Joy to the World
Author: Jodi Taylor
Date: 2020-11-12 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: kindle; fiction
Publisher: Headline

Copyright © 2020 Jodi Taylor

The right of Jodi Taylor to be identified as the Author of
the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in Great Britain in 2020 by

HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

1

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be
reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior
permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in
accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

All characters in this publication – other than the obvious historical figures – are
fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN 978 1 4722 7657 5

Cover design © Sophie Ellis

HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

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About the Book

It’s Christmas time again and all is not well at Frogmorton Farm.

Jenny and Russell’s daughter, Joy, is growing up. Not quickly enough as far as she’s concerned, but far too quickly according to Russell.

Father and daughter are at odds and suddenly the outlook is very dark indeed. That is until Thomas comes to the rescue.

Everyone should have their own giant invisible golden horse . . .

About the Author

Jodi Taylor is the internationally bestselling author of the Chronicles of St Mary’s series, the story of a bunch of disaster prone individuals who investigate major historical events in contemporary time. Do NOT call it time travel! She is also the author of the Time Police series – a St Mary’s spinoff and gateway into the world of an all-powerful, international organisation who are NOTHING like St Mary’s. Except, when they are.

Alongside these, Jodi is known for her gripping supernatural thrillers featuring Elizabeth Cage, together with the enchanting Frogmorton Farm series – a fairy story for adults.

Born in Bristol and now living in Gloucester (facts both cities vigorously deny), she spent many years with her head somewhere else, much to the dismay of family, teachers and employers, before finally deciding to put all that daydreaming to good use and write a novel. Nearly twenty books later, she still has no idea what she wants to do when she grows up.

By Jodi Taylor and available from Headline

time police series
doing time
hard time

The Chronicles of St Mary’s series

Just One Damned Thing After Another

A Symphony of Echoes

A Second Chance

A Trail Through Time

No Time Like the Past

What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

Lies, Damned Lies, and History

And the Rest is History

An Argumentation of Historians

Hope for the Best
plan for the worst

short story collections

The Long and Short of It

Long story Short

The Chronicles of St Mary’s digital shorts

When a Child is Born

Roman Holiday

Christmas Present

Ships and Stings and Wedding Rings

THE VERY FIRST DAMNED THING

The Great St Mary’s Day Out

My Name is Markham

A Perfect Storm

Christmas Past

Battersea Barricades

The Steam-Pump Jump

And Now For Something Completely Different

WHEN DID YOU LAST SEE YOUR FATHER?

Why is Nothing Ever Simple?

Elizabeth Cage novels

White Silence

Dark Light

Frogmorton Farm Series

The Nothing Girl

The Something Girl

Little Donkey (digital short)

––––––––––––––

A Bachelor Establishment

Contents

Title

Copyright

About the Book

About the Author

Also By

Dedication

Joy to the World

Discover more by Jodi Taylor . . .

This story is for Jay.

My name is Joy Rebecca Checkland and I am nearly fourteen years old. Which was what I tried to tell my dad when he grounded me and it so totally wasn’t my fault but he wouldn’t listen. He never listens to me. Mum says he never listens to anyone. Uncle Andrew says it’s because he’s a famous artist and lives in a different world to other people. Auntie Tanya says it’s because he’s an idiot. Auntie Franny says don’t bother me now and what do I think of these shoes?

Nobody ever listens to me.

Except for my friend Tommy. The bright light in the dark hell of my life. Tommy always listens because she totally understands weird parents and how to deal with them although no one’s got worse parents than me. My dad drives me spare and Mum’s so weak. She never stands up to him and he’s always shouting and we live in this stupid big house right in the middle of nowhere so there’s never anyone to talk to and it’s the last stop on the school bus route so I’m all alone at the end of the day and it’s too far for my friends to come and visit. It’s all so unfair.

And Rushford is such a dump. And it’s miles away. And there’s nothing to do when you get there anyway. Dad said that was good because it wouldn’t matter that I was grounded until the end of time then, would it, and I said he couldn’t do that because it wasn’t my fault and Dad said anyone stupid enough to be caught holding the cigarette after everyone else had the sense to run away deserved to be grounded and Mum said no, that wasn’t what your father meant at all and what he meant to say was that smoking was wrong and bad for your health and against school rules and I said it was a stupid school anyway and I wasn’t going back there after Christmas and Dad said I’d do as I was told and Mum said we’d all talk about this when we were calmer and Dad said what was the point, Jenny, we’ve raised an idiot and Mum said he didn’t mean that and he said yes, he did and I said it took one to know one which I thought was pretty clever actually but he just slammed into his studio and I slammed the door into my bedroom and he opened his door and shouted to stop slamming the door because I’d have the roof down if I wasn’t careful and he hadn’t paid for it yet. Then he slammed his own door again – much harder than me – and everything went very quiet after that.

I thought Mum might bring me up a biscuit and a glass of milk before bed because she usually does and she didn’t so then I knew I was in trouble and it was so totally callus of her to abandon me. And anyway, as I had told her, it wasn’t a real suspension because it was only two days to the Christmas holidays anyway and Mum had said a suspension was a suspension no matter how long – or short – and it was probably a subject I should avoid when Dad was around.

So everyone was being so totally unsympathetic and not thinking about how I felt at all. And it wasn’t even as if I’d actually smoked the thing because cigarettes smell and taste horrible and you’d have to be mad to want to smell like a wet ashtray but when Celia Bradshaw – also known as Chief Bitch because she’s pretty and she knows it – had asked if I wanted to come along with them to their hangout behind the bike shed I was pleased because they don’t ask just anyone so I did.

Anyway they were all puffing away and then Miss Woodbridge turned up with her mardy face on and someone said, ‘Hold this,’ and then they all ran away and by the time I realised what was happening it was too late. So totally not my fault but no one listened and I’d miss the school Christmas Party and the presents and the carols and no one cared.

Dad had taken my phone off me so I couldn’t call Childline and report him but he’d forgotten my iPad so I messaged Tommy to tell her all about it and she wasn’t even interested, saying, ‘Never mind all that – you’ll never guess. Billy George is coming to Rushford.’

OMG!! I stared at the screen. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Billy George was born here and the only decent thing ever to come out of Rushford. He’s the lead singer for Noyze. He’s got this huge grin and when he looks at you with his eyes and sings, ‘I will always be yours’ – it’s just . . . WOW!! And he was coming to Rushford. No one ever comes to Rushford. Not once they’ve got out, anyway. This was just AMAZING!!

My iPad pinged again. There was more. ‘There’s a concert in Archdeacon’s Park. Not a big thing. Just an hour or so. Half a dozen songs. But it’s HERE. IN RUSHFORD. We’ve GOT to go.’

I was so excited. Billy George was coming back to Rushford! Then I remembered I was grounded. Isn’t it absolutely typical? One thing – just one thing happens in my life. ONE THING! And I can’t go because I’m sodding grounded.

I stared at the screen and then began to type.

‘Sorry – can’t go.’

The response came back almost before I’d hit send.

‘WHAT? What do you mean you can’t go? You have to go. WE have to go. It’s literally the only thing that will ever happen in Rushford in our lifetime. And it’s Billy George. He’s GORGEOUS. We can get his autograph. I’m going to get him to write on my arm and I’ll never wash again as long as I live. He might even ask us up on stage to sing with him. He does that. That’s how that woman on TV got her break. WE HAVE TO GO.’

She followed this up with a string of emojis conveying every emotion under the sun and a few I think she’d invented on the spot.

I had two choices. One – I could ask permission to go and Dad would say no. I knew he would. He wouldn’t care how important it was to me. Perhaps I could offer to serve double time after Christmas as penanse. But I couldn’t see that working either while my parents were being so unreasonable. And once I’d asked and they’d said no – that would be it. I wouldn’t get another chance.

Or I could sneak out. I mean – they’re so old they’ve probably never even heard of Billy George anyway. I could tell them I was going for a walk or something and then come back and they’d never know and if they never knew then they couldn’t get upset about it so really I was doing them a favour.

I clicked on the link Tommy had sent me. The concert was happening on a Saturday afternoon in Archdeacon’s Park. From 3:00 – 4:00 p.m. No tickets required – a goodwill gesture for Christmas although collections would be taken for charity. Christmas spirit and so on. Which meant . . .

I sat back, thinking. There would be no cost involved which was good because I’d spent all my allowance on Christmas presents. Although with parents like mine I’d be so justified in getting my money back. That would serve them right, wouldn’t it?

No, I wouldn’t need much money. Just enough for the bus fare and something for a burger and a drink.

The buses to Rushford run every twenty minutes. Mum and Dad would probably be in Rushford on Saturday afternoon, enjoying themselves while I was all alone at home. Typical parental double standards. I’ll never do that to my kids.

The park isn’t far from the bus station. Town would be packed. It’s the last Saturday before Christmas so people would be carrying on as if the shops will never open again. I know Mum has been stocking up for our Christmas lunch because I’ve had to carry most of it. Lots of people are coming. Lovely Mrs Crisp – or Mrs Bill the Insurance Man, as Dad calls her – and her husband, Uncle Bill.

Auntie Franny was coming – she wasn’t living with Uncle Daniel any longer although I don’t know why because it was making her very bad-tempered – even more than when she did live with him – and Dad had told her she might as well go back to him again because she was just as irrational and bad-tempered as ever and it was getting on his nerves and there had been more slammed doors. She stormed off to her car and he opened a window and shouted to her that it was time she and Daniel were reconciled and put each other out of other people’s misery and Mum had said stop shouting out of the windows, Russell, we’ll have Mrs Balasana round here again. Mrs Balasana is our neighbour. She has a really pretty little house and her donkey is called Jack and she NEVER SHOUTS OUT OF WINDOWS.

And Uncle Andrew was coming as well. To Christmas lunch, I mean. With Auntie Tanya, of course. They’re really nice and I often think they might be my real parents who had to give me up when I was born for reasons they can’t tell me about. They live in a lovely modern flat in town. The roof doesn’t leak and they never shout at each other.

And Uncle Kevin who runs the landscaping place outside Rushford – he was coming with Auntie Sharon who has the cupcake shop and cafe down by the bridge. I always get free cupcakes on my way home and I’m not to tell Mum and Dad.

I wondered whether actually I’d be allowed to be at our Christmas lunch. My dad might make me stay upstairs locked in my room with just a cheese sandwich. Or just the bread. Without the cheese. Or even nothing at all. That would be so typical. They’d all be downstairs having a great time – even Jamie, my brother, and holder of the World’s Most Disgusting Brother title – and I’d be up here in the cold and the dark all on my own.

Right, that settled it. I typed back:

‘Of course I’m going. SEE YOU THERE.’

I left it at that because I thought I could hear Mum coming upstairs with the revolting Jamie. I switched off my iPad and shoved it under my pillow.

Things were no better the next day. Dad gave me a massive long list of jobs I had to do and I said I couldn’t do any of them because I’d planned to spend my time reading and studying and he laughed all over the house.

The list just went on and on. First I had to clear away all the breakfast things. By myself. Then I had to tidy the mudroom and it was so totally gross in there. Then I had to take Marilyn, Boxer and Thomas out of their nice warm stable and into the cold damp field and none of them were very keen on that. The secret is to lead Marilyn to wherever you want them to go and Boxer will follow her. It’s quite funny to see this enormous horse following on behind this tiny, tiny donkey.

You have to watch out for him though because he’s frightened of everything, including the chickens and they know it. I don’t know what he thinks they can possibly do to him – he’s about nine feet high. So we formed the usual parade – Marilyn first, followed by an agitated Boxer, jumping about all over the place, followed by sensible Thomas. A sensible horse for my sensible mother. ’Nuff said, I think.

I shut the gate behind them, went back into the yard, let the chickens out and collected the eggs. People who buy their eggs from the supermarket don’t know how lucky they are. I don’t know why we can’t live in a town like normal people. With shops and cafes and cinemas and no mud. There were four eggs. We have a lot of chickens and not that many eggs. Uncle Andrew says a lot of them are really old and long past laying but Dad can’t bring himself to get rid of them because he’s so soft-hearted, although I notice he doesn’t have any difficulty unjustly grounding his only daughter which is so typical. I put the eggs on the kitchen table and took a moment to play with the kitten.

We used to have a cat. He was old and smelled like a wet carpet but I loved him. He and Dad hated each other. He’d bring in smelly old corpses and leave them on – and sometimes in – Dad’s trainers. He never did it to anyone else – just Dad.

And then, one day, he brought in a tiny kitten. We never found out where he’d got it from. I think it might have been abandoned because it was nearly dead – cold, wet and very muddy. Dad sat up all night with her until finally we knew she was going to live.

The cat died the very next day, quietly, in front of the cooker which was where he spent most of his time. He just fell asleep and never woke up.

Mum cried her eyes out – she’d once saved him from a watery grave and she loved him. Dad patted her for a bit and then disappeared. He came back about ten minutes later, blowing his nose. He’d been looking for something in the barn, he said, and the dust had got up his nose.

We buried the cat under a bush with pretty blue flowers. Dad said he’d probably come back and haunt us but if he has, then I haven’t seen him which I wouldn’t mind at all. My life is SO boring and I think it would be quite exciting to have a ghost.

I fed the kitten – who still doesn’t have a name. Mum says our old cat must have trained her up because she craps in Dad’s slippers and Dad goes mad and there’s a lot of shouting. Mum tells him to buy another pair of slippers and keep them in his bedroom this time because then they won’t get crapped in, will they, Russell?

My friend Tommy doesn’t have this problem. Her parents are super rich. She says they don’t speak to each other much and to her hardly at all. I tell her she’s lucky. She goes to the posh boarding school on the other side of Rushford. And she has ballet lessons, plays the piano and violin and rides a pony named Candy who isn’t frightened of butterflies like Boxer. And they have a villa on Crete. They go there a lot. I’m lucky if I’m able to get into Rushford once a month.

Like me, her parents don’t let her out on her own very often and I think this is why we were both so keen to go to this concert. In fact, I think the sneaking out just added to the fun.

Tommy and I had met online last summer when I was telling everyone how awful Rushford was and she said you think you’ve got problems – you want to live in . . . actually I probably shouldn’t say the name because I’ll get sued or something but it’s covered in seagull shit and you can’t get up the high street for people lying on the pavement and there aren’t any shops. Or only shops for old people, anyway, and nothing ever happens unless someone gets murdered or the river floods.

She has a banging Facebook page – my dad won’t let me have one, of course – and we had a great time with our competition to see whose parents were the worst. The noisy overprotective nuisances or the remote really-couldn’t-care-less icebergs. Her dad’s in what he calls financial services – we discussed him being an accountant for the mob, maybe – and she said no, he was too short and too . . . nothing. And, she said, as if that wasn’t bad enough, her mum works for the local council and could I imagine anything more dreary and how cool was it to have a dad who was an artist and I had to put her right on that one.

Her family’s from Sri Lanka which must be so exciting. Her grandparents came over hundreds of years ago and her granny HATED it. Absolutely hated it. She refused to speak English at all and CURSED her husband for bringing her to this cold wet country and HE DIED. That is so awesome. Tommy says after that her granny got her own way on everything right up until the day she died and she was going to be just like her gran. She couldn’t wait to get a husband so she could curse him.

Tommy says her parents have Great Expectations of her because Asian parents do. She’s going to be a doctor or a lawyer according to them although she actually wants to be a singer. She’s posted a couple of clips on YouTube and she’s really good but they just won’t listen. Parents should be banned by law.

Anyway, back to my dreary life. Dad wanted me to take something up to the Braithwaites’ farm further up the road even though it was freezing cold out and I’d probably die of newmonia, but then I remembered I could use their Wi-Fi so I smuggled my iPad under my coat and asked to use their toilet when I got there. Reception wasn’t very good – this is what happens if you live miles from anywhere. Even the stupid government doesn’t think you’re important enough to be able to log on properly – but there was a message waiting for me. Tommy had NEWS. Employing Granny’s tactics – I must remember to ask her if she’d actually cursed him – she’d persuaded her dad to let her go.

‘I’ll come by train,’ she had typed, ‘and we should meet somewhere beforehand because we’ll never find each other once we’re in the park. Outside the post office or something and then go on together – it’s going to be GREAT.’

I sighed and pointed out I was still unfairly grounded.

‘You have to get to Rushford somehow. The concert’s in the afternoon, so it’s not as if you’ll have to climb out of your bedroom window at midnight – although wouldn’t that be FUN? All you have to do is get to Rushford and you do that every day, anyway.’

‘No problemo,’ I said because I was sure I’d think of something.

And I did. It was way easier than I thought it would be. And also more difficult because my parents were going into Rushford for a bit of last-minute shopping and for a nasty moment I thought they would leave Jamie with me but, in the end, Mum took him to Auntie Monica’s up the lane. Auntie Monica thinks he’s wonderful although I suppose after a couple of hundred sheep even Jamie would look good. So that was them out of the way. The difficulty would be avoiding them once I was in Rushford. The town’s not that big. I’d have to be careful.

I had been instructed to tidy the yard, feed the chickens and behave myself.

I nodded and didn’t argue although it made no difference because, as usual, no one paid me any attention at all. Dad was thinking about his painting and Mum was fussing about her list. They got into Dad’s old Land Rover – that car is so totally embarrassing – and drove away.

I scattered a bit of grain around the yard, dodged the chickens who were trying to kill me as usual and climbed over the gate into Boxer’s field. From there I crossed two more fields, jumped over the stream and into the village to pick up the bus to Rushford. Simples.

I was there on time. It was still early afternoon but getting dark already. I think it might have been the shortest day or something.

Rushford was full of Christmas lights and Christmas crowds. They’d floodlit the castle and the reflections in the river were really pretty. And it was very cold. Probably a good idea to make the concert so short. I spared a thought for Chief Bitch who would almost certainly be there in her new strappy top and covered in icicles. As Tommy had said, there’s looking cool and then there’s looking frostbitten.

I shot into the public toilets in the market square and tried to put on my make-up in the spotty mirror. I couldn’t see very well and my hand was shaking with cold and excitement but I didn’t think it looked too bad when I’d finished.

I turned back along the high street, careful to keep my head down just in case anyone recognised me. I didn’t think they would but everyone knows Dad so I couldn’t afford to take any chances.

We were meeting outside the post office. It would actually be the first time we’d met face to face. ‘You can’t miss me,’ she’d said. ‘I’ll be wearing my red bomber jacket – you know, the one they don’t know about yet – and black jeans.’

I waited. And waited. There was no one anywhere wearing a red jacket. I looked at my watch. She was five minutes late. Then nearly ten minutes. I began to worry.

My phone bleeped – typically, Dad had torn it from me and then left it on the bookcase and forgotten it. Classic Dad. I would have to remember to put it back before he missed it. There was a text from Tommy.

Train late. I’m behind post office. Changing in alley. Come and give me a hand.

There’s a wide alleyway behind the post office, mostly full of wheelie bins. What with the rubbish and the cold, I wouldn’t have fancied taking my clothes off there. Obviously her red jacket was too much for her parents and she’d had to leave the house wearing her normal clothes.

It’s well lit – there’s a lamp post at both ends – but . . . well . . . it’s an alleyway and it’s full of rubbish. It wasn’t very nice and I really wasn’t keen. All the noise and the bustle and the lights were behind me. Ahead lay silence. Then I thought, she might not know Rushford very well. I’ll take her to the public loos in the square instead. She can change there.

I called, ‘Tommy?’

She didn’t reply. Just the dark shapes of the wheelie bins and their shadows.

‘Tommy!’ I called again. I thought I saw something move. She might not have heard me. For some reason I wasn’t shouting very loudly.

I took a couple of reluctant steps. ‘Tommy?’

Where was she? I was getting anxious because time was getting on and we didn’t want to be late. Imagine Billy George actually here in Rushford and not being able to see or hear him because we arrived too late for a good place. No one would be talking about anything else when we went back to school after Christmas and if I had to tell people I missed it . . . As I keep explaining to Dad – it’s bad enough being physically separated without being culturally separated as well, but I don’t think he understands.

Just as I had set off down the alley, past the overflowing wheelie bins, a van pulled up at the far end, blocking the street lights, which meant I couldn’t see at all. I called again, ‘Tommy – are you there? I can’t find you. Let’s go to the public loos over the road.’

No one replied. This alleyway really wasn’t a very nice place and suddenly I didn’t want to be here. Not at all. Not even a little bit. But I couldn’t go off and leave her here.

‘Come on. We have to go. We’ll sort you out on the way.’

Nothing.

‘Tommy, come on.’

Nothing.

Except for footsteps behind me.

They were just ordinary footsteps. People used this alleyway all the time. But something wasn’t right. I turned. A man was walking towards me and he was smiling at me . . .

I turned quickly and began to walk towards the other end. Away from the footsteps. To find other people. Dad always says if I have a problem the first thing I should do is get away and then get myself to where people are. Go into a shop or something. Ask for help. Then ring him.

I pulled my bag down off my shoulder and rummaged for my phone. In my haste I hadn’t put it back in its special pocket. I’d just shoved it in my bag and now it had dropped to the bottom and I couldn’t find it. Stupid bag.

Ahead of me, the van’s sliding door opened and a man climbed out. The inside of the van was very dark.

Now there were two of them. And where was Tommy? I had a sudden horrible thought. Where was Tommy? Had she been pushed into the van? Was that where she was?

I went suddenly very cold. I started to shiver. Dad bangs on about this sort of thing all the time and I’d only ever listened with one ear because, of course, he was being ridiculous and it would never happen to me. And now it was. I was frightened. And I was all on my own. I was in this horrible dark place and I was trapped and it was scary and I couldn’t see and everything smelled of wet rubbish and . . . something like ginger biscuits.

I stopped. Whichever way I ran would take me closer to them. So I put my back against the cold brick wall. ‘Tommy – where are you? Are you all right?’

The nearest man looked at his mate and then grinned at me. ‘Tommy’s not coming.’

Now – now I suddenly saw what Dad had been on about all these years. Now that it was too late. He’d been right. I really, really wished he was here. Suddenly I wanted my shouty dad more than anything else in the world.

I didn’t know which way to run and the wall was too high to climb. And then a voice, which may or may not have been inside my head, breathed, ‘Hide.’

There was only one way to go. There were bins all around me. I dropped to the ground – which was sticky and smelly and revolting – and crawled away. I scuttled around and between the bins, trying to be hidden.

Finally, I stopped, panting, to listen. I could hear them heaving the bins around trying to find me. They were getting closer all the time.

I was terrified. My heart was thumping so loudly. I was too frightened even to cry. I just didn’t know what to do.

They started calling to each other. ‘Where the duck is she?’

Mum says if someone says that word, I have to hear it as duck. Which is so typical of her – I don’t think she knows bad words even exist. So he was shouting, ‘Where the duck is she?’

‘She can’t have got away. We’ve got the ends blocked. Keep looking for her.’

‘You said this would be easy.’

‘It will be. She’s not going anywhere. She can’t.’

‘She’d better not – I’ve already spent the money.’

What money? What was happening? If anything, it was even more freezing down here on the sticky concrete in among the tiny wheels and I was kneeling in something horrible and I couldn’t see anything. I was ice-cold and shivering and I wanted to go home. All Dad’s warnings. Everything he’d ever said. And Mum. And Uncle Andrew. Why hadn’t I listened? Even at school they’d banged on about this sort of thing. A giant policewoman – Seargant Bates – had talked to us about it and I’d sat at the back and thought about something else. The one useful thing I might have taken from school and I hadn’t bothered to listen.

They were still pulling the bins about. There weren’t that many left. I had a minute. Possibly not even that.

Then I had a bit of luck. I found my phone.

I scooted back as far as I could go. I wanted my dad. I wanted to see him more than anyone but I had to be sensible. He wasn’t here. They were.

I dialled 999.

To my surprise, they answered immediately. Before anyone could say anything, I whispered, ‘Help. Two men are chasing me. Behind the post office. Help. Help.’

Someone would come. There must be loads of police around today. Someone would come.

The last of the bins were being pushed aside. I hung up and hit speed dial.

‘Joy, where . . . ?’

‘Dad. Help. Two men. Behind the post office.’

I stood up and tried to slip between the bins and the wall. They shouted because they’d seen me. I dropped the phone in shock and tried to run. I was sobbing with fright. I tried to shout for help. One grabbed me so tightly I couldn’t breathe. I tried to kick them but they simply picked up my legs and carted me off towards the van.

I hurt my throat trying to scream. I was twisting and bucking but I couldn’t get away. One man fell against the wall and it hurt him. I heard him swear. He went to hit me but his friend stopped him saying, ‘No damage. They’ll take it out of the price.’

The van wasn’t far away. The open door looked like a giant black cave.

And then, over the smell of rubbish and wet concrete and dirty old men I could smell warm ginger biscuits again. I wondered if I was going mad.

A voice over my head said, ‘Wossat?’

‘Woss what?’

‘That. Over there. There’s someone there.’

I felt one of them turn.

‘Nuthin’. I don’t think . . .’ He sounded uncertain. ‘Nah . . . it’s nuthin’.’

But it was.

I could hear hoof beats. Right in the middle of Rushford I could hear hoof beats. Coming from a great distance. Then I thought, it’s the mounted police. From the park. The police are here.

The hoof beats drew closer and louder and suddenly a huge glowing golden horse exploded into the alleyway, galloping full tilt towards us. I could see every detail. I could see its mane and tail flying. I could even see sparks where its enormous hooves struck the ground. It was huge and fierce and coming straight at us.

I screamed. Or tried to.

They dropped me. The ground was very hard. I hurt my elbow quite a lot. I lay, rubbing my elbow while they shouted over my head.

‘Whatya do that for?’

‘Quick. Grab her legs.’

I was already rolling away. To be fair, mostly because I was trying not to be trampled by this giant horse that was nearly on top of us. It wasn’t wearing a bridle or head collar and I had no idea where it had come from.

‘Joy, get back under the bins.’

Obviously the owner was around here somewhere which was a huge relief. I crawled away between the bins.

There was a light over there. On the ground. It was my phone. I hadn’t ended the call. I could hear Dad shouting. He must have been going spare. I grabbed it. ‘Dad . . . help me.’

‘Hold on, sweetheart. I’m coming.’

I crouched on my hands and knees and peered round a bin. The horse was between me and them. It was a vicious-looking thing, baring its teeth and half rearing. All I could see was horse. It was huge.

The men were funny though. It was as if they knew something was there but they couldn’t see it. They kept looking from side to side and spinning around. As if they thought something was creeping up on them. One of them even had his back to it, which wasn’t very clever. I thought, how could they not see it? It was enormous. And scary. And wonderful. But scary. I stared some more trying to work out what was happening.

This wasn’t a real horse. It couldn’t be. Was it a projection? Or a ghost? Or perhaps I’d banged my head and was seeing things. But it seemed very real and solid.

I stuck my head out, wondering if I would be able to run away.

‘Joy – stay back. Help is here.’

And it was. Two figures appeared at the entrance. Oh no – this wasn’t good at all. It was my mum. What was she doing here? And why wasn’t Dad with her? He must have rung her to come and get me. There were two nasty men here. What could she do? And oh God, no, Auntie Franny was with her. They must have met for coffee. This was no good at all. I needed a rugby team at least. With tanks. Not my mother and a fashion model.

‘You’re quite wrong there, Joy. Very good in a crisis, your mother. Stay back, now.’

Mum shouted something and began to run, followed by Auntie Franny. I didn’t know my mum could run. I definitely didn’t know Auntie Franny could run.

The two men stood their ground. ‘We ’ave to take her,’ said one to the other, ‘she’s seen our faces.’

‘You tek her. I’m not hanging around.’

‘For duck’s sake – they’re just a couple of old women,’ and the next moment one of Auntie Franny’s spiked purple Jimmy Choos slapped him between his eyes.

I was so surprised I forgot to be afraid.

He realed backwards, hit a bin with a bang and slithered down on to the ground. I only just got out of the way in time.

Mum was on the other one, clawing at him in her fury. ‘Where’s my daughter? Where’s my daughter? Where’s my daughter?’

I might have forgotten to mention she’s got a bit of a stutter sometimes, especially if she’s upset, but not today. She was really pitching into this bloke and he was much bigger than her. I should help.

I crawled out and hung on to the back of his coat to try to slow him down.

Auntie Franny was hammering away at the man on the ground but she couldn’t keep him down there for ever. They’d been taken by surprise but when that wore off . . .

There was a shout from behind us.

‘Jenny.’

My dad was here.

Mum shouted, ‘Russell – help.’

And so was Uncle Andrew.

‘Quick – back under the bins, Joy. This is going to be good. I mean – this is no place for a young lady.’

I heard Dad roar, ‘Get out of the way, Jenny.’

Mum let go and Dad waded in.

‘Excellent bloke to have around in a fight,’ said the voice again. I looked around. Other than the giant golden horse standing between me and the fighting men, I couldn’t see anyone. I felt suddenly safe and comforted. ‘Are you all right, Jenny?’

Who was talking to my mum?

‘Yes, yes,’ she said impatiently. ‘I’m fine.’ Still no hint of a stutter. Her hair was tousled and she had blood on her hands. She didn’t look anything like my mum. ‘Joy, come here.’

I scrambled out from behind the bins. Across the alleyway, Uncle Andrew had wrested Auntie Franny’s shoe from her so she was using the other to put the boot in. I had no idea old people were so violent. If I’d carried on like that I’d have been grounded until I was a hundred and eight. And they’d have taken my phone away for ever. Parents are such hippocrits. They’re always going on about violence not solving the world’s problems, but clearly it does.

‘Should I break it up, do you think?’ asked Uncle Andrew, still clutching Auntie Franny’s purple stilleto.

‘In a minute,’ said Mum. ‘Poor old Russell’s . . . been a bit stressed recently. This is probably . . . doing him so much good.’

Obviously feeling he had to save someone, Uncle Andrew pulled Auntie Franny off the other one. ‘Now then, Franny. Let him live.’

She said, ‘Don’t call me Franny,’ and snatched back her shoe just as Dad, with one final punch, knocked the other man to the ground.

He and Uncle Andrew high-fived.

I think the man was glad to stay put. He certainly didn’t try to get up. More help was on its way. I could hear sirens.

Dad envelopped us both in a big hug. ‘Joy, Jenny. Are you all right?’ He dropped a kiss on top of Mum’s head and smiled down at her and I thought, no matter how much they say they love me and Jamie, in the beginning it was just the two of them. Before we came along. I opened my mouth to tell him I was all right but he’d turned away. He didn’t even look at me. Not once. Didn’t even notice I hadn’t replied. I went cold all over.

‘It’s all right,’ said the horse quietly and I was actually turning to Mum when I realised. It was the horse that was talking to me. An actual horse. A talking horse. A giant talking horse. Was talking. To me. A horse was talking to me. His voice was very gentle.

‘He’s just realising what nearly happened and he’s too upset to speak. Give him time. Oh look – here’s Sgt Bates. I haven’t seen her for ages. She hasn’t changed a bit.’

I stared at him. ‘You’re a talking horse.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘A horse who talks.’

‘Yes, but let’s not go into that now. This is much more exciting.’

There were three policemen altogether and they were trying to take us all off to the police station. I pulled Mum’s arm and shook my head. ‘I have to find my friend.’

‘Which friend?’ asked Sgt Bates sharply. ‘There’s someone else here?’

‘My friend Tommy,’ I said, pulling her arm again. ‘I think she’s in their van. We were meeting for the concert. She texted me to meet her here. Look.’ I showed them the text.

Sgt Bates took my phone and looked at it, looked at Mum and Dad and then pressed a few buttons. Somewhere close by, a phone began to ring. She reached down and pulled it out of the first man’s pocket. It was his phone. Everyone looked at everyone else.

I said, ‘Oh my God, he has Tommy’s phone. She must be here somewhere.’ Nobody moved. I couldn’t believe it. No one was trying to save Tommy.

Mum said, ‘It’s all right, Joy. Tommy’s not here,’ and her voice was shaking and so was I. I buried my head in her warm coat.

Once inside the station, in the warmth and the light, Mum said, ‘Let’s have a quick wash and brush up, shall we?’ and it was only when I looked at myself in the mirror that I realised I hadn’t really made a good job of my make-up. Half of it was smudged across my face and I looked like a clown.

I had a good wash in warm, soapy water and buried my face in the paper towel. For a long time. Because whatever happened next wouldn’t be good and I would be in so much trouble. And what about Tommy?

When I could see again, the giant golden horse was standing in the toilets with us. It had followed us from the alleyway. I hadn’t imagined it after all. I whispered, ‘Mum,’ and started to edge away. ‘I can see a giant horse.’

She smiled. ‘So can I.’

‘What does it want?’

‘This is Thomas. He . . . brought me up.’

‘I thought that was your aunt and uncle.’

‘No, it was Thomas.’

I looked at the giant horse who was carefully inspecting the hot air dryer.

‘Jenny, what does this do?’ He turned to the machine on the wall. ‘Good heavens! What are these for?’ and he sounded so surprised I nearly laughed.

‘That’s better,’ he said.

‘Those men – they couldn’t see you, could they?’

‘No.’

‘But I can.’

‘That’s because you’re special, Joy. Would you excuse me for just one moment, please?’

He turned to my mum, lowered his enormous head and said simply, ‘Jenny.’

His voice was warm and deep and full of love and somehow, I just knew everything was going to be all right.

I looked at Mum and her face was glowing. I’d never seen her look like that before. She said, ‘Thomas,’ put her arms around him and rested her forehead on his. The smell of warm ginger biscuits was overwhelming. ‘Are you staying? Please stay. Even if only for a little while?’

‘Oh yes. For a little while. Watching the Checklands’ attempts to mislead the majesty of the law and explain their actions is usually the best bit.’

I thought it would be all bare and horrible but the little room was bright and comfortable. Not at all like the interview rooms you see on TV.

‘They wouldn’t have been able to get us all in,’ said the horse, who appeared to know what I was thinking before I thought it. And how come Mum could see him? And me? But no one else? It was weird. I wondered if my mum was mad and I’d got it off her, which was surprising because I’d have thought if I’d inherited madness from one of my parents it would definitely have been my dad.

They tried to make Uncle Andrew and Auntie Franny wait outside and I insisted on them coming in.

‘It’s usually family only,’ said Sgt Bates.

‘They are family,’ I said and so we all squeezed in. Even the horse, who winked at me.

Sgt Bates cleared her throat. ‘Do I gather Miss Bauer will be joining us? She usually does.’

‘She’s Mrs Checkland now,’ said Uncle Andrew.

The horse started dramatically. ‘I always knew Russell was unconventional, Jenny, but I never thought he was a bigamist. When did that happen?’

‘She’s Andrew’s wife,’ said mum.

‘Ah. Good job you mentioned that, Jenny. I’d got hold of completely the wrong end of the stick, there. In my defence, of course, it is Russell.’

Mum said, ‘Idiot,’ and then Sgt Bates pulled open her notebook and sighed. ‘You’ve all been here before so it isn’t as if you don’t know how these things go.’

I blinked. Had they? All of them? Well, that was news to me. My parents had never said anything about this. Had they been lying to me all these years?

The horse said, ‘Oh, Joy – you don’t know the half of it,’ and snorted.

‘Language,’ said my mother. ‘Young foals present, remember.’

Sgt Bates continued. ‘I suspect the new Mrs Checkland’s advice to you would be to say nothing until she turns up.’

How long would that be? I was still cold and every now and then I had a little shiver. Sgt Bates looked at Mum. ‘Do I need to call a doctor?’

I shook my head. I just wanted to go home.

Mum put her arm round me. ‘She’s too upset to answer any questions at the moment.’

‘I agree.’ Sgt Bates smiled at me. She seemed very nice. ‘I’ll just take a very short statement tonight. We have the two men. They’ll be questioned over the next couple of days. Depending on what they say I might come back after Christmas with a few questions. And I’d like to keep your phone for a while. Is that all right, Miss Checkland?’

‘Tommy,’ I said, because no one was talking about her.

‘Yes, who is Tommy?’

‘My friend. I was meeting her by the post office. We were going to the concert.’

She looked at Mum and Dad and then at me. ‘Joy, there is no Tommy. There has never been a Tommy. Tommy does not exist.’

‘Yes, she does. I’ve been talking to her for months.’

‘No, I’m afraid you haven’t. We think you were talking to whoever those men worked for.’

Mum had turned as white as a sheet and I thought Dad was going to get up and hit someone all over again. Uncle Andrew put his hand on his shoulder. I couldn’t take it in. ‘But Tommy lives with her mum and dad. They want her to be a doctor or something but she wants to be a singer. Her parents are always arguing. She goes to school in Rushford.’

‘Have you ever met her?’

‘Yes, of course I have. We talk nearly every day.’

‘Online. Have you ever met her face to face?’

‘Well, no . . . the buses aren’t very good and her dad’s too busy to drive her and her mum can’t drive . . . She’s sent me photos of her family. And her house. And her pony, Candy . . .’ I trailed off.

‘You’ve never actually met her, have you?’

‘We keep meaning to, but . . .’ But there had always been an excuse. There had always been some reason why it couldn’t happen. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? Things began to fall into place. Mum took my hand. Hers was nearly as cold as mine.

‘Shall we begin,’ said Sgt Bates, quietly. ‘I promise you this won’t take a minute. Present at the interview are Mr Russell Checkland, Mrs Jennifer Checkland, Miss Joy Checkland . . .’

‘Just like Happy Families,’ said Uncle Andrew, cheerfully.

She just looked at him. ‘Also present – for some reason – Mr Andrew Checkland and Ms Francesca Kingdom.’

I wanted to say, ‘And an invisible horse named Thomas,’ just to see what people would do, but Mum shook her head.

I told them what had happened. They didn’t ask any questions. No one told me off. Once again, no one said anything at all.

Back home, I had a hot bath and a drink of cocoa, and Mum put me to bed. As she was tucking me in, I said, ‘Where’s Dad?’ He’d been very quiet while we were at the station. I thought he’d be shouting at everyone and he hadn’t. And then when we’d arrived home, he’d muttered something and gone out into the yard.

Mum smiled. ‘He’s making sure everything’s locked up and we’re all safe.’

‘Is he . . . is he very angry?’

‘Furious,’ she said, patting the sheet, ‘but not with you.’

‘But he won’t speak to me . . .’

‘He’s upset. Go to sleep, now. I promise you everything will look . . . better in the morning.’

I looked around my room. Suddenly, it wasn’t my lovely bedroom any longer. The little flight of stairs leading down to my bathroom was in shadow. Anyone could be hiding there. Or in the wardrobe. Or under the bed. Should I ask Mum to pull back the curtains so I could see if anyone tried to climb through the window? There were too many shadows. Too many windows. Too many doors.

Suddenly, I could smell ginger biscuits again. Warm ginger biscuits. It was a lovely smell. I closed my eyes and breathed in and when I opened them again a giant golden horse stood at the foot of the bed. Mum never turned a hair.

He smiled at me. ‘How are you feeling, Joy?’

‘How do you know me?’

‘I was here when you were born. You’ve grown a bit since then. Too much protein, Jenny. Stop feeding her so much or you’ll need a bigger house.’

They smiled at each other again and then Mum stood up. ‘Try to sleep.’

I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. ‘Mum . . . I don’t think I can.’

‘If you would like me to,’ said Thomas, ‘I can stay. I often used to guard your mum when she was small. And when she first came to live here at Frogmorton, as well. This was her bedroom. I used to stand over there.’ He walked over to the corner, where he stood, gently glowing in the dark. ‘Just think of me as a very upmarket night light.’

I didn’t think I’d sleep, but I did. My bed was warm and comfortable and I dropped off almost immediately. I woke once – the bedroom door was just closing. I sat up with a jerk, full of fear.

‘Just your dad, checking you’re all right,’ said Thomas quietly, from the corner. ‘Don’t worry – I’m here.’ The room was full of the smell of warm ginger biscuits, comforting and safe. I lay down and went back to sleep.

I didn’t want to get up the next morning and I definitely didn’t want to face the day. No – that wasn’t quite true. It was Dad I didn’t want to face. I didn’t know which was worse – Dad shouting at me or Dad not shouting at me.

Mum brought me breakfast in bed which wasn’t something she’d done since I had mumps. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but it was scrambled eggs on toast which is my favourite.

‘Looks delicious,’ said Thomas, as Mum went off to run my bath. ‘I’d get stuck in if I were you. And don’t forget your orange juice. It counts towards your five a day. Helps you grow up to be a big strong filly – good bones, sloping shoulders, glossy coat, that sort of thing.’

I sighed and shook my head. My lip wobbled like a little kid’s. ‘He hasn’t been in to see me. He must be so angry with me.’

‘Joy, I was here when you were born. I saw his face the first time he saw you. You should never doubt that your dad loves you very much.’

‘But he’s still cross with me.’

‘Well, yes, probably, a little bit. Would you rather he didn’t care?’

‘Thomas, he can’t even look at me.’

‘Why don’t you go and find him.’

I shook my head.

He sighed. ‘You know, the two of you are really very much alike.’

‘No, we’re not.’

‘Oh yes, you are,’ said Mum, coming back into the room. ‘Eat your breakfast. I’ll be back in a little while.’

She went out.

‘Thomas, my dad doesn’t love me any more.’

‘Of course he does. More than ever now but you frightened him. Yesterday was his worst nightmare and he’s not dealing well with it. I think it’s going to have to be up to you.’

No, that couldn’t be right. Not my big, shouty dad.

‘He shouts at me all the time.’

‘Of course he does. He’s Russell Checkland. He’s terrified something will happen to you and it’s his way of trying to keep you safe. And now, after yesterday, he thinks he’s failed. He was the same with your mother until she sorted him out.’

‘No,’ I said, impatient because he didn’t seem to understand. ‘Mum never says anything. She never stands up to him. He just walks all over her.’

If a horse can twinkle, then he twinkled.

‘Joy, your mother can control your father by lifting an eyebrow. You must have noticed – he never does anything she doesn’t like. And your mum’s clever enough to let him do as he pleases – right up until the moment she decides otherwise.’

I sat back to think about this. Now that he came to mention it . . . I sipped my orange juice thoughtfully. This was a lot to think about. I thought about it while eating my scrambled eggs.

I was allowed to stay in bed. Mum was in and out all morning, checking to see I was all right. I felt so lost. Normally, I’d have been messaging Tommy every few minutes but she was gone. Worse than that, she’d never actually been here. I tried to imagine who Tommy had been.

‘Don’t,’ said Thomas. ‘They’re not important. And certainly not as important as you.’

Still no one told me off about yesterday. Especially not Dad. In fact, he didn’t come in at all. I hadn’t seen him since the police station. I was half relieved and half . . . hurt.

I said to Thomas, ‘It’s nearly lunchtime and Dad still hasn’t been to see me.’

Thomas was peering out of the window. ‘Your father’s just driven off in . . . I can’t believe it. He still has that old Land Rover. Oh Joy, he brought Marilyn home in that. And then she wee’d on him. And then her owner turned up and your mother and Sharon attacked him with household ornaments. What an exciting day that was.’

‘What?’ I was beginning to wonder if he’d confused my mother with someone else’s.

He was still looking out of the window. ‘Where’s he going?’

‘It’s the carol service this afternoon. A bit of the church dropped off because it’s falling to pieces and so the vicar’s holding it in the open air this year. On the village green. I’d forgotten all about it. It’ll be cold. I don’t want to go.’

Thomas said nothing. I hadn’t known him very long but he had a very particular way of saying nothing.

I felt I should say something. ‘Dad’s been helping to build the stable.’

‘Are you taking part?’

‘No. It’s the adults’ turn this year. They said it would be too cold for the kids. And for me too.’

He said, ‘You should go.’

I pulled at my sheets. ‘I don’t want to.’

‘You should go.’

There was something in his voice. I sighed. ‘We’ll see.’ That’s what adults say to me all the time. It’s grown-up speak for ‘no’. I don’t see why I shouldn’t get to use it occasionally.

I could hear Mum and Dad arguing in their bedroom. I worried it was about me but it was Dad’s old coat again. He likes his old coat. It’s a giant thing with a hood and cuffs. It was dark blue and woolly once, but it’s so old now that it’s grey and gone all bobbly. She keeps throwing it out and it keeps finding its way back home again. Dad says it’s got a better homing instinct than Boxer.

‘Russell,’ said Mum.

‘What?’ he said, although he knew perfectly well what.

‘You’re surely not wearing that old thing.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘You don’t have . . . time for me to . . . tell you.’

‘I’ll have Marilyn and Jack with me, Jenny. It would be silly to wear anything decent. Anything could happen. You wouldn’t want my good overcoat getting dirty, surely.’

‘It’s covered in paint.’

‘I’m an artist.’

‘And slobber.’

‘Well, don’t blame me – it’s not my slobber. It’s not yours, is it?’

‘Russell, it . . . smells.’

‘All the best clothes do.’

They closed the door then but Dad must have won that one because he wore his old coat.

Thomas winked at me.

I went to the service after all. It seemed easier and they said it would be good for me to get out.

‘Everyone will stare at me,’ I said to Thomas.

‘No one else knows anything about it,’ said Thomas. ‘Or ever will. Just go and enjoy yourself.’

I hunched a shoulder. ‘It’ll be cold.’ Even I could hear how petty I sounded.

‘Dress warmly.’

‘But . . .’

‘If you don’t go, then your mum won’t go and she’s been telling me how much she’s been looking forward to it.’

I sighed again. ‘We’ll see.’

Mum put Jamie in his pushchair. We could hardly see him for his furry teddy bear onesie and half a dozen blankets on top of him. Only his eyes were visible. If only he could stay like that.

I followed them down the lane and joined the crowd on the village green. Dad was already there putting the finishing touches to the stable.

It was really quite nifty: an open wooden shed, with a roughly thatched roof. They’d filled it with straw bales for Joseph and Mary and the shepherds and the wise men to sit on and the empty manger waited for Baby Jesus. The inside was softly lit by a giant star suspended from the roof.

Dad had brought the animals. Marilyn looked very smart in her blue coat with the red piping. She was an old hand at this. She stood near the manger making sure she looked cute and appealing. Lots of kids were stroking her and she was lapping it up.

Jack, our neighbour’s donkey, looked very handsome in his red coat with the blue piping. I think he’d gone to sleep. Two of Martin Braithwaite’s sheep, selected for their plassid natures, were half asleep at the back and a cow – a real, glossy, black and white cow – was standing at the back, chewing the cud, sleepy and uncaring. Dissapointingley, there was no camel. Dad had offered, but Mr Wivenhoe had said no. Very quickly and unusually firmly.

The cast were assembling. As usual, Fiona Braithwaite was the Angel Gabriel. She and the Virgin Mary were looking daggers at each other. Joseph cowered behind them.

‘They have form,’ whispered Mum. ‘Anything could happen.’

Silence fell. The Reverend Wivenhoe stepped forward and welcomed everyone, his voice carrying easily in the still night air.

Someone rang a bell and the crowd parted as Joseph and Mary followed the Angel Gabriel to the stable. Marilyn carefully positioned herself so that everyone would know she was the star of the show and we all sang ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’. Except me. There was a big lump in my throat and the words couldn’t get past it. I shoved my hands into my pockets and stared at the frosty grass.

Martin Braithwaite was Head Shepherd. He wore his thick farm jacket with his dressing gown over the top, with a black and white checked tea towel over his head, tied in place with his dressing-gown cord. His two enormous sons followed on with the sheep. I could see Marilyn batting her eyelashes at them because she knew there were carrots in there somewhere.

The three wise men – townies who hadn’t done this before and hadn’t thought to bring the wherewithal to bribe a tiny donkey – wisely stayed well back.

The night was bitterly cold. I could see people’s breath puffing as they sang. The grass was white with frost and the sky was white with stars.

The procession approached the stable and, as Mary settled the Baby Jesus in the manger, a solo choirboy sang ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’. His voice rose up towards the stars and it was so beautiful that I knew I’d remember this moment for ever and suddenly I found myself crying. It was so embarrassing. I didn’t know what to do so I did nothing. I couldn’t. I just stood and sobbed and wondered if I’d ever stop. It was my dad who came to my rescue.

He walked across the frozen grass. Unfastening his coat, he pulled me inside and wrapped it around both of us. It was warm inside and he smelled of horse, paint, hay and creosote. It was his ‘dad’ smell.

He didn’t say anything. Not a word. I cried and cried. All down his front. I don’t know where the tears came from. I just stood with the weight of his smelly coat wrapped around me and thought how amazing my dad was. Eventually, when it was over, he even found me a handkerchief. Well, I say ‘handkerchief’, but I think I mean painty rag.

I blew my nose and felt better.

Still envelopped in his coat, I wriggled around to look at our village. This place where I lived. My home. The street lights had golden halose around them in the frosty air. People’s lighted windows looked pretty and warm. Everyone was singing away. We’d moved on to ‘Away in a Manger’. Nearly everyone in the village was here. The big bright moon shone down. I leaned back against my dad. It was freezing out there but I was warm and safe in here. Everything might be all right after all.

I turned my head. At the far edge of the green a giant golden horse was standing, swishing his tail and watching us.

Little knots of people were dotted all over the green, all singing their heads off. Thomas began to pick his way carefully through the crowd. Not one person seemed to notice this giant golden horse in their midst until he stopped in front of Charlie Kessler and his mum.

Charlie’s special. Sometimes he does some work for Uncle Kevin at his landscaping place. He’s really strong and can lift sacks and rocks and everything but mostly they like him to plant things because his giant hands are really delicate and everything he plants grows brilliantly and has millions of flowers. Thomas stopped and bent his head down to Charlie who broke into his usual enormous smile. Charlie could see him as well.

I was so surprised and then I remembered Thomas saying that only special people could see him.

He stopped in front of Mum. They looked at each other for a long time and I knew they were saying things no one else could hear. Again, they rested their heads together. Like old friends. I looked away because it was private. They were saying goodbye.

He was leaving us. I knew he was leaving us. I wanted to run to him. To throw my arms around him and make him stay. Why couldn’t he see I needed him? He couldn’t leave me all alone again. Not now.

‘My darling girl – I am always with you. You won’t be able to see me but never doubt that I am there.’

‘I haven’t said thank you.’

‘Yes, you have.’

I was going to cry all over again.

‘You have to release me, Joy.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You have to let me go. Then we can both move on.’

‘Will I ever see you again?’

He laughed. ‘We’ll see.’ And I laughed too although I think my heart was breaking.

‘Farewell, Joy, my golden girl.’

I nodded. ‘Goodbye, Thomas.’

I caught just the very faintest scent of ginger biscuits as he wound his way carefully through the singing people.

Emerging at last, he broke into a trot. And from there into a gallop. He dropped his head and thundered across the village green. His mane and tail streamed behind him – a great golden horse, exactly the same colour as the huge moon above him. No one looked. No one pointed. No one else could see him. No one except me and Mum and Charlie. The special people.

Everyone was singing ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ and even now, whenever I hear that carol, if I close my eyes, I can still see him. And sometimes, if I concentrate really hard, there’s just the very faintest whiff of ginger biscuits.

Now he was going really fast – galloping full tilt – his neck outstretched, his powerful muscles bunching under his golden coat. He was beautiful and strong and graceful. Tossing his head, he kicked up his heels for the sheer joy of living and I couldn’t help myself – I laughed. I heard Mum laugh, too. Gathering himself, he leaped the hedge, the one that divides the green from the pub car park.

The world slowed. For a moment, he hung in the air, motionless beneath the stars. As if he’d never touch the earth again. And then, right in front of my eyes, he faded quietly away and all that was left was the brilliant moon.

THE END

Have you discovered the rest of the Frogmorton Farm series?

THE NOTHING GIRL

Getting a life isn’t always easy. And hanging on to it is even harder . . .

Known as ‘The Nothing Girl’ because of her severe stutter and chronically low self-confidence, Jenny Dove is only just prevented from ending it all by the sudden appearance of Thomas, a mystical golden horse only she can see. Under his guidance, Jenny unexpectedly acquires a husband – the charming and chaotic Russell Checkland – and for her, nothing will ever be the same again.

With over-protective relatives on one hand and the world’s most erratic spouse on the other, Jenny needs to become Someone. And fast!

Available to download

THE SOMETHING GIRL

The Nothing Girl has grown up.

It’s life as usual at Frogmorton Farm – which is to say that events have passed the merely eccentric and are now galloping headlong towards the completely bizarre.

Once again Jenny struggles to stay afloat in the stormy seas of matrimony with her husband, together with an unlikely mix of Patagonian Attack Chickens, Jack the Sad Donkey and Mrs Crisp’s mysterious boyfriend. And the old favourites are still around, of course.

So nothing much is new . . . except for the mysterious figure dogging Jenny’s steps who looks a lot like her sinister cousin Christopher, last seen being hurled from the house by Russell. He couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to come back and try again . . . could he?

Available to download

LITTLE DONKEY – A short story

It’s Christmas and Jenny Checkland is beset with problems.

The Vicar has asked to borrow Marilyn the donkey for the nativity play, unleashing chaos on the already chaos-laden Frogmorton Farm.

Will Marilyn survive her bath? Will anyone survive Marilyn’s bath? Robbed of her role as the Virgin Mary, what revenge is the Angel Gabriel plotting? Why is that sheep so fat? Will Charlie ever get to say his one line? Can Marilyn be prevented from eating the Baby Jesus? Where is Thomas, who promised he would be there?

And worst of all – will Russell, lost on the moor in a blizzard, make it back in time for the birth of his first child? Or even at all?

Available to download

Have you met the tea-soaked disaster magnets of St Mary’s?

JUST ONE DAMNED THING AFTER ANOTHER

So tell me, Dr Maxwell, if the whole of History lay before you . . . where would you go? What would you like to witness?

Recruited by the St Mary’s Institute of Historical Research, Madeleine Maxwell discovers the historians there don’t just study the past – they revisit it. But one wrong move and History will fight back – to the death. And she soon discovers it’s not just History she’s fighting . . .

Jodi Taylor says . . .

‘I never meant to write a bestseller. I just wanted to see if I had the mental discipline to write a book. I have to say no one was more surprised than me that the answer was yes. The only thing that surprised me more was that it did so well. I’m continually amazed that historians and physicists don’t spit on me in the streets. Although give them time.’

Available to download

Have you met the Time Police?

A long time ago in the future, the secret of time travel became known to all and the world nearly ended. There will always be idiots who want to change history.

Enter the Time Police. An all-powerful, international organisation tasked with keeping the timeline straight. At all costs.

This is the story of Jane, Luke and Matthew – the worst recruits in Time Police history. Or, very possibly, three young people who might change everything.