The next couple of days were just wonderful. Barbara and Maisy met early in the morning, sneaking through the secret pathway in the brambles that led to their hidden, equestrian paradise.

Their days were filled with enjoyable hard work; Trying to fix up the ‘stableblock’ with their very limited DIY knowledge and tools. And lots of fun; Riding the ponies, taking turns to make sure they each rode all of the pack, and finding a favourite:

Snowy was a beautiful white pony, and always very calm and cool.

Ruby was a bit cheeky, and liked to play games with the girls.

Scout was perhaps the oldest, and sensible – not taking part in the younger pony’s games.

Willow was a brown and white pony, and very shy. The girls worked hard to get her involved.

Raven was jet black, and the most strikingly handsome pony. He always stood like he was posing for a photograph.

Bobby was the smallest, and a light brown in colour. They weren’t sure at first if he wasn’t one of those miniature breeds, but decided he was just a bit of a shortie.

Champ was another white pony, but with brown socks and a brown diamond on his nose. He was perhaps the most boisterous, not standing still for long, and bucking or running around the paddock. Champ was hard work to try to ride but the girls both managed it successfully, and boy when they did it was like a rollercoaster ride!

And last, but not least, there was Billy. Billy was a little slower than the others, and always last to react when the girls called them over for a treat, like an apple. Billy was like the youngest child in a family, needing some help to understand what was going on. He seemed happy enough, but was in a group of street-smart ponies, and he was definitely the newbie.

Maisy intuitively was attracted to helping Billy, and he became her favourite.

Barbara certainly preferred the adventure and danger that came with riding Champ.

The days went by fast. Packed lunches were brought every day, and they had a stash of snacks as well, but cold drinks were a problem. There was no fridge, and the days were hot. They kept bottles of water and pop submerged in the half drum pony trough, but they didn’t really stay cold.

The girls couldn’t find excuses every day to skip teatimes so usually headed home, but they popped straight back afterwards, and stayed until it started to get dark.

Maisy often thought about sharing their fantastic venture with some of the other girls she knew, and in particular was so wanting to tell Jibi. But anytime she brought it up Barbara always said no, and referred back to the legendary PRC rules one, two and four.

When the next weekend came around, Maisy’s Mum and Dad were both free from their normal working routines, and at breakfast Dad asked if Maisy wanted to come and help him clean the Chapel gutters out (Answer: no thanks, Dad) and Mum asked if she wanted to come and help pick out a new chest of drawers for her bedroom (Answer: no thanks, Mum). Both were not mandatory of course, just nice chores to do as a family, and both Mum and Dad weren’t cross if Maisy didn’t want to join them – they enjoyed the stressless peace of weekends anyway, but it was Dad that finally put his foot down at tea time on Saturday and insisted that Sunday was a family day, and they were all (ALL!) going to do stuff together as a family. He explained everyone was welcome at church of course (everyone made their excuses quickly, and declined politely) but after Sunday lunch everyone was expected to go on a family walk. Everyone. Together. No cellphones. No excuses. Mum looked around at Maisy and Howie and read the disinterest on their faces, but gave them a stare that said, ‘just do it – it’s important – I expect you to agree.’

And so everyone said, ‘Ok, Dad,’ cheerily, and generously agreed what a nice thing that would be to do together, and hadn’t it been a long time since they spent family time together, and where are we going Dad?

‘Never you mind, wait and see,’ said Dad, which usually meant he hadn’t thought it through yet.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

‘Pass the brown sauce, Peanut,’ said Howie, sat with a sausage sandwich in front of him. Maisy grabbed the bottle from the side as she passed and plopped it down in front of her brother, reaching over his shoulders. ‘Phewweee!’ said Howie, ‘what a smell! – where have you been spending your time lately Maisy? you smell like an ‘orses back bedroom.’

Maisy sniffed her armpits, ‘Shut up,’ she said, making a face and running upstairs. She wasn’t really sure how she smelled. How can you? she thought to herself.

She took a shower again (the second of the day, or was it the first? she actually couldn’t remember) and while under the hot water she did some extra rubbing to get rid of any tell-tale smells. It was a small price to pay, she conceded, and perhaps all horsey people have a little bit of niff about them, so she didn’t mind really. While she was towelling herself dry, and applying much too much deodorant, she decided she was fine about a little niff, but it was anyone finding out about the PRC that was the problem, and horsey smells meant horsey questions, and she always had to be in mind of PRC rules one, two and four (again).

It seems by now she’d convinced herself of the importance of security, and she didn’t even question it anymore. A couple of weeks ago she was laughing at Barbara’s over the top rules. Now they were fixed. She was a professional, after all.

So, Sunday morning came, and Mum, Howie and Maisy were strangely absent when Dad appeared in the kitchen in his shirt and tie, signalling everyone’s last chance to join him in singing the praises of Baby Jesus down at the Chapel.

Strange that; no one around, but never mind, Dad thought as he reversed the Mondeo out of the drive. He would just have to do the praying for all of them. That was his job after all, as head of the family, and chief consultant on God stuff.

Yet everyone was strangely present when Dad pulled back into the drive ninety minutes later. He could see them through the front window as he turned the key in the Mondeo and the cooling engine ticked away. Probably something to do with roast chicken having a wider audience these days than Baby Jesus, he conceded. But everyone forgets where the chicken came from in the first place, and I’m not talking about Lidl, his thoughts continued. And as he walked through the back door he was singing, ‘All things bright and beautiful….’

Mum always served up the most stupendously brilliant roast chicken dinner, and today was no exception.

Roast spuds, carrots, cauli cheese, Yorkshire puds, and fabulous roast chicken and gravy. It was consistently excellent, and apparently as Dad repeated every week, ‘Not everyone gets this you know kids? Not every family has a cooker as great as your Mum.’ Dad smiled at his favourite cooker joke again, looking around for praise, but everyone else ignored him. Let’s face it, they had heard it now at least five thousand times.

It was agreed sticky toffee pudding could wait until after the walk, as everyone was a bit too stuffed, so they went and got their old trainers on at Dad’s request, and mustered by the front door. Once all present, the family set off, led by Dad striding ahead.

‘Where are we off to?’ was the general enquiry.

 ‘Just wait and see,’ was the abstract response.

‘He’s making this up as he goes along!’ giggled Maisy and Howie.

They walked down the road, and then over a stile into the fields behind the houses. The afternoon was another hot one, and the field tracks were dusty and dry. They kept up a gentle ramble, and passed one or two other walkers, mostly exercising dogs, and then they circled around the playing fields on the edge of the village and passed Fatbomb Belinda and her Dad, hastily walking the other way. Maisy and Fatbo.. sorry Belinda didn’t say anything, and almost pretended they hadn’t passed within three feet of each other.

Maisy nudged Howie, ‘You love her,’ she said cheekily.

‘No.. you do,’ he said. It was the standard, childish brother-sister routine they had been doing for years, and they ended up pushing each other in turn, trying to unbalance each other, so the ended up on their bums.

‘Stop it you two,’ said Mum from ahead.

It was a lovely walk; The weather was fabulously warm and summery, and Mum and Dad chatted about family matters and things at work. They seemed to have less and less time to do that with the chaos of family life.

Maisy and Howie trailed behind, at times teasing each other (Maisy about Howie’s girlfriends, Howie about Maisy’s smelly T shirt) and at times having a respectful, supportive discussion as brother and sisters do. Family was family after all, and as the song goes; they might smoke like chimneys, but they’d give you their kidneys. And that was Maisy’s family through and through (bar the bit about smoking).

Dad led the way and The Family Walk weaved its way across the fields, until he did a sudden left turn and headed round a beautiful corn field and into the woods. ‘Crikey, it’s been ages since we explored the woods,’ said Dad. ‘Remember when we lost you, Howie, when you were a toddler?’

Mum then gave out a little scream ‘Two minutes of absolute terror. How could you lose a two year old? In the woods? Your Dad somehow managed it!’

‘..And there you were, behind a large tree trunk, five feet away from us all the time, silently studying a bumble bee,’ Dad added. ‘That was when I knew God was on our side.’

Meanwhile Maisy was getting a little bit nervous about the direction they were heading; Not conversational direction, but actual real life walking direction. She wasn’t sure, but she thought they had entered the woods on the far side from where the hidden corral was, and since they were sticking to the logging tracks she guessed and hoped they wouldn’t be getting too close. The family passed a few other Sunday walkers and Maisy relaxed a bit.

‘I know,’ exclaimed Dad, ‘let’s have a pinecone competition – can you hit that silver birch on the edge of the treeline from here?’ And with that, he picked up a pinecone and launched it towards the thin target tree, but his opening throw was a good ten feet wide.

‘Rubbish,’ said Howie, ‘let me show you how it’s done.’

All of the family joined in and took turns to try to hit the tree. It was great fun and quite difficult, and occasionally someone got really close, and they all squealed. Then mid throw, Dad heard a voice behind them, ‘Geoff? is that you?’

Dad turned around, and so did the rest of the family. A lady in a quilted navy jacket and the fanciest yellow wellies you’ve ever seen was standing there, with what appeared to be two teenage daughters. They had four large bounding dogs with them, Maisy wasn’t sure of the breed, but they were identical and the type Mum always referred to as expensive, designer dogs.

‘Oh, hi Mrs Hiddlington-Harris,’ said Dad in a posh voice that wasn’t really his normal voice, ‘how nice to see you.’ After an awkward pause he suddenly remembered the rest of the family - ‘I don’t think you’ve met my wife Gillian, and this is Howard and Maisy. What a lovely service it was this morning?’

The lady nodded to everyone briefly but was more interested in the service comment, which she obviously took as a complement. ‘It certainly was Geoff, and didn’t the flowers look great? I do like to brighten the place up, particularly at the front pews where my seat is.’

Dad just nodded and was stumped again for anything to say. He nervously looked about as Mum, Howie and Maisy all revelled in his awkwardness. Mrs Hiddlington-Harris had to save them all from embarrassment, ‘It is such a lovely spot here. Of course, these woods have been part of the estate going back four hundred years. We just had time to walk the boys before heading back to yet another interview. ‘

Dad jumped on the opportunity to actually say something about something - ‘Interview? about what?’

Mrs H-H was clearly pleased to expand on yet another issue that added to her importance, ‘Oh, haven’t you heard? There has been a spate of horse robberies in the area?’

‘Oh dear,’ said Dad, ‘what sort of houses?’

Behind him, Howie put his head in his hands dramatically, and Mum laughed out loud.

‘Not houses, Mr Button - horses!’ stressed Mrs H-H assertively. ‘Five girls at the gymkhana club have had their prize mounts stolen from their paddocks, and even Fatbom….I mean Belinda Flint had hers taken from their back garden. Frightful business. Professionals, no doubt. The newspapers have been contacting me relentlessly, what with my experience and standing in the area.’

‘Oh dear, I am sorry to hear that,’ said Dad, faking an interest, and thinking hard for a follow up question before Mrs H-H suddenly turned on her heels.

‘Anyway, must dash, toodle pip…..come on girls,’ and off she went, followed by the two silent teenagers, and four bounding dogs.

Maisy and her family all stood in silence until the Hiddlington Harris’s had got far enough away to be out of earshot, ‘And who on earth was that?’ said Mum, smiling.

‘That’s Victoria Hiddlington-Harris,’ said Dad a little nervously, ‘you know, from the Charlborough Hiddlington-Harris’s?’

‘Never heard of ‘em!’ laughed Mum, enjoying Dad’s discomfort.

‘Well,’ he continued, ‘she practically manages us; I mean the church.’

‘Does she now?’ smiled Mum. ‘I bet she has a direct line to Jesus as well?’

‘Gill! Honestly! Less of the blasphemy please,’ said Dad quietly, as Howie started rapping a made-up song about Jesus on speed dial.

Throughout this exchange, Maisy had fixed a smile on her face, but was horrified inside, and had a big weight of anxiety growing in her tummy. Her thoughts were all over the place. Could their rescue ponies be the ones that have gone missing? But if so, how did the RSPCA get stolen ponies? She really didn’t want to think any deeper on it…

But then if her tummy wasn’t already feeling really funny, they turned the next corner and Maisy suddenly realised in horror that they were very, very close to the corral and the PRC. A chill ran right through her, and her mouth dried up as she suddenly felt really weird and really scared.

She could see the very obvious break in the trees, signalling there was a large open area to their right, but at least the track they were on led along the side of it, not towards it.

The rest of the family were still preoccupied with Dad’s church life, so they took no notice of the apparent open space like Maisy did, but only because she knew where to look.

But then she could also see part of the fence, and then through the trees and bushes a very quick flash of the stableblock, and then to her horror, the back end of a pony. Perhaps it was all in her head, but she then thought she could hear some hooves running around as well.

Time seemed to stand still as Maisy found herself trapped inside her own head. She could see Dad talking to Mum and Howie, but couldn’t hear anything other than her heart pumping really fast.

Maisy then took decisive action. She knew she had to do something fast, and was surprised that through the initial freeze she was able to quickly see what she needed to do.

She stood still in the middle of the track and with all her breath put her hands together and competently blew through her hands the Mockingjay callsign, the signal of danger. Maisy just knew Barbara was close by, in the hidden PRC, but didn’t know if she has heard her or not, or even what actions she might take if she did hear.

Focussing hard, Maisy drew another breath and made the Mockingjay signal again, and then jumped out of her skin as she felt a hand on her shoulder.

‘Ok, Catniss,’ laughed Howie with his hand on her shoulders, ‘what do you think you’re doing, silly?’

Maisy turned around sharply and looked him in the eye for what seemed like ages, wondering how much he knew about her secret, before with relief she realised he was just winding her up about her favourite film. She could see Mum and Dad had headed off and were a hundred yards down the path ahead, deep into their own conversation. ‘Oh, nothing,’ said Maisy with a smile, ‘I just thought I heard a Mockingjay.’

‘They’re made up, dumbo!’ laughed Howie, and he put his arm around her as they walked off together again, down the path and to Maisy’s relief, away from the hidden Pony Rescue Centre, and away from danger.

Relief coursed through Maisy, and she felt a little giddy. Her breathing returned to normal even though she felt a flush of colour in her cheeks.

Thankfully nobody noticed, or if they did, they didn’t comment. And anyway, the conversation turned back to Dad’s weird church friends again. Maisy joined in with Mum, winding up her Dad again.

But nobody noticed that a few yards later, Howie had stopped for a moment, and was checking behind them with a quiet curiosity.