Free Chocolate Box Girls: Coco Caramel by Cathy Cassidy Page A

and
tall, ivy-covered walls shielding the garden. When I get closer, I notice a tatty red
sign that reads
Danger: Unsafe Building
tied to the cast-iron gate.
    As I duck through the gate a tangle of
starry white jasmine flowers brushes against my face, the remnants of a long-forgotten
garden now running wild. The air smellsheady, musky, sweet, and
everything seems peaceful in the fading sun – it’s the kind of place where time
stands still.
    Walking along the overgrown path, I see
another sign, fixed above the broken doorway, faded, the paint peeling.
Jasmine
Cottage.
I think again of the little girl with Seddon yesterday, her pale face
stained with tears. He called her Jasmine.
    Who lived here, long ago? Was there a
family, kids playing in the stream, parents tending the vegetable garden, a couple of
cows and sheep in the field, ducks and chickens perhaps? What became of them? Perhaps
the children grew up and headed for the city, leaving their parents to grow old alone,
their home falling into disrepair around them.
    What would they think of our kidnap, the
hidden ponies?
    ‘Hello?’ I call, and Caramel
comes trotting towards me through the tangle of undergrowth, pushing her nose against my
shoulder and making soft, whickering sounds as I stroke her neck.
    ‘Oh, Caramel,’ I whisper into
her mane. ‘I’m so, so sorry …’
    After a while I step back, taking an apple
from my rucksack and cutting it into slices to feed to her.
    The dapple-grey mare appears behind Caramel,
shy and jittery. She seems too nervous to approach, but I stay still and quiet, my arm
outstretched, the juicy apple slices on my open palm, tempting her. I have learnt that
when an animal is frightened, the best way forward is to let it come to you; after a
while she edges close enough to take the apple, her nose like warm velvet against my
skin, her breath soft and warm.
    ‘Nice job,’ a voice says behind
me, and I turn to see Lawrie Marshall sitting on the window sill of the derelict
cottage. ‘That one’s really wary of people … with good cause,
obviously. We’ll probably never know her real story.’
    ‘At least now we know it has a happy
ending,’ I comment.
    ‘Well, maybe,’ Lawrie says.
‘Having a mare in foal really complicates things. She’s not in great
condition and I’ve no idea when she’s due to foal. What if we’re
lumped with delivering it?’
    ‘We’d manage,’ I say
bravely, although I am starting to feel a little out of my depth.
    ‘Maybe,’ Lawrie says. ‘Right
now, anything we can do to rebuild her trust has to help. You’ve got patience –
maybe even a way with animals. I suppose everyone has at least
some
good
points.’
    ‘Even me?’ I huff.
‘Careful. You almost said something nice then. Are you feeling ill or
something?’
    ‘Funny,’ Lawrie says.
‘Look, I didn’t ask to be in this mess with you, you know. I can manage fine
on my own if there’s something else you’d rather be doing.’
    ‘That’s rich!’ I splutter.
‘Whose idea was this rescue? Mine, Lawrie Marshall, OK? If it wasn’t for me,
they’d still be stuck with that creep Seddon, half-starved and treated like dirt,
so don’t you tell me to push off and go and do something else –’
    ‘Calm down,’ he says. ‘I
didn’t say that. Look … can we try to get along? For the sake of the
horses? I don’t much like you and I know you don’t like me –’
    ‘That’s the understatement of
the year,’ I snap.
    ‘Fine,’ Lawrie shrugs.
‘Forget about getting along. Let’s just work out what needs to be done.
I’ve brought up a net of hay and some grain, plus buckets for water and
feed …’
    I look around, taking in the feed buckets and
the hay. My own effort – a rucksack filled with hay and apples – looks childish by
comparison.
    ‘Seddon must have noticed by
now,’ I say. ‘He’s bound to go to the police. Is it really safe to
leave the ponies here?’
    Lawrie shrugs. ‘I think so. I’ve
been up here