by Amanda Wills
Chapter 32
The Tavistock Pony Sale in the town’s livestock centre was the first of the annual drift sales and drew people from far and wide. Everyone, from the farmers to the workers running the sale, seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Mike, still in the crumpled suit he was wearing when he left the Middle East, felt distinctly out of place. He picked up a sale catalogue and studied it carefully, trying to glean as much information as he could. The sale had started at ten o’clock and was due to finish at four. He looked at his watch. Three thirty. He was worried he’d left it too late. But ponies were still being sent into the ring one by one. Mike watched as the onlookers cast critical eyes over the fillies and colts, searching for good conformation and the potential to make a decent riding pony. Standing over them all, in a wooden construction that resembled a prison watchtower, was the auctioneer, whose sharp eyes roved keenly over the crowds, so as not to miss a single bid.
The ponies were being sold in guineas. Mike caught the eye of the woman standing to his right. She was wearing a quilted jacket and a headscarf and looked like she might know a thing or two about horses. “Excuse me, I’m new to all this. How much is a guinea?”
“Well, in old money it would have been one pound and one shilling, but these days it’s £1.05,” she answered, happy to share her knowledge. “Until recently ponies were selling for as little as a couple of guineas. They were worth more dead than alive. So sad. Now there’s a minimum price of 10 guineas on every pony.”
Mike smiled his thanks and turned back to the ring where a diminutive chestnut foal was trotting obligingly around the ring, its ears pricked and its head held high. The bidding had reached 42 guineas.
“Are you buying or selling?” the woman asked. Her greying brown hair, long face and large front teeth reminded Mike uncannily of Chester.
He shook the thought away and replied, “To be honest, it was a spur of the moment thing. I happened to be passing, saw the sign and thought I’d pop in and have a look.”
“I’ve bought a bay colt for my grandson,” she informed him. “Silly really – Matthew’s still in nappies. But by the time he’s ready to ride the pony will be rising five. He’s a fine looking fellow and should make a terrific riding pony.”
“My daughter Poppy’s horse mad,” said Mike conversationally. “She’d love a pony more than anything else in the world, but I know as much about horses as I do about quantum physics.”
“Well, it would be a mistake to buy a foal. Putting two novices together is a recipe for disaster. Much better to buy her a ready-made riding pony, if that’s what you were thinking,” said the woman.
“I don’t really know what I was thinking, if I’m honest,” admitted Mike. “But she’s been through a tough time and I think it would be good for her.”
“I agree. I think pony mad girls deserve their own ponies. But then horses are my thing,” said the woman. “I’m Bella, by the way. Bella Thompson.”
“Mike McKeever. Nice to meet you,” said Mike, extending his hand. “We’ve not long moved to Devon. We live near Waterby.”
“I know the village well. My old friend Tory Wickens used to live there, though I hear she’s moved to Tavistock now. Haven’t seen her in yonks.”
Mike laughed. “It’s a small world – we bought Riverdale from Tory at the beginning of the summer. Poppy inherited Tory’s old donkey Chester, although it’s a pony she’d really like.”
“Well I never,” replied Bella, pumping Mike’s hand vigorously. She had an extraordinarily firm handshake for a woman in her sixties.
They turned to watch another couple of foals take their turn in the ring. The crowd had started to thin out and bidding had slowed right down. Mike checked his watch again. Nearly ten to four and the sale was almost over. He remembered the grumpy taxi driver still sitting outside.
“It was lovely to meet you, Bella, but I’d better be off. You’re right – it was a crazy idea to even think about buying a foal for Poppy – she’s only eleven. If we’re going to get her a pony we should do it properly. Get some proper advice, find something safe for her to ride.”
As he spoke the gate into the ring opened to reveal a much bigger pony, twice the size of the foals but with none of their bounce. Receiving a forcible shove from the man at the gate it limped painfully in. Bella, who had been about to give Mike’s hand another hearty shake, turned back to the ring, her attention fixed on the pony now hobbling around the inside of the rails. It was what Mike would have called white and Poppy would have said was grey, though it was hard to tell – its hair was matted and streaked with what looked suspiciously like blood.
“Now that, if I’m not much mistaken, was once a top class riding pony, though it’s hard to believe it looking at him now,” said Bella. “In fact, if I’m right, and I’m pretty sure I am, you might be interested to know that that poor pony once belonged to Riverdale,” she continued, turning to Mike with a glint in her eye.
Mike had been about to leave but his interest was piqued. “Belonged to Riverdale? What do you mean?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s Cloud Nine, a Connemara pony Tory Wickens bought for her granddaughter Caitlin years ago. He was a beautiful pony and he and Caitlin made an unbeatable team, that is until the accident -”
Bella was interrupted by the auctioneer, whose ringing voice was met with jeers from the handful of people still lining the ring as he attempted to get the bidding started.
“I know we’ve only just met and you probably think I’m a mad old woman for saying so, but you should bid for that pony. Buy him for your daughter,” said Bella.
Mike looked at her, his eyebrows raised. The pony looked half dead as it plodded unevenly around the ring. He shrugged his shoulders. He was beginning to wonder if it was all too much hassle, and turned to go.
“Trust me. Just start bidding!” said Bella urgently, tugging his sleeve.
Mike looked at the pony again. Head nodding with every painful step as he limped around the sale ring, he looked as though he’d lost the will to live. Could this sorry excuse for a pony really be the answer he’d been looking for, a shared interest to bring Caroline and Poppy together? Deciding he had nothing to lose, Mike reluctantly raised his hand and tried to catch the auctioneer’s eye. He remembered what Bella had told him about the minimum sale price and said in a loud voice, which sounded more confident than he felt, “Ten guineas.”
A man wearing dirty blue overalls standing opposite them immediately bid eleven, and when Mike raised his hand again there was a ripple of laughter.
“You’re bidding against the knackerman!” hissed Bella. “Keep going!”
The next couple of minutes passed in a blur of bid and counter bid. Mike felt confident that he could outbid the man from the slaughterhouse, and he was starting to picture Poppy’s delight when he brought the pony home to Riverdale. But just as he was about to raise his hand for what he was certain would be the winning bid a man with a weasel-like face standing to his left dropped a bombshell.
“I’d save your money if I were you, mate. Did you know that animal killed a girl?”
“What?” demanded Mike. He stopped bidding and turned his full attention to the man.
“It’s a bad ’un, you mark my words. The knacker’s yard is the best place for it, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Mike replied icily and turned back to the ring.
But it was too late. The sale had been made. The grey pony had disappeared and the auctioneer had already moved on to the next lot.