Read Appleby Farm for Free Online Page B

kennel and retrieved an egg, which she gobbled down in two seconds flat. She wagged her tail at me triumphantly and sauntered back off to the farmhouse.
    Now that was what you called a fresh egg.
    ‘Wow. Does that happen often?’ I asked, shaking my head.
    ‘Every day. Nine thirty sharp,’ said Auntie Sue. ‘You can set your clock by those two. Right, I’ll make you some breakfast while you go on round to the stables, there’s someone I think you’d like to meet.’
    I raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but Auntie Sue just jerked her head in the direction of the stables and strode off, limping slightly.
Dodgy knee
, I suddenly remembered Eddy telling me last night, as I walked down towards the stables.
    I used to have my own pony called Bailey years ago but I outgrew her and my uncle sold her. I’d cried myself to sleep for a week. But once I’d left school I’d only been back to the farm for a few days at a time and it hadn’t been worth getting another. I know it was a childish sort of ambition to hold, but one day I’d have my own horse. Fact.
    The stable block was further along the yard, set at a right angle to the cowsheds. I rounded the corner and came to an abrupt stop. A girl roughly my age was leading a skewbald horse out of the end stall by its head collar.
    I made a whinnying noise of unbridled joy, not unhorse-like itself, and the girl looked around and beamed.
    ‘I think I’m in love,’ I squealed, virtually galloping over.
    The girl scratched the horse’s neck and laughed. ‘Hurray, you can muck out then. This one’s a right messy mare.’
    She tied the horse to a wooden post and picked up a fork. Even in her waterproof jacket and scruffy jogging bottoms I could see she was gorgeous. She had one of those to-die-for complexions that looked as if she was wearing make-up even though she wasn’t: olive skin that probably tanned even on a grey day in Cumbria, and naturally peach-tinted cheeks.
    Jealousy is not an attractive trait, I told myself, trying to forget that I’d once spent an entire summer in Greece and had still looked like a peeled prawn at the end of it. And her hair: long, shiny and straight except for a top section that she’d gathered up in a quiff. It was probably really silky too, whereas mine … I reached a hand up to stroke the horse’s mane. Yup, my hair was as wiry as that.
    I surreptitiously tucked the end of my ponytail into the back of my jacket and hoped I’d remembered to pack my Frizz Ease. ‘I would love to help, seriously – mucking out, grooming, anything. I’m Freya, by the way.’
    I could barely keep my cheeks under control, my smile was so massive. A person my age
and
a horse. At Appleby Farm! I was so glad to be here. Although, of course, Uncle Arthur had had an accident, which was bad. Mustn’t forget that.
    ‘I know. Your aunt almost fell over herself racing round here to tell me about you. I’m Lizzie Moon. This is Skye.’
    I rubbed the horse’s nose and she nudged at my shoulder. ‘Hello, Skye, pleased to meet you. You too, Lizzie.’
    ‘Don’t say it – I know. Moon and Skye. Utterly ridiculous. My sister’s pony is called Star. It’s my dad’s idea of humour. He’s hilare. Not.’ Lizzie rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘I’m running late, actually, so if you really don’t mind helping, you could brush her while I do her bed. Brushes are in there.’ She pointed towards the tack room.
    ‘Yeah, I know.’ I pressed my lips into a small smile and went in search of a curry comb. I’d spent most of my spare time as a child down here, grooming Bailey.
    ‘Ooh, God, sorry, course you do.’ Lizzie disappeared into Skye’s stall and began lifting poo and tossing straw.
    I started brushing the horse’s neck in small circles, working my way down to her chest. ‘So how long have you kept Skye here?’
    ‘I only started work at the White Lion a few weeks ago as a live-in barmaid.’ She stuck her head out of the stable and arched an eyebrow.