“I was just joking!” Stella insisted, grinning mischievously. “Hey, Issie, let’s go back to your house and try on clothes. I need to find a tank top that will show off my tummy button.”
The Browns had lived in the same house ever since Issie was little. It was a two-storey wooden home, surrounded by rambling, overgrown gardens. From Issie’s bedroom upstairs she had a view down over the big back lawn to the grove of trees at the end of the garden.
The view inside Issie’s bedroom, however, was one big mess. The girls had spent the past hour trying on everything in Issie’s wardrobe and the place looked like a stall at a jumble sale. There were pairs of jeans and shoes thrown all over the floor, and the bed was stacked so high with piles of clothes that you could barely see Stella and Kate, who were flopped down in the middle of it all on top of the duvet.
Issie stepped out of the wardrobe. She had stripped off the light-green pleated skirt and white shirt of her school uniform and was wearing a purple floral crop top and dark blue camouflage pants. She stood in front of the mirror to admire her new look. For once, her skinny boyish figure was working to her advantage. The pants hung down so low on her hips they exposed her stomach, showing off the freshly pierced navel.
Issie stared at her tummy button. It was still swollen and red, and even though she would never admit it, she was a little worried about what she had done. Stella’s story had scared her. What if the piercing really was turning septic? The skin around the ring did actually look all red and raw and it was hurting a lot more than she had thought it would.
Issie shrugged off her fears. At least Stella had been right about one thing, she thought, that silver ring did look pretty cool. It suited her, the slim metal circle resting perfectly against her tanned belly.
Issie was wiggling the ring and gazing at her reflection when she suddenly noticed the other two girls staring at her. Feeling embarrassed to suddenly be the centre of attention, she struck a ridiculous supermodel catwalk pose, pouting and throwing her head back, one hand on her hip, the other raised to blow a kiss to an imaginary camera.
The two girls fell about on the bed laughing. Stella was snorting so hard she was almost choking and Issie collapsed on to the duvet next to her in a fit of giggles.
As she lay there panting with laughter she realised this was the first time since the accident that she had been able to forget about Mystic and have some fun.
“Wait, wait!” Stella leapt up and grabbed a pair of sunglasses off the dressing table. She put them on, along with a pair of foolishly high heels that Issie had borrowed out of her mum’s room, and began strutting up and down the bedroom. “Who am I?” she asked giggling. “I’ll give you a clue,” she added, clearing her throat and talking in a mock posh voice. “I want a new pony! I want to go snowboarding! I’m a spoilt brat!”
“Oh, don’t…” Issie tried to stop laughing so that she could get the words out. “…we shouldn’t make fun of Natasha. It’s mean.”
“That’s easy for you to say!” Stella snapped. “You haven’t had to put up with her at pony-club rallies for the past month. Honestly, she is such a snob she won’t even speak to Kate and me! At lunchtimes she ties her horse up at the other end of the paddock and refuses to even come near us.”
Stella looked distracted for a moment, then she bent over and examined her stomach. “I hope this ring doesn’t get caught on my jodhpurs when I’m riding.” She frowned.
Then she noticed Issie throwing her a sulky look.
“Oops. Sorry, Issie. I keep forgetting that you don’t want to talk about horses.” Stella smiled. “I guess I just can’t believe it, really. I know you feel awful about what happened to Mystic. But it was an accident. And, well, I don’t mean to be harsh, but Mystic was really old. So at least he didn’t have much longer to live anyway.”
Issie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was used to her friend’s lack of tact. Stella had a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. But this was a bit much even from her. How would she feel if it was Coco that had died? Issie was trying so hard to hold back the tears that she felt too choked up to say anything. She wanted to say that Mystic was special. That he was her horse and that he may have been old but he had a young spirit that refused to give up. She wanted to tell her two friends how she still saw him every night. A silver ghost horse, too real to be just a dream. So real he felt like flesh and blood. Somehow Mystic was still there with her. She just wished she knew why.
The phone in the hallway rang. “I’ll get it,” Issie squawked, keen to escape this dreadful conversation, and the horrible feeling of tears welling up yet again in her eyes. She ran down the corridor, sliding on the hall rug as she made a grab for the receiver. It was Tom Avery’s voice on the other end of the line.
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you since this morning.” Avery sounded serious. “Listen, Issie, something has come up. Can you meet me down at the horse paddock tomorrow morning at around eight?” He paused. “And bring the key to the tack room with you.”
When Issie asked him why, Avery became even more mysterious. “I need you to help me with something, that’s all,” he said, hanging up before she had a chance to ask any more questions.
Before Issie went to bed that night she set her alarm clock and laid out her favourite old faded blue jeans and a pair of boots to wear the next morning. She hadn’t spoken to Avery at all since the accident. And now this. Why was he being so mysterious? And what did he need her help for?
She sat down on the bed and pulled up her pyjama top to have one last look at her newly pierced belly button before she went to sleep. “Oh, well,” she muttered to herself, wiggling the little silver ring with her index finger, “nothing could surprise me now.”
But she was wrong.
The pony-club paddocks were deserted when Issie arrived, except for the horses dotted about the field, grazing in the morning sun. Avery was nowhere to be seen, so Issie climbed over the fence and unlocked the tack room.
Standing in the tack room, she felt a rush of emotion as she looked at the hook and saddle horse where she had kept Mystic’s things. His leather halter and canvas paddock cover were still hanging there, but the saddle horse was bare. When Mystic had gone under the truck, her beloved Stubben saddle had been destroyed too. Not that it mattered, Issie reminded herself. She didn’t need a saddle because she wasn’t going to ride ever again.
As a further reminder of her vow, up there on the wall next to the empty saddle rack was a photograph. It was her and Mystic; taken the day that she had first brought the dapple-grey here to his new home. It must have been the end of winter, because Mystic’s coat was thick and fluffy with winter growth. His mane was long and flowing; it obviously hadn’t been pulled in months. His eyes were dark and steady, staring straight at the camera. And there she was with him, the wind whipping her long dark hair across her face so that her eyes were barely visible. She had one hand on Mystic’s wither and the other holding his lead rope. They made the perfect team.
“There you are!” Avery’s voice behind her made her jump. “Come on out for a moment, I’ve got something to show you. Oh, and bring that halter. You’re going to need it.”
Issie emerged into the sunlight to see Avery’s horse truck parked outside the gate. He climbed back into the cab again and gestured for her to swing the gate open to let him drive through.
As Issie closed the gate behind him, she watched Avery ease the vehicle alongside the loading ramp. When he pulled the truck to a stop, she could hear the uncertain shift of hooves against the matting floor. There was a horse