Stables S.O.S. (8 page)

When I got home Mom and Mike were out. There was no bike outside, so I assumed they'd gone on an evening motorcycle ride in the country somewhere, which is what they're into. I've come to terms with my mom wearing leather biker gear. Sort of. I suppose it could be worse. I mean, Bean's family are all into music and the arts, making a mess and being noisy all over the house. At least Mom and Mike disappear on the bike. They don't ride it all around the living room, getting in the way and preventing me from hearing the TV.

What
a
day
, I thought, doing my best to forget it. First our Bambi plan not going—well, to plan—and then Dad and Skinny Lynny showing up and talking about buying one of the houses at Laurel Heights. Talk about poo central. I couldn't see any way we could possibly save the stables. Everything was happening despite our efforts.

I had chickened out of seeing Drummer again. I couldn't face his comments when Bambi told him about Aunt P's plans for her next week. I'd face that particular trial tomorrow. And besides, I remembered, I could always “forget” to take Epona with me, even though that was just deferring Drum's wrath and being very, very cowardly. I felt a bit cowardly, to be honest. Everything was starting to get to me.

Going upstairs to my room, I switched on my computer out of habit, angrily throwing all my stables clothes in a heap on the floor, stepping on my jodhpurs to get them off my legs. I felt I couldn't be bothered with anything anymore.

The computer beeped, and I glanced at the screen. I had mail.

My email icon was blinking at me.

I emailed Alex Willard
, I remembered, my heart doing a flip.

Is
it
a
good
blink
or
a
disappointment
blink?
I thought. Scared to open it, I struggled into my jeans and a sweatshirt, staring at the icon, putting off the moment, my throat suddenly dry.

It
might
not
even
be
from
Alex
, I thought. But what if it was?
Well
, I thought,
if
it
is
from
Alex, he's already written it, so hesitating won't change what's inside.
I could feel my heart thumping in my chest as I clicked the cursor on the icon and my email screen flipped open, revealing the email address to be Alex's.
It's probably from his secretary
, I thought,
giving
me
a
standard
reply
to
my
begging
letter.
“Thanks, but no thanks.”

It wasn't from Alex's secretary. It was from Alex.

Dear
Pia,
I read.
Thank
you
for
your
email, it was lovely to hear from you. I was interested to learn about the site of an old house in your ponies' field and do have a contact at one of the TV companies who may be interested in getting a team of archaeologists to take a look. She produces the show
Time Detectives,
which
you
may
have
seen
(she also produced a show I made about equine behavior, which is how I know her!).

In
Time Detectives,
a
group
of
archaeologists
examine
and
dig
up
remains
at
old
sites, looking for historical artifacts and evidence of settlements in times gone by. Your old house sounds just the sort of thing they'd be interested in. I've taken the liberty of emailing her for you, and shall get back to you as soon as I hear from her. Her name's Jessica Tamarad.

I let out the breath I'd been holding. Could this really be happening? I glanced up at my Brookdale ribbons and decided I didn't need to throw them into the sacrificial fire just yet.

I read on…

I
hope
you
and
your
mother
are
well
, Alex wrote,
and
that
I
shall
be
able
to
get
involved
should
Jessica
take
this
further. I've always been interested in our history—don't you find it fascinating? How exciting to have the remains of an Elizabethan house in your field. It could be a very important find! If Jessica does want to film with
Time Detectives,
they
will
need
to
dig
up
the
field—but if there is evidence of an important house on the site, they'll work with the authorities to make sure you are compensated. I know that
Time Detectives
works
with
National
Heritage
if
the
site
is
of
historical
importance, and if they find something of significance to the nation, they are obliged to protect the site.

Hurray!
I thought. Then I gulped. National Heritage had had their chance, as far as I was concerned, but that wasn't why I'd gulped. I gulped because I hadn't emailed Alex the whole story. I'd sort of skipped the details about Robert Collins planning to build on the site. I'd kind of omitted to tell Alex about Mrs. Collins going into a home. I'd definitely not made it completely clear that Drummer's field didn't exactly belong to me.

Why?

Well, you know what grown-ups are like, they always go on about knowing best. They will insist that you don't know how things work, and that the most boring, stupid, unreasonable, unfair, idiotic and downright insane things are right in the eyes of the law and that's that. I had feared that if I'd I told Alex all the ins and outs of our situation, he wouldn't want to get involved.

But he did! It was totally amazing that Alex had responded! Alex had contacts. Alex was on our side.

A celebrity, James had said we needed. Well, I'd come up with one. I'd played my celebrity card, and he had turned out better than we had ever hoped. I'd done my part. Now we all had to pray that Jessica Tamarad and
Time
Detectives
would save the day.

It was our second chance.

Suddenly everything seemed to happen very fast.

Firstly, I got an email from Jessica Tamarad, asking to come and view the site. Everyone was instantly uplifted by this news, of course.

“Brilliant!” shouted James. “Great work, Pia. I didn't think anyone would really be able to get a celebrity, but you did.”

“And you started the ball rolling with the TV thing. This is so going to work,” Katy said.

Sophie was all for it. She also had a couple of reservations, though. “Did you tell them who the site belonged to, Pia?” she asked me.

Uh-oh
, I thought,
here
we
go…

“Er, well I didn't actually say,” I told her. “She didn't actually ask.”

“Good!” Sophie said decisively. “No point putting up barriers until the TV show is ready to take the bait. We have to play this thing smart.”

I could see Katy looking doubtful. She's always up-front about things, but I was with Sophie on this one. After all, things were getting desperate, and this was our second chance. We couldn't blow it now. I told Sophie Jessica Tamarad was coming on Saturday, in two days' time.

“Oh, that's not good!” Sophie said. “Dee and I have a show—miles away. We won't be here.”

“Don't worry,” Katy said, “we'll all be here and show her around.”

“OK, get her drooling over what she might find,” Sophie advised us.

“Got it!” I'd told her, pushing away the nagging worry that had crept into my gut again. We had to do this!

Secondly, Aunt P came over again to—in her words—straighten out her darling Bam-Bam. We were all dreading it—no one more so than poor Bambi.

“So tell me,” Bambi said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “Am I supposed to let myself be straightened out or not? You're the people with all the smart ideas. That don't work,” she added.

“What's she saying?” asked Cat. I told her.

“What's the answer?” I asked. Everyone stayed silent.

“I suppose,” began Katy, “it depends on how, exactly, Aunt P intends to do the straightening.”

“That's helpful—not!” said Bambi. I relayed this back to the waiting gang.

“You'll have to play it by ear,” said Cat, laying her pink cheek against her pony's brown one. “I can't bear the thought of you going back to Aunt Pam's, but I don't want Aunt Pam getting rough with you. You'll have to decide for yourself what will be worth doing.”

Bambi stayed silent.

I'd got Drummer in from the field, and he was in his stable next door. I didn't want him leaning over the gate and encouraging Bambi. Whatever Bambi did, it had to be her decision. She had to make up her own mind how far to go.

“I can't even ask Aunt Pam to stop,” moaned Cat. “Bambi belongs to her, not me.”

“If she's really horrible, we could always call the authorities,” said Bean.

“She won't be cruel,” Cat told her, making a face. “She's not a monster.”

“I'm very glad to hear that!” Bambi murmured.

“Look out, she's here!” shouted Dee, and we all piled out of Bambi's stable and scattered.

“I can't bear to look,” said Katy, disappearing into Bluey's stable with a broom. “I'm going to de-cobweb Bluey's stable.”

“That should take you all of three minutes,” observed Bean. Katy's stable was immaculate. “Why don't you do Tiffany's instead? That will keep you busy for hours.”

“Because it's your job, and you're just too lazy to do it!” replied Katy.

Cat held Aunt Pam's offside stirrup as she mounted up in the yard. The tension in Bambi was obvious for all to see. Her head was up, her tail clamped down, and she rolled her eyes to try to see what Aunt Pam was up to in her saddle.

“She's got a long schooling whip!” whispered Bean.

“Poor Bambi!” cried Katy.

Aunt Pam headed Bambi for the school, and Cat joined us, her face as black as thunder. “If she hurts Bambi,” she said, her hands clenched into fists, “I'll, I'll…”

I gulped. This was so not good.

For a few moments we all stood in silence. Well, almost.

“Must you do that?” cried Katy, looking daggers at Bean.

“What?”

“Bite your nails?”

“They're my nails!”

“I can hear you crunching. It's disgusting!”

“You're in a great mood today!”

“I'm stressed!”

Bean looked skyward and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

We stood around not saying anything, seeing as everything anyone said just fired up everyone else. The moments ticked by.

“She's back!” yelled Cat, bounding out of the stable as Bambi returned to the yard with a clatter of hoofbeats. Aunt Pam was no longer in the saddle. Handing the reins over to Cat, we saw her say something—and by her body language, it wasn't complimentary. Fingers were pointed at Bambi, then wagged at Cat as Cat's face turned redder and redder.

Eventually, Aunt Pam got in her car and whizzed off, and we all poured out of our hiding place now the enemy had retreated.

“What happened?” I demanded.

“That showed her!” Bambi said, adding a
humph!
at the end.

“Aunt Pam's furious!” Cat told us miserably.

“Why?” asked Katy.

“Because,” said Bambi defiantly, “I straightened
her
out!”

“Bambi dumped her,” Cat explained. “She's not a happy camper.”

“What did she say?” Bean asked. “Is she giving up her idea of having Bambi at home?”

“Oh yes,” Cat said, nodding, “she's decided Bambi's far too naughty for Emily after all.”

“Hurray!” yelled Bean, punching the air. “Our plan worked brilliantly!”

I looked at Katy. She looked back at me. Something wasn't right.

“You don't look very happy about it, Cat,” I said. She looked anything but.

Throwing her arms around Bambi's neck, Cat began to cry. Bambi lowered her head and nuzzled Cat's back in sympathy.

“I overdid it, didn't I?” Bambi said quietly.

“Are you crying with joy?” Bean asked her hopefully.

“No!” came Cat's muffled reply. “Not only has Aunt Pam decided she doesn't want Bambi at home any more, she's decided she doesn't want her
at
all
.”

“But that was the plan,” said Katy, confused. “That's what you wanted—for Aunt Pam to continue letting you have her on loan.”

“You don't understand,” Cat told us, between sniffs. “She isn't going to let me have her. Aunt Pam is going to sell Bambi!”