Читать книгу Issie and the Christmas Pony - Stacy Gregg - Страница 10

It took ages for the weekend to come. Well, actually, it took the same amount of time that it always did, but it felt like forever to Issie.

After they saw the ad for the pony in the paper her mum had phoned up and made an appointment to go and see him on Saturday morning, and ever since then Issie had spent the week feeling sick with excitement.

In the car that morning, Issie had to resist the urge to ask if they were there yet. Her mum hated it when she did that. Instead, she sat in the passenger seat positively twitching with expectation and, just when she didn’t think she could stand it any more, her mum said, “Ah! Here we are!” and turned the car down a narrow gravel driveway.

Issie could see a paddock ahead of them. There was a corrugated iron shed with a hitching rail next to it and a little grey pony tied up with his saddle and bridle already on. Issie’s heart skipped a beat as she realised that this must be him. Her new pony.

Mrs Brown parked the car and turned to Issie. “Well, what do you think?”

Issie wasn’t sure what to say. She realised now that she had been expecting it to be love at first sight. But the pony didn’t look at all the way he had sounded in the advertisement. He was really skinny and bony. Issie could actually see his ribs sticking out. His head was hanging down in a miserable kind of way and, despite being saddled up, he hadn’t been brushed and his coarse, dull coat was covered with caked-on mud.

“Well,” said Mrs Brown uncertainly, “he’s not in very good nick, is he? He needs a good brushing for a start. Still, he looks very sweet, don’t you think?”

Actually, Issie thought the pony didn’t look the least bit sweet. He looked sulky and mean. His dark eyes glowered at her and his ears were permanently pinned flat back against his head-which Issie recognised as a sure sign that a pony is angry or upset.

Issie’s mum didn’t seem to notice these things. She knew nothing about ponies. Mrs Brown didn’t even like horses. It was Issie’s Aunty Hess who was the horsey one in the family. The only problem was, Hester was so busy getting the stables ready for her new horse-training business, she didn’t have time to come and help Issie buy a pony.

When Mrs Brown had phoned her sister last night to get some advice on how to go about buying a horse, Hester was adamant. “First of all,” she said, “I don’t think you should be buying one at all, Amanda. You know nothing about horses!”

“I’m sure I can manage,” Mrs Brown had replied huffily.

“Not without a professional there to help you,” Hester insisted. “It’s a tricky business buying horses. A dishonest business too.”

“But, Hess, the pony in the paper sounds lovely!” Mrs Brown had argued.

“They all sound lovely, Amanda!” Hester had snapped. “But I think you’ll find that those ads in the paper very rarely have much to do with the truth of the matter.”

“Well,” sighed Mrs Brown, “can’t you at least give me some pointers so that I’m not completely green when I go in there and look at these horses.” There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“All right,” Hester said reluctantly. “I’ll tell you some of the really obvious stuff to look out for. But please, Amanda. Promise me you won’t buy Issie a pony without having it properly checked by someone who knows what they’re doing. If you wait a month or so, I can come and help you, but right now I can’t leave the farm…”

“And Issie needs to get a pony by Christmas or she won’t be able to go to this camp. So just tell me what I need to know,” Mrs Brown said firmly. “I’m sure I can manage.”

Luckily, Mrs Brown couldn’t see Hester on the other end of the telephone rolling her eyes at this.

“All right,” Hester said. “There are a few basics. My first tip is that you must catch the pony yourself and saddle it up yourself.”

“Why?”

Hester had boggled at her sister’s lack of common sense. “For heaven’s sake, Amanda! How else will you know whether he’s hard to catch? A dodgy owner will catch it for you so you don’t realise that the pony is difficult or naughty.”

This didn’t seem like such a big deal to Mrs Brown, but Hester assured her that it was. “Trust me. You don’t want to buy a pony only to spend all your time chasing it around the paddock for hours-it doesn’t leave much time for actual riding.”

Mrs Brown had listened to her sister’s advice and asked the man over the phone to leave the pony in the paddock for them to catch when they arrived. But he clearly hadn’t listened as the pony was all ready and waiting, tethered to the rail and saddled up.

“Not a good start,” Mrs Brown said ominously as she got out of the car. She eyed up the pony. “He does look skinny, doesn’t he?”

Issie got out of the car too and began to walk over towards the grey pony. She was still a few metres away when the pony began to back away nervously, jerking his head against the lead rope.

“Hey, boy,” Issie said softly under her breath. “What’s your name, huh?” She stood still and waited for the pony to calm down, talking to him the whole time. Slowly, very slowly, Issie stepped forward and reached out to stroke the pony’s mud-caked coat. The little grey flinched as Issie tried to pat him and then he started to back away again.

“It’s OK, boy.” Issie spoke softly to the pony. “I won’t hurt you…” The pony didn’t understand Issie’s words, but he did seem to grasp her meaning. He stopped trembling so much and stood still as she ran a hand down his neck.

“Good boy, easy now,” she murmured to him. “There’s nothing to be frightened of…”

As Issie said this, the grey pony’s mood changed. He flattened his ears back against his head and pulled against the lead rope. He looked totally terrified as he strained against the railing, trying to free himself.

“What’s wrong, boy?” Issie couldn’t figure out what had the pony so spooked. Then she heard a noise behind her and turned to see a blue truck pulling up and a man in a pair of grey overalls coming towards them.

“Easy, boy,” Issie tried to calm the pony. “It’s just a truck.” But surely the pony already knew that? It looked like the truck driver was his owner, so why was the pony so scared?

“You must be Amanda.” The man in the overalls stuck out his hand to Issie’s mother. “I’m Paul,” he said. “I see you’ve already met Apache.”

Paul stepped towards the pony, and Apache instantly put his ears flat back and shook his head violently up and down, making it quite clear that he wasn’t interested in making friends. Stay away from me! he seemed to be saying.

The man growled at the little grey and raised his hand as if he was going to hit Apache, terrifying the pony even more; the whites of his eyes showed with fear as he strained against the rope, trying to get away from the man.

“Leave him alone. You’re scaring him!” said Issie.

“Just teaching him who’s in charge,” the man replied gruffly. He went to raise his hand again then saw the look of horror on Issie’s face and thought better of it. He dropped his hand and changed his tone, his voice suddenly oily with charm. “Good lad!” he said to the grey pony. “You’re a lovely pony, aren’t you? Shall we show this young lady what a good pony you are?”

He turned to Issie and spoke to her in the same way, his words positively dripping with fake sincerity. “Is he going to be your pony, sweetheart?” Issie nodded mutely. “Well, you’d better get on and have a ride then,” the man said. “Apache will be fine once you get him going. He just hasn’t been ridden for a while.”

“Wait a minute,” said Mrs Brown anxiously. “How long since he’s been ridden?”

The man shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s been a few months I guess. But he’s dead quiet. The perfect learner’s pony, like I said in the ad.”

Mrs Brown didn’t look convinced. It didn’t help that Apache was still straining at his lead rope and dancing about nervously. His ears stayed flat back and he was swishing his tail. He most certainly did not look like a learner’s pony. Mrs Brown shook her head. “This horse looks half wild to me. And my daughter is not getting on him,” she said firmly.

“No, Mum,” Issie said. “Honestly, it’s OK. I’ll try him.”

Mrs Brown was about to object, but Paul was too quick for her. “That’s the spirit!” he said, promptly unhitching the grey pony and leading him out into the paddock.

“Issie…” Mrs Brown began.

“I’ll be fine, Mum,” Issie said. “Please? Let me try him?”

Paul already had Apache ready and waiting. “Here,” he said to Issie. “I’ll give you a leg up.”

Apache danced about nervously on the spot and Paul struggled to hold the grey pony still so Issie could mount. Despite what she had said to her mum, Issie was dead nervous. She wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to go through with this. Apache had looked so sad and so skinny before, but now that she was about to get on him he looked totally panicked. Could she ride this horse? There was only one way to find out.

Issie tightened the strap on her hard hat and took a deep breath as she felt Paul’s hand wrap around her knee, legging her up into the saddle. She barely had the chance to sit down and hadn’t even managed to get her feet in the stirrups when Apache started bucking.

Although the grey pony was nothing but skin and bone, he still had enough energy to instinctively try and throw anyone who got on his back. As soon as he felt the weight of a rider in the saddle Apache did three swift little pig-jumps. The first of these unseated Issie, the second threw her forward so that she was hanging on to his neck and the third buck dislodged her entirely. She flew through the air and hit the earth with a bone-crunching thud that left her lying winded and stunned on the ground.

“Issie!” Mrs Brown rushed forward.

Issie managed to get to her knees, but she was struggling and heaving to get her breath back. She held her stomach and took in great gulps of air. The fall happened so quickly that she found herself crying from the shock, hot tears running down her cheeks. She brushed them away roughly with her sleeve.

“Are you OK?” Mrs Brown bent to hug her.

“I’m fine, Mum, honest,” Issie said, pushing her mum away and standing up. She looked over at Apache who seemed quite relieved to have dislodged his rider so quickly and was now trotting away happily to the other side of the paddock out of his owner’s reach.

Mrs Brown turned to Paul. “What are you playing at?” she said furiously. “Putting a child on a horse like that? Apache is hardly even broken in!”

Paul objected to this. “He’s just a bit fresh, that’s all. I’ve never seen him do that before. He’s got a heart of gold…”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Mrs Brown fumed. “Trying to sell that beast to a child as a learner’s pony!” She turned to Issie. “Get in the car,” she said. “We’re leaving.”

Mrs Brown ranted non-stop the whole drive home. “You could have been killed!” she fumed. “That pony was dangerous-I should never have let you get on him. Learner’s pony? More like a bucking bronco!”

“It wasn’t Apache’s fault!” Issie tried to stick up for the grey pony. “He was just scared.”

“I’m sure he was!” said Mrs Brown. “That big oaf is obviously very brutal to the poor animal. Your aunt was right,” she continued. “It’s a dishonest business buying and selling horses. That man was a total liar. I doubt that horse was even broken in. And did you see the state it was in? I’ve got a good mind to report him to the police.”

“Can we do that? Tell the police on him?” Issie asked. “Maybe they’d help Apache…”

Mrs Brown shook her head. “Honestly, Issie, I would call the police in a heartbeat, but I really don’t think they want to know about dodgy horse dealers. He’s not actually committing a crime, is he?”

“But he was really cruel and awful!” Issie insisted. She felt herself getting tearful again, but they were tears of anger this time. “We can’t leave poor Apache with him.”

“No,” Mrs Brown agreed, “we can’t. And I don’t intend to either.” She pulled the car up in the driveway of their house and strode inside. She went straight to the phone in the hallway and began to leaf quickly through the phone book.

“Who are you calling?” Issie asked.

“I don’t know. There must be a listing for a horse protection society or something in here. There must be someone who deals with people like that. They need to see how malnourished and mistreated that poor pony is.” She flicked through the book and found what she was looking for.

“Ah-here it is-The International League for the Protection of Horses. There’s a number here for the local ILPH branch.” Mrs Brown dialled the number and held the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing,” she said to Issie. “Quick! Run into the kitchen and get me a pen and paper.” Issie raced off and by the time she was back her mum was finishing up the conversation.

“Terrific,” she said. “Thank you so much. No, that’s great. We can come to you straightaway. If you give me your address, we’ll be there in five minutes…” She gestured to Issie to hand her the pen and then frantically scribbled something down.

Mrs Brown hung up the phone. “Well, that was the man from the horse protection league. He was very helpful. Turns out he doesn’t live far from here; he moved to Chevalier Point just a few months ago. I got his details-we can go round there now, fill in the paperwork and file a complaint.” She passed Issie the piece of paper she had just scrawled on. “Hang on to this for me. It’s the address. I’ll just grab my coat.”

Issie looked at the bit of paper in her hand, deciphering the familiar messy, looped letters of her mother’s handwriting. She had written the street address first: 127 Esplanade Drive. And there, beneath the address, were the words that would change Issie’s life forever: Tom Avery at Winterflood Farm.