You can’t say that,’ Jade’s father had told her. ‘You are a member of the public, and the public is everyone. You don’t hate everyone.’
Yes, she did. Right then, at least. Jade mixed Pip’s feed too vigorously, scattering chaff outside the bucket and getting bits stuck like splinters under her finger-nails. If the meeting went ‘well’ this morning, it might be one of the last feeds she would make for Pip.
It seemed odd, placing Pip’s feed bucket on the chewed-down grass of her diet paddock. Especially when the other side of the fence was lush with spring clover, on which Jade’s young pony, Taniwha, was grazing greedily.
‘Poor Pip.’ Jade patted the old pony’s black neck, her summer coat shining underneath the last tufts of brownish winter hair. ‘Always boring chaff. But it’s healthy, and you don’t want laminitis again, do you?’
Pip snorted and kicked her bucket. To be honest, the old pony was not looking her best, with her between-seasons coat and with gummy eyes caused by the spring pollen. Normally, Pip’s slovenly appearance frustrated Jade, but today she was glad. The Hodge family were due any minute now to ‘try out’ Pip. Jade hadn’t liked the sound of Mrs Hodge over the phone, and hoped that her pony’s dishevelment would be enough to put them off.
‘Isn’t the old girl looking splendid? I’m sure she’ll charm them.’
Jade tried not to scowl at Mr White. He was just being nice — and he had been very kind to her since his awful suggestion that two ponies were probably more than enough to be grazing on his property. No, he’d been kind before that, too — ever since Jade’s first day in Flaxton, really. As her dad had told her, she must remember how generous the Whites had been before cursing them for evicting her elderly black mare.
‘You think so?’ Jade asked as brightly as she could. ‘I reckon she’s looking a bit feral.’
‘Not at all. Still the looker, even at twenty-four.’ Then he noticed Jade’s face fall. ‘It’s good! Plenty of people will be interested, and the more interest you have, the better your chances of finding her the perfect retirement home.’
Jade kicked a lump of dried horse poo towards the wheelbarrow designated for ‘cleaning’ the paddock. This was the perfect retirement home for Pip. Couldn’t Mr White see that?
‘I think your customers have arrived,’ Mr White said, as the driveway was suddenly full of a huge silver van. ‘Would you like me to stay for moral support or make myself scarce?’
‘I don’t mind. I’ll be fine by myself if you have something else to do.’
‘Right-o. Just call if you need me. I might not hear, though, as I’ll be mowing the lawn.’
Jade forced a smile as a woman, who must have been Mrs Hodge, and three almost identical brown-haired children emerged from the van.
‘She’s so pretty!’ the oldest of the children exclaimed, touching Taniwha’s face with a nervous hand.
‘He’s a he, not a she,’ Jade said, remembering that she had made exactly the same mistake with her first pony, when she first moved to Flaxton and rescued Pip from the pound. It felt like a very long time indeed since she had assumed that the old mare was a stallion.
The girl, who looked about nine, didn’t seem to hear Jade. She was busy whistling at Taniwha’s nose in a way that she didn’t realize was annoying the young pony.
‘That’s not the one for sale,’ Jade said hurriedly, noticing Tani’s biting face coming on. ‘Pip’s over here.’ She’ll be more tolerant of your fussing, Jade wanted to say, but stopped herself.
‘That one?’ asked one of the younger children, with disappointment.
‘I like this one better. This one isn’t ugly,’ said another charming child. ‘Can we have him, Mum?’
‘He’s not for sale,’ Jade cut in.
‘You heard the girl, kids. It’s the lovely old pony that we’re here to see. What was your name again, sweetheart?’ Mrs Hodge asked. Jade thought she looked like a woman who regularly lost track of her own children’s names.
‘I’m Jade, and this is Pip.’ Jade tried to lead by example, ducking under the tape fence of the diet paddock and putting a halter on her less attractive pony.
The Hodge family slowly followed. They seemed reluctant to be in the same paddock as the pony, preferring to stand on the other side of the fence. Jade could tell they were staring at poor Pip’s gummy eyes.
‘Is she sick?’ Mrs Hodge asked.
‘No, she’s fine at the moment. But there’s always a chance of the laminitis coming back. That’s why we have to be careful about controlling what she eats.’
‘Does laminitis affect the pony’s eyes?’
‘No, that’s just hay fever.’
‘A horse with hay fever!’ the middle Hodge child chortled.
‘She’s allergic to the pollen,’ Jade explained.
‘Can we ride her?’ the smallest Hodge asked.
‘Yeah, sure.’ Jade should have tacked up Pip before the Hodges had arrived; she knew they would want to ride. It had been wishful thinking, assuming the family would be instantly put off by Pip’s appearance. ‘I’ll get her saddle.’
The family, in their track pants and running shoes, watched with respect as Jade tacked up Pip with a skill that comes from having practised literally hundreds of times.
If it had been Tani, Jade would certainly have mounted first. She would have been warming him up all morning, before the Hodges arrived, trying to calm all the bucks out of him. But Pip was another story. Jade knew she could trust old Pip to walk a few circuits of the paddock without turning a hair, regardless of what her rider was doing.
The eldest Hodge was to go first. She waited and listened while Jade demonstrated how to mount, how to hold the reins, and how to sit in the saddle.
‘Your turn,’ Jade said, dismounting. She watched the child step carefully from the upturned feed bin that acted as a mounting block to the stirrup. With little grace but no catastrophe, the young Hodge was soon in the saddle. She wasn’t going too badly.
‘Heels a bit further down, and legs back,’ Jade said, finding it easier to move the child’s feet and legs herself than explain how to do it. ‘And sit up a bit straighter.’ Jade was about to tell the younger girl to keep her chin up and look straight ahead, when she noticed the helmet sliding forward over her eyes. ‘Is my helmet too big for you?’
‘It’s OK,’ the girl said. ‘Can we just ride now? What do I do?’
‘Hold the reins like this.’ Jade demonstrated. ‘And try and keep your legs and hands still. I’m going to lead you for now.’
‘Like a pony ride at the races.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Can we trot?’
‘No, Pip’s only up to walking.’ Jade looked at Mrs Hodge, to whom she’d explained Pip’s condition over the phone.
‘I told you, Crystal — this pony just walks. No making it gallop.’
Crystal didn’t reply. To her credit, she didn’t blame Pip for her disappointment, and remembered to give the pony’s fluffy black neck a pat before slithering to the ground and letting her siblings have a turn.
The middle Hodge, an excitable seven-year-old boy called Ethan, allowed Pip to prove herself ‘bombproof’, as Jade had promised in the ad.
Instead of waiting for the helmet, and for a leg-up from Jade, the small boy clambered up Pip as if she were a jungle gym. When he found himself miraculously in the saddle and facing the right way, Ethan grabbed the buckle of the reins and, with one foot in a stirrup and one out, kicked Pip’s sides in an urgent but ineffectual manner. Uncertain of what was expected of her, Pip looked at Jade.
‘Ethan, sit still,’ Jade said. She would have been sterner, but was afraid it was rude to scold a child while his mother was watching.
‘Make it go!’ he yelled. ‘Come on, horse!’
‘Sit still and be quiet, just like Crystal was before,’ Jade said.
‘If you do as Jade says, the pony will take you for a ride,’ Mrs Hodge said, with astounding patience. Her words worked; straight away, the middle Hodge ceased his flapping and let Jade move him into the correct riding position.
‘Now, are you ready? We’re off!’ Jade said, trying to get Pip to move at a pace that would impress the boy but do her no injury.
‘I’m quite high up,’ Ethan announced, pleased. ‘It’s higher up than the pony at the races, Crystal.’
‘Maybe too high up for Danielle?’ Mrs Hodge asked. Jade noticed that the girl of about five had gone to hold her mother’s hand.
‘Pip’s very quiet — she’ll keep Danielle safe and sound,’ Jade assured her. ‘But my helmet will be far too big.’
‘Would bike helmets do?’ Mrs Hodge asked, looking at her children’s different-sized heads.
‘They wouldn’t be regulation for pony club, but I reckon they’d be fine for riding at home.’
Where will ‘home’ be for Pip if you take her? Jade wanted to ask, but she didn’t know how to do it without sounding nosy.
However, Danielle, to Jade’s relief, decided that she didn’t want to ride the ‘big horse’. But then came the awkward question of money. Two-thirds of the Hodge children were happy with Pip, and Mrs Hodge had always wanted a pony, since she was a little girl (something Jade found hard to imagine), so, yes, they were definitely interested in taking Pip. What was Jade’s price?
‘Well,’ Jade began, completely unsure of what to say. Of course she had considered this moment. She had planned to say, Because of Pip’s age and state of health, I would rather give her to a good home, than sell her to a bad one, but it was hard to say this to the Hodges. They seemed like nice people, but incapable of caring for an old pony, even one as amenable as Pip.
‘I can offer $200 — that’s what my husband and I agreed on.’ Mrs Hodge looked worried, as if deep down she knew this pony would cost more than a one-off payment of $200. It would cost time and effort, bags of chaff, vet bills and more.
‘Pip is a very old pony, and she could get sick again really quickly if she isn’t looked after carefully,’ Jade said, trying not to sound accusing.
‘We’d take the best care of her,’ Crystal said. ‘We love animals — we’ve got two cats, a dog, three birds and three mice. The mice are mine.’
‘Crystal knows,’ Mrs Hodge interjected. ‘I told the kids that when we moved to the lifestyle block, they could get a horse. Since I made that promise, they’ve borrowed piles of horsey books from the library. They’re really keen. We would give Pip a very good home.’ Mrs Hodge looked hard at Jade.
‘Okay,’ Jade paused. ‘I think I have to talk to my dad about it before we agree on anything.’
‘Fair enough. We’ll give you a call tonight then.’
The phone kept ringing. Jade’s dad and granddad stared at her.
‘We’re eating dinner,’ Jade said. ‘It’s rude to take a phone call during dinner.’
‘You’ve nearly finished,’ Jade’s dad said.
Jade scraped the last morsel of roast chicken off her fork and sat it next to the remaining clump of mashed potato and four peas. Her dad’s attempt at a Sunday roast, for her granddad’s benefit, had been quite successful, but the dinner-time conversation had circled unpleasantly around the topic of Pip’s new owners. Jade’s arguments — that the Hodges were inexperienced with horses and would mistreat Pip in their ignorance — fell flat. Her granddad kept reminding Jade how inexperienced she had been when she had first found Pip — well, stolen Pip from the farm-animal pound, to be precise. And her dad would not stop telling her to be more trusting of ‘the public’; he didn’t want his daughter to see the rest of society as inferior to herself.
‘There. It’s stopped.’ Jade was relieved … until about ten seconds later when the ominous ringing started again.
‘Go on, girl,’ Granddad said. ‘Don’t be cowardly.’
‘I’m not cowardly. I just don’t know what to say,’ Jade said.
‘It’s your decision; we’ve just given you our two cents.’ Her dad was attempting to give Jade ‘more responsibility’. Ever since he had read an article about responsibility in the Listener, Jade had noticed her father speaking to her in a different way.
Jade sighed heavily as she went to the phone.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, this is Cindy Hodge. Is that Jade?’
‘Great, I finally caught you. Been having trouble getting through.’
Jade felt like she ought to apologize, but didn’t.
‘Anyway, Jade, the kids all thought Pip was a real cutie.’
Again, Jade felt that a response was expected of her, but she couldn’t decide what to say.
‘It was so kind of you to let them have a ride.’
Jade nodded, forgetting that Cindy Hodge couldn’t see her.
‘Are you there, dear?’
‘Yep.’
‘Sorry — I shouldn’t beat about the bush. I talked to my husband, and he made the sensible point that such an old pony, an old pony with a recurring illness, may not live much longer. Sorry to be so blunt.’
‘That’s OK.’ Jade wondered where this was going. Her spirits rose a little.
‘Although I’d love to give the old girl a nice, quiet retirement, I don’t think we want to put the kids in such a hard position — to get attached to a pony that won’t be around much longer. They’re so young; it’d be better to avoid that grief for now and find a younger, healthier pony instead. I’m sorry, I meant to break that to you more gently.’
‘No, no — that’s fine!’ Jade nearly laughed. Her grin was audible.
‘Thanks for being so understanding. And I’m sorry for wasting your time. We really were seriously interested until I spoke to my husband.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I completely understand.’
When Jade returned to the table, still grinning, it was obvious that her dad and granddad had been eavesdropping.
‘Someone’s a bit lucky, by the sounds of it,’ her granddad said. ‘You didn’t even have to say no.’
‘I know!’
‘What did she say?’ Jade’s dad asked.
‘She talked to Mr Hodge, and he told her that Pip was probably going to die soon, which would upset their kids. Great, eh?’
Jade’s dad stared at her. ‘It didn’t bother you at all, hearing that they didn’t want Pip because she has one foot in the grave?’
‘No! I’m just glad they won’t take her. They wouldn’t have given her a good home.’
Jade’s dad sighed. ‘Back to square one, then?’
‘I guess.’
‘You’re lucky Jim White hasn’t given you a strict dead line,’ said her granddad.
Jade scowled at him.
‘Jade!’ her dad reprimanded.
‘It’ll be fine. There’s the Jollykhana soon. I have a feeling that we’ll find the perfect home for Pip then.’
‘The Jolly-what?’ Her granddad was mystified.
‘It’s like a gymkhana but — jollier. Flaxton Pony Club’s Christmas thing. The events are less serious and there’s a fancy-dress competition.’
‘Jade’s been making herself a costume out of old chaff sacks,’ her dad said, laughing. ‘What a little greenie.’
‘Sounds a bit itchy,’ her granddad said, chortling too. ‘What are you going as?’
‘Pocahontas.’
‘When do we get to see the creation?’ her dad asked.
‘It’s not finished yet. And it doesn’t make sense without Tani. You’ll just have to come along on Saturday. Both of you.’
‘I’ve got jobs to do on Saturday. Why not do a quick fashion parade now? I can imagine the horse.’
‘Okay — but it’ll take a few minutes. I need to plait my hair for you to get the right idea.’
The tunic was very simple: a chaff sack with armholes and a neckline hemmed with red wool in a blanket stitch (the only stitch Jade had mastered in sewing class or ‘materials technology’, as the school called it). With the rest of the wool, she’d woven a belt to draw in the waist. With her hair plaited, a childish bow and arrow made with string and sticks strapped to her back, and some generally ethnic face paint, Jade thought she looked rather good.
Before entering the dining room, she shot an arrow. There was a sound of glass clinking.
‘Good shot!’ She could hear her granddad chortling again.
‘Jade, that was my wine!’ Her dad sounded less impressed.
‘It’s not Jade — it’s Pocahontas,’ her granddad said as his granddaughter entered, wailing and patting her mouth, as she had seen Indians doing in Westerns.
‘What do you think?’ Jade twirled.
Jade’s dad put his head in his hands.
‘What?’
‘Nothing, nothing — it’s gorgeous. You’ve done a great job.’ He burst out laughing.
‘What?’
‘It’s just so … well, it’s not especially politically correct, is it?’
‘I’m being a cartoon character.’
‘I know — fair enough. Sorry.’
‘I think you look smashing.’
‘Thanks, Granddad.’
‘Showing a bit of leg, though, aren’t you?’
The tunic was split up either side, from Jade’s knees to her hips.
‘I know. I don’t like it, but it’s the only way I can ride in it.’
‘More a functional design feature than a fashion one, then?’
‘I wish it wasn’t so “leggy”,’ Jade admitted. ‘But I don’t know how to change it — unless I ride sidesaddle. But Pocahontas didn’t ride side-saddle, did she, Dad?’
‘No, I don’t think so. And don’t worry about the splits up the side of the skirt: it’s probably the most authentic thing about the costume.’
‘It’s a tunic, not a skirt,’ Jade corrected.
‘Sorry, tunic. Is there a prize for best dressed?’
‘Yep — a cup!’
‘Well, I’d vote for you,’ her granddad said, grinning. ‘And, now the fashion parade is over, I’d better be getting home. Holly Dog will be wondering where I am.’
The week before the Flaxton Jollykhana drifted pleasantly by, as the last days of school before the summer holidays often do. All the serious work of the year was finished; the teachers were content to let their classes make Christmas cards, play Capture the Flag, and watch DVDs. All the teachers, that is, except Mr Wilde.
‘I have a treat for you all,’ he said in a voice his pupils knew not to trust. ‘Now the hard slog of the year is over, we can relax with a ballad.’
It was a warm afternoon. His class weren’t even chatting; they simply sat, slumped, not far from sleeping.
‘Who can tell me what a ballad is?’
Silence.
‘Well?’
Knowing that Mr Wilde would not stop until he received a reply, Jade’s friend Laura answered tentatively, ‘An old song?’
‘Thank you, Laura. Imprecise, but close enough. Here is the ballad in question.’ He switched on the overhead projector, then handed out photocopied sheets of paper to the whole class. Jade looked at her own sheets of paper and read ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’.
‘This is not going to be assessed. It is merely for your enjoyment. So, sit back, relax and listen as I read. Read along yourselves, if you like.’
‘Why can’t we just watch a DVD?’ Jade’s friend Becca whispered.
Jade shook her head and mouthed ‘I don’t know.’
Mr Wilde read well, with a velvety voice. Jade found it difficult to keep her eyes open. The words were in a strange order, and every third or fourth word seemed unfamiliar. As far as Jade could tell, an old man had killed an albatross and regretted it. The albatross, the poem said, made the breeze blow. Jade liked that.
Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man’s blood with cold.
Mr Wilde’s voice went from nearly a shout to a whisper. Jade wasn’t sure who he was talking about now, but she liked the lines. She could picture the nightmarish lady.
‘Oh, no — we’ve run out of time,’ Mr Wilde said, glancing at his watch. ‘I was going to ask if you had any questions, but we really have to pack the desks up for the cleaners.’
Glad to be freed from the poem, the class immediately began pushing their empty desks to the back wall of the room. Above the screech of chair and table legs against the floor, Mr Wilde attempted to conclude not just the poetry lesson, but the year.
‘I know most teachers hand out sweets and chocolates on the last day, but as someone with a false tooth I am very aware of the perils of too much sugar.’ He reached up to pull his tooth out, but even that didn’t grab his pupils’ attention; they had seen it too many times before. ‘Instead,’ he carried on, ‘I’ve given you one of my favourite poems. Read it aloud, read it often. Look up the words you don’t know and reuse them. Enjoy the drama of the narrative, the tragedy of the protagonist.’
Jade listened out of pity, because no one else seemed to be.
‘And I would like to thank you once more for tolerating my eccentricities and foibles throughout the year. I wish you the very best for your secondary school years, and will follow your progress as best I can.’
‘Thank you, Mr Wilde,’ Jade mumbled, ashamed of her classmates who were chatting over the top of their teacher’s small speech.
‘Good luck, Jade,’ Mr Wilde said, staring at her with his unsettlingly bright eyes. ‘I’m glad I had the opportunity to teach you in my final year. You have a lot of promise.’
‘You’re not coming back next year?’ Jade was surprised. There had been no farewell at the end-of-year assembly. No ceremony.
‘I am finally retiring.’
‘Thank you for teaching me.’ Jade didn’t know what else to say. ‘And thanks for the poem. I liked some of it.’
Mr Wilde laughed. ‘I’m glad.’
Despite it being the final year of intermediate, Jade didn’t really have any other goodbyes. She lived around the corner from Laura, and would see Becca the very next day, when Becca’s mum drove them both to the Jollykhana.
Because it was a Jollykhana, the important thing wasn’t winning but participating. Becca, with her talented dun jumper, Dusty, had recovered completely from her nasty fall last winter and was frustrated with the lack of competition. But Jade, with young Taniwha, couldn’t care less. It was a relief not having to worry about her inconsistent (at best) Kaimanawa-Arab bolting or turning into a bucking bronco during the Paced and Mannered class. In her pony club sweatshirt instead of competition jacket, and with the ribbons going right down to eighth place (a quite pretty burgundy colour), Jade relaxed, and in turn so too did her hyperactive five-year-old gelding.
No, the point of the Jollykhana wasn’t the red ribbon — it was simply a festive pony club rally with a lavish pot-luck lunch at the end of the day. The only competition that meant anything was the Fancy Dress, and, as Jade donned the itchy hessian tunic and transformed into Pocahontas, she wondered whether she was a bit too old for dressing up. It was probably only meant for the little kids — the six-year-olds and their Shetland ponies. So it was relief, then, when Jade saw Becca appear with a shopping bag full of clothing and a pot of red face paint.
‘You’re doing this too, right?’ Jade asked.
‘Definitely. You look amazing, by the way.’
‘You know who I am?’
‘A Red Indian?’
‘Pocahontas.’
‘Cool. Mine was Mum’s idea. I don’t know if anyone else will like it.’
Jade watched as her slight, red-haired friend changed into a pair of white overalls and white gumboots, then began liberally applying red paint to her face, hands and costume.
‘Um …’ Jade said, trying to guess what her friend was dressing up as.
‘It’ll make more sense when I’m with Dusty. Mum’s getting him ready now.’
When Jade was happy with her plaits and with the angle of the magpie feather she had stuck in her headband, she followed Becca down the ramp of the truck and found two painted ponies.
Dusty was standing sleepily, nibbling at a hay-net, completely oblivious to the black grease paint on his sides. The dotted lines of paint mimicked those Jade had seen on the drawing of a pig at the Flaxton Butcher.
‘That’s horrible!’ Jade said, starting to laugh, but wishing she wasn’t. ‘Becca, are you really going to hold that meat cleaver?’
‘Hold still, darling.’ Becca’s mum was now tracing a grease-paint moustache on Becca’s upper lip.
‘Yep,’ Becca said, grinning. ‘It’s funny. Dusty eats so much, he’s a little pig. Get it?’
‘I put a few zigzags on Tani’s rump — I hope you don’t mind,’ Becca’s mum told Jade.
‘No, it looks good. Thanks.’ Jade was just glad her pony’s body hadn’t been divided up into different cuts of meat.
When the girls were ready, they walked sedately over to the ring. Jade was riding, somewhat cautiously, without a saddle, and Becca was leading her pig-pony.
They joined the procession of six-year-old girls dressed as brides and fairies, their ponies adorned with ribbons and lace. The judges, standing in the centre of the circle, were clearly taken with Becca’s outrageous costume. They couldn’t stop staring and grinning.
‘I think we’re close to deciding a winner,’ Pony Club District Commissioner Mrs Thompson called out in her booming voice.
‘Wait!’ There was a shout and a thunder of hooves.
‘Oh, no,’ Becca sighed. She could see her cousin, Ryan Todd, cantering far too fast towards the ring. To everyone’s surprise, he slowed down in time and joined the group without mishap. Until, that is, he saw Jade’s costume.
‘We all die, Injun,’ Ryan said, in as deep a voice as he could muster. ‘Just a question of when.’ And with only the slightest fumble, he pulled a toy cap gun from its holster, pointed it at Jade and fired three times.
Relieved that the noise hadn’t made Tani shy, and enjoying the game, Jade feigned death, gagging a few times then lying back on Tani’s rump, carefully keeping a hold on the buckle of the reins, just in case.
‘Very impressive!’ Mrs Thompson boomed again. ‘We thought young Rebecca had it in the bag, but this double-act is excellent.’
‘Double-act?’ Becca looked confused. ‘It wasn’t planned, was it?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Mrs Thompson said. ‘They make a good pair, one way or another. Would the Cowboy and the Indian please come to the centre?’
Returning to life and smiling briefly at Ryan, who seemed all of a sudden reluctant to be paired up with a girl, Jade steered Tani towards Mrs Thompson and the Fancy Dress Cup.
‘And, in second place, could we have Rebecca, please?’
Trying not to look disappointed, Becca joined her best friend and her cousin, to accept the blue ribbon rather than the cup.
‘I thought your costume was funniest,’ a voice called as the winners finished their lap of honour.
‘Thanks, Andy,’ Becca said to their pony club friend. ‘Why didn’t you enter?’
‘I don’t really like dressing up, and Piper’s still so unpredictable — it would have been embarrassing if she bolted in front of everyone. I’m impressed that you went bareback, Jade.’
‘Wasn’t Tani good?’ Jade was pleased that Andy had noticed.
‘Superb. He seems to be really settling down.’
‘I don’t think he’ll ever be as quiet as old Pip, but I’m a lot less scared of him now. Six months ago I would never have ridden without stirrups, let alone without a whole saddle.’
‘Speaking of Pip,’ Andy said, ‘have you found her a new home yet?’
‘No. One family has looked at her, but they weren’t really right. Why? Do you know someone?’
‘I reckon I do. My Aunt Flora has a riding school out at Ocean Bay. She was telling my mum last night that she needed a new beginner’s mount — just for lead-rein walks along the beach and stuff.’
‘Really?’ Jade asked. ‘That sounds perfect.’
‘She’s in town next week. Would you mind her viewing Pip then?’
‘I guess not.’
Jade wasn’t sure whether this was actually good news. She seemed to have found the perfect home for Pip, but that would mean her first pony wouldn’t be around for much longer.