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of chores to do. Sadly, giving me things to do is her version of Dad’s fence pointing dance and makes her feel better. She is Ms Stricty Pants in our house, Dad is Mr Softie.
    First on the list was cleaning out the stables.
    ‘Eeew. Do I have to? They still smell of horse poo from when Mr Watson was alive and kept a horse. Why can’t Josh clean them out?’
    ‘Because he has other things to do,’ said Mum. ‘He’s helping your dad in the fields.’
    So
not fair. I get the smelly jobs in Horse Poo City and Josh gets to roam about in the fresh air like Lord of the Manor.
    The look on Mum’s face told me that today was not a day for trying to get round her. She had her ‘I’ve got a broom stuck up my bottom and am not feeling jolly at all’ face on.
    I sighed and went to the utility room at the back of the kitchen, got the cleaning things, then crossed the yard dragging my feet so that anyone watching would know that in fact, I am a prisoner at Silverbrook Farm, have heavy iron manacles chained to my ankles and it is an ENORMOUS effort to pull my legs along.
    Sadly no one was watching. I sighed again and went into the stable next to the one where Cola was. There were about a million years’ worth of cobwebs in there. Yuck. I really didn’t want one of them on my face so I went back out and crossed the yard, dragging my feet behind me again. I found my bobble hat and a scarf in the hall, wound the scarf around my face and went back to the stable, once again dragging my feet. I felt I was getting rather good at it and made a mental note to demonstrate the chained prisoner walk to Caitlin. I knew she’d appreciate it.
    The kitchen window opened. ‘Haven’t you started yet?’ called Mum. ‘And why are you walking in that strange way?’
    ‘I’m pretending I have chains around my ankles and am a prisoner,’ I called back.
    ‘Welcome to the club. Now stop messing about and get on with it,’ she replied.
    My talents are wasted on this family. I set about brushing the cobwebs away and, while I was doing it, I decided to change my fantasy from prisoner in chains to being a tiny creature stuck inside my own brain. I often make up stories to help me get through difficult or boring times. Some people think I’m mad, but it helps. I decided to imagine that the stable was my brain and the cobwebs were all the parts that made me feel frustrated and clogged up. I set to the task with super speed and, an hour later, the stable was looking brilliantly tidy (if I do say so myself). My brain felt pretty great too. I stood back to admire my work and noticed for the first time that apart from the Eau de Horse Poo scent, it was a good space. I went back into the yard. There were six stables. My newly cleaned out brain pinged with a brilliant idea. If Mum and Dad were so worried about money, why didn’t they rent out the stables? There must be loads of people with horses and nowhere to put them. I got an image of horses sitting on chairs at the dinner table with knives and forks in their hooves, or propped up in the bath at bath-time having their backs scrubbed, or sleeping top-to-tail with someone and the person being pushed out of the bed because the horse was taking up all the space. I started to laugh.
    Mum came out of the kitchen. ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.
    ‘Oh er . . . horses,’ I replied. ‘I was just thinking, what if you had one and nowhere to put it?’
    Mum looked blank. ‘And that’s funny?’
    ‘It is in my head. Listen, I’ve just had a BRILLIANT idea. Why don’t you rent out the stables? Mr Watson used to have a horse here and now the stables are empty. Apart from Cola, that is, and a ton of spiders.’
    Mum didn’t say anything for a few moments. ‘Maybe. Yes, maybe you have something there. But we’re not really horsey people, Amy.’
    ‘We could be,’ I said. ‘I’ve always wanted to learn how to ride. I could even have my own pony.’
    Mum rolled her eyes. ‘As if we don’t have