frowned, looking taxed, before nodding her head.
“Yes, definitely Charlie,” she confirmed, picking up the pile of red and white envelopes, stuffed with Christmas cards. In among the pile was a brown rectangular envelope which had been folded over at the end and stuck down with tape. Charlie’s name and ‘Blackberry Farm’ were writtenon the front in thick marker pen, nothing more. Mrs Honeycott put the envelope on the table, narrowly avoiding a splodge of strawberry jam.
“This can’t have been posted,” Mia said, examining it. “There’s no stamp or address.”
“It must have been delivered by hand,” Alice agreed, getting excited.
Charlie lifted it up and turned it over. It felt curiously solid as she carefully unpeeled the sealed end and then tipped it up. With a thud, a slim red hardback book fell onto the table. The word ‘Diary’ was foiled on the front in faded gold, along with the year.
“This is from six years ago,” Mia whispered as the others held their breath, already realising what that meant. Charlie checked, but there was nothing else in the envelope.
Charlie opened the book and saw, on the first page, the flowing, hand-written words: ‘Fable’s diary’. She carefully turned the page and saw the next inscription, which she read aloud:“This diary is dedicated to the memory of Fable and her dear little foal.”
“It’s Caitlin’s diary!” Alice said, looking at it in awe. “Fran must have found it!”
“I’m going to start reading it today,” Charlie said. She couldn’t wait to get going. “Right now, in fact, as we’re staying here all day!”
“Ooh, we can all read it by the fire in the living room!” Rosie said, picturing them curled up on the sofas around the Christmas tree eating piping-hot mince pies straight from the oven.
“We can’t exactly keep a lookout from there,” Mia corrected her. “I think we should hide in the tack room and use this opportunity to do a marathon tack-cleaning session. That way the yard’s never left unguarded.”
Rosie sank down in her chair. The thought of soaping and polishing her bridle all day under Mia’s watchful eye filled her with gloom. She wished now that they were going on a marathon ride instead, despite the arctic temperatures.
Charlie frowned as she saw her Mum’s number flash up on her phone.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, then listened quietly before adding, “No, no I didn’t.”
Charlie ended the call, looking thoughtful.
“Who was that?” Mia asked.
“It was Mum,” Charlie explained. “The woman in the post office just called her to ask if I’d taken down the advert for Pirate early.”
“Why?” Rosie asked.
“Because”, Charlie said quietly, “it’s gone.”
Alice suggested that they should check the other adverts they’d put up. Mia stayed behind with Rosie to keep watch on the yard, while Alice jumped bareback onto Scout and jogged him into the woods, Charlie biking beside her. They got to the fork in the bridleway and caught their breath, staring up at the bare tree.
“The pin’s still there,” Alice said.
“But no advert,” Charlie puffed.
“Maybe someone who wants to loan Pirate has taken it?” Alice suggested.
“Maybe, although Mum didn’t mention anyone else calling about him,” Charlie reasoned.
They checked the final tree and found the same – a pin but no advert. Then they headed back to the yard and found Mia and Rosie in the tack room. Mia added a line in her notebook when they updated her.
“Megan might have taken them down so no one else saw them,” Rosie said.
“That fits,” Mia agreed, “if it’s definitely Megan, that is.”
“I guess we might find out today,” Charlie said.
Mia organised Alice and Rosie as they stripped down their bridles into pieces. They had a bucket of warm water on the floor between them, with sponges and saddle soap at the ready. Just as theybegan Charlie opened the first page of the diary, sitting cross-legged
“Yes, definitely Charlie,” she confirmed, picking up the pile of red and white envelopes, stuffed with Christmas cards. In among the pile was a brown rectangular envelope which had been folded over at the end and stuck down with tape. Charlie’s name and ‘Blackberry Farm’ were writtenon the front in thick marker pen, nothing more. Mrs Honeycott put the envelope on the table, narrowly avoiding a splodge of strawberry jam.
“This can’t have been posted,” Mia said, examining it. “There’s no stamp or address.”
“It must have been delivered by hand,” Alice agreed, getting excited.
Charlie lifted it up and turned it over. It felt curiously solid as she carefully unpeeled the sealed end and then tipped it up. With a thud, a slim red hardback book fell onto the table. The word ‘Diary’ was foiled on the front in faded gold, along with the year.
“This is from six years ago,” Mia whispered as the others held their breath, already realising what that meant. Charlie checked, but there was nothing else in the envelope.
Charlie opened the book and saw, on the first page, the flowing, hand-written words: ‘Fable’s diary’. She carefully turned the page and saw the next inscription, which she read aloud:“This diary is dedicated to the memory of Fable and her dear little foal.”
“It’s Caitlin’s diary!” Alice said, looking at it in awe. “Fran must have found it!”
“I’m going to start reading it today,” Charlie said. She couldn’t wait to get going. “Right now, in fact, as we’re staying here all day!”
“Ooh, we can all read it by the fire in the living room!” Rosie said, picturing them curled up on the sofas around the Christmas tree eating piping-hot mince pies straight from the oven.
“We can’t exactly keep a lookout from there,” Mia corrected her. “I think we should hide in the tack room and use this opportunity to do a marathon tack-cleaning session. That way the yard’s never left unguarded.”
Rosie sank down in her chair. The thought of soaping and polishing her bridle all day under Mia’s watchful eye filled her with gloom. She wished now that they were going on a marathon ride instead, despite the arctic temperatures.
Charlie frowned as she saw her Mum’s number flash up on her phone.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, then listened quietly before adding, “No, no I didn’t.”
Charlie ended the call, looking thoughtful.
“Who was that?” Mia asked.
“It was Mum,” Charlie explained. “The woman in the post office just called her to ask if I’d taken down the advert for Pirate early.”
“Why?” Rosie asked.
“Because”, Charlie said quietly, “it’s gone.”
Alice suggested that they should check the other adverts they’d put up. Mia stayed behind with Rosie to keep watch on the yard, while Alice jumped bareback onto Scout and jogged him into the woods, Charlie biking beside her. They got to the fork in the bridleway and caught their breath, staring up at the bare tree.
“The pin’s still there,” Alice said.
“But no advert,” Charlie puffed.
“Maybe someone who wants to loan Pirate has taken it?” Alice suggested.
“Maybe, although Mum didn’t mention anyone else calling about him,” Charlie reasoned.
They checked the final tree and found the same – a pin but no advert. Then they headed back to the yard and found Mia and Rosie in the tack room. Mia added a line in her notebook when they updated her.
“Megan might have taken them down so no one else saw them,” Rosie said.
“That fits,” Mia agreed, “if it’s definitely Megan, that is.”
“I guess we might find out today,” Charlie said.
Mia organised Alice and Rosie as they stripped down their bridles into pieces. They had a bucket of warm water on the floor between them, with sponges and saddle soap at the ready. Just as theybegan Charlie opened the first page of the diary, sitting cross-legged
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