Alice-Miranda Shows the Way Page 6

  As she and Millie approached the group, Alice-Miranda noticed that they were all staring at something in the end stall.

  ‘Good afternoon, ladies. I’d like to introduce you to Dick Wigglesworth, my boss,’ said Wally.

  A stocky man with thick grey caterpillar eyebrows turned and nodded at the girls. Alice-Miranda held out her hand, which the older fellow shook gently.

  ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Mr Wigglesworth. My name is Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-KenningtonJones,’ she said with a smile.

  Millie offered her hand too. ‘And I’m Millie,’ she said.

  ‘Good afternoon, girls, and welcome to Chesterfield Downs,’ Dick Wigglesworth replied.

  Wally introduced the rest of the group. There were four lads in total, all of whom Alice-Miranda insisted on greeting in the usual way.

  ‘Well, you’d better get back to work, boys,’ Dick Wigglesworth instructed. ‘I don’t think there’s anything else for it.’

  ‘Is that Rockstar in there?’ Alice-Miranda asked, pointing at the stall behind the group.

  ‘It certainly is. But at the moment he’s anything but a rock star,’ Dick replied.

  The tiny child could barely see over the stable door. She looked around and saw a milk crate, which she collected and placed in front of it and then jumped up to get a better look.

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’ Alice-Miranda asked as she hung over the door.

  ‘Depressed, we think,’ Dick replied. ‘Ever since Evelyn went off to hospital.’

  Millie jumped up beside Alice-Miranda. ‘What about when he’s outside?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s part of the problem,’ Dick informed her. ‘No one’s been able to get him outside.’

  Alice-Miranda whispered to the stallion, ‘Hello boy. Aren’t you a handsome lad?’

  The black beast ignored her. With his head in the corner and his rump turned out towards the onlookers, he responded by lifting his tail to blow some foul-smelling wind in their general direction.

  ‘Pooh!’ said Millie. ‘That’s disgusting.’

  Alice-Miranda waved her hand in front of her nose. She turned to Dick and Wally. ‘He doesn’t look scary.’

  ‘You don’t want to open that door, Miss,’ Wally said with a shudder. ‘I made that mistake this morning and he almost took my head off. Makes your Bonaparte look like a kitten.’

  ‘Does that mean he’s not going to run in the Queen’s Cup?’ Millie asked.

  Dick shook his head. ‘He hasn’t done track work for days. Unless there’s a miracle soon, we’re going to have to scratch him. I suppose there’s always next year.’

  Outside there was an explosion of whinnying. Rockstar’s ears went back and he shifted his weight.

  ‘Oh dear, it sounds like Chops and Bony are having a disagreement,’ said Alice-Miranda. She jumped off the crate.

  The whinnying escalated. Rockstar replied, softly at first but soon he was making as much noise as Bonaparte. The black stallion wheeled around and charged towards the stall door. Millie leapt down just as he threw his head over.

  ‘I’d better see what’s wrong with Bony,’ said Alice-Miranda, and began to walk quickly towards the stable’s entrance. She didn’t run, as she knew that it might upset the other horses inside.

  Suddenly the clip-clop of hooves on cobbles echoed through the building and Bonaparte appeared, running towards her.

  His reins were dragging on the ground. Alice-Miranda tried in vain to grab them as he sped past her but she missed and he almost tripped himself up.

  ‘How did you escape? Bonaparte Napoleon Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones, you are the naughtiest pony I have ever known,’ the girl called as she scurried after him.

  The other horses in the stables all perked up, threw their heads over the stall doors and watched the pony’s escapades.

  By now Rockstar was pawing at the ground and whinnying at the top of his lungs. Bonaparte continued to reply.

  Wally and Millie also grabbed at Bonaparte but he dodged both of them and ran straight for Rockstar’s stall. He skidded to a halt and thrust his head up towards the door.

  What happened next was completely unexpected.

  Rockstar stopped his whinnying and so did Bony. The black stallion sniffed his small visitor. Bonaparte sniffed him back. Then Rockstar started rubbing his chin against Bony’s nose.

  ‘What’s this then?’ Dick Wigglesworth asked.

  Alice-Miranda had rejoined the group and they all watched as Bonaparte and Rockstar engaged in some kind of equine conversation. There were neighs and whinnies and snorts and grunts.

  ‘That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,’ Dick whispered. ‘He’s never been one to get on with the other horses but he’s completely taken by that fella of yours.’

  Wally reached around and grabbed Bony’s reins. ‘Right, I think we’d better get you back outside and this time I’ll put you in the holding yard.’

  As Wally attempted to wheel Bonaparte around, the solid pony stood his ground and Rockstar reached out and nipped at the young lad’s hair.

  ‘Oi! You little monster,’ he snapped, glaring at Bony.

  ‘It wasn’t him,’ Millie said. ‘It was him.’ She pointed at Rockstar, who was grinding his teeth.

  Wally made a second attempt at moving Bonaparte but the pony locked his knees and refused to budge. Alice-Miranda reached out and gave him a pat on the neck.

  ‘Come along, Bonaparte, you can’t stay here. Rockstar needs to rest,’ she whispered in his ear before taking the reins from Wally.

  In his stall, the champion began to paw at the ground.

  ‘Mr Wigglesworth, do you think we could try something?’ Wally asked.

  ‘What are you thinking, lad?’

  ‘I wondered if we might take them outside together,’ Wally said.

  ‘Oh no,’ Dick replied. ‘That doesn’t sound like a good idea at all.’

  ‘I reckon Miss Pepper would be well pleased if we could at least get him out of the stables. And she’d be over the moon if we could get him to run,’ a lanky lad called Freddy piped up.

  ‘So now you’re an expert, are you, Freddy?’ Dick challenged.

  In his stall, Rockstar reared up. He looked as though he meant to break through the door.

  ‘No, sir, but I think there’s a good chance he could injure himself in there,’ Freddy replied.

  Dick Wigglesworth eyed the stallion. ‘Steady on there, son,’ he cooed.

  ‘He’s going to hurt himself, Mr Wigglesworth,’ said Wally. His face was pale; he hated the thought of something happening to the horse.

  ‘All right. Since you fellas know everything. Freddy, get his gear, will you?’ Dick Wigglesworth instructed.

  The boy looked at him and was motionless for a few seconds.

  ‘Today, son, if it’s not too much of a bother,’ Dick huffed.

  Freddy rushed off towards the tack room.

  ‘But who’s going to ride him?’ Alice-Miranda asked, looking around the stables.

  Freddy appeared, holding a bridle and tiny saddle, which he handed to Dick.

  ‘Okay then, Wally, show us what you’re made of.’ The old man passed the bridle to Wally, who looked as if he’d swallowed a whale.

  ‘I . . . I’m not going in there,’ Wally quavered. ‘You know him better than anyone.’

  ‘You told me you wanted to work with racehorses. So here’s your chance,’ said Dick.

  ‘Would you like me to bring Bonaparte in there with you while you get Rockstar ready?’ Alice-Miranda asked Wally.

  ‘What? And have two maniacs in together?’ Wally gulped.

  Dick Wigglesworth winked at her. ‘Now you’re thinking, young lady.’

  ‘You shouldn’t go in there, M
iss Alice-Miranda,’ Wally protested. ‘It’s not safe.’

  ‘But you’re going in there,’ Alice-Miranda reasoned.

  Wally’s frown deepened. ‘Exactly.’

  Dick Wigglesworth opened the stall door and Alice-Miranda led Bonaparte into the box. The two horses stood nose to nose sniffing each other, before Rockstar began again to rub his face on Bonaparte’s neck. It was the most extraordinary sight.

  Wally edged his way inside and was surprised at how quickly and easily he got the bridle and saddle on Rockstar.

  ‘Now, Alice-Miranda, I need you to lead Bonaparte back outside. Don’t move too far away from this fellow,’ Dick instructed.

  Alice-Miranda did as she was asked and the two horses, Rockstar the seventeen-hand giant and Bonaparte the fourteen-hand pony, stood side by side – an odd couple indeed.

  ‘You know they could almost be twins,’ said Millie, laughing as she looked at the black pair. ‘Except that Rockstar is gorgeous and Bonaparte is short and fat.’

  ‘Get a helmet for Wally,’ Dick barked at Freddy.

  Wally shook his head. ‘Oh, no! I’m not riding him, sir.’

  ‘Well, then, we’ll just have to put him away again,’ Dick said. ‘I can’t do it. I’ve got a bad back and Freddy can’t stay upright on a fence rail.’

  The lad in question returned with a helmet, which he passed to Wally.

  By now Rockstar was behaving like a perfect gentleman. Bony was too. Wally hesitated, then jammed the helmet on his head. Dick gave Wally a leg-up and he sat atop the giant beast.

  ‘You too, miss,’ said Dick, indicating that Alice-Miranda should mount Bony. ‘I think you should go down to the track together and see what happens. But I don’t imagine it will be much.’

  Alice-Miranda urged Bonaparte forward. Wally did the same to Rockstar. Side by side the unlikely duo walked out of the stables and towards the track. There were nickers and neighs and lots of chatting between the two beasts. Millie, Dick and Freddy followed on foot.

  ‘That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,’ Freddy said. ‘Only person who can handle him is Miss Pepper and the only jockey who can stay on him is Diego Dominguez.’

  ‘Wally seems to be managing okay,’ Millie commented as they watched Bony and Rockstar jogging towards the track.

  ‘This way.’ Dick Wigglesworth led Millie and Freddy through a gap in the hedge and they emerged on the side of the course.

  Wally looked over at Alice-Miranda. ‘I really don’t know what’s going to happen when we get on the track. If he goes off, we could both be in trouble.’

  ‘Perhaps I should just try to keep up for a little while,’ she suggested. ‘Bony’s no champion but we could give it our best, just to get Rockstar off and running.’

  They reached the entrance to the racetrack and walked through.

  ‘All right, are you ready?’ Wally asked, taking a deep breath. He lowered his goggles and Alice-Miranda adjusted her helmet. ‘Off you go first and I’ll see if I can hold him.’ Wally tightened his grip on the reins. He felt as if he’d swallowed a bucket of sand. The young lad licked his lips and told the butterflies in his stomach to keep still.

  Alice-Miranda dug her heels into Bonaparte’s flank and he took off.

  ‘Come on boy, run fast and then you can have a treat,’ she urged. At the mention of a treat Bony seemed to pick up the pace and his fast canter became a gallop. Behind them Walt Whitstable was doing his best to hold Rockstar, who was whinnying and dancing all over the place.

  ‘All right, it’s now or never.’ Wally gave the champion his head and he bolted towards Bonaparte. He was gaining on the pony and it didn’t take long before he rounded the turn and raced for home, leaving Alice-Miranda in his mud-spattered wake.

  ‘Go, Rockstar,’ Millie shouted. ‘Go, boy!’

  ‘Whoo hoo!’ Freddy pumped his fist into the air and clicked off his stopwatch. ‘It’s a good time too,’ he said, staring at the numbers in front of him.

  Dick Wigglesworth shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘There’ll be no stopping him in the Queen’s Cup now,’ said Freddy with a smile.

  Dick’s shoulders slumped and he sighed loudly.

  ‘Are you all right, Mr Wigglesworth?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Yes lass, fine, just fine,’ he said slowly.

  Rockstar snorted and sidestepped, then spun around as if looking for something. Alice-Miranda charged around the turn and when Bonaparte crossed the finish line, Rockstar greeted him with an ear-splitting whinny.

  ‘That was amazing,’ said Millie. She was standing on the lower fence rail with her arms slung over the top. Beside her, Freddy and Mr Wigglesworth were shaking their heads in disbelief.

  ‘Well done, Mr Walt. That was incredible,’ Alice-Miranda said to the young lad.

  He was grinning broadly. ‘I can’t believe it. I stayed on him!’ He reached down and patted Rockstar’s neck.

  Alice-Miranda patted her little fellow’s neck too. ‘Well done, Bonaparte. Good boy.’

  Ambrosia Headlington-Bear reached into the centre console and pushed the U-shaped lever. In a series of robotic movements, the roof of the shiny silver sports car folded itself neatly into a panel above the boot. A click and a pop signified the end of the process.

  ‘That is sooooo cool,’ Sloane gasped. ‘I want a car just like this when I grow up.’

  ‘It’s not even that warm, Mummy. I don’t see why you need to show off and put the roof down,’ Jacinta fumed.

  ‘Darling,’ her mother cooed. ‘What’s the point in having a convertible if you don’t get to use it? And Sloane seems to like it.’

  ‘Sloane would.’ Jacinta turned and glared at her friend in the back seat.

  ‘Come on ’Cinta, don’t be in a grump. We’ve had such a lovely day.’ Ambrosia stuck out her lip, making sure that Sloane could see her in the rear-vision mirror.

  Sloane clasped her hands over her mouth to smother a giggle.

  ‘My name is Jacinta, Mother, with a J.’ Jacinta folded her arms in front of her and stared through the passenger window, which she refused to put down just because the rest of the vehicle was open to the elements.

  The unlikely threesome had been enjoying a particularly pleasant day until Ambrosia insisted that they stop at the village general store on their way back from seeing a movie in the city. It was the conversation that followed that had made Jacinta see red.

  ‘If I’m going to spend some time in this place, the locals should really know that I’m here,’ Ambrosia had informed the girls as the sports car sped into the village. ‘I mean, once the paparazzi get hold of the location, the place is likely to be swarming with photographers.’

  ‘Don’t you mean, once your publicist lets it slip, Mummy, which I’m surprised she hasn’t done already.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t have anyone taking photos of me outside the cottage before we fixed it up,’ Ambrosia complained.

  Jacinta rolled her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t know about that, seeing as you haven’t taken me there yet – even though you’ve had it for a couple of months now.’

  ‘Darling, you know tradesmen, they never finish anything on time,’ Ambrosia said with a pout. ‘Of course I want you to come and stay.’

  ‘Mummy, you don’t have to tell the paparazzi about the village. Wouldn’t it be nice just to have some time for us – without anyone wanting to take your photograph?’

  ‘Jacinta, you know that’s not how the paps operate. We help each other. They sell photographs to magazines and I stay on top of everyone’s invitation list,’ Ambrosia informed her daughter.

  At this revelation, Jacinta’s mood had gone from fizz to fug.

  Sloane had tried to help her friend find the positives. ‘At least you get to see your mother during the term, Jaci
nta. I don’t get to see my mother until the term break and then I have to go all the way to Barcelona.’

  ‘But you told me yesterday that being back here is the best thing that has ever happened to you because now you don’t have to put up with your mother and her whining,’ Jacinta said.

  ‘I didn’t mean it exactly like that. It’s complicated,’ Sloane snapped back.

  ‘Yes and so is this.’ Jacinta was beginning to wonder if her mother renting the cottage was a good idea after all. She had been stupid to get her hopes up and think that things had really changed between the two of them.

  Ambrosia parked the car outside the village store and asked the girls if they wanted an ice-cream. Jacinta was less than enthusiastic but Sloane was keen and the trio hopped out of the vehicle.

  A bell tinkled above the shop door as the group entered. The proprietor, Herman Munz, was standing behind the counter watching an ancient television set on the end of the bench.

  ‘Hello,’ Ambrosia smiled.

  ‘Hello, may I help you vith somethink?’ Herman asked.

  ‘The girls are going to get some ice-creams but I just wanted to say hello. I’ve recently got a little place in the village. Wisteria Cottage.’ Ambrosia batted her long lashes.

  Herman Munz had turned his attention back to the television and seemed engrossed in the drama on the screen.

  Ambrosia tried again. ‘So I imagine that you’ll be delivering my groceries.’

  ‘No, that vill be my boy, Otto,’ said Herman, still focused on the set.

  Ambrosia rolled her eyes, then turned around and stared at the magazine rack behind her.

  ‘Oh, look at that,’ she cooed. ‘Fancy.’

  Herman ignored her. Jacinta and Sloane were hovering over the freezer at the back of the store deciding which ice-creams they would have.

  ‘Goodness, that’s amazing,’ Ambrosia laughed to herself. It was rather forced but it did the trick.

  Herman Munz glanced at her. She was an attractive woman, and well-dressed too. ‘Vot are you looking at?’ he asked.