Chapter 1
A dreadful discovery
Ignorant of
the awaiting calamity, Zoe Stanton leapt off the bus, and jogged past the
single file of red brick houses. Elated, she crossed to her tranquil haven.
“In-trep-id”, she called, tying back her long raven hair into a scraggy
ponytail. But, for once, her New Forest pony didn’t trot over like a devoted
hound.
“In-trep-id, Tre-pid.” No
welcoming whinny disturbed the silence. Disappointed, the skinny girl straddled
the five-bar gate and shielded her pale blue eyes from the September sun. There
were several bays grazing tranquilly in the L-shaped field, tails rhythmically
flicking midges away.
She studied each one. The nearest bay displayed its scrawny rump and
straggly tail. Monty. He often grazed alongside her stocky Intrepid, whose
generous black tail put Monty’s to shame. The next pony had white socks instead
of jet stockings. The only other bay stood half hidden behind the huge horse
Zoe had nick named Brutus. She craned her neck, considering its merits, until
it tossed its unadorned head.
Perhaps Intrepid was hiding in the sheltered corner behind the tangled
laurels. Zoe slid off the gate and strolled across the slight incline, carrying
her halter. No pony. She pushed the shiny leaves apart and poked her head
through the gap. Dappled sunlight lit the empty resting place. Spinning round,
she considered the field from her new vantage point. The nibbled grass sprawled
to its boundaries, uninterrupted by bushes or other hiding places.
Two greys lazed in the shade of the spreading hazelnut with a coal
coloured pony; the oversized horse and the bunch of bays formed a rough diamond
in the centre of the shorn vegetation. Her thick set pony with the stunning
face eluded her gaze. He must have
escaped.
Breathing
faster, she scanned the perimeter for damage. Neither the thick wire fence,
stretching tautly along the abandoned railway embankment, nor the rustic ranch barrier,
preventing the ponies from straying onto the busy road, had any gaps in them.
She screwed
up her eyes. The weakest fence, protecting the rear of a Victorian terrace from
the field’s residents, wobbled erratically towards the road.
Zoe sighed
with relief. Of course - her shameless pony would be feasting on flowers in one
of the back gardens.
She jogged
over to examine the fence. Long strands of hair adorned the barbed wire,
proving that ponies had pushed their heads between the wires to steal greenery
from their human neighbours, but the rickety structure survived intact.
In spite
of the sunshine, Zoe shivered. The hum of the traffic burned her ears. Intrepid
had been stolen! Her hand crept to her mouth and she unconsciously nibbled the
skin around her finger nails.
Heart
pounding, Zoe gazed around the field again. A bay pony, swaddled in dark blue,
lay apart from the others under a weedy hawthorn tree. Autumn had barely begun,
yet the first blanket had been employed. She peered at the pony bemused.
“Intrepid!”
she bellowed. The bay twisted his head towards her, revealing a double star
bang in the centre of his wide brow.
Her heart
slowed and her breathing eased. Thank God. Intrepid hadn’t been stolen after
all. Anger replaced panic. Nobody had the right to put a blanket on her pony. No wonder she had overlooked
him.
Zoe
stormed over… and stopped in horror. His engorged hind leg stuck out awkwardly.
Stomach churning, she edged closer. A huge raw patch swamped his lower leg, and
something white glistened deep within the ripped skin.
Intrepid
rested his head on his jaw as Zoe stared uncomprehendingly at the massive
injury. An acrid taste invaded her mouth and she spun round gagging, stumbling
over a bucket. Water slopped over her trainers and soaked into the spidery
cracks in the sun-baked mud as she threw up.
“Zoe! I’ve
been trying to contact you!” Mr Craig, the field’s aging owner, plodded across
the bald ground towards her, shoulders hunched.
“How did
this happen?” The distraught girl dabbed her mouth with a crumpled tissue.
The
panting man’s yellowing teeth peeked through his narrow lips as he sucked in
air asthmatically.
“I’m sorry
you found out like this.” Mr Craig gripped her shoulder in a comforting
gesture, supporting himself as he regained his breath. “When I called your flat
your landlady said you were away. I kept phoning your place in Rutland, but
couldn’t get through.”
His
deep-set eyes glistened as he dragged his dirty sleeve across his face. “Your pony
escaped from the field and injured himself on a coil of barbed wire. I called
the vet to treat the wound, as soon as the girls found him. I’m so sorry.”
Zoe stared
at him blankly. Mr Craig gestured towards the prim front gardens of Acacia
Close. “Is that Phil’s car?”
She
glanced numbly at the red Rover parking by the gate and nodded, relieved her
father had arrived.
“I must
talk to him,” Mr Craig muttered.
As he
walked away, Zoe’s legs buckled and she sank to the unyielding ground beside Intrepid,
who remained huddled under the blanket. His ears pricked forward, but his dull eyes
remained vacant.
“It’s all
right, Intrepid, it’ll be fine,” Zoe croaked. She patted his side, but then
broke down and wept into his tangled mane. She took her glasses off and stuffed
them in her pocket before laying her cheek against his withers. If only she had
been around.
Intrepid
must be in a bad way if Mr Craig had put out a bucket of water for him to
drink. Surely he could hobble to the water trough.
As she
calmed down, she caressed Intrepid’s velvety nose, wondering if he would ever
recover. Yesterday she had dreamed of jumping him in competitions, but now she
would trade everything for a healthy pony.
Zoe popped
her glasses back on to her snub nose and leaned against the narrow trunk,
watching the serrated hawthorn leaves overhead. They danced in the breeze, but
soon they would wither and die, mirroring her dreams.
Her father
padded over and stroked her back, his eyes watering. He assured her: “Mr Craig’s
given me the vet’s number, but he’s on his rounds now. He’s due back soon.”
Mutely, Zoe
nodded, then filled the bucket from the trough, tear trails marring her pale
cheeks. At least she could help Intrepid by replacing his water.
As they
waited Shirley, Zoe’s riding companion, sidled over.
“I’m so sorry
about Trepid.”
“Who put
this blanket on?” Zoe asked.
Shirley
fluttered her sandy eyelashes. “I did. He felt cold so I dug it out for him.
Nan bought it for my birthday, but you can use it until he’s better.”
“Oh! Thanks,”
Zoe muttered. “That’s kind of you.”
Shirley
bit her lip and twiddled with strands of carroty hair which had escaped from
her pert ponytail.
“Oh, I
gave Trepid a few pony nuts, too.”
Zoe
nodded, feeling remote, as if she was watching a video.
Brutus
snorted and clomped past, nose hovering over the ground, searching for grass,
but Intrepid’s cheek flopped onto the mud defeated. Zoe tensed, ready to chase
the bully away, but for once he didn’t try to bite her helpless pony.
Haunting
strains of Mozart drifted from one of the houses and a couple of boys kicked a
ball around the close.
“I hope he
recovers soon,” Shirley mumbled, avoiding Zoe’s gaze by staring over her
shoulder at her grey pony.
A white
van swung into the close and pulled up behind the Rover.
“The vet’s
arrived,” Phil remarked.
“I’ll
leave you to it.” Shirley fled, relief flooding her vapid expression.
Zoe
commanded herself to be brave but couldn’t stop her legs trembling. A baby-faced
man, wearing a pristine white coat, carried a rucksack across the field. So
this was the vet. He didn’t appear old enough - and surely he should have a
doctor’s bag.
She slid Intrepid’s
halter over his ears and tightened it with shaking fingers, but he remained
crumpled on the ground like a discarded coat.
“Mr Stanton?”
the vet inquired.
“Yes,”
Phil replied.
“The
tendon escaped most of the damage,” the vet explained in a quiet professional
manner. “But the muscle tore badly. I stitched most of it back together, but some
skin had withered before I arrived, making full closure impossible. Several
hours might have elapsed before I was called.”
Several
hours! Zoe blinked fearfully at the wound. The pale bone lay exposed within a
rough rectangular hole. Neat stitches sealed a vicious gash, zigzagging up the
inside of Intrepid’s leg. He must be in agony. She stepped back and nibbled her
fingers despondently.
“Tissue
will grow back over the bone, but your pony might never be sound enough to ride,”
the vet was saying. “To aid a full recovery you must prevent the wound from
infection.”
Tears
welled up anew in Zoe’s eyes as she nodded to show she understood.
The vet
gave Intrepid an injection in the shoulder. The pony convulsed, heaved onto
three shuddering legs and lunged forward, scrambling to escape. Zoe hung onto
the halter.
“Steady, Intrepid,
steady,” she pleaded. He stood trembling, forelegs splayed, injured leg raised,
eyeing the vet through his tangled fringe. Zoe stroked his neck reassuringly
but his eyes were dilated with fear.
“The vet
is trying to help you,” she cooed.
“Now he’s
up can you please lead him round so I can check his mobility.”
“Come on, Intrepid!”
She pulled gently on the halter rope and clucked encouragement like an egg-bound
hen.
Moments
passed, and then the pony lurched erratically on three legs, the injured one
hooked away from the ground. The vet squirted the wound with purple powder from
a white plastic bottle.
“At least
there is no sign of infection,” he remarked brightly. “You must spray the wound
twice a day with this antiseptic powder until it heals over completely.”
“Doesn’t
it need bandaging?” Zoe quavered.
“No, it’s
best to let the pus drain away.”
“Does he
need the blanket?”
“It will
keep him warm until he is more mobile.”
The vet
passed her the powder before striding back to his van and driving off.
Phil steered
her to the car and drove back to Horsebridge. When they arrived Zoe stared dismally
at the slender Georgian town house.
“Come on,
Pet,” her father urged.
Zoe
trudged up the narrow stairs, longing for home. The rented bedsit, with its
bare walls and cheap furniture, offered no comfort or escape from reality. The
springs of the sole armchair squealed in protest as she dropped into it.
Phil threw
his briefcase beside his bed and bustled into the tiny kitchen. Within minutes
he placed a plate into Zoe’s hands and settled on the wooden chair at the
table-cum-desk to eat. Zoe stirred the beans and nibbled at her toast but the
luminous sauce repelled her.
“I feel
sick.” She slid out of the arm chair, shoved her plate in the sink and stomped
to her Zed bed.
Phil wisely
left her alone, taking refuge in his seafaring novel after washing up.
She lay
supine, staring through the tiny window etched into the steeply pitched ceiling.
The inky square of sky reflected her mood. Her friends lived far away and she
subsisted cooped up in an attic. She had owned Intrepid for just 33 days. She
longed to wake up and discover it had
been a terrible nightmare, after all being 16 was supposed to be about parties,
friends and fun.
Eventually Phil
brought her a drink. He lowered himself onto on the Zed bed which creaked like
a despairing field mouse.
“I’ll drive
you to the field first thing,” he stated, stroking her hand.
“Thanks,
Dad,” Zoe whispered.
“We’ll have
to get up early.” Phil studied her face. “But you'll have to catch the bus to
school.”
“It
doesn’t matter if I’m late,” Zoe muttered. Phil’s brow furrowed, so she pulled
the dividing curtain across her corner of the bleak room. “I’m going to bed
now.”
“I’ll set
the alarm for 6.15. By the way I tried phoning your mum, but the phone’s still out
of order.”
The Zed-bed
became an instrument of torture, developing lumps overnight. Zoe tossed and thumped
her pillow, eventually finding a position without a spring digging into her
back.
“Please
Lord don’t let Intrepid get beaten up by Brutus or infected,” she prayed. If
that happened...he might have to be put to sleep. She pushed her nose into the
pillow and wept silently.
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