Chocolate Box Girls: Coco Caramel (4 page)

‘But …’

‘No buts,’ Mum insisted.
‘Don’t be in too much of a
hurry to grow up, Coco. Enjoy
your freedom while you can! If it’s the money you’re thinking about,
I’ll have a word with Paddy – now that the chocolate business is starting to take
off, we might be able to give you a bit more pocket money.’

Pocket money? Honestly, I felt about five
years old. As far as my family is concerned I might as well be – it’s as if there
is one rule for my sisters and another for me.

OK, I’m twelve. So what? At twelve
Summer had been a regular student helper at the dance school for years. By the time she
was thirteen she worked a whole week there in the summer holidays in exchange for extra
lessons, and Skye was thirteen when she helped out with the costumes on the TV film they
made in Kitnor a few months back. The twins aren’t all that much older than me,
but they get to do what they want.

As for Honey, she may not have had a job at
twelve but she had way more freedom than any of us. She was a pre-teen drama queen – she
didn’t bother to ask permission for the things she wanted to do, she just went
ahead and did them anyway. She still does. Maybe I should take a leaf out of her
book?

I push through the gates of the Woodlands
Riding School, breathing in the smell of fresh hay and happiness. I am a little early,
but I like it that way. I wave at Kelly, one of the teenage instructors who sometimes
takes the paddock classes or leads the treks, then step into the warm office building,
stash my rucksack in a locker and nip to the loos to change into my riding gear. Folding
away my school uniform and replacing it with outsize jumper, jodhpurs and waterproof, I
am the happiest I have felt all day. I leave my uniform in the locker and scoop up my
riding hat, pulling it on as I wander back out into the stable yard.

Then I see a familiar figure in the doorway
of one stall, gruff and grim in wellies and muddy jeans, forking manure into a
wheelbarrow.

Lawrie Marshall looks up at me and his face
registers surprise and then disgust. I am pretty sure my face mirrors those emotions
too, and then some.

‘What are you doing here?’ Lawrie
Marshall asks, and I swear I am so cross at this comment that if I could I would tip
that barrowload of manure right over his head, then jab him with his own pitchfork, just
for good measure.

‘I am here for my riding
lesson,’ I tell him. ‘The same as I have been every week since January. And
I have never seen you at Woodlands before, so I think I could ask what
you
are
doing here!’

Lawrie curls his lip. ‘I work
here,’ he says icily. ‘Started this week, three forty-five till six,
Tuesdays and Fridays. If I’d known they gave lessons to fruitcakes like you, I
might have had second thoughts …’

Fruitcake? Me? I am pretty sure this is an
insult and not a reference to my baking abilities. And worse, it looks
like Lawrie Marshall has
my
job. He is the same age as me, twelve years
old … is that fair? Is that right? No, it is not.

‘Oh … fruitcake to you
too!’ I snap.

As comebacks go, it isn’t the best.
You might even say it is lame and laughable, and Lawrie seems to think so because his
lips twitch into a sour kind of smile and he starts shovelling manure again, a little
carelessly. A clump of something deeply unpleasant lands sloppily on my boots, and I am
pretty certain it wasn’t an accident.

Words fail me. I turn on my heel and march
over to Caramel’s stall, seething inwardly. I reach up and stroke her face, press
my cheek against the roughness of her through-a-hedge-backwards mane, inhaling her smell
which is like dust and hay and sweet molasses all mixed up together.

‘I do not like that boy,’ I
whisper so that only Caramel can hear. ‘I do not like him at all.’ She
nuzzles me gently and I slide my arms around her neck, letting my anger dissolve. A few
minutes later I am smiling again, feeding Caramel slices of apple from my palm.

‘She likes you,’ Kelly says,
behind me. ‘Caramel. You’re
good with her,
Coco … not many people are. Come on, let’s get you saddled up. Jean and
Roy aren’t here today, so I thought we’d do some exercises in the
paddock … who would you like to ride, Bailey or Jojo?’

I frown. I like Bailey and I like Jojo, but
the pony I most want to ride is Caramel. I am pretty certain she would behave well for
me. She likes me – even Kelly can see that. And Jean and Roy are not here today, so
maybe we can bend the rules a little?

‘Can’t I ride Caramel?’ I
plead. ‘Jean said I was getting much better, much more confident. She said I would
be ready to take Caramel out …’

She did say this, but she didn’t
specify when. I have the feeling the date Jean had in mind was several years ahead, but
Kelly doesn’t need to know this.

‘I don’t think so,’ Kelly
frowns. ‘Not today. Caramel can be pretty tricky. Jean and Roy aren’t even
sure she’s the right kind of pony for us – a riding school horse has to earn its
keep, and Caramel can be unpredictable …’

I bite my lip. This doesn’t sound
good. If Jean and Roy aren’t sure about the little Exmoor pony, she may be coming
to the end of her time at the Woodlands
Riding School. Unless I can
prove once and for all that she can behave well?

‘Jean said I could!’ I argue,
aware that I am stretching the truth more than a little. ‘She says I have a
connection with Caramel, that I’m a natural with her! Please let me try, Kelly?
It’s only in the paddock. What could go wrong?’

‘Plenty,’ Kelly says, but I can
tell that she’s weakening. ‘Maybe if Jean was here …’

‘She isn’t, though!’ I
sigh. ‘Please, Kelly? I’ve been looking forward to this all week!’

Kelly rolls her eyes. ‘Oh, go on
then,’ she says. ‘But if it all goes pear-shaped …’

‘It won’t!’ I grin.

‘Lawrie?’ she yells across the
yard. ‘Can you get Caramel saddled up, please? For Coco here.’

Lawrie raises an eyebrow. ‘I thought
you said only experienced riders could take Caramel?’ he questions, and I can tell
Kelly feels hassled by the comment. Now that the decision is made, she doesn’t
want to go back on it.

‘Jean said it would be OK,’ she
tells Lawrie, walking
away to help the other students get mounted.
There are six of us today, but the other five are younger than me and need more support.
They wait patiently as Kelly matches them with their ponies.

‘I am an experienced rider, you
know,’ I say, as Lawrie saddles up Caramel and adjusts the stirrups. ‘I know
what I’m doing.’

‘I doubt that somehow,’ Lawrie
says. ‘Caramel is easily scared, OK? Go easy with her.’

‘She likes me!’

‘That makes one of us, I
suppose,’ he mutters, leading the pony out into the yard and holding her while I
climb on. Luckily, Caramel stands as quiet and still as a mouse and I manage it
smoothly. I collect the reins and press my heels gently into the pony’s sides, and
we walk forward across the yard to join Kelly and the other kids.

Caramel really does like me, I can tell. She
seems calm and steady and settled as we walk down to the paddock and circle round, and
when Kelly asks us to follow a figure-of-eight pattern and then negotiate a basic
obstacle course, she takes it all in her stride. Nobody would ever guess she was a
‘problem’ pony.

Kelly looks less anxious now, more confident.
She has taken a risk letting me ride Caramel – I am not about to let her down. I plan to
show her that I am a good rider, and more than that, that Caramel really can be trusted.
All she needs is to be treated gently.

‘Rising trot,’ Kelly calls out,
and I ease the pony forward smoothly. She trots beautifully, and when Kelly suggests
that three of us try a canter, I know she is really starting to trust me. Caramel speeds
up and I lean forward, exhilarated, enjoying every moment. This is without a doubt the
best riding lesson I’ve ever had – it’s as though the pony is a part of me,
or I am part of her. We understand each other, and I know that she is loving this as
much as I am.

Maybe Caramel was born of feral stock, the
ponies living wild on the moors; maybe she was treated roughly at some point in her
past; maybe, but I know she trusts me and I know she has it in her to be the best pony
ever.

‘Excellent, Coco!’ Kelly calls
as we slow to a walk again, and I can feel myself glowing with pride. ‘Great, all
of you. Right, folks, we’ll cool down with some control
exercises. Let’s start off with “Round the World”. If you’re
not sure, kids, watch Coco, she does this one really well …’

My cheeks glow pink with pleasure at the
compliment, but I’ve been doing the paddock exercises for ages now, and I know I
am good at them. ‘Round the World’ is all about teaching the rider balance
and control – you have to scissor one leg over the pony’s neck, so that you are
balanced sideways on the saddle; then scissor again until you are sitting backwards in
the saddle; again so that you are riding sideways to the other side; and once more until
you are finally facing front again.

This exercise is always a little chaotic,
with riders slipping and slithering about in a very undignified way, but I have it down
to a fine art. To start with, you do it while your pony is standing still, then work up
to doing it on the move. I am pretty good at both. I squeeze my heels gently inwards so
that Caramel walks forward, then slide my feet out of the stirrups. Aware of the younger
kids watching me, I shift my balance and scissor my leg up over Caramel’s neck and
down again.

My leg is still hovering in mid-air when the
pony lurches
forward into a sprint, then jolts to an abrupt stop.
Caramel rears up, whinnying, and suddenly I am flying through the air. There’s a
thump as I land in a heap on the grass, my head hitting the edge of one of the obstacle
course markers, my jaw hitting the gravel path. For a moment, I am seeing stars.

‘Coco?’ Kelly is saying, on her
knees beside me. ‘Coco, are you all right?’

I try to sit up and fall back again
instantly. My head feels like it has been sliced open with an axe.

‘
Ouchheee …
’

Kelly stands up and yells at the top of her
voice for the first-aid kit, and I scrunch my eyes tightly closed and wish the ground
would open up and swallow me. It doesn’t, of course, and even with my eyes closed
I know that five little kids watched my fall from grace with shock and horror. Oh, the
shame of it … 

Caramel, how could you do this to me? I
thought we had an understanding … 

A damp cloth smelling of witch hazel is
pressed to my chin and my eyes snap open abruptly.

‘There, that should help,’ Kelly
says, and over her
shoulder I see Lawrie Marshall with the first-aid
box and the witch hazel, his face dark and disapproving.

I think I will survive the bump, but the
wound to my pride may be fatal. This is the most humiliating moment of my
life.