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.
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
