Steve felt relieved.

“Bagshott Tor and the Standing Stones?”

“Oh yes, that will be wonderful.” She slid down from the manger and hugged Steve, lifting her face for a kiss, and trying not to think that her jeans seemed tighter to zip this morning.

Steve whistled happily for the rest of the afternoon as he did the evening feeds and brought the horses in.

Dora poured a bucket of water on the Lightning Tree, an inscrutable expression on her face. What was she wishing for? he wondered.

Had he heard her mutter “Jennifer or Jake” under her breath as she caressed the ancient tree, he would have been thoroughly bemused.

* * *

Copper and Alex jiggled and pulled at their reins, Copper wheeling around as Dora tried to shut the gate behind her. The day had enormous promise; not a cloud in sight. It was still cool, so she wore her old wool jacket over her shirt and jumper.

“Moors, here we come!” Steve said cheerfully, and let Alex jog down the hill and towards the woods.

Dora had rung Jeannie the night before and told her their plans, and Jeannie agreed meeting at the Standing Stones for lunch was a super idea. She had a full trek, so if Dora and Steve felt like joining them and keeping an eye on the inexperienced ones, they were welcome to. On the other hand, if they wanted a romantic ride and a bed of heather somewhere, she’d keep well out of their way!

After fifteen minutes walking and jogging, the horses had warmed up, and the moors spread open in front of them, untamed, studded with wildflowers, stretching to eternity.

Dora forgot about Jennifer or Jake, and let Copper move into his fluid canter. Oh, this was bliss! With Steve cantering beside her, the day couldn’t be better.

They followed the paths worn down by generations of sheep, horses and ramblers, stopping on the crests of hills to admire the view, or point out birds and other riders, or the sparkling of a stream or burn below. Villages in the distance nestled in trees, the occasionally smoking chimney the only evidence they were there. The air was so clear, they could see forever, until the hills finally dissipated against the horizon.

The day warmed up, and Dora took off her jacket and tied it around her waist. “Not far to the Standing Stones,” she mused. “I wonder if Jeannie will be there yet.”

“We’ll soon find out. Race you!” Steve grinned wickedly and urged Alex from standing start. The appaloosa grunted and reached full stride quickly. Dora, still gathering her reins, sent Copper after him.

The horses pounded up the hill to where the stones stood, a natural outcrop that almost formed a stone circle in its own right, and slowed at the top of their own accord, blowing and snorting.

Steve dismounted, and Alex’s head went straight down to the soft grass that grew at the base of the stones. “Can’t see Jeannie’s trek anywhere.”

Dora peered about her. “There’s a horse coming this way,” she said. It was galloping, its rider urging it on and waving at her. “I think it’s Jeannie.”

By the way Jeannie was riding Dora knew there was a problem. It was madness to race so blithely over the moors, away from the paths, where rabbit holes could mean a broken leg.

She turned Copper and sent him down the hill as fast as she dared. He slithered, his hind legs under him. Leaning back to balance, Dora gave him his head and he leaped into a canter at the bottom, heading towards the other horse.

Jeannie pulled her mount to a halt, the pair of them breathless. Her big bay had white sweat on its neck and flank. “Dora!” she gasped.

Her face was covered in tears and Dora feared the worst.

“What?” she said cautiously. “Has someone had a fall?”

“Worse than that! Oh, Dora! It’s Casper! He’s lost!” Jeannie wiped her cheeks with one sleeve, sniffing.

Dora felt cold all over despite the warm sunshine. Her little Casper! “How - how lost?” she stammered, aware of Steve riding towards her, hearing Alex snort with each stride.

“I don’t know,” Jeannie wailed, losing her composure completely. “The wretched boy on him took off from the trek at a gallop. He was awful,” she gulped, “Jabbing at Casper’s mouth. He told me he could ride, but I didn’t realise how horrible he was until we were well out.” She took a deep breath and continued. “He bolted from us, and I couldn’t leave the others as I had a couple on a leading rein. By the time I’d left them in charge of the best rider we had on the trek, this boy Lewis – “

“Lewis?” said Steve sharply, reining Alex alongside.

“Lewis. Wavy fair hair. Bad attitude.”

“Lewis Hammond.” Dora and Steve exchanged glances. The very person who’d ruined Casper in the first place. Lewis the Louse, out of prison and back to his old tricks.

“You know him?” Jeannie wiped another tear away.

“Only too well,” Steve said grimly. “His parents used to own the Pinecrest.”

Jeannie paled. “THAT Lewis! I’ve heard of him. He SAID his name was Lewis Smith. Well, he’s taken off on Casper and he was heading towards the quarry.”

Steve swore. “If Casper loses his footing there he could break a leg. Or Lewis’ neck, which is a far nicer thought.”

“We’ve got to find them,” Dora said urgently. She looked at her watch. They’d been riding for two hours. Copper was still relatively fresh, but the quarry was a good twenty minutes away, and that was at the gallop. “We should call the police.”

“Let’s go to the quarry,” Steve decided instead. Alex wasn’t as fit as Copper, but he was bold and never stopped. If they didn’t go at a flat gallop they’d be fine. He swung Alex and set off, Dora and Jeannie in pursuit.

Dora felt sick at the thought of trusting little Casper suffering again at the hands of the Louse. If he was injured -! She’d kill Lewis with her own bare hands. Numb, she cantered beside Steve, both of them wordless.

Suddenly the day wasn’t so pretty; the sun was too hot on horses who were tiring rapidly. The magnificent scenery was unheeded and unappreciated. The soft swirling purples, greens and oranges that covered the ground were a blur as the horses cantered past. And Dora was getting a cramp in her abdomen; stress, she thought.

Copper was blowing heavily now, sweat frothing on him and turning him skewbald.

“Not far now,” Steve called to Dora and Jeannie. He could feel Alex tiring beneath him, his canter rough and half-hearted. But they HAD to catch Lewis! He pushed his brave little horse on.

Steve sighed with relief when he saw the woods that grew on one side of the quarry; nearly there. He slowed a grateful Alex to a trot, and signalled to the girls to be quiet. The horses’ hooves were silent on the leaves that lined the path through the woods, the only sound their heavy breathing.

At the edge of the woods, Steve halted and waited for Dora and Jeannie. Jeannie’s bay was so tired its neck was drooping. “If he’s here, I want to surprise him. Approach at the walk, as quiet as you can. Stay mounted in case we have to chase him.”

“Perseus doesn’t have much left,” Jeannie patted her bay’s damp neck. “He’s tired out.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, then. Ready?”

They nodded, and followed Steve as he rode Alex towards the edge of the quarry.

The quarry was on the edge of the moors, not far from the roads. Ugly and bare, it was disused and had a lake at the bottom. It was the kind of place mothers warned their children to stay away from – not that children ever heeded their mothers as it was a great place to stage an adventure. It was dangerous, with slippery rocks on the clumsy paths that led haphazardly to the chilly, deep lake. Maybe in hundreds of years it would be soft and covered with trees and heather, and people would forget what it originally was, but for now it was the last place you’d choose to ride a pony.

Far below at the side of the lake, a grey pony rested one hind leg that was covered in bright blood, his saddle slipped to one side. Beside him a young man lay on the ground, his right leg at an odd angle.

Dora gasped. Casper! He was injured! “Oh no,” she whispered, her heart aching at the sight.

“Hey!” yelled Lewis. “Can you help me? I’ve broken my leg!”

“Serves you right!” yelled Steve back. “What have you done to the pony?”

Lewis swore, realising who his rescuers were. “Stupid thing slipped,” he yelled finally, after almost a minute of furious invective. “Cut his leg to bits.”

Steve dismounted. “I’m going down there. One of you mind Alex. Jeannie, do you have a first aid kit in your saddlebag?”

Jeannie swung out of her saddle with relief. “Bandages, you name it.” She unfastened her saddlebag and handed it to Steve.

“Great. Thanks, Jeannie. I’ll try and make a tourniquet for Casper.”

Dora kicked her feet free of the stirrups and began to dismount when she noticed something that made her cry out loud.

“Dora! What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Hunched over Copper’s saddle, Dora looked at the smear of blood on it. The awful, somehow familiar cramps…her swollen abdomen...the curse! She was only late after all! She let out a gasp that was almost a wail before she could help herself.

Steve helped her down from Copper and held her for a minute, caressing her back and hair and feeling her arms wrap themselves around his torso like a python, while she cried tears that she couldn’t explain. Tears for Casper, or for Jennifer or Jake… she wasn’t sure herself.

* * *

Hours later, Casper was back at Follyfoot, stitches in his leg. It had taken both Steve and the vet almost an hour to coax the terrified pony up the side of the quarry. Lewis had ridden him roughly and cut his mouth again, and the grey was reluctant to let even gentle Steve touch his head.

Dora had gone to phone for help, leading Alex from her own tiredly trotting mount, and Jeannie had headed back to the trekkers she’d abandoned. Steve had slowly and carefully edged his way down the quarry walls, cursing as stones and shale slid uneasily under his feet.

Waiting for the ambulance, Steve had asked Lewis what he thought he was doing, galloping off on Casper. Lewis at first refused to answer. A nudge from Steve’s foot onto his broken leg loosened his tongue, though. “I knew it was a Follyfoot horse.” He grimaced in pain, clutching his thigh. “Wanted to get back at you. And those bloody people who bought Pinecrest. That’s my HOME. If it wasn’t for you getting me and Dad put in prison we’d still be living there. Wanted to …wreck…their reputation,” he gasped.

“Stupid thing to do,” Steve commented, clenching his fists in an effort to control his temper. He settled for picking up a sharp piece of shale and hurling it with unnecessary force into the lake, where it landed with a splash that made Casper snort. “What makes you think I won’t press charges? Or the new owners of the Pinecrest?”

Lewis’ reply was unprintable. Steve listened to thirty seconds of swearing, some of which was quite impressive and included words even he didn’t know, before threatening to pick Lewis up by his broken leg and throw him in the lake after the stone. He bent down as if to grab the offending foot, and Lewis fainted in terror.

Steve had spent the rest of his wait soothing Casper, who was initially reluctant to be caught and moved awkwardly away on his injured leg. It had seemed an age before the vet and ambulance arrived much at the same time, with afternoon shadows rising dark purple up the walls of the quarry. Steve had put a tourniquet on the pony’s leg, and thanked the powers that be that the horse hadn’t severed an artery.

He got a perverse pleasure in seeing Lewis wince and cry out as the ambulance officers carried him up on a stretcher, far more gently than he deserved.

Now Casper was home, and never to be loaned out again. Steve found Dora staring morosely at him over the stable door, her shoulders hunched as she watched the pony make himself comfortable in the straw, lying on his chest with his uninjured leg beneath him.

“Poor boy. He could have broken his legs. Or his neck, with Lewis riding him into the quarry.” She leaned against Steve, who snuggled her close, wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back. Her head was against his chest and she could feel his heart beating, familiar and strong. It soothed her. “And now he’s all funny about his head and mouth.” She sighed. “Back to the beginning, having to gain his trust all over again.”

“Jeannie rang a couple of minutes ago. She’s very upset about Casper and hopes you’re still friends with her.”

Dora smiled wanly. “’Course I am. It wasn’t her fault; she didn’t know who Lewis was.”

“She wants to pay Casper’s vet bills.”

“That’s nice of her. I’ll call her later. When I’ve settled him down for the night.”

Steve kissed the top of her head. He thought briefly about joking that they were back to square one with money, and would she like to lease another horse to Jeannie, but thought better of it. Not tonight. She was upset enough about Casper and he was sure there was something else she wasn’t telling him. Unless it was just the curse. She was always more fractious and reticent at that particular time of the month.

“He’s settled enough, girl. The vet tranked him. He’ll sleep like a log. Come inside now. Where it’s warm.”

“In a minute.” She squeezed his hand. “I want to water the Lightning Tree first.”

Steve watched as she poured the bucket over the tree and looked at the little leaves, still visible in the twilight. He saw her slim, elegant hands stroke the gnarled bark as if it were a horse, and she had gone to that world of hers where he couldn’t follow her, gazing up at the tree, her lips moving soundlessly.

Finally she walked over to him, thoughtful, eyes focussed in the distance. He put his arm around her shoulders; they felt cold. “So what did you wish for this time?”

She smiled - a little sadly, he thought – and matched her stride to his, so they walked hip to hip, touching gently. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?” The vision of the little girl in dungarees and the little boy in the yellow wellies flickered for a moment in front of her eyes, then fled far into the future.

The end.