Free I Own the Racecourse! by Patricia Wrightson

That’s Midnight Star—I know him! That’s Bill Foster driving…Hey, Bill! Hullo, Bill!’
    The four boys, hearing again the familiar call that had been missing for so long, all turned their heads at the first word. Humouring Andy again, they looked obediently where he pointed. Their eyes, falling on Midnight Star who was looking better than he did last month, narrowed a little. Learning that Bill Foster was driving, they looked on uncomfortably while Andy waved and shouted. Poor old Andy was making a show of himself. They cast hidden glances at the driver and prepared to walk on in a careless way. They saw the driver turn his head, catch sight of Andy, nod and lift his whip in greeting. Matt’s eyes widened, Mike’s grew still narrower.
    â€˜See?’ said Andy happily. ‘I know him. He comes to my racecourse, him and Midnight Star.’
    The boys walked on in silence until they reached the school, where Andy waved and wandered off. They watched him go.
    â€˜My sainted aunt,’ muttered Matt.
    â€˜I bet it was a different horse and driver,’ said Terry.
    â€˜Doesn’t matter who it was,’ Mike pointed out. ‘Whoever he was, he knew Andy .’
    â€˜We’ll have to keep more of an eye on him,’ said Joe in an exasperated way. Mike merely shrugged.
    After school Joe announced that he was going to find Andy Hoddel and see what he was up to. Mike shrugged again, and said nothing about coming too. Terry had already promised to give Matt some solid batting practice down in the park, but this was a plan that would take up several afternoons and could just as well begin tomorrow. They looked expectantly at their elders. Mike seemed to have drawn into himself; Joe was frowning. Matt raised his eyebrows in a puzzled way.
    Terry curled his lip slightly and said, ‘Don’t forget your bat.’ It seemed to him that for the time being he and Matt had better stick to cricket in the park, and avoid taking sides. The fact that Andy Hoddel was on shouting terms with at least one of the racing drivers from Beecham Park seemed to have affected Mike and Joe in different ways. It was as though Joe wanted to hurry forward, anxious to come closer to Andy, while Mike had taken a step backwards to stand farther off.
    Joe spent the afternoon alone, looking for Andy. He went to the open gate of Beecham Park, and then to the cliffs above it. He looked into all the shops, and the vacant ground where Andy often sat with the stray cats. He even went to Andy’s front door and, standing on the pavement while Mrs Hoddel looked up from her work, asked if Andy were about. Mrs Hoddel’s face at once set into anxious lines.
    â€˜What—isn’t he with you, Joe? Well—if he’s not with you, I just don’t know where he is. Keep an eye out for him like a good boy, will you? I don’t like to think of him wandering on his own too much.’ She pushed the hair back from her forehead with her free hand and sighed.
    â€˜I might have missed him,’ said Joe quickly. ‘I’ve been up to the corner shop. I’ll look in at home—or O’Days’ place, he’s probably there.’
    â€˜I hope you catch up with him, then.’ She smoothed her face out and smiled. ‘I just take it for granted he’s with you boys, you’re all so good with him, and I just don’t worry. I can’t tell you what it’s been to me, having you there—I just don’t know how I’d have got on without you. It keeps me busy, you know; the work, and the house, and trying to keep Andy nice so people won’t talk. You’ve been a real blessing, the four of you.’
    â€˜That’s all right, Mrs Hoddel, we like having him around. Everyone likes Andy.’
    â€˜He is a nice boy, and that’s a fact. Old Mrs Eaton was just telling me the other day what a good boy he’s been. A help to me too, mind you. He is a good