The Horse Who Came Home E-Book

Olivia Tuffin

• Herausgeber: Nosy Crow
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Horse Who Came Home
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 203

Beschreibung

Heartbreak, betrayal, and a breathtakingly daring rescue: Olivia Tuffin's fresh and thrilling novel about a girl's fight for justice at her family's stables will have 9+ readers gripped. Hannah's dad, a former Olympic show jumper, runs a highly respected stables where they buy, train and sell ponies on for huge sums of money. The whole family helps, especially Hannah's older sister, Millie - a social media star on the rise. But when Hannah rescues Bella, a beautiful Connemara pony, and begins to piece together her tragic history, she discovers that not everything at Heartwood stables is as perfect as it seems. Love of ponies, or loyalty to family? Now that Hannah knows the truth, she faces an impossible choice. Olivia Tuffin, much loved author of The Palomino Pony and A Pony Called Secret series, breaks new ground in this dramatic story for older readers.

Leseprobe

For Lou and Katy

Prologue

Yet another lorry. Rough hands, rough words. The pony was loaded up a rickety wooden ramp and recoiled at the strange smell radiating from inside. Beneath the acrid stink of the dank and rotten straw that lined the floor, it smelled of danger – of something dark and unseen. It was a smell that instantly drove fear into the pony’s heart.

She went in quietly, as she always did, resigned to whatever fate lay ahead. She had no fight left in her. There had once been smart lorries with leather head collars and fleece rugs. But that had been a long time ago, alongside a distant memory of a girl who had loved her.

The pony trembled as the lorry shuddered into gear, taking a little comfort from the equally frightened pony tied next to her. Through the crack in the metal slats, glimpses of blue sky and a wildflower-strewn hedgerow reminded the pony of sunny hacks and pony shows, experiences she would have enjoyed in a different world, a world far away from wherever she was heading now. Somehow it felt like her journey was over, that her story would cease wherever she was unloaded when they stopped. It felt different this time. This was the end.

Chapter One

Hannah placed her arms round the bay pony’s neck as she slipped his bridle off, allowing her cheek to press against his soft mane. The little pony’s coat was warm after his session in the outdoor arena and his biscuity smell was heaven. Hannah closed her eyes as the pony nestled into her. For a few seconds she allowed herself to believe he was her very own. Everything else slipped away as they stood in silence, their breathing mirroring each other’s.

It was the way she used to stand with Wispa: her face pressed against the mare’s warm neck, looking down at her perfect white socks. She shook her head. The memory was still too raw and painful.

“Wolfie,” she whispered, stroking his mane. His arrival had started to heal her broken heart.

Suddenly the pony pricked up his ears and lifted his head, and the moment was lost.

“How’s the morning gone?” asked her dad. The rolling burr of his voice, so soft here, could fill a stadium and silence an audience. Henry Boland, showjumping Olympic champion.

“Getting there,” another voice answered, and involuntarily Hannah’s lip curled at the flat, clipped tones of Ashley the yard groom. He was the son of Johno, who’d worked for Hannah’s family since before she was even born. But now Johno was retiring and Ashley was taking over, and Hannah hated him.

“Hannah’s just ridden that bay,” Ashley continued. “It’s going well.”

“Your nameis Wolfie,” Hannah whispered fiercely, and the little pony gazed at her. “And you’re not an it.”

To Ashley the ponies weren’t Lennie or Silver or Bertie or any of the other names that came and went through Hannah’s family yard. They were “the bay” or “that grey” or even “the useless chestnut”. They were never a mare or a gelding; they were all referred to as “it”.

Hannah had never understood why her parents, who professed to love horses, let Ashley talk like that. She’d asked them about it once, and they’d told Hannah not to overthink things.

“Oh, great!” Hannah’s dad sounded pleased. “You know we’ve almost certainly got a buyer for him. That young showjumper.”

As the two men walked away discussing the potential sale, Hannah slumped against Wolfie’s neck. She knew a girl had visited recently to try him out. He was a beautiful pony, and super talented too, and Hannah knew he would fetch her dad an excellent price.

The Bolands took in ponies to train and sell, but only the very best. Henry bought ponies from all over Europe, taking a chance on their breeding or potential. Heartwood Stables was in such demand that often all twenty of their stables were full, and they were always under pressure to sell as quickly as possible so that they could begin training their next potential star. Prospective buyers would gaze in awe at the immaculate courtyard, the smart hunter-green stable doors, the pale sand of the arena flanked by a neat box hedge, and, at the end of their tour, the post and rail paddocks where glossy ponies grazed on lush grass. The Boland yard was the height of luxury, and nothing was better than a Boland pony.

If Henry Boland had time, and was in a charming mood, visitors would even be treated to tea in the tack room. Sitting opposite the top-of-the-range washing machine and a beautiful old Rayburn, Henry would talk his visitors through the highlights of his long and glittering career, gesturing to the ribbons and medals that covered every centimetre of the wall.

Wolfie nudged Hannah softly. It was his polite way of asking for a treat, which she always gave him after a ride. Smiling, she rooted through the pockets of her jodhs and dug out a Polo. He snuffled it from her hand and crunched it up, his sweet pony breath hitting her face with a minty tang.

“Hannah!” a bright, cheery voice called out, and Hannah rolled her eyes. Millie. And she knew that tone; Millie was clearly after something. Hannah gave Wolfie a pat and checked he had enough hay before reluctantly opening the stable door to see her sister, arms folded, tapping one leather-booted foot. Millie was the polar opposite to Hannah, who’d inherited her dad’s dark hair, hazel eyes and short stature. Millie was tall and willowy, with flaxen hair that she mostly wore in a high ponytail. Her bright-blue eyes were beady as she looked over the stable door.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Millie’s tinkly voice had an edge to it now. “I told you I needed to finish off Wolfie’s video. Tack him back up. The light’s gorgeous at the moment.”

Hannah glowered at her sister. She had been right. Millie was always after something.

“I just put him away,” she said. “It’s not fair to get him back out. He’s been a really good boy and he deserves to chill out.” She didn’t add that the thought of being filmed made her stomach tie itself in a knot.

“It will only be for five minutes.” Millie was insistent. “Just get back on him. You know I’d ride him myself if I was as short as you. Dad’s got that buyer almost ready to pay the deposit. I want to film as much as we can, especially as he’s a big sale.” She looked Hannah up and down with a pained expression. “Could you change?”

Hannah glanced down. Her faded band T-shirt and her old navy jodhs looked just fine. Out of nowhere, Millie produced a base layer and jodhs in an alarmingly bright shade of pink. “Ponydazzle’s newest shade,” she said in a triumphant voice. “It’s so nice, isn’t it? You know I helped design it?”

“It’s gross,” Hannah groaned. “I’ll look like a giant raspberry. And, yes, you’ve only mentioned it a million times.”

“It will suit you,” said Millie. “Come on, go and get changed. This is Ponydazzle’s biggest campaign yet. And they’ve chosen us – well, me – to front it.”

“So you can then get hundreds of girls to buy it.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t look that different to the last pink one.”

“Hundreds of thousands of girls, thank you,” Millie said, preening herself. “My subs are at their highest ever. And it’s completely different if you actually look.”

As if she wasn’t aware she was doing it, Millie looked around the yard, her gaze falling on the newly acquired show jumps in the arena, the top-spec wash bay and the waffle rugs hanging on a bar beside each pony stable. Hannah followed her gaze too and sighed. She didn’t exactly know how it worked, but she knew Millie was behind a lot of the upkeep of the yard. There was always something to pay for.

“Well then, if I do this,” Hannah said, “can you look at Jenson’s newest video for me? He’s made one about skateboarding tricks and he’d like your opinion.”

Millie burst out laughing and Hannah winced, thinking about the way Jenson had asked her so earnestly to show it to Millie. He’d never have had the courage to ask Millie himself.

“Really?” Millie said. “He’s got, like, fourteen followers.”

“Over fifty now,” Hannah muttered, but she knew it was no use.

Millie flicked her ponytail over her shoulder. “No, and why would I be interested anyway?” She shook her head, tapping a foot impatiently. “Tell him to get a decent camera to start with.”

Hannah knew it was no use. Millie never had time for anything or anyone, let alone one of Hannah’s friends. It didn’t matter that Hannah and Jenson had grown up together; he was insignificant to Millie.

“So then why should I do this?” said Hannah, but then her dad appeared.

“Come on, girls,” Henry said. “Hannah, don’t argue – you know the deal. It’s only a quick shoot.”

“I’ll tack Wolfie up.” Millie moved forward, and Hannah sighed, the argument lost.

Wriggling into the clothes in the tack room a couple of minutes later, she watched as Millie led the pony out. She’d really miss Wolfie when he was gone. Once again, she felt the familiar stab to her heart. It felt extra cruel this time so soon after Wispa.

Wolfie looked confused about going back into the arena, but like the polite and well-schooled pony he was he didn’t put up a fuss. Hannah trotted and then cantered him, trying not to look at Freddie, who did Millie’s filming, as his camera followed her every move. Her hands felt all wrong, and she was already sweaty in the new outfit. She kept her heels rammed down; she dreaded being criticised online for her position. But Wolfie took care of her, flying over the jumps beautifully.

“Smile, Han,” Freddie reminded her gently. “It is an advert.”

Hannah adjusted her position and tried to relax her features into a smile, though she felt sure it would look like she was gritting her teeth. She hated being in the spotlight.

Freddie gave her a thumbs up as she passed him. He was always kind and patient.

He was studying media at college but had ridden as a child, and Hannah had to admit he did an amazing job on Millie’s videos. He would often record really random things, like a hoof being picked out or a head collar hanging on a hook, but then he’d set it to music, adjust the speed and the lighting, and create something gorgeous. Millie’s films stood head and shoulders above the others. But Hannah just didn’t see the point. She’d rather be with ponies in real life than make a show with them for the screen. But then Hannah and Millie had always been different.

Seven years ago, when Henry had jumped his last competitive classes at the London International Horse Show, the whole family had been invited to join him in the ring at the end. Mum walked Hannah and Millie out into the arena to stand by their dad and his top horse Mistral.

Millie had worn a pretty velvet dress, her long blonde hair in a plait, and had waved and smiled at the crowd. Hannah had worn dungarees and tried to bury her face in her mum’s sleeve. But in the centre of the arena she had found herself next to Mistral, who was also retiring. She’d wrapped her arms round him and could still remember the way his soft muzzle had felt as he stood so gallantly and quietly despite the noise and atmosphere.

The following day at school, while Hannah was hanging around in the playground before register with her best friends Gaby and Jenson, a teacher she didn’t have for classes had approached her and asked her to sign a programme from the London International Horse Show.

Hannah had just looked at her. “Shall I take it home for my dad?” she’d asked, but the teacher had only beamed at her.

“If it’s OK, can you sign it?” she said. “My daughter is your age and saw you in the ring. I didn’t realise we had showjumping royalty in the school; she was so excited when I told her!” And as Gaby and Jenson had stared, Hannah had scrawled awkwardly on the programme, lingering on Mistral’s beautiful face on the front cover, feeling utterly odd and wishing she was with him instead.

Mistral was gone now. He’d died a couple of years ago peacefully out in his field. He’d gone to sleep and just never woken up. Johno had told her it was the nicest way he could have gone, patting her shoulder as she’d gulped down huge wracking sobs. The beautiful horse was buried up by the woods with a simple wooden cross marking his resting place. Johno had cried when he’d dug the hole with the JCB. He’d tried to hide it, but Hannah had seen the tears rolling down his weathered cheeks. She couldn’t imagine Ashley ever crying over a horse. For a long time afterwards Hannah had joined Johno and her dad in taking flowers to Mistral’s grave. But gradually Johno had found the walk too difficult, and once he’d stopped going Hannah’s dad stopped too.

Chapter Two

Once they’d finally finished filming, Hannah gave Wolfie a hug and decided she had to get out of the yard for a bit. She grabbed her riding hat and bike then headed out of the gates and freewheeled down the hill into the village, already feeling lighter.

It was a beautiful early-summer evening. The heat had gone from the day, and the air was noticeably cooler. She turned right at the crossroads, cycling past the village pub where a few men and women in checked shirts and work boots were gathered outside, tanned and dusty, laughing and drinking in the sunshine. Harvest would be early this year, everyone said, because of the heat. Her dad’s medals glinted through the pub’s window as she whizzed past. Inside, its bathroom walls were decorated with his framed magazine covers. Hannah bent her head down to speed past and then turned up a drive to a stone cottage set back from the road. The village was more like a small town these days, but everyone still knew everyone else.

Heartwood, the big grey house set against the backdrop of the rising moors, home to generations of Bolands, watched over the village. It could look beautiful or bleak, depending on the time of year. Today, as Hannah glanced back, it looked beautiful, the greens and browns of the moor softening the edges of the imposing building.

“Hi, love,” a voice called, as Hannah leaned her bike up against the fence. Vanessa Mountjoy, smiling as ever, appeared from the side of her cottage. “Gaby’s in the stable.”

“Thanks, Vanessa,” Hannah said. “How’s Diego’s leg?”

“You can see for yourself.” The older woman smiled as they rounded the corner and the most beautiful black horse trotted over to the fence, uttering a soft whicker. Even in the field and slightly dusty from a roll his class shone through.

Hannah reached up to stroke the enormous black gelding.

“Doesn’t he look good?” Vanessa said. “The vet is coming back on Monday to assess him, but they’re amazed by how much progress he’s made since the accident. It’s been a long six months, hasn’t it?”

“You’ve been brilliant,” said Hannah. “Diego’s so lucky to have you.”

“He’s given me so much,” said Vanessa. “It’s the least I can do for the old boy. All those ribbons, all the sashes won at dressage. We had such fun together. The vet says he’ll only be right for light hacking now, but that doesn’t worry me. I’ve got my horse still. I’m so lucky.”

Hannah continued fussing Diego, thinking about the awful day he’d slipped over in the field. He’d sustained a serious ligament injury, and Vanessa had put in so much work to get him better.

A tabby cat sauntered over on the fence and Vanessa gave it a stroke. “I asked your dad if I could bring him up to yours on Monday,” she said. “The vet wants to see him on the lunge on a proper surface and, as you know, my field’s a little on the bumpy side.”

Hannah smiled. “That’ll be nice.”

“I expect Diego must look around your yard and think, wow,” Vanessa said wistfully. “He’s always looked a little out of place here, hasn’t he? It’s all a bit scruffy.”

Hannah looked at the stables. The doors had been painted pink and white one summer by the girls, and a few hanging baskets added a splash of colour. Diego and Muffin both had their own hand-painted stable plaques, created by Vanessa, who was a brilliant artist. Hannah thought about the stables back at Heartwood. None of the horses had a stable plaque, not any more anyway. Mistral’s had been placed upon his cross and, on the day Wispa had been taken away, Hannah had shoved hers to the back of the wardrobe. Now no pony stayed long enough to have its own.

“I think it’s perfect,” she said. “And Diego’s happy.” And he has a home here forever, not like Wispa or Wolfie, she wanted to add. She still found it hard to talk about Wispa. Her throat would start closing, tears threatening to fall.

Then she caught sight of her friend leading in the grey pony Muffin. A few months back, just after Wispa had gone, Gaby had stopped coming up to the Boland yard to ride. Vanessa, a long term family friend of Gaby’s, had offered her the chance to ride Muffin, and Gaby seemed to prefer hanging out at her yard. Hannah was too proud to tell her how much she missed their hacks.

With her long dark hair and olive skin, Gaby could make the tattered old waxed jacket she had thrown over a pair of shorts and T-shirt look like it was from the pages of a magazine.

“Gabs!” Hannah waved. “How are you?”

“I’ll leave you girls to it,” Vanessa said, heading back to her cottage.

“Hey, Han.” Gaby tied Muffin up outside the stable and turned up two buckets next to the wall. She gestured for Hannah to sit next to her.

Hannah sat down, resting her head on the cool bricks. “Wolfie’s going this week one hundred per cent. To that girl who came to try him,” she said. “Millie’s been talking about deposits.”

Gaby put her hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “You knew it would happen, though, didn’t you?”

Hannah sighed. “I did. But four months – that’s long for us. I took him all over the county, showjumping, and even to pony club. And they let me do it – Mum and Dad encouraged me. I really thought … I thought he might be one I could keep.”

“Like Wispa,” Gaby said. “Even I thought Wispa would stay. But I guess if Wisp went, there’s no reason they’d keep Wolfie.” She smiled kindly at Hannah. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

Hannah slumped. “I tried so hard not to get attached, but how could I not? I miss Wispa so much.”

“She was lovely,” Gaby said, smiling. “I miss our rides.”

“She was lovely. Those perfect white socks and that squiggly blaze.” Hannah smiled. “I just miss her being around.”

She bit a thumbnail, the tears that had threatened earlier now starting to fall. “Dad told me Wispa would stay.” Hannah wiped her eyes. “He promised me!”

“I know, Han,” Gaby said. “I remember.”

“Although it was sad when the other ponies were sold, I knew Wispa would always be there. And now she’s gone, and Wolfie will be too.”

For almost two years Hannah and Wispa had enjoyed adventure after adventure together. Wispa had been the pony she’d told all her secrets to, shared her worries, hopes and dreams with. She hadn’t even minded when Wispa had featured in Millie’s videos. Millie had let her read the nice comments about the sweet mare.

“Have you ever watched Millie’s vlog about her?” Gaby asked, and Hannah shook her head, wincing as she remembered the way Millie had tried to get her to talk about Wispa’s sale on camera.

“I can’t,” she replied. “All that fake stuff she was saying when she filmed it, trying to sound sad. She told everyone I’d outgrown her. But I hadn’t, had I?”

Gaby shook her head. “You know you hadn’t.”

“Even at our last show together, someone told me that I’d have years left on her. Do you remember how I tried to slow her down in the jump-offs, but there was no stopping Wispa!”

Hannah smiled, the memory of the feisty little mare fresh in her mind. As time had gone on, she had tried to downplay Wispa’s talent. She’d deliberately taken the long routes in the jumps-offs, held her bouncing canter back, but despite this she was getting noticed. With her flawless conformation and amazing pedigree, combined with a jump that stopped spectators in their tracks, Wispa was always going to be in demand.

“I still can’t think about that day,” Hannah said quietly. “I’m so glad you were with me.”

Hannah had just returned from a happy hack over the moors with Gaby, rosy-cheeked and wrapped up against a biting wind, and Dad was waiting for them in the kitchen. “An offer too big to turn down,” he said. Then Wispa was gone the very next day, qualifying for the Horse of the Year Show within weeks, thoroughly delighting both her new owners and Henry, whose reputation as a producer of quality ponies soared even higher.

The night before Wispa went, Hannah spent hours writing her new owners a letter. She wanted to be sure Wispa would find happiness at her new home so she told them everything she could. How the little mare liked to slurp tea out of a cup, that she would bow for a Polo, that she hated red buckets and would toss them out of her stable in mock fury. That her favourite itchy spot was just in front of her withers and how she was able to take off other ponies’ fly masks. Dad had promised to deliver the letter along with Wispa.

The day Hannah had watched the horsebox leave with her beloved pony was the worst day of her life. She was sure she could see betrayal in the mare’s eyes as she kissed her goodbye, and, in turn, Hannah had never felt so betrayed by her family. She’d vowed never to get attached again, but it was hard. Every pony that came in had something special. From sweet little Seraphina who could pass the heaviest of lorries but would dance about at fallen leaves, to Jack who was an expert at undoing coat zips, and Velvet who could shake hooves like a handshake. And when Wolfie had arrived, he was so like Wispa. They had clicked immediately. Wolfie had started to heal her broken heart.

“I guess it all comes down to business, doesn’t it?” Gaby said. “Wolfie was always going to be an amazing Boland sale.”

“I’m sure he’ll have a good home,” said Hannah glumly. “At least Dad always makes sure of that. I suppose if you’re paying that much for a pony, you’ve definitely got a nice yard waiting.”

Gaby looked at Hannah. “I’m sure,” she said.

Hannah frowned. She didn’t usually like to know too much about the new owners. Some would send a photo or update to Millie through one of her channels, but for Hannah snatches of information about a pony she had grown to love only rubbed salt into the wound. She just had to trust her dad when he shook hands on a new sale.

“Anyway, once the pony is sold, it’s out of your control.” Gaby paused and looked over to where Diego was grazing quietly in the little paddock. “It’s why Vanessa never sold Diego. She wasn’t able to guarantee his future. Before the accident, he might have gone on and won big for a few more years, but she couldn’t be sure, so she kept him safe with her. She’ll do the same with Muffin too.”