For Sale Or Swap (10 page)

It was Christmas Eve. The Mulligans were coming to
take Brat home – if she turned out to be their horse.
There was little doubt about it. Brat pricked up her
ears as soon as she saw their float pull up. She
whinnied, cantering around the paddock in circles and
tossing her head. Shelby's mum stood with her arm
around her daughter's shoulders.

Mr Mulligan was a bald, short, roly-poly man
with a big smile. His three daughters, Sarah, Louise
and Amy, spilled out of the car behind him chattering
with excitement.

'Daddy, she remembers us,' said the middle
daughter.

'Of course she does,' said the eldest, as she headed
towards the fence. Brat skidded to a stop, craning her
neck over the wire.

'Why is she pink?' asked the youngest daughter,
reaching up with her small podgy hand.

'Because the bad man dyed her,' answered the
eldest.

Mr Mulligan extended a hand to Shelby's mother
and she took it. 'Nice to meet you.'

'I can't begin to tell you what a relief this is,' he
said, turning to watch his daughters slip through the
rails, clustering around Brat. He was fiddling with
a small book he was holding. 'We were certain we were
never going to see her again. I'm sure you can imagine.'

'We don't need to imagine,' replied Shelby's
mother with a tight smile.

'Oh, yes. Of course. I'm terribly sorry. I only hope
someone will be as honest as you've been.'

Shelby's mother nodded.

He opened the book. It was a photo album.
'I brought these, just in case. I'm sure we will all be
more suspicious now, when it comes to these sorts
of things.'

Shelby and her mother leaned forward so that they
could see more clearly. He flicked through the pages.
'This is the day that she first arrived. Amy is just a wee
tot there. This is our place with the three ponies in the
yards. Here are all the girls together. Sarah's on a
Galloway, but Poppy was always her favourite. And
here, on Poppy's birthday. Louise put a party hat over
her ear, but she shook it off just after the photo was
taken. This is Sarah and Poppy at their first show
together.'

'Poppy?' said Shelby.

'Yes, Popcorn. We called her that because when
she first came to us she was all white and fluffy. What
have you been calling her?'

'The man said her name was Maxshine Celtic
Copper, but it turned out to be the colour that he
dyed her.'

The man laughed. 'What a cheeky devil. I'll have
to remember to tell my wife – she's a Maxshine
blonde.'

Shelby looked at each of the photos as he flipped
through them. The girls were smiling and Brat looked
relaxed and content. Shelby didn't have many photos
of Blue – just a few fuzzy ones that she had taken
herself with an instant camera, and only one with her
and Blue together. She'd put her arm around his neck
and then held the camera as far away from them as
she could, but she'd held it up too high, and you could
only see half of their faces. It made her feel sadder
than ever. She didn't have evidence of all the happy
times they'd had together like the Mulligans did, and
now she might never get the chance. It was as though
a whole era in her life had been wiped away.

The man snapped the book shut. 'So, are you
convinced that she's ours?'

Shelby squinted into the sunshine. 'I could tell as
soon as you arrived.'

The man nodded. He jingled his car keys. 'If
there's anything we can do – if they catch him, we can
do an identity line-up.'

Shelby's mother thanked him.

Mr Mulligan told the girls to get their things. The
eldest girl opened the boot of the car and pulled out a
white cotton rug, a blue halter and some matching float
boots. She passed them out to the other girls and they
whipped around Brat, getting her ready for the journey.

As the rug settled over Brat's back, Shelby could
see that the word 'Poppy' had been embroidered
across the side in pastel thread. The rug fitted perfectly,
as though it had been made for her.

Shelby crossed one leg over the other and watched
them wistfully. They were good owners. They had the
money to look after Brat properly. They had parents
who were interested in ponies too. Brat would be very
happy with them.

Mr Mulligan lowered the back of the float and the
two younger girls coaxed Brat on board. Sarah opened
the car door and leaned across the back seat, pulling
out an enormous basket, wrapped in red and green cellophane
and tied at the top with a plastic sprig of holly.

The three girls then lined up in front of Shelby and
her mother. 'We brought you a present to say thank
you very much for looking after Poppy.'

Sarah thrust the basket towards Shelby and she
took it. Shelby wanted to peer in through the cellophane
to see what was inside, but she thought it
would be rude.

'Really, there's no need,' said Shelby's mother,
embarrassed.

'No, please. I insist,' said Mr Mulligan, looking
her in the eye. 'You've done a wonderful thing for our
family. You know what kind of world we live in. A lot
of people wouldn't have phoned.'

Shelby's mother blushed.

'If there is anything we can do – really. It would be
a pleasure.'

Shelby and her mother waved to the Mulligans
as they drove away. As soon as they were around
the corner, Shelby turned back to the paddock. The
sliprail was down. It was so empty. Shelby put her
hands over her face and cried.

Shelby stood examining the clothes in her wardrobe. It
was just a movie, but what was she supposed to wear?
She sifted through the clean clothes in her drawers and
decided on a pair of jeans and a plain purple tee-shirt
– the same outfit she had worn to the Pony Club
Christmas Party slash Awards night.

She noticed a small orange stain where she had
rubbed the tomato sauce in.
It'll be dark anyway
, she
thought.

Out in the lounge room her father was reading the
paper. Her mother was going through the Mulligans'
hamper. There was a selection of homemade jams
and jellies with frilly gingham tops, and two tins
of chocolate-covered nuts. She pulled out a bottle of
champagne and gasped.

'It's Moët!' she said.

'What?' asked Shelby.

'This is very expensive,' said her mother.

'Isn't that nice of them?' commented Shelby's
father. He turned the page and then flicked the paper
to make it stand upright.

Her mother reached into the basket again and drew
out a muslin bag. 'A pudding, and there are some dried
figs,' she said, reaching in again. 'Camembert – how
lovely. And Turkish delight.'

Shelby sat down on the lounge and huffed. 'Is it all
just food?'

'What do you mean
just
food? This is wonderful.
We would never have bought these things for
ourselves.'

Shelby's father put the paper aside and stood up,
pulling his car keys out of his pocket. 'Are you ready
then, Miss Muffet?'

She nodded and they headed out the door.

'I hope you have a great time, Shel,' her mother
called after her.

In the car, her father said, 'I'm so glad that you're
making friends.'

Shelby didn't reply. It had been hard to make
friends ever since she'd started high school. Most of
her primary school friends had gone to another school,
and the ones that didn't were in different classes. She'd
started hanging around with Erin because she was in a
similar situation, having recently moved back to the
Gully after a long time away. Shelby hadn't really
cared about being a loner. She spent most of her
time dreaming about ponies anyway. Now that she
didn't have a horse to think about, things might be
different.

The Crooks lived in an enormous brick house with
a wide clipped lawn and a driveway that looped
around in a circle at the front. As they pulled up, she
and her father craned through the window, taking it
all in. 'Jeepers, Mr Crook must earn a pretty penny,'
observed her father.

When I grow up I'm going to work in an office
like Mr Crook's, not like Dad's. I'm going to live in a
house just like this one
, Shelby thought to herself.

The front door was ajar and Shelby called into the
foyer area. 'Hello?' Her voice echoed back to her in
the open space. She heard a door open inside the
house and skipping footsteps.

'Is that you, Shel?' came Hayley's voice. 'Come
on in.'

She called me Shel.

At the end of the foyer was a door that opened out
into a large rumpus room. There were wide windows
down the side of the room, offering a view of the back
yard, which was paved around a big swimming pool.
The room was light and airy, with soft cream-coloured
carpet. In the back corner was a bar and a pool table.
There were lots of framed pictures on the walls of
Hayley and her family. Shelby's eyes drank it all in.

A gaggle of girls draped themselves over the
lounge, on the floor and over a few beanbags scattered
around. There was Erin, Hayley and Lindsey, and
sitting together on the lounge were another two girls
from the stables who didn't go to Pony Club.

Erin thumped the floor next to her. Shelby walked
over and sat beside her cross-legged.

'This is Kim and Monica,' said Hayley. 'They have
the stables opposite me.'

Shelby smiled at them shyly.

'I know you,' said Kim. 'You have the little paint
horse.'

Shelby blushed. 'Had,' she said.

'Did you sell him?'

'No, she swapped him for the most
gorgeous
show
pony,' said Erin.

'Who turned out to be stolen,' added Shelby,
looking down into her lap.

'No! Really?' said Erin. She slapped Shelby on the
arm. 'You didn't tell me. What happened?'

'Yeah. Tell, tell,' encouraged Hayley.

Shelby looked around to see that, apart from
Lindsey, who was digging around in a large bowl of
lollies, all eyes were on her.

'Well,' she began. 'It all started when I answered
an ad –
For sale or swap . . .
'

Shelby told them about the man who came and
took Blue away. She explained how she'd rung the
magazine and they'd made the connection about
the bushranger's names. She told them about how Brat
got away from Shelby after Pony Club, and the trail
bike rider.

'I've always hated those bike riders,' interjected
Kim. 'They are
so
rude. They act like they own the
trails.'

'Shh! Let her finish,' said Monica.

Shelby was ashamed about re-dyeing Brat, so
instead she made a little deviation to the story.

'Seeing Brat all white and covered in lime from the
stable got me thinking that she looked very much like
one of the stolen horses that I had seen in the
magazine. So I rang them, and they said that it had
happened to them too.'

'Really? From that picture we looked at together?'

asked Erin. 'Jeez, you've got a good memory. I looked
at that picture longer than you did and I can't
remember it at all. You must have a super-duper
memory to have seen that. It's a shame you don't use
that memory of yours at school because you could
get
miles
better marks. I always thought you were
. . . well, not
dumb
, but not that much smarter
than me.'

Shelby wished Erin would shut up.

'I took the magazine home with me, remember?
I looked at it again just before I went to the stables,'
explained Shelby. 'And besides, I had thought, after
the man left, that the whole thing was suspicious, and
that's why I looked at it again.'

She looked around and saw all of the girls
watching her with their eyes bright and eager.

'So the man dyed her?' asked Hayley.

Shelby nodded. 'I washed her over and over again,
and it turns out that she was a grey.'

'You're kidding!' squealed Erin. 'So then what
happened?'

'Her real owners came and took her away this
morning.'

'But what about your horse?' asked Kim.

Shelby shrugged. 'The woman from the magazine
said the bushranger man placed another ad, but it
wasn't Blue.'

'Have you called the police?' asked Hayley.

Shelby shook her head. 'What are they going to do?
They reckon I entered into a contract. They say it's a
civil matter.'

'Then we'll have to do it ourselves. We have to set
a trap for the bushranger,' Erin said.

'You think?' asked Shelby.

'Yeah!' the girls chorused.

Erin shimmied forward. 'Here's what we're
going to do . . .'

It was Christmas morning and, as Shelby was sleeping
on the lounge, it was no surprise that she woke up to
the sound of two small boys whooping and giggling
under the Christmas tree.

'What time is it?' she croaked.

'Christmas time!' cried Connor, making Blake
throw his head back in laughter.

Shelby squinted at the window. It was still dark
outside, so it must have been very early. 'Just watch
cartoons quietly, OK?'

It was going to be another hot day. It was warm
already, the house not having cooled down much from
the day before. Shelby pulled the sheet up to her chin,
enjoying the last few minutes of rest. She heard the
television switch on and an enthusiastic
ho, ho, ho
coming from its speakers. She wasn't going to be able
to get back to sleep, so instead she lay still with her
eyes closed and thought about the night before.

The girls had watched a couple of movies –
Spirit:
Stallion of the Cimarron
, followed by
Pocahontas –
or
at least the movies played in the background while
they talked, laughed, ate bags and bags of popcorn,
and drank way too much fizzy drink. In short, Shelby
had a fabulous time.

The girls had told Shelby about the lesson with
Calvin Protheroe and how disappointed they were.
Apparently, after Shelby left he'd been so severe on
one of the other girls that he'd made her cry.

'Mrs Hockings thought he was so fantastic,
but my mum says that he's just an old has-been who
gets his kicks from telling young girls what to do,'
said Hayley.

At the end of the night when their parents came to
collect them, the girls had all agreed to meet up again
at the horse show the weekend after next. It didn't
seem to matter to them that Shelby didn't have a
horse. Hayley had said Shelby could go along with her
family – in fact, she had asked Shelby if she would like
to help out with Echo and Ditto.

'It takes me forever to plait up. Do you want to
stay over? We'll have to get up pretty early.'

Even now, as the first few rays of morning sun
stretched through the window and into Shelby's eyes,
making her blink, she still couldn't believe that in a
week she'd be sleeping over at Hayley's place and
going with the Crooks to the horse show. She pulled the
sheet over her head and let out a sigh. She hoped that
everybody's disappointment with Calvin Protheroe
meant nobody would listen to what he had to say
where Shelby was concerned.

He was wrong about her. Brat was lame because the
fencing was inadequate. If Shelby had a float then Brat
wouldn't have got loose on the trail. She wasn't irresponsible.
She was every bit as caring and conscientious
as the other girls. She probably spent more time with
Blue than Hayley had with any of her horses. It was just
that Hayley had more gear and more money.

It seemed to Shelby that Mr Protheroe, Mrs
Hockings and all the other adults at Pony Club believed
that the more your parents spent, the better horse
person you were – both on the ground and in the saddle.
It wasn't fair, and it wasn't true.

Shelby stretched her leg down towards the end of
the lounge with her toe and felt something heavy there
– her Christmas stocking. She threw back the sheet and
sat up. From his place on the floor, too close to the
television, Blake looked up at her, grinning. She had to
smile because his face was smeared with chocolate.

Her parents had a rule about Christmas morning.
The children were allowed to open their Christmas
stocking, and they could feel the presents under the
tree, but they weren't allowed to unwrap them. Shelby
knew the Christmas stocking rule was designed to give
her parents at least another half an hour of sleep.

She drew the stocking towards her and dug her
hand inside. There was a packet of colouring pencils,
some hair ties, a small stuffed toy horse and lots of
sweets. Blake crawled forward and raked his hands
through her bounty, seeing if there was anything
worthy of trade.

'I'll give you my Fruit Tingles for your Fantales,'
he suggested.

It wasn't a fair exchange. Last year she would have
said no, but this year she didn't care so much about
what was in the stocking. She knew that there would
be plenty to eat that day and the next, and that a few
chocolates weren't going to make much difference.

'OK,' she said. Blake's hand shot out, making the
swap and stowing the Fantales out of reach before
Shelby could change her mind. Connor, seeing that she
had gone soft, quickly joined in.

'My jubes for your Maltesers,' he said.

Shelby shrugged. 'OK.'

'Unreal!' Connor said, grabbing the chocolates and
retreating back onto the floor.

The trading continued peacefully between the three
until Shelby had no chocolate left at all. Then Connor
started on Blake. When Blake wouldn't trade, Connor
made a grab for his stocking and Blake started to cry.
Shelby tried to distract them.

'I think it might be time to wake up Mum
and Dad.'

'Yay!' said Connor, jumping to his feet.

Shelby's family had another ritual on Christmas
morning. The three children crowded round the kitchen
cupboard and Shelby handed out a saucepan and a
wooden spoon to each of the boys.

'Ready?' she asked.

The boys nodded.

'Let's go!' She lifted her own saucepan and hit the
bottom with the wooden spoon. 'Wake up everybody,
it's Christmas time!' she shouted. The two boys needed
little encouragement to join in, and their pots and
spoons soon rang out like cymbals. They started first in
their parents' bedroom. Blake jumped up and down on
the end of their bed with his saucepan over his head.

'All right, we're getting up, you can go and wake
your Aunt Jenny now,' said their father.

The three children looked at each other and Connor
screwed his nose up. Aunt Jenny was what her father
described as 'a funny old stick', and what the children
called plain old scary. They'd never gone into the room
to wake Aunt Jenny before. Instead they usually banged
their saucepans near her closed door and then ran back
into the lounge room to wait for her to trudge out in
her long nightie.

This year Shelby thought she might try it. She
waved at the boys to follow her as she marched up the
hall. The boys scampered behind her, holding their
pots and wooden spoons ready.

Shelby opened the door to her bedroom just a
crack and peeked inside. There was a lump in her bed,
and one wrinkly foot poking out from under the sheet
at the end. As she watched, the lump moved.

Aunt Jenny was probably awake already. Shelby
turned to the boys and nodded, but they looked at her,
uncertain. Shelby flung open the door and it hit the
wall. 'Time to get up, Aunt Jenny!' she yelled, jumping
into the room with a flourish. The boys banged their
pots together and hopped up and down, but they
stayed in the hall.

'Waah?' the old woman said, slurring with sleep
and frowning over the top of her sheet. She had some
kind of bag covering the rollers in her hair. Shelby
wondered if she'd made a mistake bursting in like this,
but she continued anyway.

She bounced over to the bed and gave Aunt Jenny
a noisy kiss on the cheek. The old woman shrank
away from her, and made a confused '
oooh
' sound.

'Merry Christmas!' Shelby said, beaming.

Aunt Jenny's eyes were watery and unfocused. Her
face looked different – squashed. Her mouth was sunken
in and her jaw jutted out. Shelby realised that she didn't
have her false teeth in. She wanted to stare because she'd
never seen anyone without their teeth before, but she
thought it was rude, so she looked the other way.

'Time to open presents, Aunt Jenny. Don't be late!'
Shelby kept on smiling and then she leapt up and
bounded back out the door, grabbing the boys' arms
to whisk them back to the living room. She was
worried that one of the boys would ask what was
wrong with Aunt Jenny's face, and Shelby didn't want
her to be embarrassed.

Phew. She was glad that was over.

A little while later the three adults came into the
room – her mother and father sat on the lounge, while
Aunt Jenny perched on one of the dining chairs near
the door to the kitchen. She had taken the bag off her
head, and removed her rollers, but her grey hair was
still in tight tufty curls. Shelby was pleased to see that
her face had returned to its usual proportions.

The two boys ripped into their presents with gusto.
Instead of watching them, as she usually did, Shelby
watched her aunt.

Aunt Jenny sat away from the rest of the family
with her hands folded in her lap. While her mouth
stayed expressionless, her eyes were shining and
bright, watching the boys, enjoying their exuberance
and delight. Shelby wondered whether she always
seemed to have that stern appearance because she kept
her mouth closed. It occurred to her for the first time
that Aunt Jenny kept her mouth closed because she
had false teeth.

Watching her, Shelby thought Christmas would be
lonely for Aunt Jenny if she didn't come to see this
family. She had no children of her own.

Her mother handed Shelby a stack of presents.
'Um, we bought these before. We rang the saddlery
and they said you could exchange them for something
else, if you like. It's up to you, honey.'

They'd given her a pair of cream jodhpurs with
suede lining on the inside leg, a backpack full of
grooming brushes, and a tin of leather polish. Shelby
turned them over in her hands.

'Thanks.' Her voice sounded brusque as she tried
to keep it steady. She didn't want them to think she
was ungrateful. The jodhpurs, in particular, were just
what she'd always wanted.

Shelby looked up at her mother, opened her mouth
and shut it again. If they had given her swimmers, or
CDs, or stuff for school – something unhorsey – then
it would seem as if it hadn't happened at all; as
though she wasn't allowed to be sad about it. And
while she was trying to be strong and brave, and have
a good Christmas anyway, she didn't want them to act
as though losing Blue wasn't the worst thing that had
ever happened to her. She looked down at her lap. Her
face was getting redder and redder.

'Thanks for not pretending,' she murmured. Everyone
was watching her. Shelby held her breath, trying
to hold the tears in, and squeezed her eyes shut.

Blake stood up and walked towards her. He put his
hands on her cheeks.

'What's wrong, Shel?' He leaned forward and
whispered in her ear. 'Did you wet your pants?'

Everybody laughed. It was a long, hearty laugh,
probably bigger than the joke called for, but it felt
good, and at the end, her father gave her a big hug.

After all the presents were opened, Shelby helped
her mum make the Christmas lunch. She set the table
and folded the serviettes into hats. She tossed and
dressed the salads, and laid the cold ham slices out
onto a plate.

In the lounge room, Blake and Connor played
with their new toys while their father lay on the floor
on his belly helping them put together the moving
parts.

When they sat down for lunch Shelby's parents
took ages to serve the boys – cutting up their meat and
ladling out gravy and sauces. Aunt Jenny looked
across the table at Shelby.

'You lost your little pony,' she said.

Shelby nodded and looked down at her plate.
She felt a familiar tightness across her chest. Last
Christmas Dad had let her keep Blue in the back
garden, and the pony had stood in the shade at
the back window dozing, with his ears twitching the
flies away.

'I had a horse when I was about your age.'

Shelby looked up. She couldn't imagine Aunt Jenny
ever being her age. 'Really?'

'My first was a stockhorse – Rex. Then after that I
had a grey thoroughbred. He was called Kaiser when
we got him, but it was not such a good name at the
time. I renamed him Skydancer.' She laughed. 'I used
to ride him over jumps and hedges, and pretend I
was the girl in
National Velvet
. What was her name?
I can't remember now.'

'Velvet,' said Shelby.

'Of course, it was too.' Aunt Jenny sighed. 'Velvet
Brown. Skydancer indulged me, bless him. I daresay
life with me was almost as hard work as his time on
the track.'

'Did you go to Pony Club?' Shelby asked.

Aunt Jenny shook her head. 'We had cattle. All the
horses worked – and the dogs and cats. Our family
never kept animals that didn't earn their meals.'

For the first time Shelby had an image of a younger
Aunt Jenny, wearing an Akubra with a stockwhip in her
hand, astride a big sleek thoroughbred, and galloping
along a sloping plain, like one of the women from
McLeod's Daughters
– like Tess, who was Shelby's
favourite.

Young Aunt Jenny
, she thought.
A jillaroo – with
real teeth.