Prize Problems (9 page)

Pia, wake up!” I heard someone say, and I felt them shaking my shoulder.

“Go away!” I said. I didn't want to wake up. I was working for Alex Willard and helping a huge chestnut horse with hang-ups.

“Have some dessert!” the voice whispered again.

Alex receded and the huge chestnut horse morphed into an out-of-focus chocolate brownie.

“You're making me cross-eyed!” I complained, pushing it away.

“Start munching!” ordered Amber. I looked around to see five gray, sleepy faces lit by flashlight.

“Is it midnight?” I asked, yawning.

“Sure is!” said Zoe wickedly. “The witching hour!”

“Oh, that's all I need to think about,” said Bean, biting into a banana and chewing.

“I'm not actually very hungry,” I said.

“Good,” said Ellie, snatching the chocolate brownie from Amber and shoving it in her mouth.

“That's your third!” exclaimed Zoe. “I haven't had one yet!”

“You gotta be quick in this game,” Bean said, swallowing. “Who's got the lemonade?”

We munched guiltily. Zoe shone her flashlight round the room, shining it into everyone's eyes and blinding them, and Amber made shadow shapes with her hands as Zoe made the light dance on the wall. We had to guess what the shadows were supposed to be.

“A dinosaur,” suggested Grace.

“It's a rabbit, anyone can see that!” said Ellie. “What's the matter with you, Grace?”

“Yup, Mr. Rabbit it is!” confirmed Amber, making another shape with her hands. “Now what's this?”

“Er, looks like a pair of glasses…”

“A tree?”

“Mrs. Rabbit?”

“That's a dinosaur!”

“It's a dog,” said Amber, exasperated. “Honestly, it's so obvious.”

“I feel a bit sick,” mumbled Grace, shaking her head at the offer of more food.

“Oh, please don't be,” Zoe said. “This room will smell of vomit for the rest of the week.”

“Can we change the subject?” asked Bean. “I vote we all describe our dream ponies.”

“Mmmm, good idea!” enthused Amber. “Mine would be a chestnut Arab mare with a blaze and four white legs. She'd let no one else ride her but me, and she'd be brilliant at dressage. Oh, and she'd never get tired so I could ride all day!”

“What would you call her?” asked Grace.

“Sahara. I think that's a fabulous name for an Arab mare.”

“Mine would be a black stallion, a top show jumper,” said Ellie. “I'd travel the world and compete at all the top shows—Brookdale, the Horse of the Year Show, even the Olympics! We'd win everything.”

“What would you call him?” I asked, doing my best to imagine Ellie taking the show jumping world by storm on a glossy black stallion.

“Pride. Ellie's Pride,” she replied.

“I've already got my dream pony,” Bean said. “Tiffany's just perfect.”

“Don't you wish she wasn't so easy to spook?” I asked her. Tiffany was always taking a second look at something.

“No, she's just perfect the way she is,” Bean declared, loyally. “She'd be boring if she didn't spook at things. Don't you think Drummer's perfect?”

“Oh yes, I just wish he was a bit bigger so I never grow out of him,” I said, imagining Drummer being 16hh. “That would be cool.” I pushed the image of Cat with Drummer out of my mind. It refused to go. Pooh!

“What would your dream pony be like, Grace?” asked Bean.

“Shadow.”

“Oh, come on, dream a little. What if you could invent the perfect pony?” asked Amber.

“Shadow,” repeated Grace. “He is perfect.”

“I know what Zoe's dream pony would be,” said Amber.

“I can talk for myself, thank you!” Zoe told her. “I'd have a dun gelding, with a tiny white star between his eyes, and I'd call him Dundee, get it? He wouldn't have to be good at anything, as long as I can talk to him and share all my secrets with him.”

“That's so nice, Zoe,” said Bean. “And that's just how I feel about Tiffany. I always confide in her whenever I'm feeling down about something. It really helps.”

I nodded. “Drum was always there for me when my parents got divorced.”

“But that's different, you can actually hear what he's saying,” said Zoe.

“But ponies just seem to know when you're upset about something, you don't have to be able to actually talk to them,” I said. “Having a pony to share your troubles with is just the best thing. You can tell them things you'd never tell another living soul and they always seem to understand.”

“That's absolutely right,” agreed Bean. “Tiffany and I are a team.”

“Oh, I wish I had my own pony!” sighed Grace. “I'm never able to talk to Bobbin at the riding school like you two do with your ponies.”

“I thought you didn't want a pony?” I teased.

Grace grinned. “Well, I want one like Shadow.”

I thought again how lucky I was to have Drum and suddenly felt tears pricking behind my eyes. I missed him! Did it matter that Cat was looking after him? It was only for a few days and he was still my pony, not hers! I swallowed hard, glad it was so dark in the room and no one could see how emotional I was getting.

“OK!” cried Amber, in an organizational tone. “There's one more thing we have to do during a midnight feast.”

“What's that?” asked Grace, stuffing a Fig Newton into her mouth.

“Tell ghost stories!”

“Oh, get lost!” said Bean.

“You're not going to tell that one about the hand again, are you?” asked Zoe in a bored voice.

“Tell us about the hand!” said Grace, bouncing up and down on her bed. Major bounced beside her.

“Puh-leese, no ghost stories, I've been traumatized by séances, thank you!” said Bean.

Totally the wrong thing to say.

“YES!” exclaimed Amber. “That's a much better idea. We'll hold a séance!”

“What's a séance?” asked Grace.

“You call up ghosts, spirits, dead people,” explained Bean. “We did one at the yard and it was the scariest thing. There's no way I'm doing that again.”

“Did you?” asked Grace breathlessly. “What happened? Did you get anyone?”

“Yeah, we were trying for Dee's granddad, but then we got some lunatic who kept talking about his bad death. It was scary and it freaked me out! I so don't want to do that again!”

“Don't be such a wuss, Bean. That sounds like the best thing! Let's have a show of hands. Who wants to hold a séance?” asked Amber, shining her flashlight under her chin so she looked all spooky.

Grace was up for it—surprisingly. I was astonished. I'd have thought she'd be the last person to want to hold a séance. Zoe stuck up her hand and so did I. I felt a tingle go up and down my spine—I'd sworn I'd never do it again, after the last experience. But here I was, ready to do it again. Séances were scary, but that's what made them so compelling.

“I don't want to do it,” said Ellie.

“Oh, come on, you're only saying that because I want to,” said Amber. “I'm sorry I was rude to you at Alex Willard's. The séance will be fun!”

“No,” said Ellie quietly.

“Please Ellie, it will be totally awesome,” pleaded Grace, breathlessly.

“I don't want to either,” said Bean.

“You don't really believe in them, do you?” Amber asked. “Oh, come on Bean, come on Ellie, it will be so cool. What can possibly happen?”

“It's not fair to do it unless everyone wants to,” began Zoe. “Stop bullying them, Amber, you're not in charge.”

“If Ellie says she wants to, then I will too,” agreed Bean.

“No, I don't want to,” said Ellie, shaking her head vigorously.

“Oh, come on, Ellie, pleeeeeese,” pleaded Grace.

“You're brave all of a sudden,” Ellie said. “Shame you're not braver when you're riding,” she added, spitefully.

“OK, Ellie, we won't then,” I said. She was obviously scared and I knew how that felt. Why bother if it was going to upset Ellie? Especially if she was going to take it out on Grace.

“You'll be all right, Ellie, we'll hold your hand,” said Amber, so hard-wired into the séance idea that she was determined to ignore anyone else's wishes. “We can write the letters out on some of Grace's drawing paper and use one of the cups in the bathroom. I'll get it.”

“NO!” screamed Ellie at the top of her voice, thumping her fists down on the duvet. She screwed up her eyes, huddled her neck down into her shoulders and shouted, “NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NOOOOO!”

Everyone froze. There was no way Mrs. Reeve couldn't have heard Ellie screaming. The ponies in the field probably heard her. Drummer probably heard her.

“OK, OK, keep your hair on, we'll just tell ghost stories,” said Amber, backing off wide-eyed at Ellie's obvious hysteria. “But shhhhhhhh, Ellie, for goodness' sake!”

“It's OK, Ellie, we won't do it, honestly!” Bean said soothingly.

“Trust you, Amber. You never listen to anyone, do you?” hissed Zoe. “It's totally your fault!”

“Oh, lay off, Zo, you just
love
blaming me for everything, don't you!”

“Listen!” hissed Bean. Everyone sat stock still.

“It's Mrs. R.! Quick, lights out, grub away!” ordered Zoe, diving under her duvet and snapping off her flashlight.

We all did the same—even Ellie, who snapped out of her hysterical state quickly enough to stuff the cookies under her pillow. Under the duvet I could hear my heart thumping in time to Mrs. Reeve's footfalls on the stairs. The door opened and light from the landing flooded into the room. You could have heard a pony cube drop.

“Girls? What's going on? Why aren't you asleep?”

We all stuck our heads out over the duvets. Mrs. Reeve's hair, crinkly from braids and half singed from the barbecue fire, framed her head. She wore a fluffy baby pink robe over some baby blue pajamas and looked like a huge, scary marshmallow. It would have been funny if it hadn't been for Ellie's distress.

“Sorry, Mrs. Reeve,” said Amber meekly. “I had a nightmare, a really awful one. Monsters and everything. I'm OK now.”

Mrs. Reeve narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure, Amber? You don't strike me as the type of girl to have nightmares. Is there something going on here that I should know about?” She came into the room and visited each bed in turn to check we were OK. When she got to Ellie's bed, she stroked Ellie's hair and asked her very softly whether she was all right, too. Ellie nodded, saying nothing. Then Mrs. Reeve went once more to the door.

“OK, well, I hope you sleep all right now, Amber. Maybe you shouldn't eat so much at dinner time, huh?”

Amber nodded. “I think you're right, Mrs. Reeve. Sorry!”

“Phew, you're really cool, Amber!” said Bean when Mrs. Reeve had gone and the thin line of light under the door snapped out.

“Mrs. Reeve likes you, Ellie,” said Grace.

“Yeah,” said Zoe, “she always makes a fuss of you. What's that about? Are you related?”

“I'm going to sleep,” mumbled Ellie, turning over to face the wall.

“Hey, Ellie, I'm sorry you got so upset about the séance,” said Amber. “I didn't realize you felt so strongly about it.”

“She told you enough times,” Zoe couldn't resist saying. “Only you didn't listen. As usual!”

“Thanks for not giving us all away, Ellie,” said Grace.

Ellie said nothing.

Gradually, everyone fell asleep around me. I heard Zoe snoring, heard Bean breathing soundly next to me. I couldn't get to sleep. I thought about Drummer being looked after by Cat. I thought about my mom liking Andy so much. I thought about James. But most of all I thought about the other girls. And when I heard the muffled sound of sobs again I realized they weren't coming from the direction of Grace's bed at all, and they never had. They were coming from Ellie's.

It's the picnic ride today,” Bean declared, examining the timetable pinned up in the dining room.

“I'm so looking forward to that,” squealed Grace, peering over Bean's shoulder to see for herself. “I've always wanted to go on a picnic ride!”

“We had a picnic ride at my riding school,” Ellie butted in. After last night's hysterics, she was back to being annoying.

“You would have!” mumbled Amber, under her breath.

“It was terrific, the best fun ever,” Ellie continued. “Except that the instructor fell off her horse and broke her ankle and I had to ride her horse back. He was huge—almost 17 hands—and no beginner's ride. She said I rode him really well.”

“How did she know if she couldn't ride back with you?” asked Amber with a glint in her eye.

“She watched me ride him away—I had to lead the whole ride,” Ellie replied.

Bean and I exchanged glances. I don't think any of us believed Ellie. There was no way she was a good enough rider to have done half the things she insisted she'd done. It didn't stack up. We were just glad she seemed to be back to her old self after the midnight feast. Annoying Ellie was much better than hysterical Ellie. Everyone was steering clear of the s-is-for-séance word this morning.

It wasn't long before we were all grooming our ponies for the ride. Everyone's grooming kit was being personalized as the week went on. Bean's kit was starting to look like Tiffany's grooming kit at home—everything just thrown in a heap. Dot's kit, under Zoe's careful eye, was even tidier than when she'd arrived but Amber's was already missing several items. I noticed Major's black plastic head peering out of Grace's grooming tray, wedged between Shadow's body brush and the hoof oil container, and Ellie's was sort of semi-tidy. I looked at Sprout's kit and tidied it up a bit. You never knew, there could be a prize for the tidiest grooming kit, I thought. If so, Zoe was a hot favorite.

Sprout was almost talkative this morning.

“Had a midnight feast last night, did you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, puzzled. “How can you tell?”

“Are you kidding? You all look like death warmed-over this morning. Zoe's dark circles under her eyes would give a panda a run for its money.”

“It was pretty eventful,” I told him. “Ellie had a freak out when we wanted to do a séance so that pretty much ended the whole thing.”

“I'm hardly surprised,” mumbled Sprout. “Poor Ellie, you girls are a tactless bunch.”

I yawned. I kinda liked the idea of lying down in the straw and snatching a quick cat nap. I wished I could sleep standing up, like ponies do. Lucky old Shadow, I thought. Then Sprout's words about Ellie sank in and I was just about to ask him what he meant when Bean peered over Sprout's half-door and interrupted my thoughts.

“Can I borrow your curry comb?” she asked, “mine's fallen out into some pony poop—I'll have to clean it with some soap and water.”

“Yuck!” I said, fishing around to find Sprout's brush. “Don't drop mine in anything nasty, will you?”

“You make it sound like I did it on purpose,” said Bean, stroking Sprout's face. “He's really cute, isn't he?” she said. “Hi, Grace.”

“Here,” I said, handing Bean Sprout's curry comb. Grace had shuffled up outside the door and was looking at Bean. She looked near to tears and I realized it was the first time since her mom had gone that we'd seen her sucking her hair. Surely she wasn't worried about the picnic ride?

Grace looked at me and then back at Bean, then she beckoned to Bean to follow her. Clearly she considered Bean a more sympathetic confidante. I could live with that.

As Bean followed Grace, I gently sponged Sprout's eyes and nose.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You're welcome,” I told him, giving him a hug. I was getting really fond of my vacation pony and already dreaded leaving him behind at the end of the week. Wouldn't it be just terrific if I could take him home and have two ponies, I thought. I wondered what Drummer would think of sharing me. He was always whining about having to go riding and schooling, so he could welcome having Sprout to share the load, especially if Cat had stolen his heart…

“Hurry up, girls!” yelled Annabelle. “You're all really slow today. We should be tacked up by now.”

“But we're taking extra care because we all want to win the cleanest pony competition,” said Zoe.

“You always take aeons and aeons to groom,” her sister yelled from Sorrel's stable.

“At least I don't hog the bathroom, dolling myself up,” Zoe yelled back.

“Well if you did, you might get a second glance from Patrick Williams!” sneered Amber.

“You leave Patrick Williams out of this!” screamed Zoe.

“Girls, girls!” said Annabelle. “Please start tacking up now.”

We all tacked up and mounted, awaiting Annabelle's inspection.

“This is what takes the time,” Amber wailed at me as Sorrel pulled a face at Sprout and stamped a hoof. “Annabelle and her wretched clipboard! She's power-mad, that woman!”

“I thought you wanted to win something,” I whispered back.

“I thought I did, too but it's such an effort. Zoe's right, I can't be bothered to keep it up all week. I am too impatient—but don't tell her I said so!”

I knew how she felt—cleaning Sprout's gray coat had been a bit of a shock after my bay pony at home. I glanced across at Grace, still sucking her hair. I wondered whether someone had said something to upset her. I hoped it wasn't me.

Finally, Annabelle scuttled off to hide her clipboard in case anyone wanted to spy on how they were doing in the competitions. She then mounted Tailor and led us out of the yard.

“At last!” breathed Amber, nudging Sorrel toward the front. Sorrel was only too willing to oblige, considering the front to be her rightful place. A bit like taking the championship at a show or leading a lap of honor, I thought.

We'd only gone a couple of hundred yards when I could hear Cherokee coming up behind us. Today's complaint seemed to concern his breathing.

“I think I must have RAO—you know, equine asthma,” I heard him say to no one in particular. “That's all I need!”

“That's all WE need!” grumbled Sprout.

“I'm definitely wheezy today. Hummmph. Cheeeee. Oh dear. I don't suppose the management will notice. I'll never get the proper treatment. No haylage, no dust-free bedding. I'll be broken-winded before you know it.”

“Hey, Crazy McSick-in-the-head, take a day off, will you?” Harry shouted from the back of the ride.

“Not all of us are fortunate to enjoy good health,” Cherokee shouted back.

Blissfully unaware of her mount's complaints, Bean steered him over to ride beside me. Looking across, she pulled a face.

“What?” I said. Maybe I had said something to upset Grace. My mind raced but I couldn't remember anything. Oh pooh.

“Something…has…happened,” whispered Bean, dramatically.

“What?” I asked again, turning in the saddle.

“Don't look at me!” she hissed. “Just look straight ahead as though we're not talking.”

“Oh, OK,” I replied, jerking my head round again and staring in front of me in what I hoped was a natural fashion, and doubting it. What was going on? Had Bean suddenly decided she didn't want anyone to look at her? Had she grown a beard or something? I so wanted to glance across to check.

“Something very serious has occurred,” whispered Bean.

I looked around at the trees—anywhere but toward her. It could be a beard. I mean, that would be pretty serious, wouldn't it? A very long silence followed. I wondered whether a Bean beard would be blond or some other color. One of the teachers at school had a ginger beard, even though his hair was sort of dirty grayish blond. Mind you, he was a guy. Of course.

“Well?” I said, looking at the sky.

“What?” replied Bean.

Oh no, I thought. Bean always did this. She lost track of what she was talking about and left you on hanging. I dangled for another minute before she deemed it safe to tell me the serious thing that had happened.

“Grace has been the victim of horse rustling,” Bean whispered in total seriousness and I struggled to understand what she was saying.

“Major has disappeared,” Bean declared. “Grace's pony figurine has been stolen!”