Issie and the Christmas Pony (7 page)

No wonder the man had told Avery there wasn't enough time for a vet check. He wasn't trying to put him off after all. He just didn't realise he'd stuck the sticker on upside down! He must have only noticed the mistake just before entering the ring, because the sticker was now the right way round, but it was stuck on clumsily with the glue peeling away, like it had been hastily ripped off and plonked back on again.

Mystic was now being led around the ring and the
auctioneer was beginning his chant. “How much am I bid for this little grey pony here? Like I said, this pony is a one-in-a-million learner's mount, worth his weight in gold no doubt. Eighteen years young, ladies and gents, every inch of him is fit and sound…and we're going to start the bidding at $200. Will anyone offer me $200?”

Issie didn't know what to do. She didn't have a clue how to bid by herself. She wasn't even registered. She would have to wait and hope that her mum and Avery came back soon.

“Who'll give me 200? Do I have 200?” The auctioneer was calling faster and faster now, trying to stir up a bid from the crowd. “100!” he shouted. “Do I have $100?”

Still there was silence.
Maybe no one will bid
, Issie thought hopefully,
then we can buy him privately after the auction is over.

In the ring, Mystic's head was held high as he looked around at the crowd. Issie could have sworn that the grey gelding had picked her out from all the faces surrounding him and held her gaze, looking at her as if to say,
Why aren't you buying me? What's wrong?

“Who'll give me $100? Do I have 100, 100?” The
auctioneer's patter was getting him nowhere. No one was going to bid on this old, swaybacked grey pony. Mystic was about to be passed in with no bids.

“Come on, people. I have instructions to sell this pony today!” the auctioneer shouted. “Who'll give me 100?”

“Fifty!” There was a shout from the crowd and the auctioneer's chant suddenly changed.

“I have $50; the bid is now with the gentleman over there!”

Issie turned round to see where the bid had come from. She felt as if someone had just punched her in the stomach and knocked all the air right out of her. It was Nigel Christie!

“I have $50, $50. Who'll raise it to 100?” the auctioneer shouted.

Issie felt her palms sweating, her head spinning. The knacker's yard man had just bid on her pony! She looked frantically at the door to the barn. Where were her mum and Avery? They needed to make a bid now!

“I have $50, going once, going twice…” The auctioneer was winding up and still there was no sign of either Avery or her mum. Issie realised she had no choice: she was going to have to make a bid herself.

“Going once, going twice, going three times…”

“$100!” Issie squeaked out, raising her hand. But the auctioneer hadn't seen or heard her and he brought the gavel down hard with a bang.

“Sold to Nigel Christie!” he shouted. “Can we have the next lot, number 67, into the ring please?”

And with that, Nigel Christie led Mystic back out of the arena, leaving Issie trembling with shock. Her special pony, her Mystic, was gone.

When Mrs Brown saw Issie running towards her, tears streaming down her cheeks, she didn't understand what was wrong.

“Don't worry. We've found him,” she told Issie. “We've booked the vet and he can do it straight away.”

“No!” Issie managed to gasp. She was trying to get her breath back, struggling to stop crying. “No, Mum! It's too late.”

“Sweetie-he's not in the ring for a while yet. I'm sure we'll have time…”

“The number,” Issie panted, “the number on the rump was upside down and I didn't look at the papers properly-Mystic was number 66 not 99!” She saw the realisation dawn on her mother's face. It
was already too late. They had missed the auction.

“Issie!” She looked up to see Avery striding towards her, accompanied by a sandy-haired man in green overalls carrying a satchel.

“Issie, this is Mr Adams,” Avery said. “He'll be doing the vet check for us today.”

“No,” said Issie, “he won't be. Tom, we got the auction number wrong. Mystic has already been sold-to Nigel Christie.”

It took a moment for everyone to grasp the situation. Then, once apologies were made to the vet, Avery, Issie and Mrs Brown headed at speed for the battered green horse truck where the man who sold Mystic was packing up to go home.

“The grey pony? Yeah, he's gone with Christie already,” he told them. “Sorry you missed out. I really didn't think you guys were serious bidders to be honest. I thought the vet check was just an excuse and you were looking for a way to wriggle out of it.”

“Is Christie still here?” Avery asked. “The auction is only halfway through; he must still be buying.”

“I don't think so.” The man shook his head. “He said he'd bought six horses already-that's a full truck load. I think he's gone.”

It looked like the man was right. There was no sign of Christie or his truck anywhere on the grounds. Still Issie didn't give up on Mystic. She spent an hour walking pointlessly up and down the aisles of horse trucks and floats, checking all the pens in case he was still there somewhere. Finally, she had to admit defeat. Christie was gone and the little dapple-grey had gone with him.

The auction, meanwhile, was still in full swing. “They're up to lot 103 now,” Mrs Brown pointed out to Avery and Issie. “There are still a few ponies to come. Is it worth checking to see if there's anything else to bid on?”

Issie knew what her mum was trying to do. She was desperately trying to fix things, to make it all better. She was trying to save Issie from the awfulness of driving home with that empty horse float, knowing that she had lost Mystic forever. But it was too late for that now and Issie knew it.

“It's OK, Mum.” Issie shook her head. She didn't care about the auction. As far as she was concerned, it was over. “I just want to go home.”

The next day at school, Stella and Kate were horrified when Issie told them what happened at the auction. She didn't tell them about her dream though. How could she explain that she knew this pony was destined to be hers? That before they even met she somehow had a mystical connection with the grey horse. Issie still didn't understand it herself.

“You should have bid on the palomino at the start!” Stella said. “I love palominos.” This sort of advice clearly wasn't helping. Issie had already spent the whole of the night before lying in bed, thinking about everything she did wrong and how she would do it all so differently if only she had the chance to reverse time. She was still certain she had done the right thing by deciding to buy Mystic instead of Goldie or Juniper. She just wished the auctioneer had heard her bid. “I shouted out $100,” she told the girls, “but he didn't hear me!”

“They should hold the auction again; they made a mistake. Why didn't you tell them they got it wrong?” Stella said. “You made the top bid!”

“I did tell them!” Issie groaned. “Mum went and told the auctioneer, but Nigel Christie had already given them a cheque and left with the horses. Also,
I wasn't even supposed to be bidding anyway. I wasn't registered and I'm only a kid; Mum was supposed to bid for me. They said they couldn't do anything about it, that once the hammer came down and the horse was sold, that was it!”

“So what are you going to do now?” asked Kate.

“I've been trying to track Christie down,” Issie said, “but he's moved. Nobody seems to know where his farm is now. Tom is still looking for him.”

“Ohhh!” said Stella excitedly. “If you find him then we should mount up on Coco and Toby and do a midnight raid on his farm. We could herd up all the horses he has and take them home with us so they'll be free!”

“Yeah, Stella, that's a really good plan,” Kate said sarcastically. “Has anyone else got a suggestion that isn't ridiculous?”

“Can we not talk about this any more?” Issie pleaded. She knew Stella and Kate were just trying to cheer her up, but she didn't want to talk about imaginary rescue missions. She couldn't even bear to
think about the fact that Christie had Mystic. He would keep him grazing at the yard, but then sooner or later…Oh! It was just too awful! She mustn't think about it! How could she have let Christie take him? To find her perfect pony and then to lose him again was just too cruel.

That night Issie fell into a fitful sleep. Her dreams flickered like candles in the darkness, and when she woke up she couldn't remember them exactly. But she remembered certain feelings and images. She remembered the grey pony galloping towards her out of the blackness, his mane trailing out like silver flames. There was a moment when her eyes met with those of the little grey, and in that instant she knew he hadn't left her. She knew in her heart that Mystic was still alive.

Was the dream real? Issie had to hope so. After all, her first dream had led her to the grey pony. She had to believe that there was still a chance.

Avery was still looking for Christie but there was no news. For the rest of the week Issie moved through
the world as if she wasn't really there. It was the last week of term, and the rest of Miss Willis's class were all in high spirits at the prospect of the upcoming holidays. There was no more homework and even the lessons were fun, since most of them involved making Christmas cards or decorations. Issie tried to get into the Christmas spirit. But she had never felt more miserable.

Each day Issie went through the motions, trying to pretend her life was still the same. She got dressed, went to school, sat down for dinner each night and pushed her food around on the plate, to at least make it look like she was eating so that her mum wouldn't worry. But inside, she was hollow with grief. It was like there was a piece of her missing and she didn't know how to find it and put herself back together again.

Issie had felt this way before she realised. It was a bit like when she had to say goodbye to Bert. It had been awful enough saying goodbye to the strawberry roan pony. But with Mystic? It was like losing Bert times a million.

At least Bert had been going to a good home, Issie thought with a shiver. There would be no happy
ending for Mystic. Even worse, she could have saved him. It was all her fault. Maybe she had been dreaming all along and it was time to face the truth. She had lost her horse forever, and there was nothing she could do about it.

The best thing about being totally miserable on Christmas Eve is that you can watch loads of bad television. There is nothing quite like drowning your sorrows with rubbish TV if you're trying to escape from the awfulness of your actual life.

So on Christmas Eve at three in the afternoon Issie was still in her pyjamas lying on the sofa watching
The Muppets' Christmas Carol
when there was a knock at the front door.

“Can you get it, Mum?” Issie said, not moving from the sofa.

At this moment, most mums would have told their daughter to stop being a princess and get off the sofa and answer the door. But Mrs Brown knew Issie too well. She could tell that her daughter wasn't just being a drama queen, and she was really worried
about her. Over the past week since the auction Mrs Brown had tried several of her patented cheer-up chats. She'd been resolutely upbeat as she told Issie that there were other ponies out there, even better ones than Mystic, and it was only a matter of time before they found her one.

When the pep talks failed, though, Mrs Brown knew her daughter well enough to sense there was something deeply wrong. Ever since the auction Issie had retreated inside her shell like a hermit crab and nothing her mother did-and she had tried every trick in the book-was getting through to her.

And so, when the doorbell rang, despite the fact that she was up to her elbows in Christmas trifle preparations, Amanda Brown didn't bark at her daughter to get up and answer it. Instead, she put down the bowl of custard and whipped cream and went to the door herself. She wasn't at all surprised to have a Christmas Eve visitor. In fact, she had been expecting him…

“Tom! So glad you could come!” Mrs Brown said as she swung the front door open.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs B,” Avery said, smiling. Then he added enigmatically, “I've got brilliant news about…
about that thing we were discussing on the phone…”

“What thing?” Issie popped her head up over the sofa.

Avery looked at Mrs Brown. Issie could have sworn something weird was going on between them. She saw the pair of them share a conspiratorial smile. Then they both looked back at her blankly.

“It's nothing,” said Mrs Brown. “Nothing you need to worry about. Tom and I were just arranging what he was going to bring tomorrow. I've invited him over for Christmas morning and then he can come with us to the beach to meet up with Stella and Kate for lunch.”

“Oh,” Issie said. She was a little surprised by this news. Her mum had never mentioned before now that they'd be having guests. She thought it would just be the two of them this year.

“Is this a good time to talk?” Avery said. “I can always come back later…”

“No, no, please stay!” insisted Mrs Brown. “Come in and talk to me while I mix the trifle cream.” She cast a glance over at Issie who had sunk back down on to the sofa. “Issie, why don't you go upstairs and get changed? You can't lie around in your pyjamas for the entire day.”

Actually, Issie didn't see why she couldn't do just that if she wanted to. But she did as her mum said. By the time she came back downstairs, her mum had finished making the trifle and she and Avery had obviously had their chat because he was saying his goodbyes and heading for the front door.

“Issie,” said Avery, “I really have to get going, but before I do, I wanted to ask you something.”

Issie knew her mum would have told Avery everything, about how miserable she'd been since losing Mystic at the auction, and how even the thought of Christmas couldn't cheer her up. She figured she was in for one of Avery's pep talks now, and she wanted to point out to him that her mum had already tried that and it hadn't worked. How could she explain to Tom that she was too heartbroken over Mystic to talk about it any more? That she instinctively knew he was meant to be her pony and that she had let him down terribly.

She needn't have worried, though, because as it turned out, Avery didn't appear to be interested in cheering her up after all. “I just wanted to ask…” Avery paused, “…erm…what size are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what size clothes do you take? Are you a small? Medium? I'm not very good at guessing these things-I suppose I should have just asked your mum. I hope it's not embarrassing to…”

“It's fine,” Issie said flatly, then she added, “I'm a medium.”

“Excellent!” said Avery. He looked at his watch. “Well, I have some things to do. I'd better be off. See you tomorrow in time for present-opening!”

And with that, Avery left. Issie was stunned. She had always thought Tom Avery was just like her, that he felt as passionately about horses as she did. Surely he must have understood how unbearably awful it had been watching the grey pony being taken away by Christie. But if he did, he certainly wasn't showing it. Her instructor was bright and breezy and acting as if the disaster at the auction had never happened.

“Why did you ask him round for Christmas?” Issie grumbled to her mum over dinner that night.

“Tom is new to town, Issie. He hasn't had time to make many friends yet and he doesn't have any family here,” said Mrs Brown. “Besides, I thought you'd like it if he came over. I know this has been a
tough week. I figured it would cheer you up to have someone else here.”

A tough week?
Tough?
It had been the worst week ever! Issie couldn't believe that her mum and Avery didn't get what she was going through. She sank deeper into depression and deeper into the sofa, and spent the rest of Christmas Eve back in her pyjamas watching even more rubbish TV. Normally on the night before Christmas she stayed up as late as she could, trying to make it until midnight so that it would officially be Christmas Day and she could open her presents. But even that prospect didn't hold its usual thrill this year. The week's events had drained her emotional batteries.

“I'm going to bed,” she told her mum finally at nine o'clock.

“Really?” Mrs Brown was puzzled. “But it's so early.”

“I know,” Issie said. “I'm just really tired.”

“OK,” her mum smiled. Issie was about to walk out of the door when she added, “Sweetie, I know that this Christmas hasn't been what you were hoping for, but you have to have a little faith, OK?”

Faith?
Issie couldn't believe it. At this rate, her mum would be telling her to ask Santa for a pony!

This is definitely the worst Christmas ever
, Issie thought as she lay on her bed. She stared at the walls around her. They were covered from floor to ceiling with pictures of ponies. Most young girls had posters of pop bands on their walls, but Issie had spent years collecting copies of
PONY Magazine
and pulling out the posters, plastering her wall with horses of all shapes, sizes and colours. Her favourite picture was the one just above her bed end. It was a grey pony cantering through a field of bright red poppies. The pony in the picture looked a bit like Mystic, Issie thought. A dapple-grey with coal-black eyes and a flowing mane and tail.