An Otter Called Pebble Page 4

  She looked at the drawings again, and then at the footprints. She turned to Tom and grinned.

  “I think they’re otter prints,” she whispered.

  “Me too! I’ll take some photos.”

  “There should be spraint somewhere,” said Jasmine. “I’ll look.”

  As she crouched under the tree, another hard object hit her on the head. Jasmine stared at the green acorn as it fell on the ground.

  “Why are acorns falling? They’re not even ripe.”

  “Maybe there’s a squirrel up there,” said Tom.

  Jasmine rubbed her head, and then snatched her hand away with a cry of pain as another acorn hit her knuckle.

  From somewhere in the tree, she heard a muffled noise. It did not sound like a squirrel.

  Frowning, she looked up into the leafy canopy. From above her came another sound. A snorting sort of laughing sound.

  “Manu! What are you doing?”

  “Sshh,” whispered Tom, looking up in alarm. “You’ll scare away the otters.”

  A shower of acorns rained down on them. There was a lot of rustling, and then, framed in oak leaves, appeared the grinning faces of Manu and Ben.

  Jasmine just about managed to stop herself from shouting.

  “You idiots,” she hissed. “There’s an otter holt here and you’re going to scare them all away.”

  “Those aren’t otter footprints,” said Manu. “They’re badgers’.”

  “How would you know? They’re otter prints.”

  “No, they’re not.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “Be quiet, you two,” said Tom, in a furious whisper.

  “I’m not even talking to you, anyway,” Jasmine said to Manu. “We’ve got important work to do.”

  “Important work looking for the wrong animal,” said Manu.

  Ben laughed. Jasmine made a face at them and turned back to her search. She was even more determined now to find some otter spraint.

  They worked in silence for a while, trying to ignore the whispering and muffled laughter from above them. Then the leaves rustled again and Manu’s face appeared.

  “You can ask Dad if you like,” he said. “Look, he’s over there.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “DAD! DAD! Over here!”

  Tom gave Jasmine a look of despair. “Great,” he said. “That should really help.”

  “Thanks, Manu,” said Jasmine. “You are literally the worst brother in the history of the universe.”

  “How are you getting on?” called Jasmine’s dad, who was walking across the field carrying a fresh mineral block for the sheep.

  “Well, we were getting on really well,” said Jasmine, scowling into the tree, “until they decided to ruin everything again.”

  “We think we’ve found otter footprints,” said Tom, pointing to the muddy tracks. “I’ve taken photos. And there’s a hole in the side of the bank down there that looks like the entrance to a holt.”

  “We think this is Pebble’s home,” said Jasmine. “So we can phone the wildlife centre and they can bring her back.”

  Dad was crouching over the footprints. “I’m sorry to bring bad news,” he said, “but these look like badger prints to me.”

  “Told you!” said Manu.

  Jasmine looked at her father in dismay. “But otter and badger prints look almost the same. How do you know they’re not otters?”

  “Well, I’ve seen a lot of badger prints over the years,” said Dad, “and these look like badger to me.”

  “But—” Jasmine began.

  “More importantly, though,” he said, “there’s a badger sett right over there, and the badgers hunt in this field at night.”

  He indicated the steep hedgerow bank at the edge of the field, in front of a patch of woodland. There were several large holes in the side of the bank.

  “Can you see a path worn in the grass from these footprints to those holes?” asked Dad.

  They looked. Sure enough, Jasmine saw a faint narrow path where the grass had been trodden down.

  “That’s where they come out to look for food,” said Dad.

  “Told you,” said Manu again.

  “Shut up, Manu,” said Jasmine.

  “How did you know, anyway?” Tom asked Manu.

  “I just know stuff,” said Manu.

  Dad smiled. “I showed him the sett and all the signs to look for when he was building a den over there.”

  Jasmine heaved a huge sigh. She felt as flat as a burst balloon.

  Dad squeezed her shoulder. “Cheer up, Jasmine. It’s incredibly hard to spot an otter. I’ve never seen one and I’ve lived here all my life.”

  “How is that meant to cheer me up?” demanded Jasmine. “If we don’t find Pebble’s family by tomorrow, then she’ll have to stay at the wildlife centre until she’s grown up, and she’ll never see her mum again.” She was close to tears now. “And what about her family? They won’t know where she is and they’ll be so worried about her.”

  Dad gave her a hug. “You must be exhausted, Jas. Come in for tea. You’ll feel a lot better once you’ve had something to eat.”

  Jasmine looked at Tom. “Do you want to go in for tea?”

  Tom looked as downcast as Jasmine felt. “Sure,” he said. “We’re more likely to see otters at dusk, anyway.”

  “We’ll come out again after tea,” said Jasmine, “and we’ll stay out until dark. We have to find Pebble’s family. They must be around here somewhere.”

  Jasmine poured onion gravy over her sausages and mash.

  “Did you get the jasmine tea, Mum?” she asked.

  “I didn’t, I’m afraid,” said Mum.

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” said Mum, “I had a lot of things to do this morning, and I really didn’t have time to search the health food shop for tea that smells like otter poo. I do have some potentially exciting news about the otters, though.”

  “What’s that?” asked Jasmine.

  “The people from the Wildlife Trust have found otter spraint and tracks on Ivor Cornwell’s farm. Mira’s setting up an infra-red camera there tonight.”

  “Oh,” said Jasmine. She knew she should be pleased, but what she felt was disappointment. It should have been her and Tom who found the holt.

  “She asked if you’d like to go with her,” said Mum. “She’s planning to stay there for an hour or so before it gets dark, in case she can spot any otters.”

  “Oh, yes, please!” said Tom, his eyes sparkling.

  “Is Mira nice?” asked Jasmine. “She’s not like Prunella Sharp, is she?”

  Mum smiled. “She’s very nice. And not at all like Prunella Sharp.”

  “Thank you for taking us,” said Tom, as he and Jasmine climbed into the back seat of Mira’s truck.

  “Not at all,” said Mira. “You were the ones who found the otter, after all.”

  The sun was beginning to set as they drove along the village lane, through a gateway and across a couple of Ivor Cornwell’s fields. Mira parked the truck in another gateway and they walked to a clump of trees several metres back from the river.

  “We’ll be screened here,” she said, “but we’ve got a good view of the bank. And we’re upwind of the river, so our scent won’t get carried on the breeze.” She spread out a rug. “Sit down and make yourselves comfortable.”

  She pointed out a tree stump close to the river. “That’s where we found the spraint, and there were tracks leading from it to the water.”

  “Were they definitely otter tracks?” asked Jasmine.

  “We’re as sure as we can be,” said Mira. “But the otter might not be Pebble’s mother. It could easily be a lone male. And it may not show up again tonight, because it might have moved on to another holt. The camera will tell us if any otters do visit.”

  From her rucksack she took a brick-shaped object, covered in a camouflage pattern. It had a small round lens in the centre and a long strap attached to the back.

 
“It’s camouflaged so animals won’t spot it,” she said. “And it’s completely silent.”

  “Isn’t it really boring watching the film afterwards?” asked Jasmine. “Just staring at a picture of a riverbank, with nothing going on?”

  Mira smiled. “It’s a clever camera. It’s motion-sensitive. So it only starts filming when something walks in front of the lens. It’s timed to film for one minute, but if the animal’s still there after a minute, it will take another one-minute film, and so on.”

  “That’s so cool,” said Jasmine.

  “Where are you going to put it?” asked Tom.

  “I’ll strap it to the bottom of that tree trunk,” said Mira, pointing to a young silver birch. “And I’ll put a brick in front of it for sprainting. Otters almost always leave a spraint wherever they go, and if you provide a brick, they’ll use it. So if they do come, we should get some good footage.”

  She strapped the camera to the tree trunk and placed the brick in front of it. Then she joined Tom and Jasmine on the rug.

  The sun was going down in a blaze of orange light. On the riverbank, nothing moved except the leaves in the breeze.

  Then Jasmine heard a rustling sound in the grass.

  She glanced at Tom. It was clear from his excited expression that he’d heard it too. All three pairs of eyes scrutinised the place where the sound had come from.

  The rustling continued. Something snuffled. Jasmine strained her eyes to see, but the long grass hid whatever animal was making the sounds.

  The sounds stopped.

  They waited.

  The rustling and snuffling started again. And then an animal emerged. An animal with a stripy black-and-white face and a long snout.

  It was great to see a badger, of course. But it wasn’t an otter. And when the last traces of light finally vanished from the sky, they had still seen no sign of Pebble’s family.

  “Don’t despair,” said Mira, as they trudged through the darkness back to the truck. “Hopefully the camera will show some otter activity tonight.”

  “And hopefully it will be Pebble’s family,” said Tom. “Then Pebble could come back tomorrow.”

  Just before nine the following morning, Jasmine and Tom walked along the lane to Ivor Cornwell’s farm. Mira was coming back at nine o’clock to look at the camera footage, and they wanted to be there to see it.

  As they drew near to the gateway, though, Mira drove out of the field. She waved and stopped the truck on the verge.

  “Hello, you two,” she said, as she opened the driver’s door and jumped down on to the grass.

  “You’re early,” said Jasmine.

  “Yes. I was on my way to see you.”

  “Did any otters come?” asked Tom.

  Mira shook her head. “I’m really sorry.”

  “No otters at all?” asked Jasmine.

  “Sadly not. Just that badger, and a fox early this morning. We’ve had other volunteers out looking since dawn, and they’ve found nothing either. Otters are extremely hard to find, I’m afraid. They’ll return to that holt at some point, but maybe not for a couple of weeks.”

  “Pebble’s family won’t take her back in two weeks’ time,” said Jasmine.

  “At least you saved Pebble’s life,” said Mira. “You can be very proud of that.”

  “But we haven’t found her family. She’ll have to live in an orphanage. And when she gets released, she’ll be all alone in the world.”

  “She’ll be an adult by then,” said Mira, “and otters are solitary creatures. They always live alone, except when they have cubs.”

  “Exactly,” said Jasmine. “Except when they have cubs. Pebble’s mum must be so worried.”

  “I’m very sorry,” said Mira. “Can I at least give you a lift home?”

  “Oh, look,” said Tom, nudging Jasmine. “It’s Mrs Thomas.”

  An old lady in wellies and a tweed skirt was walking along the lane towards them. She smiled and waved at the children.

  “It’s OK, thank you,” said Jasmine to Mira. “We’re going to keep on looking.”

  Mira said again how sorry she was, and then, with a wave, she drove off.

  “How nice to see you both,” said Mrs Thomas. “How are you?”

  Her kind face made Jasmine feel a little bit better. Mrs Thomas was one of the nicest people she knew.

  “Fine, thank you,” she said. “How’s Willow?”

  Willow was a baby goat that Tom and Jasmine had rescued earlier in the summer. She now lived with Mrs Thomas as a companion for her elderly goat, Bluebell.

  “Willow’s wonderful,” said Mrs Thomas. “Come back with me and see her, if you like.”

  “We’d love to,” said Jasmine, “but we have to hunt for otters.”

  They told her about Pebble and the search for her family. “So, you see, we need to look along the riverbank again,” said Tom.

  “Well, why don’t you come for tea later?” said Mrs Thomas. “I’ll make you that chocolate cake you like. And Willow would love to see you.”

  “We’d love to see her, too,” said Jasmine. “Thank you so much.”

  Mrs Thomas lived in a small cottage with a big garden. Tom and Jasmine traipsed wearily up the drive after another fruitless day’s otter spotting.

  As they walked around the side of the house towards the paddock, they heard a high-pitched bleat. Their dejected faces broke into smiles as Willow bounded towards them, leaping through an old tyre that they had hung from a tree for her to play on.

  “Wow, Willow, you’re getting even more agile,” said Jasmine. “We’re going to have to make you some more things for your obstacle course.”

  Mrs Thomas came out of her back door as they were climbing over the gate into the paddock. Jasmine scooped Willow into her arms and Tom took a carrot out of his rucksack. Willow grabbed it between her teeth.

  “Manners, Willow,” said Mrs Thomas, laughing. She stroked Bluebell, who had trotted across the field at a more sedate pace. Tom gave her a carrot, too. They had stocked up with goat treats from the farmhouse fridge at lunchtime.

  After they had played with Willow, Mrs Thomas gave them a delicious tea of sandwiches, scones, biscuits and, of course, her special chocolate cake. While they ate, Tom and Jasmine updated her on their search for Pebble’s family.

  “We’ve looked right along the riverbank on our farm,” said Jasmine, “and the Wildlife Trust people have searched Ivor Cornwell’s farm, too, and Roger Turner’s.”

  Mrs Thomas suddenly looked alert.

  “I bet they haven’t searched Angus Mizon’s land, have they?”

  “Who’s Angus Mizon?” asked Jasmine.

  “He owns the land on either side of mine,” said Mrs Thomas. “The river runs under the road at the edge of your farm, and then right across his land.”

  “So we need to search his bit of river,” said Jasmine. “Pebble’s family might have moved to a holt there.”

  “The problem is,” said Mrs Thomas, “he won’t let anyone on his farm. He fell out with the Wildlife Trust years ago and he won’t let them set foot on the place.”

  “Why?” asked Tom.

  “Goodness knows,” said Mrs Thomas. “He’s a miserable old so-and-so. Falls out with everyone.”

  “Then we’ll just sneak in,” said Jasmine. “He won’t even see us.”

  “Unfortunately,” said Mrs Thomas, “his house is at the top of a slope, with an excellent view of the river. He keeps a pretty close eye on it. He’s caught people fishing without permission a couple of times, and he has no hesitation in reporting them to the police.”

  “So it’s useless, then,” said Tom.

  Mrs Thomas looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure. He owes me a favour, and he doesn’t want to get on the wrong side of me.”

  “How come?” asked Tom.

  “That road,” said Mrs Thomas, pointing out of the window to the rough track that ran past the back of her house. “It belongs to me, but I let him use it. Otherwise he’d
have to drive out on to the main road and then back on to his land every time he needed to get from one field to another. So I signed an agreement saying he can drive across my land. But I can cancel the agreement whenever I want to.”

  She set down her teacup and stood up. “Perhaps a little phone call is in order. What do you think?”

  Jasmine and Tom waited anxiously for Mrs Thomas to return. But when she came back in, she was smiling.

  “That’s settled, then,” she said.

  “Really?” said Jasmine. “We can look for otters on his land?”

  “He wasn’t very happy about it. He dislikes children even more than fishermen and dog walkers. But I explained that it was an emergency, and you only need to look on his land because you’re trying to reunite Pebble with her family. After a lot of mumbling and grumbling, he agreed, as long as you understood it was just this once. He said if he ever sees you there again, he’ll go straight to the police.”

  “If I was an otter,” said Tom, “this is where I’d live.”

  It was a particularly beautiful stretch of river. The banks were thick with reeds and flowers. Fish swam just below the surface. A mallard duck sailed serenely through the water, five fluffy ducklings bobbing behind her.

  After walking for an hour through fields of sheep and cows, they came to a wooden bridge. Just beyond the bridge was a bend in the river. A wire fence marked the edge of the field.

  “This must be the end of Angus Mizon’s land,” said Jasmine. “Mrs Thomas said his farm ended at the field with the bridge, didn’t she? Let’s cross over and walk back along the other side.”

  “Doesn’t that look a perfect place for otters?” said Tom, pointing to the opposite bank.

  Across the river was a big tree stump and a pile of logs, where a tree had been felled and the trunk sawn into smaller pieces. Bright green moss grew over the logs, so they had obviously been there for some time.

  “But we’ve seen so many good places,” said Jasmine, “and no otters in any of them.”