Stables S.O.S. (3 page)

“So now we have to come up with
two
plans!” announced Katy as we all mounted up in the stables the next day.

“We haven't even come up with one yet,” Cat pointed out, tightening Bambi's girth from the saddle. Bambi snaked her head to and fro and snapped her teeth in protest. Cat's skewbald mare loved drama.

“Don't remind us!” Bean groaned, ignoring Tiffany's side step past a perfectly innocent-looking broom.

“Let's go for a blast up the Sloping Field,” James suggested, urging his chestnut mare Moth into a brisk walk toward the bridle path. As usual, an Indian blanket replaced a conventional saddle blanket under Moth's saddle and she lifted her white legs up high, her chin on her chest as James sat astride her in his ripped jeans, his stirrups too long. We all followed—all except Dee. She was hardly ever allowed to come riding with us in the summer due to Sophie's conviction that Dolly would pick up bad manners from our out-of-control ponies. She had a point.

I still couldn't get used to riding with Cat. When I first came to Laurel Farm, Cat had been my archenemy, but since we'd all practiced and performed an activity ride at Christmas, things had been better between us—especially now I knew the big secret that had upset Cat so much and had made her behave so badly toward me. And now that I knew, I could totally understand why it had made her go a bit, well, “crazy” is the only way I can describe it really, whenever it had come up. Now that Cat knew of my determination to help her, she'd softened toward me. It sounds very simple when I say it all like that, but it's really complicated.

For a start, even though I realize why Cat was horrible to me, I can't quite forgive her. I'm just relieved she isn't calling me Mia or Tia anymore and being all snobby toward me. And there's the little matter of her having gone out with James. I can't quite get my head around that one. Not totally, even if James did have a perfectly good reason for asking her out. Drummer has never let me forget how annoyed I was about that.

Drummer, as usual, hurried along to be next to Bambi. Bambi was the reason we needed to come up with a plan because in July, Bambi was due to move out of Laurel Farm and into a single stable and paddock waiting for her at Cat's aunt's place. Because Cat's Aunt Pam is Bambi's real owner (that had been the big secret—I had always thought she belonged to Cat), and Cat had Bambi on loan while Aunt Pam had a couple of kids. Now the kids were old enough to ride, Aunt Pam had announced her intention of repossessing her pony at the start of the summer vacation, leaving my until-recently-archenemy Bambi-less.

So why have I vowed to think up a plan to save Cat's pony? Why should I care about my until-recently-archenemy when she has previously done all she could to diss me? (She even tried to get Drummer stolen once.) Because my wonderful Drummer and Bambi are an item and so loved-up it's touching (or nauseating, depending on your mood). Without a plan, they won't have much longer to be a couple.

True, I could empathize with Cat (I couldn't imagine losing Drummer), but the real reason I was so anxious to come up with a plan to save Bambi was because of my pony. He loved Bambi. I couldn't, I wouldn't let him down. Everyone seemed to believe it was out of kindness to Cat that I was so anxious to help. After all, no one else could hear what Drummer, or any of the other ponies, said without Epona.

“So let's recap on ideas we have come up with for the Keep Bambi Campaign,” suggested Katy, giving her beloved Bluey's blue-flecked neck a loving pat. Bluey arched his neck and looked pleased. He loves Katy as much as she loves him.

“The ones we've already rejected?” I asked.

“Yes. We may be able to convert them into a workable plan or combine a couple of them to get something that does work.”

“Well, there's the ‘Hide Bambi at the icehouse' plan,” said Bean.

“I don't like that one,” I heard Bambi say. She'd had a bad experience at the icehouse once before.

“She can't stay there forever,” Cat pointed out.

“And even if she did, she'd still be in solitary,” said James. “The idea is to keep her not only with Cat but with all the other ponies at Laurel Farm.”

“If Laurel Farm still exists,” I pointed out gloomily.

“We're addressing that issue later,” Katy declared firmly.

“I still think we ought to try to raise some money to buy her,” said Bean. “That's the best idea yet.”

“That would be brilliant—except that my Aunt Pam doesn't want to
sell
Bambi,” Cat reminded us all, “she wants her
back
.”

“Would you be able to keep her if you could buy her?” asked Katy.

Cat nodded. “My family pays for her keep now,” she explained. “But they can't afford the money up front to buy a pony. When Bambi goes, that's it, I'm pony-less.”

“Don't forget Dee's idea,” I said, waiting for the inevitable response.

Everyone groaned.

“No séances!” cried Katy, making Tiffany jump.

“That's Dee's answer to everything,” mumbled James.

“Exactly when did you all hold a séance?” asked Cat. She asked it every time the subject came up. Nobody wanted to tell her because it had happened when we'd been competing against her, and memories were not especially warm—for anyone. The idea had been to call up Dee's dear departed granddad, but instead we'd got some lunatic named Adam Rowe who had just wanted to spell out
bad
death
all the time. Nice! It had been totally scary, and we'd all been freaked out—except for James, which only made us more convinced that he'd been pushing the Ouija board planchette around and spelling out the words himself as a joke. Some joke!

“I thought the ‘Let's find a more suitable pony for AP's kids' plan was a good idea,” interrupted James, anxious to move on from the séance subject.

“Yes, apart from us not having any money to buy one. And AP, as you like to call my Aunt Pam,” Cat said, “as we've already established, wants her beloved Bambi back, not just any old pony. It's a no go!”

We all pulled up at the bottom of the Sloping Field, and I could feel Drummer start to bunch underneath me in anticipation. All the ponies knew that the Sloping Field meant only one thing: a flat-out gallop from the bottom to the top with the added fun of a leap across the stream that snaked its way across the middle. I could hear all the ponies psyching one another up—Bambi and Drummer were already challenging each other to a race.

“See ya…” Bean told us as Tiffany leaped into the air and hit the ground at the gallop, totally oblivious to Bean's wishes. James leaned forward to give Moth the go-ahead and Drummer pulled the reins out of my hands as he stuck his head down and went for it, neck and neck with Bambi. Only Bluey, well-mannered, polite Bluey, set off at a canter for Katy before easing gently into a gallop. James overtook Bean halfway up the field, and Bambi and Drummer reached the top in a dead heat because neither of them wanted to beat the other (see what I mean about nauseating?).

We all stood at the top of the field and looked around at the countryside while the ponies got their breath back.
No
wonder
the
Romans
had
settled
here
, I thought, drinking in the view. No wonder there had been large houses built around here for centuries after the invaders had sailed back home to the warmth of their native Italy. It seemed strange to think of so many generations of people all looking down from more or less where we all stood now, all seeing—give or take a few trees—the same view as ours on this beautiful May morning.

“Did anyone hear that?” asked Tiffany, lifting her head, her ears twitching.

All the other ponies groaned.

“You need to get the vet to look at your ears,” Bambi told her.

“It's my nerves,” Tiffany explained.

“
Your
nerves get on
my
nerves,” Drummer told her, and he and Bambi put their heads together and sniggered.

“OK,” said James, loosening Moth's reins so she could stretch her neck, “now we need to think about this other little concern we have, namely, the proposed development at Laurel Farm.”

“Sophie's friend's husband has confirmed that we can't do anything legally,” sighed Katy.

“But we have to stop the development,” I said. The thought of moving to another stable now, when Drum and I had made friends at Laurel Farm, was too much to bear.

“How, exactly?” Cat asked, dropping Bambi's reins and fiddling with the strap on her riding hat. “We can't even come up with any workable ideas for the Keep Bambi Campaign.”

“Well, we're the only people who will care enough to get it stopped,” I said, remembering Drummer's words. “If we don't do anything, we'll lose Laurel Farm. No one else will bother.”

“S.O.S., that's what it is,” said Katy. “Save Our Stables! There, that's the name of our new campaign.”

“We'll have more campaigns than Napoleon at this rate,” remarked James.

“Isn't he dead?” asked Bean, confused.

“If he wasn't, we could hit him up for some ideas,” mused Katy.

“Thank goodness Dee isn't here,” I said. “She'd be all for calling up Napoleon on the Ouija board.”

“Oh, please no,” groaned Bean, “I can't speak French!”

“Can you all do me a favor?” yelled Cat, her green eyes flashing. “Either fill me in on the séance story or just shut up about it!”

“Do you think anyone else will care?” asked Bean, changing the subject hastily. “About Laurel Farm, I mean, not the sé…”—she looked across at Cat and changed her mind— “the S word.”

“Not really,” said James. “Laurel Farm is just one of lots of stables in this area. I can't see anyone bothering about it. They'll just say we can take the ponies elsewhere. Besides, not many people know Laurel Farm even exists. It's so well hidden from the road. They're not likely to miss it.”

“Poor Mrs. Collins,” said Bean.

“Yeah,” agreed Cat. “I bet she's feeling terrible. She won't want to go into some home and lose the stables, not to mention her cats and Squish.”

“But it sounds like she doesn't even know about her son's plans,” Katy reminded us.

Drummer edged toward a bush and tried to eat it. “Let's go into the woods,” I suggested. “We might find some inspiration there.”

We didn't. It was nice though, all damp-smelling and mossy underfoot, dappled sunlight finding its way through the trees. A few weeks before, the ground had been smothered with bluebells.

“We need to get some media coverage,” said Katy, her purple hoodie swaying in time to Bluey's footsteps.

“What, the papers and the TV?” asked Bean.

“Exactly!” Katy said.

“We need a friendly celebrity to be on our side,” said James.

“Like who?”

“No idea, but it would have to be someone sympathetic to ponies,” James continued. “I mean, most people think anyone with horses is so well-off, they can afford their own land. It's not like our ponies are going to be put down or anything if the development goes through.”

“Shhhh,” hissed Bean, dropping her reins and leaning forward to cover Tiffany's ears with her hands. Seized by panic, Tiffany put her head down and shook it so violently, Bean slid down her neck onto the ground.

“Whoops, my fault,” said Bean, rolling over and getting to her feet.

“Sorry,” said Tiffany, even though Bean couldn't hear her. “I thought you were an ear-grabbing monster. Give me some warning next time.”

We all waited for Bean to remount. It took a bit of time because although she is tall and willowy in stature, she has virtually no spring.

“So what sort of story does the media like?” I asked, watching Bean haul herself up by Tiffany's saddle. If my old riding instructor had seen her she'd have had a complete freak-out on the spot.

“Sensational sob stories,” said James, “with celebrity endorsement!”

“What, like the ponies would all die of broken hearts if they were split up, that sort of thing?” asked Cat.

“Well, they will,” I said, stroking Drummer's neck. “Drum and Bambi should never be parted.”

“Absolutely!” snorted Drummer.

“Try telling other people that,” said James.

“Do you think that would work?” asked Bambi—but I was the only one who could hear her.

“Some people will care,” snapped Cat. She and James were still not quite back to being totally civil to each other since they'd been out together. It hadn't ended well. James had dumped Cat, so the atmosphere was still a bit tense between them.

“How about telling them about Mrs. Collins?” asked Bean, back in the saddle again. “She shouldn't be made homeless because of some development.”