For Sale or Swap - Alyssa Brugman [9]
'Yep,' said the man again.
'The one that says for sale or swap.'
'Do you want to buy or swap?'
'Swap.'
'What have you got?'
Shelby cleared her throat before she replied. 'A paint gelding. He's about thirteen hands.'
'How old?' asked the man.
Shelby paused. 'Sixteen.'
'Getting on then. Is he sound?'
'Yes, he's fine.' She bit on her knuckle and, looking down, saw the white arcs it had made in her flesh.
'Temperament?' asked the man.
'Oh, he's lovely. A real angel. I learned on him.'
'Why are you giving him up then?' asked the man.
Shelby hesitated. 'Well, I'm getting a bit better now and I'm looking for a horse that I can compete on. Something that's educated – that I can show.'
She wasn't really going to show. To do that you had to have a squillion dollars. You needed to have all the right gear, and a float too, but the ad said 'royal quality' and she wanted the man to think she was serious.
'Hmm,' said the man. 'I'll come and have a look at him. How's tomorrow morning – first thing?'
Shelby was surprised that it would be so soon. 'Tomorrow? Yes, I suppose that will be OK.' She gave him the address for Blue's paddock, then hung up the phone. It was just an inquiry. Nobody had made any decisions yet. The man mightn't even like Blue. Still, she should probably tell her parents.
During her first attempt her mum was in the kitchen starting dinner. Shelby leaned against the counter. 'I was talking to Erin yesterday and she said that sometimes people do let you ride their horses. It's called leasing.'
Her mother opened the fridge door and disappeared out of Shelby's view.
'She showed me this magazine,' Shelby continued.
'Honey, is this a long story?' her mother asked.
Shelby hesitated. 'Yes.'
'It's just that I need you to run down to the corner shop and get some milk. Can you tell me about it after?'
When she came back from the shop her mother was in a flurry – mashing potatoes, straining peas and turning sausages on the grill. The kitchen was hot with steam and noisy from the clattering pots and pans.
'Erin showed me an ad in a horse magazine,' Shelby said, picking up where she'd left off.
Her mother interrupted. 'Can you call the boys in for tea? It'll be on the table in a minute.'
She tried again during dinner, but her little brothers, Connor and Blake, disrupted things.
'In Erin's magazine there was a section on horses for lease,' said Shelby.
'Use your fork, Blake,' said her father.
'Connor's not using his,' complained her youngest brother.
'Why don't you both use a fork? Look, you've got mashed potato all up your arm,' her father said, plucking at his son's sleeve.
'I was reading about horses for lease,' Shelby continued. 'Some of them were from out of the state but there was one –'
'Can I have some more sauce?' said Connor.
His mother reached across the table and passed it to him. 'Can I have some sauce please,' she corrected.
'OK,' Connor said, handing it back to her.
Blake laughed with his mouth open, and a mushy pea slid down his chin.
'Blake!' warned her father.
'There was one . . .' said Shelby, trying again.
Connor twisted the lid from the sauce bottle and tipped it upside down. The sauce flooded out onto his plate. Blake started to laugh again. Connor's face screwed up and he began to cry. He dropped the bottle and it hit the table with a thump, rolling across and leaving a trail of sauce and pink mashed potato over the tablecloth.
Shelby's mother and father pushed their chairs back at the same time. 'I'll get it,' said her father, standing to get the cloth from the sink.
Shelby's mother picked up the sauce bottle. 'Here, you can scrape most of it to the side,' she said, using a fork to try to rescue Connor's dinner.
'I'm not eating that!' protested Connor.
'Anyway, there was a horse for sale or swap advertised in the magazine,' Shelby said, raising her voice over Connor's crying and Blake's laughing.
Shelby's father wiped up most of the mess from the