Pony Club
Secrets
Issie and the
Christmas Pony
Stacy Greeg

Copyright

HarperCollins Children’s Books An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2008

Text copyright © Stacy Gregg 2008

Illustrations © Fiona Land 2007

www.staygregg.co.uk

The author and illustrator assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007288748

Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2009 ISBN: 9780007341443

Version: 2017-03-29

For Hayley and all the kids in Room 10, Merry Christmas

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Map

Dedication

1 A Summer Christmas

2…Four Years Earlier

3 The Perfect Pony?

4 Winterflood Farm

5 Bombproof Bert

6 Dream Pony

7 The Chevalier Point Pony Club

8 Auction Day

9 Going Once…Going Twice…

10 The Worst Christmas Ever

11 The Christmas Present

12 Forever

Keep Reading

Glossary

The Pony Club Secrets Series

About the Publisher

1 A Summer Christmas

Issie Brown was just a little girl when she realised that Christmas was all wrong. Not wrong exactly, but sort of mixed up, muddled. Not the way it should be.

Christmas on TV was always cold and wintry. There were sleigh bells and snow and you crowded round a roaring fire with hot chocolate while your mum cooked roast dinner with turkey and plum pudding. You’d wrap up warm in coats and mittens to sing carols and then tuck yourself up indoors and watch the snowflakes patter against the window while you waited for Santa to arrive.

Issie couldn’t make head nor tail of it. Because Christmas wasn’t like that at all in Chevalier Point. It wasn’t snowing for starters-in fact, it was positively baking hot, the middle of summer, without a cloud in the bright blue sky. And there wasn’t any turkey or plum pudding. Issie couldn’t remember ever eating that sort of food for Christmas. For as long as she could remember her family had cooked their Christmas lunch on the barbecue down at the beach. They would wake up on Christmas morning and open their presents, which nearly always included a beach toy like swingball or a boogie board. Then they’d race down to the beach, where Issie would meet up with Stella and Kate.

While their dads put crayfish and scallops on the hotplate to sizzle and their mums set out the picnic blankets, the girls would swim in the sea, riding the waves in on their boogie boards. When lunch was ready, they’d sit down on the blankets, still wearing their swimming costumes, letting the hot sun dry their backs as they ate. Their plates would be piled with bright red crayfish claws, which they would smash open with nutcrackers, prising out the juicy white flesh, dipping it in hot melted butter and mopping up the juice with crusty bread.

For dessert there would be pavlova and strawberries and ice cream, and afterwards Issie, Stella and Kate would lie back on the grass in the hot summer sun until their mums were convinced their food had been digested and it was safe to swim again.

No roaring fire, no snowflakes. It was a very different Christmas. A New Zealand Christmas.

It was hard to believe that when it was summer here in Chevalier Point, on the other side of the world it was winter. Right now, it was midnight in Europe and all the kids were fast asleep. Here, it was midday on Christmas Eve. The weather, as usual, was gloriously sunny, and Issie was in the kitchen at her house with Stella and Kate. The girls had come up with the genius idea of making Christmas cakes-with their own very special recipe.

“I need more oats!” Stella was using a wooden spoon to stir the mixture in the mixing bowl. It was already so thick that the spoon actually stood straight up in the bowl even when she wasn’t holding it.

“Here!” came a voice from underneath the bench. Kate, who had been rummaging around below the sink, popped her head up and passed the bag of oats to Stella.

“I’ve got the apples too,” said Kate. “I’ll start chopping.”

“I’ve found the secret ingredients!” Issie came through the door carrying a bag of something that looked like lawn clippings and a plastic bottle filled with thick black syrup.

“Perfect!” Stella said. “You put it in the bowl while I stir.”

As Issie sprinkled handfuls of alfalfa on top of the mixture, Stella’s vigorous stirring sent bits flying everywhere.

“Hey, I think it still needs more oats,” Kate said, grabbing a handful out of the bag. “Oops!” She had managed to miss the bowl and drop the oats on the floor.

“Kate!” Stella shrieked. “You’re getting it on my shoes!” There were oats all over the floor and alfalfa bits stuck to the walls.

“Ohmygod…” Issie giggled. “If mum sees this mess, she’ll…”

“She’ll what?” The girls turned round to find Mrs Brown standing in the doorway behind them. She did not look best pleased that her kitchen had been turned into a bomb site.

“What on earth is going on in here? What are you girls doing?”

“Hi, Mum!” Issie grinned. “I know it’s a bit of a disaster, but we’ll clean it up.”

“Yeah, Mrs B,” Stella chimed in. “We were going to tidy up when we finished.”

“Finished what?” asked Mrs Brown. “Isadora? What are you up to?”

“We’re making Christmas cakes!” replied Issie brightly.

Mrs Brown looked at the suspicious line-up of ingredients on the bench. “With molasses and chaff?” She wrinkled up her nose. “Issie, why didn’t you ask me to help you girls? I’ve got a great Christmas cake recipe…”

Issie laughed. “No, Mum. Not for us. Christmas cakes for the ponies!”

“We’re going to make them in these.” Stella pointed to a stack of old plastic ice-cream tubs on the bench beside her. “That way each horse gets their own cake.”

“And we’ll use slices of carrots and apples to decorate the tops,” added Kate.

Mrs Brown shook her head in disbelief. “Do you think your ponies actually know that it’s Christmas tomorrow?”

“Toby knows,” Kate grinned. “He’s got a list of things he wants from Santa.”

“What’s on the list?” asked Stella.

“A new summer rug, some floating boots, one of those cool pink riding crops…”

“I hardly think Toby would want a riding crop!” Issie giggled.

“Yeah, good point,” mused Kate. “I didn’t think of that when I was writing the list!”

“I’ve asked for a new bridle,” Stella said, “and some proper long black leather boots. But the ones I want are really expensive. Mum said if I’m lucky, Santa will get me some black rubber ones at least.”

“What about you, Issie?” Kate said.

“What?”

“What do you want for Christmas?”

“I really want some new jods,” Issie said. “Mine are all too small.”

“All your clothes are too small,” said Mrs Brown. “When you turned fourteen you shot up like a beanpole.” She smiled at her daughter. “I think Santa can probably stretch to a pair of jodhpurs. In fact, there’s a suspiciously jodhpur-shaped present under the tree with your name on it.”

Even though it was just Issie and her mum at home for Christmas, there were loads of gifts under the tree. Issie’s Aunty Hess had sent her a present, wrapped in the most wonderful pink and gold horsey paper. (Issie was pretty sure it was a new halter for Storm.) There were a couple of gifts under there from her dad too-mailed at the last minute as usual. Issie had given one of the boxes a shake and it sounded like a board game of some sort. He usually sent her a board game. The other gift was about the right size and shape to be a Barbie doll. Issie had learnt by now not to be disappointed by her dad’s presents. Last year he gave her a book all about fairies with glitter on the cover that was totally babyish. It was like he didn’t realise that she was fourteen now, and still treated her like a kid. In his mind, Issie was still the same nine-year-old she had been when he had left. She hardly ever saw her father. He had remarried and had a new family-Issie had a half-sister and a half-brother-so he never came home to see her at Christmas time.

Issie missed her dad at Christmas. Even if his presents did, well, kind of suck. It seemed strange without him here, with just Issie and her mum.

“Is one of those presents under there for me?” Stella asked hopefully, eyeing up the tree.

Issie pointed at a small package wrapped in pink and red candystripe paper. “That little pink one at the front is for you from me, and the purple one is for Kate.”

“Ohhh…let’s see!” Stella rushed over to the tree and prodded her package. She let out a shriek. “Is it a dandy brush?”

Issie looked crestfallen. “Stella, you’re not meant to guess! It’s supposed to be a surprise.” She watched Kate holding up her present, which was really badly wrapped and quite obviously shaped like a sweat scraper, the curved rubber sort you use to dry off a wet pony.

“I think I can guess what mine is too,” Kate grinned.

Mrs Brown shook her head at them. “I can’t imagine what we used to buy you lot for Christmas before you had ponies. Your Christmas lists read like a tack-shop inventory.”

“I can,” Stella said. “I mean, I can remember what it was like before we had the ponies.” She looked at Issie. “Do you remember that Christmas when we went on the pony-club camp? You know, the Christmas you got Mystic?”

Issie felt a shiver run through her as Stella said Mystic’s name. Of course she remembered that Christmas. She remembered that it was their first ever Christmas without her dad, which had been awful. But in a way, it also turned out to be the best Christmas she had ever had. It had been the start of everything.

When Issie looked back on that time now, she realised that Mystic was meant to be hers-that their lives were inextricably intertwined somehow. Of course, back then she couldn’t possibly have known what was to come. That Mystic would be taken away from her so tragically. And how could she possibly have known that his death was not the end at all, but the beginning? Issie’s bond with the little grey pony was so deep and so powerful that her horse would never really be gone. Whenever she needed him most he was there to watch over her and her horses and keep them safe. Not like a ghost or anything, but as a real horse, flesh and blood. Right by her side for the rest of her life.

At Christmas time, more than at any other time, Issie found herself recalling memories of the times before Mystic died, when he was still with her as a regular pony. But most of all she remembered the Christmas when she and Mystic first met. Had she found Mystic or had he found her? It didn’t really matter. What mattered most was that, with each day, she realised more and more just how magical that Christmas had been.

“I remember,” Issie said to Stella. “I remember…”

2 …Four Years Earlier

Issie stared into the eyes of the giant pink pig. Gently she reached her hand under its belly. Her fingers fumbled around, grasping the cork. With one swift tug she released the stopper and a waterfall of money cascaded noisily out of the pig’s tummy on to her duvet. She pushed the ten and twenty cent pieces to one side and began picking out the notes and the gold $1 and $2 coins.

“Isadora? Are you dressed yet? You need to leave in ten minutes!” Mrs Brown called up the stairs.

“I’m just finishing something!” Issie yelled back. She was already in her uniform and her hair was brushed. All she needed to do was pull on her school shoes and she was ready. But first she wanted to check how much she had in the piggy bank. She sat cross-legged among the coins on her bed and began to sort the money, counting in her head as she went.

“Do you want a banana in your lunchbox?” her mum called up the stairs.

“Mum! You made me lose track!” Issie sighed and put all the ten cent pieces back into the pile to start again.

“What?” her mother shouted back.

“Nothing!” said Issie distractedly. She carried on counting. “That makes $5 dollars, plus another $5 is $10…” Issie had been saving up for a pony ever since she could remember-from the moment her mum told her that if she was really serious about getting a pony then she would have to buy one herself.

“If I save up enough to buy one then can I really have one?” Issie had asked.

“Well…yes, I suppose so,” Mrs Brown had agreed.

“How much is enough?”

“I should think about $1000 would be enough to buy a pony,” her mum had said.

Years later, Mrs Brown admitted that she never thought Issie would reach $1000. “I didn’t think you were serious,” Mrs Brown recalled. “I thought it wouldn’t take long before you gave up on the whole horse nonsense and splurged it all on toys instead.”

But Issie didn’t give up. She saved and saved-all her birthday money and pocket money from doing chores. It took ages for the pig to fill up, but eventually the coins were crammed past its tummy all the way to the snout and the pig was so heavy Issie could hardly lift it.

There was the moment of triumph when she finally reached her goal of $1000-followed by bitter disappointment when her mum still refused to buy her a pony. “You’re only nine years old; that’s too young,” Mrs Brown had said. “A pony is a big responsibility, Issie. You have to be able to groom it and feed it and take care of it. They’re a huge commitment.”

“I know that!” Issie had insisted. “I will look after it. You said I could have one when I had $1000.”

But Mrs Brown was firm. “Wait until you’re ten. Ten is a good age for a pony.”

Wait until she was ten? This, as far as Issie was concerned, was changing the rules halfway through. In fact, Issie would have pointed out exactly how unfair this was, but she figured that since she was already nine and three-quarters-which was so close to ten anyway-she would take the new deal that was being offered. It wasn’t that much longer to wait. And her mum couldn’t wriggle out of it this time. Once Issie turned ten she had to let her have a pony. Didn’t she?

Issie’s tenth birthday arrived in September. Mrs Brown came up with a new excuse. “It’s practically still winter,” she reasoned. “There’s no point in buying you a horse when it’s too wet and cold to ride.”

Issie had protested that she didn’t care about the weather, but her mother had stood firm. And so Issie waited. She watched the seasons change and the days get longer. It was December now, summer was here and she was ten years old and three months. Her piggy bank was now bulging with a whopping $1274-thanks in part to two rather large birthday cheques from both her grandmothers. This time when she approached her mother, she was bound to win the fight. Mrs Brown was completely out of excuses.

Issie bounded down the stairs from the bedroom into the kitchen and put the piggy bank down on the table with an emphatic thud. Mrs Brown looked up from her newspaper. She saw the familiar face of the pink pig and sighed. “How much is in there now then?”

“$1274,” Issie said as she pushed the pig closer to her mother. “Please?” she begged as she nudged the piggy bank across the table until it bumped into Mrs Brown’s coffee cup. “Mum, please! You said I could get a pony when I was ten and I was ten ages ago…”

Mrs Brown looked back at the paper as if she were hardly listening, “Did I say that? That you could have a pony when you were ten?”

Issie’s face dropped. This couldn’t be happening! “Mum! Don’t you remember? You said when I was ten! We talked about it!”

Mrs Brown gave a heavy sigh. She had been wishing and hoping that it wouldn’t come to this. Hoping that this whole pony thing was just a phase. But here she was, being confronted by a ten-year-old with a pink pig full of cash. She looked up from the newspaper and saw the desperate look on her daughter’s face, her trembling lower lip as she fought to hold back the tears. At that moment Mrs Brown knew that she had lost the battle and her daughter, finally, had won.

“All right,” she said. “I was just winding you up. I did say you could have a pony when you were ten, didn’t I? And I can see I’m going to be forced to keep my promise.”

“What?”

Mrs Brown smiled. “We’ll look at the horses for sale in the paper when you get home from school, OK? And we’ll go online and look at that horse trader website. What’s it called again?”

“Trade-a-pony!” Issie’s voice was trembling. She had waited for her mother to say this for so long now, had pestered and begged her every day, but it never seemed as if this moment would ever arrive. And now, here they were. It was finally happening!

“Mum?” Issie asked. “Do you really mean it?”

Mrs Brown nodded. “I think it’s time to buy you a pony.”

Issie squealed with delight and threw her arms around her mum’s neck, giving her the biggest hug ever. When she had stopped hugging her mum, she began to pogo about the kitchen, jumping up and down with excitement. “Can we look for a pony now? Please? I can go get the paper!”

“You seem to have conveniently forgotten the little matter of going to school!” Mrs Brown laughed. She picked up Issie’s schoolbag off the chair and stuffed a lunchbox in it along with a drink bottle and a book bag before passing it to her daughter. “There’ll be plenty of time for horse-hunting when you get home. Why don’t we find a few ponies worth looking at and we can go out and see them this weekend?”

“Thanks, Mum!” Issie’s voice was a high-pitched squeak. “I don’t believe it. I’m really getting a pony!”

“Go on!” said Mrs Brown. “Canter off or you’ll be late for school.”

Stella almost burst with excitement when Issie told her the news. “Ohmygod, Issie! This is so cool!” she squealed. “I bet you get your new horse in time for pony-club camp!”

“Shhh!” Issie muttered at Stella. Their teacher, Miss Willis, was giving them a stern look. They were supposed to be doing silent reading with their library books-not talking about ponies.

As far as Issie was concerned, there were only two kinds of kids at Chevalier Point Primary School. There were the ones who were totally horse-mad (like her, Stella and Kate) and then there was the rest of them. Issie couldn’t understand how anyone could not like horses. Especially when you lived in a place like Chevalier Point. The town was horse heaven, surrounded by rolling green fields, perfect for grazing your pony. The pony club was within hacking distance and there were beaches and forests to ride in.

At lunchtimes at school the “horsey girls” all got together to play horsey games-cantering back and forth over skipping ropes, finding acorns and pretending they were mixing them up for hard feed for their imaginary horses.

Issie, Stella and Kate had always been friends, but this was the first year that they were all in the same class. Their teacher, Miss Willis, was widely considered to be one of the nicest teachers in the whole school, but even Miss Willis sometimes lost her patience with the whole horsey business. All the girls ever wanted to do was write stories about horses or draw horse pictures for their art projects. The three of them had been warned loads of times that they would be made to sit at separate desks if Miss Willis caught them chatting about ponies again when they were supposed to be working.

Looking up at their teacher now to check that she wasn’t watching them, Kate lowered her voice to a whisper. “It might take you ages to find a pony!” she said. “We looked at loads before we finally bought Toby. It took months! There’s no way you’ll have a pony in time for camp.”

Issie’s smile evaporated. Kate was always so sensible, which could be really annoying sometimes. But she was right. It could take ages to find the perfect pony.

“Mum says we’re going to start looking this weekend so you never know. It’s only the first of December-that gives us a whole month,” Issie said, trying not to sound deflated.

“You’ll find one straightaway!” Stella said breezily. “And then we can all go to pony camp together!”

The Chevalier Point Pony Club camp was coming up in the first week of the Christmas holidays and it was all Stella and Kate could talk about. They were going on a trek for three days, carrying their lunch in their backpacks and having picnics by streams. They would ride all day and then set up camp at night. Their parents would meet them at the camp grounds with their sleeping bags and stuff so that they didn’t have to carry it all on their horses.

Stella and Kate had both joined the Chevalier Point Pony Club earlier in the term. They both had their own horses, a fact that made Issie insanely jealous, even though her friends tried not to rub it in.

“You can’t be jealous of Coco!” Stella would giggle. “She’s a total hand-me-down!” Coco used to belong to Stella’s big sister Penny, but Penny had lost interest in riding lately. “All she cares about is her stupid boyfriend!” scoffed Stella. And so Stella had been given Coco. The thirteen-two chocolate brown mare could be a bit lazy sometimes, but she was great at games and jumping and Stella loved her to pieces.

It hadn’t been so bad when it was just Stella who had her own horse, but then last month Kate got Toby, a big bay Thoroughbred, and now all the two girls ever talked about was pony club, and how much fun it was. Issie felt left out. It wasn’t Stella and Kate’s fault. They were really nice about it. They let Issie have rides on Coco and Toby and help groom them and stuff. But it wasn’t the same as having her own pony.

Issie was desperate to go to the camp. But she knew Kate was right. The chances of finding a pony to buy in time were pretty slim. Issie’s Aunty Hess, who had just bought her own horse farm and knew loads about ponies, had told her that good learner’s ponies were as scarce as hen’s teeth. Issie wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but apparently it had something to do with being hard to find.

“Maybe you’ll get a pony for Christmas!” Stella whispered far too loudly. She had never really mastered the whole whispering thing.

“Yeah,” said Kate. “It’ll be gift-wrapped under the tree with a big bow tied around its tummy!”

Stella glared at Kate. “It might happen!” she insisted. “You never know. Like Issie said, she might find the perfect pony this weekend.”

“I hope so,” Issie said. “How cool would that be?”

“Muummm, I’m home!” Issie came into the kitchen to find her mother at the table with a cup of tea and the paper.

“Look at this!” Mrs Brown said, passing Issie the newspaper which was folded over neatly to the Horse and Ponies for Sale section. She must have already been through the ads because one of them was circled in blue pen. The ad was headed up in bold black type:

For sale-genuine learner’s pony

14 hh grey gelding. Six years old. Loves to jump and has no vices. Sadly for sale as owner overcommitted. A great pony for a beginner. $1000. Hurry! At this price he will be sold quickly!

Issie read the ad back to herself twice. “What does ‘no vices’ mean?” she asked.

“I asked your aunt about that,” said Mrs Brown. “It means they don’t do anything naughty like buck or kick or bite.”

Issie nodded. She looked back at the ad again. Fourteen hands was quite a big pony, but Issie was tall for a ten-year-old. And a grey? She didn’t want to jinx it by telling her mum that grey was her absolutely favourite horse colour right now.

“Mum!” Issie was so excited the newspaper was trembling in her hand. “He sounds perfect!”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Mrs Brown smiled. “Hen’s teeth? My foot! It looks like we just found you a pony.”

3 The Perfect Pony?

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.

4 Winterflood Farm

On the way to Winterflood Farm, Mrs Brown started to have second thoughts.

“Sweetie,” she said, “I think we have to face reality. I can’t buy you a pony. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. I don’t even know what half the words in the ads mean. Look at what just happened! That pony sounded perfect to me and he was a total nightmare!”

Issie felt a chill run through her as she saw her chances of ever getting a pony slipping away. “You mean I’m not getting a pony after all?”

“I didn’t say that,” her mum corrected her, “but it’s certainly clear to me now that we can’t do it alone. We need help.”

“Stella could come and look with us,” Issie suggested.

Mrs Brown didn’t look impressed. “I was thinking of someone a little more experienced and mature than Stella.” She sighed. “If only Hess wasn’t so busy with the new farm.” She looked at Issie. “I’m afraid we may have to put these pony plans of yours on the back burner again and wait until your aunt has time to help us.”

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