The Pony Question

by Jackie Merchant

  “Essie and I accidentally bought her yesterday at an auction,” explained Francesca. “Gosh, it sounds ridiculous when I say it!” She half laughed.

  “Yes, it does,” laughed Pete. “She looks like a liquorice allsort in that rug!”

  “We’re just figuring out how to give her a bath in the orchard shed,” said Connie, “and how to get hot water from the old tub.”

  “Right,” said Pete. “Do you know what she’s like to wash? I’m happy to help, but what’s the urgency?” he asked.

  “She has lice, so we need to treat her. And some help would be great actually, thanks, Pete,” said Essie. It occurred to her that the pony might object to being washed. They couldn’t take anything for granted. Dad used to help with that sort of stuff, she thought with a lurch. Well, he’s not now, she reminded herself firmly.

  “Poor thing,” said Pete. “We see a bit of that at the yards, makes them pretty unhappy.”

  “Why don’t you all have breakfast with us?” asked Francesca, draining her coffee cup and looking around the little group. “I’m in the mood to do a cook-up, and I haven’t seen any of you properly since I started going to the clearing sales all the time. We have to wait for the hot water to heat up anyway.”

  “I think I need a shower more than I need a feed,” said Pete, looking down at his mud-splattered clothes.

  “Well, the offer stands. Spanish bake and lots of thick toast and fresh coffee?” said Francesca, doing her best to tempt him. “How about you go and shower, put your comfies on, get Aiden and come have breakfast, then you can go home and crash? No cooking and no washing up – well, aside from the pony,” she threw in.

  “Well, no one could argue with that,” smiled Pete. He looked tired, and for a moment Essie felt guilty for accepting his offer of help, “Can we say in an hour?” he asked.

  “Perfect,” said Francesca, her smile wide. “Come on, Essie, you’re assistant chef. The pony will be fine with her hay – oh, and her new friend,” she added, laughing. Lonely the hen was scratching around in the hay, just centimetres from the pony’s head.

  “How has she been?” asked Essie. The little hen had earned her name after a fox had taken all her mates from the chicken coop one night at the end of summer. Refusing to return to the scene of the crime, Lonely had moved herself out of the chook house and into Doddsy and Pete’s laundry, coming in through the doggy door.

  “She’s a pain in the neck. She roosts over the laundry tub now, and poos in it. Last week I had Josh’s clothes soaking – just the kind of chaos we always have,” said Doddsy, sounding resigned. “She is still laying though, even into winter, so maybe she thinks she needs to earn her keep. We’ll bring some eggs to contribute to breakfast.”

  “Righto, see you in a while,” said Pete, taking Doddsy’s hand.

  As they walked off, Lonely ran after them, sturdy yellow legs pumping, wings held out, determined not to let her family leave without her.

  “Looks like the name search continues,” Connie said.

  “Ah well, that’s the thing with names, isn’t it? If they aren’t right then you can’t make them stick,” said Percy.

  “We’ll see you in an hour then, for brunch?” Francesca asked again.

  “Yes, that’d be great,” said Connie, just as Percy said “I’ll do as I’m told.” He laughed and added, “But first I’ll go turn on the hot water for you.”

  “Want some music?” Essie asked as Francesca moved about the kitchen, humming to herself.

  Lifting her head from the open fridge, Francesca smiled and asked “You don’t like my humming?” Before Essie could answer she said, “You choose, you’re more familiar with what’s there now than me.”

  Essie had been going through Francesca’s old vinyl records while she was sick, playing them on the 1980s record player in the afternoons and falling asleep to the scratchy sound.

  “Ahh, The Mamas and the Papas,” said Francesca approvingly as music flowed through the kitchen.

  Putting the record sleeve away, Essie didn’t notice Connie and Percy appear in the doorway.

  “Hellooooo!” called Connie. “Ooh, it smells lovely in here! What are you cooking?”

  “You didn’t decide to cook the pony, did you?” smirked Percy.

  “Oh Percy!” they all said in horrified chorus.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure it’d be alive this morning.” Percy smiled.

  “You shocker,” said Francesca. “What you can smell is Spanish eggs, tomato, chorizo sausage and spinach, enough for an army.”

  “Well, Aiden is coming, after all,” said Essie.

  “And let’s face it, he is an army when it comes to food!” Francesca laughed.

  Connie bustled into the kitchen. “I’ve got banana bread and – oh, I forgot them, I had two jars of my apple sauce to bring. Go get the apples, Percy!” she ordered.

  “Oh no,” said Francesca. “Save that for yourselves, we have more than enough.”

  Essie felt her face pucker. Connie was the loveliest neighbour, but her apple sauce was truly awful. Bitter and floury, it was like eating apple toothpaste. Oh well, at least they could mix the pony’s medicine into it.

  “No, I insist,” said Connie. “We’ve got plenty, and I know how much you both appreciate them. Lots of vitamin C will be good for you too, Essie.”

  Essie didn’t dare look at Francesca as Percy headed off, mumbling.

  “What can I do to help?” asked Connie. “Cutlery?” she suggested, pulling open the drawer and jingling through the knives and forks.

  “And plates too, thanks,” said Francesca, peering into the oven. “Essie, if you’re up to it can you grab the fold-out table from my studio? We’ll put it against the kitchen table. And grab the chairs, too – oh, here’s Aiden, just in time to help. Good morning, darling,” she called to him as he stood, gentle and still, in the doorway, camera around his neck as usual.

  Essie smiled broadly at him. “Come and meet the pony,” she said, leading him outside.

  “Got a name for it yet?” Aiden asked, hands in pockets, hair falling over his face.

  Essie shook her head. “It’s really difficult. I think we’re trying too hard – it’s like they’re all a bit too clever or something. It would help if we knew her story,” she pointed out as they reached the carport.

  “Crikey,” said Aiden, “I wasn’t expecting that.” He lowered the camera as if deciding against taking her photo. “I thought you meant a horse like the one you had before?” He was referring to the competition photos of Chet in Essie’s room.

  “She, Aiden, not that. She may not have a name, but don’t call her ‘that’. And you should take her photo – maybe you can do a photo documentary of her recovery?” said Essie, stung on the mare’s behalf. “Who knows what she’ll look like with proper care. After breakfast she’s getting a bath, she’ll look a bit better then.” Essie wasn’t sure she believed it.

  “Yeah, okay, sorry. But when Mum said you’d bought a pony, well, I didn’t expect to see, well, her,” he offered, trying to soften the blow.

  As if deciding charm was her best option, the mare came over to them, ears pricked, curious, something had caught her eye. It was Pete and Doddsy swinging Josh between them as they came across the street. Josh was laughing, his head thrown back. Lonely ran along beside them, jumping each time Josh’s feet left the ground.

  Lifting the camera effortlessly, Aiden grabbed a quick photo of the mare’s face before, camera steady, he turned and photographed his family and their chicken, bright in the pale day.

  Essie put her face into the pony’s neck. Hearing the click of the camera again, she knew she’d been caught. “Cut it out, Aido,” she said without looking at him.

  “Well, I can’t shoot a photo documentary about rescue, orphan, abandoned without you in it, can I? Thanks for the idea.”

  “What do you think you’re doing playing triple word?” Essie shot him a smile to take the sting out of her words. Leaving the pony, she open
ed the bright blue door into the studio. “Here, take this,” she said, passing him a folded canvas chair. “And this,” she added, passing the next one over.

  Lifting aside bolts of fabric, bags of foam and stuffing, she finally puffed, “Ah, here it is,” and pulled the old trestle out from beside the wall, where it was pinned by a slumping wall of folded fabric.

  “If this pile falls and I’m buried alive under a fabric mountain, you have to dig me out,” she said. Fabric avalanches weren’t uncommon in the studio.

  Wrestling the table out the door, Essie grunted. “Thanks for your help, Aido,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes at him busily looking at the world through his camera. “This thing weighs a tonne – no wonder people buy those light plastic ones from the cheap shop in town.”

  “That’s why the world is going to hell,” said Aiden, taking one end of the table with surprising ease. “Because we keep replacing perfectly fine old stuff with the same stuff just new, like the suitcases.”

  Aiden had won a photography competition for a photo he took of a skip bin full of discarded old luggage sets, which were in new condition. He called the photo “To hell in a suitcase”. Since then, he’d become obsessed with fixing things instead of buying new ones. He was the complete opposite of Shiny Steve, Essie thought, who had every new gadget under the sun.

  “Remember, I need a copy of that suitcase photo before you get famous and start photographing superstars,” Essie stirred him.

  “Before I’m travelling the world with the news, capturing real stories, you mean,” he said, dropping his end of the table and clicking another photo of Essie.

  “Photograph the pony, Aido, not me, okay?” Essie instructed.

  “Sorry, there has to be truth in journalism,” he said, nodding at her. “Just pick up your end and hurry up,” he joked, picking up his end of the table again. “Though if you become famous, I’ll do special assignments and photograph you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Aido, why would anyone want to be famous?” Essie said, surprised that he’d even think that. She shuddered at the memory of her five minutes of negative internet fame, thanks to her dad. Essie didn’t care if no one watched her do anything ever again. In fact, she hoped they didn’t.

  “I don’t mean famous for nothing, like people behaving badly on the internet,” said Aiden. “But you could be a famous scientist, or a writer or you could ride in the Olympics.” He smiled at Essie, completely caught up in the idea.

  “With an imagination like that you’ll be doing fantasy and sci-fi films,” Essie quipped. “Now stop daydreaming or you’ll fall over,” she added as he stepped backwards up the stairs.

  “Yes, Esperance,” he mocked, knowing how much she hated her full name.

  “We don’t have to feed you, you know,” she said.

  “Francesca will feed me – she loves me,” he threw back, flicking his mop of curls out of his face.

  “Oh, she’ll feed you all right,” quipped Essie. “She’s hoping if your mouth’s full you’ll stop talking.”

  Aiden just laughed as they pushed through the front door. “Here’s your table, Francesca,” he called towards the kitchen, smirking at Essie.

  “Thank you, darlings!” she called back.

  “See?” he whispered at Essie. “She loves me.”

  “Remind me again why we’re friends?” Essie said, rolling her eyes.

  “Because I’ll go back and get the chairs?” he asked, turning and quickly lifting the camera to photograph Lonely in a shaft of sunlight by the front door.

  “Well, that’ll be a start,” said Essie.

  “Lonely, get out,” called Doddsy as the hen came inside and looked around, head bobbing, wanting to be with her humans. “Sorry, Francesca,” she said.

  “She can come in, poor girl,” said Francesca. “What’s a bit of chook poo on the floor between friends?”

  “There’s a truck pulled up out front,” said Aiden, coming in the door, chairs under his arm.

  “That’ll be Rob who brought the pony here. Tell him to come inside, Essie,” called Francesca.

  Essie saw the back of his blue woollen jumper and beanie go down beside the wall of the house just as she stepped through the front door.

  “Morning,” Essie said, finding him looking over the couch. “She looks better, doesn’t she?”

  Turning a tired face to Essie, Rob said, “Yeah, she does; she’s getting through her hay well. I’ve got you some more in the truck.”

  “Oh thanks,” said Essie, surprised. “We’re only feeding her like you said,” she pointed out.

  “Well, it’s working.” He nodded at the pony, who was dozing, catching the few rays of sunshine that came through the carport onto her back, hind leg rested.

  “Mum said come and have some brunch with us,” said Essie, half turning towards the house.

  “Thanks, but I had breakfast,” he replied, shuffling uncomfortably.

  “Well, a coffee at least,” coaxed Essie. “Percy from last night and Connie are here, and our other neighbours, too.”

  “Well, okay, a coffee would be great then,” he agreed.

  The noise level in the house was more like a party than Sunday brunch. Everyone was talking over one and other, and the magic smell of food drifted from the kitchen.

  Seeing them come in, Francesca sang out, “Here’s the hero of the story, everyone! This is Rob, who drove the pony home for us last night.” Everyone clapped and whistled, and Rob turned pink.

  Pulling his beanie off, he said, “That’s not true, but thank you.” He looked like he regretted his decision to come in.

  Percy came in the door behind Rob and grasped him on the shoulder. “Hope you’ve come to tidy up my woodchip pile. You left a heck of a mess,” he joked.

  “What took you so long?” Connie grumbled, taking the two jars of apple sauce from Percy and plonking them determinedly down on the table, sending the cutlery pile scattering.

  “Well, you impatient woman,” he said, “I was searching for this, for Essie.” He pulled a blue and white hardcover book from his pocket, a dated illustration of a jumping horse on the front. In capital letters, the title read Horse and Pony Care and Equitation. Handing it over to Essie, he said, “I have no idea where it came from, must be one of the kids’ books. It’s old, but something might be helpful.”

  “Thank you, Percy,” said Essie, touched. She tried to remember any mention of Connie and Percy having kids, but she was sure they didn’t.

  “How on earth did you remember that?” asked Connie, hands on hips.

  “I’m not daft yet!” Percy smiled, giving her a squeeze as he passed by. “But I’m blowed if I can remember which of the kids it was. I hate it when that happens.”

  “Well, there were over thirty of them so don’t be too hard on yourself.” Connie smiled at him, suddenly looking soft and wistful.

  “Thirty!” Aiden exclaimed, just beating Essie to it.

  Everyone was looking at Connie, as if she was the one who was confused.

  “Percy and I had foster kids when we were younger and more sprightly,” Connie explained. “Some for months, some for days. Percy gets aggravated when he forgets even one,” she said, looking at him lovingly.

  “Time to eat!” Francesca sang out, breaking the mood. “Look out, coming through with the hot stuff, watch out for Joshy. Everyone grab a seat!”

  There was jostling and passing of plates as bacon, Spanish eggs, thick wedges of toast and coffee were all shared around.

  “What have I forgotten?” Francesca wondered, flicking the tea towel. “Ah, the banana bread! Right, has everyone got a mug, and everything they need?”

  “Sit down, Fran,” said Doddsy. “We can find it if we don’t. Come on, Rob, grab a seat,” Doddsy pushed, “you can’t not eat with us.”

  “Yeah, it’s eat or hold Joshy,” laughed Pete, passing Joshy a buttery piece of banana bread, which his little fingers quickly turned to mush.

  “I can do
both,” Rob offered, “or hold him while you get yours.” He held out his arms to Joshy, who, to everyone’s surprise, said “Yes, yes, yes!” and happily scrambled across onto his big lap.

  “Thanks,” said Pete. “I’m surprised we haven’t met before if you cart livestock. I work at the Pippin Saleyards.”

  Settling Joshy on his lap as though he did it every day, Rob replied, “I work mainly farm to farm or at the Forbes sales. I’m at Pippin occasionally, but not much.”

  “Probably a good thing, it’s fairly hectic up there,” said Pete, putting eggs on Rob’s plate.

  Essie put the book safely on the sideboard, noticing how the paper had browned along the edges. It’s from a different era, she thought, long before they had the internet for answers.

  Hearing the record come to an end, Essie went to change it.

  “Got a name for your pony yet, Essie?” asked Connie.

  Essie shook her head. “Nothing’s right. I think I must be trying too hard. I’m even listening to songs for names!” She smiled as she lowered the needle onto a new record.

  “Oh, I love this song,” said Connie, clapping her hands as John Paul Young’s classic “Love is in the air” filled the room. Essie instantly regretted her choice. This was one of the songs her dad used to play if she was nervous on the way to competitions.

  “Well of course, you’d have to!” laughed Francesca, turning to explain to Rob. “Connie and Percy’s surname is Love.”

  “Ah, of course.” He smiled. “Loves apples!” he added, pointing to the old faded orchard sign on their front gate, which was visible through the window.

  It was Pete who started singing, while Rob bounced Josh on his knee in time with the beat, making him giggle hysterically. And then they were all singing, out of tune and out of time, Aiden drumming the table. As the song ended and they gave themselves a cheer and a round of applause, there was a loud knock on the front door, breaking the spell. No one in their street knocked, and certainly not hard. Turning, Essie thought she was hallucinating, that the song had conjured him, and from the shocked look on her face so did Francesca. In the doorway stood none other than Essie’s dad, Shiny Steven and his wife, Cardboard Caroline.