Chapter 6
All too soon the taxi arrived and it was time to say goodbye. As the driver loaded the bags into the boot Poppy’s dad gave her a hug, kissed Caroline and shook Charlie by the hand.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” he told the three glum faces. That’s what he always said, Poppy thought, but it didn’t make the time go any quicker.
“Keep smiling, kids, and don’t forget to watch the news for the McKeever messages!” he told them. Years ago her dad had developed a secret code meant for the family when he delivered his news reports. Poppy’s code was a plaited leather friendship bracelet which, worn on his right wrist, meant he was thinking of her. She’d made it for him when she was eight. A royal blue handkerchief in his breast pocket was Charlie’s special message to remind him that he was the man of the house in his absence. He communicated with Caroline by a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head. Poppy had never been privy to that particular message but she’d noticed that it always made Caroline blush.
He blew them all kisses as the taxi drove away and Poppy, Charlie and Caroline walked back inside, feeling deflated as they always did when he left on an assignment.
“I’m going to design a big cat trap,” announced Charlie, setting off upstairs to his bedroom.
“I suppose I’d better make a start on dinner. Want to give me a hand?” Caroline asked Poppy.
She shook her head. “Do you mind if I go and sort out my room? There are boxes everywhere and I can’t find anything.”
“You go ahead. I’ll give you a shout when dinner’s ready.”
Poppy’s bedroom was a perfect square, set in the eaves below the cat-slide roof at the back of the house. From her window she could see the stables and barn with the tor looming darkly in the distance. She looked around the room. The removal men had stacked the boxes in one corner. Caroline had unpacked her clothes and her dad had threaded her fairy lights around the wrought iron bedframe but otherwise the room was bare. She was relieved that Tory’s weakness for floral wallpaper and carpets was less pronounced there. She actually thought the delicate flowers, the colour of amethyst, looked pretty against the cream wallpaper. The oatmeal carpet was flecked with brown and opposite the bed was an old cast iron fireplace.
Box by box, Poppy began unpacking her books, photos, posters and mementos, becoming absorbed in her work as gradually the room began to take shape. Her favourite posters were stuck to the walls and books were arranged in a tall, oak bookcase. A patchwork blanket, knitted by Caroline in rainbow colours the previous winter, was carefully folded at the end of her bed and a matching cushion was plumped up on an old wicker chair next to the window.
At the bottom of the final box, protected by layers of bubble wrap, was another boot fair find. The bronze racehorse may have seen better days but Poppy loved it. To her it captured the very essence of freedom and speed. She looked around the room for a suitable home for it and settled on the fireplace. As she placed the galloping thoroughbred on the mantelpiece her fingers brushed against something silky. A tiny triangle of red material protruded from a narrow gap between the mantle and the wall. Poppy tried to pull it out with her fingers but the material was too small and smooth to grip. She thought for a moment then disappeared into the bathroom to ferret around in Caroline’s make-up bag. She returned with a pair of tweezers which she used to tease the fabric from its hiding hole.
“Oh!” Poppy exclaimed. It was a red rosette with the words Brambleton Horse Show in gold lettering around the edge. The ribbon was faded and smelt so musty it made her sneeze. She turned the rosette over. On the back someone had written September 24, 2006. Poppy had been four in 2006. She shuddered. It wasn’t a year she wanted to remember.
Before she could begin to wonder who the rosette had belonged to she heard her name being called. Caroline poked her head around the bedroom door.
“There’s a visitor for you, Poppy,” she said.
An auburn head appeared, followed by the body of a girl about Poppy’s age, with hazel eyes and a Cheshire cat-sized grin on her face. Poppy stuffed the rosette in her pocket and stared in silence.
“I’m Scarlett,” the girl said. “You must be Poppy. Tory told me a girl was moving into her old house and she said I ought to come and say hello once you’d settled in. I live at Ashworthy, it’s the farm next door.”
Poppy silently thanked Tory for sending the freckle-faced girl to Riverdale. She would never have plucked up the courage to knock on Scarlett’s door.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” Caroline said, retreating downstairs with a satisfied smile on her face. She was aware that other children thought Poppy was aloof, although she knew it was just shyness. A bubbly no-nonsense farmer’s daughter was just what Poppy needed to bring her out of herself, Caroline thought.
In the bedroom Scarlett began giving Poppy the third degree.
“What’s it like living in London?” she demanded. “Have you been to the Natural History Museum? My brother Alex went there on a school trip once, said it was awesome. What about the London Eye? Did you see any of the Olympics? I would have given my right arm to have gone to Greenwich Park to see the eventing but I had to make do with watching it on the telly. How are you enjoying looking after Chester? He’s so sweet - I’ve known him all my life. Do you ride? I bet the riding schools in London are amazing. They ride in Hyde Park, don’t they?”
Poppy was finding it impossible to get a word in edgeways but as Scarlett paused for breath she said shyly, “No, I’ve never learnt to ride, although I’ve always wanted to. Do you have a pony?”
“Yes, Alex and I both have Dartmoor ponies, Flynn and Blaze, although Alex is far too big to ride Flynn these days. For the last couple of years he’s just been turned out in the field getting fatter and fatter, poor thing. Flynn that is, not Alex!” Scarlett laughed loudly at her own joke. Then she looked around the bedroom, seeing the riding magazines, pony books and posters. “So you obviously love horses.”
Poppy nodded.
“But you’ve never ridden?”
“Only donkey rides on the beach.”
Scarlett looked at Poppy with concern. “That’s terrible.” She paused for a second before a thought struck her. “I know! I could teach you to ride. You’ll have the whole summer holidays to learn. Flynn is the perfect gentleman, a proper schoolmaster, he’d look after you beautifully, and goodness knows he needs the exercise.”
Poppy’s heart soared.
“Yes please,” she breathed, all shyness forgotten, “When can we start?”