‘Still hell-bent on taking over the world?’
He pulls a face. ‘Something like that.’ And then he’s gone.
I can already see people settling in on the beach with their wind breaks, so as Pumpkin has taken to standing so close to the French windows you can see every whisker, I grab his bunting and head straight out with the buns.
I’m talking to him as we walk. ‘It’s your favourite kind of day, Pumpkin. The holidays have started and Scarlett says there will soon be so many visitors we won’t be able to see the sand. If it’s going to be like this for the next six weeks, your Insta followers will be off the scale.’
It’s one of those times when the buns fly out of the saddlebags so fast that before we know it all we have left are a handful of flyers for the shops, which we give out in return for a head scratch all the way back. I turn him out into the field, kiss his velvety nose, and then Fudge and I rush off to fill up the Net Loft postcard racks.
Thanks to all the visitors we take record amounts at the shop and stay open an extra couple of hours. While Fudge and I walk back to the cottage I’m thinking so hard about how I’m going to keep my stock supplies going that I turn up off the beach without scanning the field as I usually do. It’s only when I get to the gate and there’s no wicker of welcome that it hits me that Pumpkin isn’t there.
My heart misses a beat, but I carry on, muttering to Fudge as we head up the slope towards the outbuilding. ‘What a pony! It’s taken ten weeks for him to visit that stable and find the shade.’
It’s only when I get to the outbuilding doorway and look past the slanting beams of sunlight coming through the dusty window, that I get that the place is completely empty.
My stomach drops through the floor and I scan the boundary. ‘There’s no sign of a pony crashing through the fence.’
Scarlett is my first thought, but she’s too far away to bother her. When it hits me that my next closest person is Miles, for a nanosecond I curse silently. Then I remember there’s no time to lose and hit call on my phone. He answers on the second ring.
‘Pumpkin’s gone!’ My mouth is dry as I say the words. ‘The gate to the field was bolted. Someone must have taken him! They couldn’t have squeezed a horse box down the lane. They must have walked him off along the beach.’ I let out a wail as my panic rises. ‘I don’t know why I’ve called when you’re in Falmouth!’
Miles’s voice is calm and level. ‘I’m twenty minutes away. You walk towards the harbour and ask everyone you see if they saw him passing. If you get as far as the quayside and haven’t had any sightings, work your way back along the beach. I’ll drive straight to Cockleshell Castle. By the time I meet you there you’ll have checked out the beach that far.’ Miles’s voice is low. ‘We’ll work out how to spread the word wider once we meet up.’ There’s a beat of silence. ‘I’m so sorry, Betsy Beth. Now go! Quick as you can.’
As Fudge and I head towards the harbour it’s such a different walk from when we were out this morning with Pumpkin. The tide has been all the way up the beach and is on its way out again, but a lot of the same people are still here. It takes me fifteen minutes to get far enough to know Pumpkin hasn’t come this way, and another five to pelt back to where I began. Then I begin again heading out towards Comet Cove, but this time it’s quicker because the crowds thin out along this end of the beach. Long before I get to Cockleshell Castle, I can see a figure in a suit hurrying towards me.
Miles turns as I arrive, and I give him the worst news yet. ‘No one has seen him. Sophie’s daughter Milla and her friends were playing by the Little Cornish Kitchen beach hut all afternoon, and none of them saw him either.’
He hurries me along. ‘Once we get back to the car you can put it up on the local Facebook groups and ring the police.’
The tears are clumping on my lashes as we pass the castle with its towers etched against the sky. ‘There’s a stolen pony group I’m in too.’ My voice cracks. ‘Pumpkin’s just so cute and so portable. What was I thinking, parading him round the coast at holiday time when I don’t even have a lock on the gate?’
‘You mustn’t beat yourself up about this. We’ll do everything we can to get him back.’ Miles puts his arm around my waist and guides me across the side of the lawns, where people are standing with drinks. ‘We can cut through the castle grounds. I left the car in the field opposite. There must be some kind of event on.’
We’re reaching the lane, when we see a group of very dirty people staggering towards us and Miles springs out to stop them. ‘Have you come from the Mud Run centre?’
The guy laughs. ‘Is it that obvious? We hired Tough Muckers for the whole day, conditions have been perfect.’
It’s a long shot, but I’ll take it. ‘We’ve lost a small chestnut brown pony. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?’
The guys crowd in. ‘Therewasa pony in a field.’
Someone puts out their hand to show a height. ‘Definitely brown, so small he could barely see over the gate.’
I don’t give him time to finish. ‘Where?’
They turn and point. ‘If you join the Mucker course beyond the cars, it’s about two fields up. It’ll be a lot quicker than driving if you’re in a hurry.’
I push Fudge’s lead into Miles’s hand and start to run. ‘I’ll ring you the second I get there.’
He’s already jogging beside me. ‘We’re in this together, Bets.’
I dip under the ‘finish’ banner. ‘What about your clothes?’
He pulls a face. ‘How bad can it be?’ He answers his own question when he jumps to avoid a puddle then looks down at his splattered trousers. ‘No suit could ever be more important than finding Pumpkin.’
We’re on a track designed to cover people in mud, and it does its job within the first five seconds. As a measure of how fancy his suit is, five seconds after that Miles takes my phone and puts it with his in his waterproof inside pocket. After that all we can do is suspend our disbelief and go with it. It’s one of those times where we lose all track of speed and distance. In the end we’re so wet and muddy that there are no shits left to give.
One field in, Miles stops and looks at me. ‘If we ever do bonding exercises at Betsy & Milo, remind me to choose an escape room.’
