The Wish Pony

‘When I went to bed that night I could see the Wish Pony, with his wild mane and rippling tail, standing at the edge of my dressing table as though he could take one crazy jump out into the world.'

 

Ruby's mum is having a baby, but why does she need one of those when she's already got a Ruby? To make matters worse, her best friend Sarah has just found another, better friend. It seems like everyone is abandoning her.

 

But when Ruby meets the mysterious Magda, who gives her a very special gift that
might,
just might, even be a bit magical, everything begins to change.

 

SEE INSIDE: How to make a wish!

To all my Magdas, wherever you are

‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,' Dad said whenever I wished for anything.

Once upon a time, Mum had made clop-clopping noises, sounding just like a real horse, or she'd held her hands in front of her as though she was holding reins, and bounced up and down in her seat at the breakfast table, making us laugh.

But that didn't happen anymore. Mum was hardly ever at the breakfast table these days.

‘I wish they'd never decided I needed a brother. Who needs brothers anyway? They're smelly and noisy and when they get bigger they pull your hair and break your best things.'

But Dad didn't say anything, because he was busy taking Mum a cup of tea and some dry crackers. He didn't even offer to brush my hair which was in a real tangle – in the end I gave up and just put it in a pony tail with the knots all at the bottom. It would have to do. We were late again.

I'd have to go to the office for a pass. I hated that. I even hated driving to school – I didn't mind the walk when it was sunny. Mum and I would talk about things.

‘I wish things were back to normal,' I said, buckling up the seat belt.

‘I wish your mum wasn't so sick,' Dad said sharply, scowling at me in the rear mirror. ‘I think that's what we should wish for, Ruby.'

‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,' I said and then wished I hadn't; he looked at me with such disappointment. I didn't blow him a kiss goodbye the way I usually did, just gave him a little finger wave. Not that he noticed. Nobody noticed me these days. Still, I felt bad about the kiss all morning but at recess, Sarah, my best friend, told Bree, the new girl, that I had a crush on Bailey Ferguson. They spent the whole time following me round, chanting:

Ruby and Bailey sitting in a tree
K–I–S–S–I–N–G
First comes love
Then comes marriage
Then comes Ruby with a baby carriage

and I hated them so much I forgot about Dad.

After school I always walk home with Sarah. We cross the road together and walk past the secondhand furniture shop with the little old pug dog. Then we walk past the fish and chip shop that always smells delicious and the hippy clothes shop that smells like a different country. We walk up the hill until Sarah turns off at her street and I go on past the supermarket and the library until it's my street.

But today I didn't cross with Sarah. She was standing with Bree. I didn't look at the lollipop lady but fell in behind Jess Mac, her annoying little preppie brother and their mum as though I was going home with them. When they turned into the videoshop car park, I kept going up the hill.

I looked over, once or twice, to see if Sarah was looking, but she and Bree dawdled a long way behind. Then I saw – I was kind of standing in the bus shelter, not spying, just reading the bus timetable as though I was going to catch a bus, which I wasn't, of course – I saw them walk into the fish and chip shop.

Sarah and I only do that on Fridays. Friday is canteen day and Sarah's dad gives her lunch money but she never puts in her lunch order. Instead I share my lunch with her and we go to the fish and chip shop after school and get minimum chips.

You just can't eat the hot chicken rolls at school. It's not chicken in them – it's rats. Someone had found a bit of a rat tail in one once. No one I knew, but the best friend of someone's brother or sister. So Sarah never got lunch at the canteen.

I didn't stay in the bus shelter long enough to see them walk out of the fish and chip shop. I walked on, even though I was on the nasty-dog side of the road. I didn't care if the dog bit me.

In fact, if the dog bit me and I had to be taken to hospital and get stitches, then maybe Sarah would be sorry and the whole class would make me a get well card, the way they had for Sam when he went to hospital that time. Sarah would sign the card
I miss you so much Ruby, besties 4 eva
.

But the dog wasn't in the front yard when I went past. Instead his owner was out there, surrounded by cardboard boxes and suitcases as though she was leaving home.

‘Good afternoon,' she said looking up, and I tried to smile, though I was nearly crying.

At the top of the hill, I had to walk an extra block, to cross at the lights. I thought about not doing that. How a car might suddenly swing around the corner, or out of the council car park and hit me. I'd be flung up into the air like a flopsy doll, every bone in my body broken. Then everyone would be really sorry. Sorrier than if I just had stupid old stitches.

Mum and Dad would wish they'd never decided to have another baby. Mum would say, if only I hadn't been sick, I might have walked down to pick her up from school the way I did before and this would never have happened.

I was so busy planning the funeral I nearly missed the lights and had to turn back at the florist's, but not before I'd decided to heap up rose buds onto the coffin – creamy yellow ones with a hint of pink – just like the bunch displayed in the florist's window. They were so beautiful they made me feel sad, just looking at them. I felt almost snivelly. The coffin would be smaller than a proper one, despite the extra centimetres I'd grown over the summer. The rose buds and the size of the coffin would remind everyone there that I'd died very young, too young.

‘Need a tissue?' a woman standing next to me asked. ‘It's all the wattle around, I expect.'

‘No, thanks,' I said quickly, ‘I'm fine. No, really,' but it was too late, the woman stuffed a huge tissue in my hand. It wasn't like taking lollies from a stranger but I still didn't feel good about it. The way she watched me I had to blow my nose into it. I just hoped it wasn't soaked in some kind of poison to knock me out and then she'd take me and sell me as a slave girl. That would make Mum and Dad really sorry. But the tissue didn't smell of anything and after we'd crossed the road, the woman went into the supermarket, trundling her little shopping jeep after her.

I trudged home. I should have taken a library book back, but I hadn't finished reading it and the morning had been too rushed anyway. It was probably overdue though and there'd be a whopping big fine. On the other hand, maybe Mum had a good day and there'd be chocolate muffins when I got home. Or the new curtains she'd promised to make for my room.

But when I got home, Mrs Wiseman from across the road, whom we hardly knew because she'd only recently moved in, was sitting in the kitchen as though she belonged there, drinking a cup of tea and reading the local paper.

‘Ruby,' she said, ‘oh good, I'm so pleased you're here. Your mum's had to go into hospital. Not that serious, no need for that long face. She just has to be on a drip for a while. She'll be back tomorrow, good as rain.'

‘Hospital?'

‘Like I said, nothing to worry about.'

But who went to hospital for nothing?

‘Did she go in an ambulance?' Suddenly my stomach seemed filled with creepy crawly things trying to get out. How could I have been planning
my
funeral when Mum was so sick? If Mum died what would I do? I couldn't imagine it. I sat down suddenly on the nearest chair.

‘No, of course not. Your dad came home from work and drove her in. He'll be back by tea, he said. There's no need to worry, Ruby – your mum will be fine. Now, have you got homework to do?'

‘No,' I said and crossed my fingers behind my back. I wasn't going to sit in front of Mrs Wiseman and struggle through the Maths sheet.

‘I expect you're hungry. Everyone is always hungry at four o'clock,' Mrs Wiseman lifted a cover from a plate on the bench, ‘so I brought over a bit of Boston bun for you. It's yesterday's but it's still all right. With a bit of butter. Have you got any butter?'

It was the very end piece of bun, where the icing ran out. It looked dry. ‘No, thanks,' I said, ‘I'm not hungry, really.' My stomach growled, as though it knew it was being betrayed, but Mrs Wiseman was so old she was sure to be deaf.

‘Come on, who can refuse a bit of Boston bun? Don't be shy. I brought it over for you.'

‘No, really, I'm fine,' I said politely. ‘You can have it. There's some butter in the fridge.'

‘Beggars can't be choosers,' Mrs Wiseman said and popped the whole thing in her mouth without waiting for the butter. She sat back down and took another sip of tea. She was drinking it out of Mum's special cup – the one Dad and I had chosen for Mother's Day. Her red lipstick was smeared on the gold rim.

‘That's Mum's cup,' I said without really meaning to. The words blurted out before I had a chance to stop them.

‘Very nice,' Mrs Wiseman lifted the cup up and peered at the bottom, ‘very nice indeed. Royal Albert. Quality. I like a good cup for tea – these thick mugs you get these days. Tea should be served in a cup. You can do what you like with coffee, but tea needs a cup.'

‘We bought it for her, Dad and I. For Mother's Day,' I couldn't believe that she was just going on drinking.

‘A very good present,' she nodded at me, ‘good choice. I bet your mum loves it.'

‘She does. No one else uses it,' I said pointedly.

‘Well, you wouldn't be old enough to drink tea, and your dad – in my experience men just don't notice things like cups. If they're tea drinkers they'd just as soon drink it from an old tin mug.'