For Sale Or Swap (8 page)

It felt so good to be off her feet. Shelby sat there
waggling her toes in the rain. She tilted her head back
to catch some of the drops in her mouth.

When she was eight, Shelby had had her tonsils
out. She remembered waking up some time after the
operation, and discovering that the painkillers had
worn off. Her throat felt huge and gluey, and it
throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Her head had
been dizzy and bleary with pain. At the time she
believed it was the worst moment in her whole life.

Nope. This is the worst moment of my life
, she
thought.
It can't get any worse than this.

Barefoot and soaked, it took Shelby at least an hour to
walk out of the gully, giving her a new appreciation
for the speed with which horses cover the ground. She
would have been able to do it in ten minutes if she had
been on Blue.

She walked along the cul-de-sac near her paddock
and looked at the skeleton of the new house as
she passed it. A blue and yellow portaloo had been
dumped on the ground where, one day, a manicured
lawn would be.

Let them build their dumb houses
, she thought.

She opened the front door and shuffled along the
hallway. The carpet felt soft and spongy under her feet.

Her mother was in the lounge room on her hands
and knees picking up blocks of Lego and dropping
them into the toy box.

'What happened to you?' she asked, when she saw
Shelby's bedraggled state.

Shelby felt her lip quiver. Hot tears sprang into her
eyes. 'It's been a bad day,' she whispered.

Her mother held open her arms and Shelby went
to them.

'Never mind, honey,' her mother said, patting her
forehead. 'How about I run you a bath?'

'I can't. I've got to go back out. I lost the new
horse. She pulled away from me, and then a trail bike
rider chased her along the trail, and now I don't know
where she is.'

'I'll get my keys. Let's just hope the car will go.'

Shelby ran down the hall to fetch her sneakers and
a dry tee-shirt.

'Cross fingers,' said Shelby's mother from the
driver's seat. She pushed down on the accelerator and
twisted the key. The engine rumbled into life. Her
mother let out a sigh of relief.

As they backed out of the driveway, her mother
reached across, resting her arm on the back of the
passenger seat so that she could see behind the car.
Shelby watched the shaky wipers slap the water away
before more rain hammered the window.

Where would they even begin to look for Brat?
This was not a four-wheel drive, and even if it were,
Brat would run from the noise before they could see
her. It was hopeless.

A DJ chattered away on the old fogey radio station
that her mother liked to listen to.

It certainly is a wet one this afternoon, so be
careful on those roads, if you're out there. We'll have
our regular traffic update after this song.

First they drove back towards the paddock. Her
mother took the car along the dirt road at the back of
the houses to where it joined the trail. They peered
through the windscreen down the track but couldn't
see anything. The gully covered hundreds of acres of
bushland. They may as well try to empty the ocean with
a teacup.

Her mother turned the car around. 'Where else
does the trail join a road?'

Shelby thought about it. 'Up near the Pony Club.
There are two gates at the back of the stables, and a
few more on the other side of the gully.'

If Brat had made it out of the gully at all, Shelby
thought that was where she would be. The neighbourhood
on the other side of the gully, where Erin and
Hayley lived, was mostly big houses on small acreages.
There were lots of horses in paddocks, and horse
people too. If someone had seen Brat, they would have
taken her in. Shelby hoped that if her mother drove
around there, they would spot Brat wandering around
in someone's paddock.

At the end of the road Shelby's mother flicked on
the blinker and turned right. The car moved freely
along the quiet suburban streets, but soon they came
to the turn-off to Gully Way. Shelby could see traffic
banked up on the crossroad.

Now it's time for the traffic
, said the DJ.
There's
debris on the road at High Street and Station Street.
There's been an accident on Watson Road. The accident
on North Parade has now been cleared, but it's still
pretty heavy around there, so try to avoid it. Talking
about avoiding things, we've had reports that the horse
is still loose, causing extensive delays on and around
Gully Way, so steer clear of the area if you can.

Shelby and her mother gaped at each other.

Her mother looked ahead at the traffic, hitting
the steering wheel in frustration. Shelby unclipped
her seatbelt and opened the car door. She glanced at
her mother.

'Go, go, go!' her mother urged.

All her muscles protested, but Shelby ignored
them, pumping her arms in an effort to go that little
bit faster. People peered at her curiously from inside
their cars as she raced past them.

She reached the intersection, looked left and right,
and crossed the road, skipping between the stopped
cars. Ahead she could see the blue and red rotating
lights of police cars lined up on either side of the road.
Cars were bumper-to-bumper as far back as she could
see. Horns were blaring as drivers lost their temper.
Further back near the Pony Club exit she could
see a few four-wheel drives with floats stopped in
the traffic.

Shelby's heart sank. Pony Club was finished for the
day and everybody would see her. They would all
know that it was her horse. Shelby ran along the
footpath against the flow of traffic. Now she could see
people on the road – three police officers and about
five others. They formed a ring around a big truck –
all with their hands outstretched.

She's been hit.

All the images stored in her mind of meaty road
kill flashed before her eyes in quick succession. Her
stomach flopped over, and she stopped running, afraid
that she might be sick.

Suddenly she saw Brat dart out from behind a
truck. The reins were broken now and hung down
from either side of her mouth. She held her injured
foot up high underneath her, and hopped along the
road on three legs.

She was alive. She was moving. The rush of relief
was almost as powerful as the fear. Shelby's stomach
pitched again, and she put her hand over her mouth.

The group of people slowly closed in on Brat.
One of them was wearing tight yellow trousers –
Mrs Hockings.

Fantastic. Before she just thought I was a bad
rider. Now she thinks I'm a bad owner as well.

Another figure, smaller and slighter – Hayley
Crook. A man seemed to be shouting orders. Shelby
narrowed her eyes, trying to make out his features. It
was Calvin Protheroe.

This
was the worst moment in her life.

Shelby watched as Mr Protheroe stepped in, little
by little, and grabbed one of the reins. Brat reared up
on her hind legs. Mr Protheroe stepped to the side in
a move as smooth as a pirouette, and tucked his body
next to Brat's shoulder. He reached under her chin to
grab hold of the other rein.

Brat dropped back down onto three legs again.
Mr Protheroe tried to turn her but she resisted, jerking
her head and pulling away from him. Mr Protheroe
didn't fight her. He followed her along the road
until she backed into the bonnet of a car. She surged
forward again. Mr Protheroe twisted around and
let her run, staying next to her shoulder the whole
time.

Once they got to the side of the road she stopped.
He stroked her neck until she was quiet, and then
pulled his jumper from around his waist, throwing it
over her face to cover her eyes. Brat stood still, her
back legs splayed out and her sore leg tucked up tight
beneath her chest.

Shelby was close now, maybe twenty metres away.
Mr Protheroe glanced at her, frowned, and then
looked away.

'Thank you, officer,' he called over his shoulder.
Shelby could see the rain dripping from the end of his
nose. The policeman moved forward to shake his
hand. Mr Protheroe turned to Hayley.

'I'm assuming that you only have one horse on
that float,' he said.

Hayley nodded.

'Let's load her quickly before the traffic picks up,'
he said. Then he turned to Shelby and pointed at her.
'You. Get this saddle off.'

Shelby moved forward and undid the buckles on
the girth. 'Thank you so much,' she murmured.

Calvin Protheroe didn't reply. He waited until she
had removed the saddle and then he led Brat towards
the Crooks' float.

Mrs Crook steered onto the shoulder of the road.
Hayley lowered the float tailgate. Shelby, with her
poxy all-purpose saddle over one arm, limped down
the road and watched as Mr Protheroe loaded Brat.

The traffic started to flow past. People in the cars
craned their necks, staring at her.

Once Brat was safely stowed. Hayley climbed into
the car. Mr Protheroe leaned in towards Mrs Crook's
window. He had his jumper loosely draped over
his shoulder.

'Yes, I think that would be best,' he said, nodding.
He stood up straight again and tapped the roof. 'See
you again,' he said.

He turned to face Shelby and she could see the fury
in his eyes.

'Where are they taking her?' she asked.

'Somewhere safe,' he replied. 'I'm sure you will
receive the vet bill, and hopefully a hefty fine, in
due course.
You
should not have horses. I'm going
to make it my business to ensure you don't have this
one.'

Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

Shelby stood still on the side of the road and
watched as he got in his car and drove away without
looking back.

Shelby sat on the lounge in her pyjamas. Her mother
had made cheese on toast while she was in the bath,
but it sat, cold and rubbery, on the coffee table.

Mrs Crook had phoned to say that Brat was now
dry and warm in Scamp's stable. The vet had been to
check Brat's leg, and said it should mend without any
problem, but she had to rest for a couple of days.
Mrs Crook offered to keep Brat at the stables until
she could walk soundly.

'You have to eat something,' Shelby's mother
pleaded. 'I bet you haven't had anything all day.'

Shelby drew her feet up underneath her and shook
her head. 'It's worse than you think,' she said.

Her mother patted her knee. 'We've had a vet bill
before. We'll manage.'

Shelby tugged her sleeves down over her hands and
nibbled on the hem. 'Did Mrs Crook say anything else?'

'No, why?'

Mrs Crook was a cleanliness freak and Brat had
been in the rain for most of the afternoon. The first
thing she would have done, after phoning the vet, was
rub Brat down with a towel – Shelby was sure of it.
Brat's boot polish would have rubbed off.

After cleanliness, the next thing Mrs Crook loved
best was gossip. Shelby knew that even now, while she
sat here exhausted, Mrs Crook would be on the phone
to everybody at the stables and then everybody at
Pony Club to tell them that not only was Shelby
irresponsible, but she was also a horse thief. Shelby's
mind raced as she tried to think what to do. She could
act as surprised as they were about Brat's greyness; she
could run away from here and never come back; or
she could confess. Shelby favoured option two.

Her mother was still waiting for an answer.

'I think Brat might be stolen.'

Her mother frowned. 'What do you mean, honey?'

Shelby explained how she had washed Brat, and
what Clint had said when he'd seen her.

Her mother was shocked. 'Shelby! Why didn't you
tell us straightaway?'

'I was going to. I meant to ring the police this
afternoon, as soon as I got home, but things got out
of hand.'

Shelby's mother rubbed her eyes. She looked so
tired. Shelby was ashamed. Her mother never yelled
at her. She only ever looked disappointed, and that
was worse.

'I really did mean to give her back,' she said.

'I believe you, honey.'

'What should I do?' Shelby asked.

Her mother sighed. 'What were you planning
to do?'

'I was going to ring the police and tell them we have
a stolen grey mare.' Shelby's words rang in her mind.
Stolen grey mare.
Where had she seen that before?

Shelby jumped off the lounge and ran into her
bedroom. With each step she could feel every one of
her strained muscles. She came back with Erin's
magazine and flipped through the pages.

'Here,' she said, laying the magazine on her lap.
She read the ad aloud. 'Stolen. Grey mare. Greatly
missed by owner. Please send our girl home.'

She leaned forward to examine the picture. 'Do
you think it's her?' she asked, holding the magazine up
to her mother.

She shrugged. 'They all look the same to me.'

Shelby studied the photo more closely. The pony
was dressed up in show finery, with her mane plaited.
There was a girl in the saddle who was a couple of
years older than Shelby, perhaps fourteen or fifteen.
The horse was too small for her. The rider's boots hung
down below the pony's belly. The photo had captured
the pony mid-stride – three legs on the ground and one
tucked up underneath her. It could have been Brat. It
looked very much like her. Shelby flicked the page over
to the section that listed ponies for sale. There were
three or four photos of grey ponies in a similar pose.
Any of them could be Brat too. It was so hard to tell
when Shelby didn't know her true colour.

'Do you think I should phone them?'

Her mother leaned back, checking the clock in the
kitchen. 'Yes. Why not?'

Shelby dialled, and then sat on the lounge holding
her mother's hand. After a few rings, the line connected.

'Bob Mulligan speaking.'

'Mr Mulligan? I think I might have your horse.'

The man paused. 'We've had a few calls about
that. Everyone wants a reward, but nobody has our
mare. What makes you think it's her?'

'I just recently got a horse – actually, I swapped it
for mine, and she was supposed to be brown, but it
looks like she might be a grey,' Shelby began.

'We were going to swap a horse too!' Mr Mulligan
butted in. 'Only it wasn't that one. We had another
one the fellow was supposed to look at, but we didn't
end up swapping at all because he was a bit pushy. He
must have come back in the middle of the night
because our little mare wasn't there the next day, and
suddenly his phone was disconnected.'

'Did he have black hair and bushy eyebrows?'
Shelby asked.

'Yes! He showed up in a truck, and wanted to
take the horse right there and then. That's what made
us suspicious. How is she? Where is she? Is she OK?'

Shelby paused. 'She's got a bit of a sore leg. The
vet said it would be all right, though. What happened
was –'

Mr Mulligan interrupted her. 'She was pawing at
the fence, right? We had to put up special fencing to
stop her doing that. I can't believe it! You little ripper!
She's probably not as bad as you think. She can bung
it on when she feels like it. This is amazing! You wait
till I tell Sarah – that's my daughter. We thought we'd
never see her again.' He laughed. 'I'm rapt.'

Shelby gave her address and phone number to the
man and he said he would come and check that it was
really his horse in a few days.

After she hung up Shelby leaned back on the
lounge, grinning. She told her mother everything Mr
Mulligan had said. She felt so much better.

Her mother leaned over and patted her on the
shoulder. 'You know what that means? If you hadn't
swapped, that man might have come back and taken
Blue anyway, so you can stop beating yourself up
about that.'

Shelby looked down at her hands. 'But that's not
the point, is it? I shouldn't have let him go. I shouldn't
have even rung in the first place.'

'Oh, I don't know,' her mother said. 'You wanted
a new challenge. There's nothing wrong with that. If
you never challenge yourself then you never improve.'

Shelby sighed. She hadn't expected the challenges
to be so . . . challenging.