Page 36 of Wild Horses

It was Saturday, the twelfth of October, and auction day had finally arrived.

The small crowd outside the old school hall in Merriang buzzed – conversations melded into a low, continuous hum.

Christy stood on the fringes, dismayed to see so many people.

Her eyes scanned the gathering, taking in the faces of her competition.

Astrid, ever the strategist, had mingled earlier, gleaning information about their rivals.

She leaned in close to Christy. ‘There are six registered bidders and two main contenders.’ She pointed discreetly at a young couple near the front and scowled.

‘They want to tear the place down and build themselves a holiday shack.’

Christy felt a sharp pang of protectiveness for the old hall.

‘And the farmer over there,’ Astrid nodded at a burly man in a worn, wide-brimmed hat. ‘Bert Henderson? He wants it for a storage space. Can you imagine it stuffed with hay bales and machinery? Such a waste.’

‘And what about the other four?’

Astrid shrugged. ‘That’s all I could find out.’

A middle-aged gentleman in a bow tie waved at Christy, and she waved back. He was part of the newly formed Merriang Drama Society. More than a dozen members had come to encourage her. Christy had never entered a bid at an auction before and appreciated the moral support.

It seemed to take forever before the auctioneer finally called for attention, his voice cutting sharply through the buzz of voices.

The first bid went up. With a big breath that did little to calm her tangled nerves, Christy stepped forwards and lifted her paddle.

The crowd’s murmurs hushed at her entry into the bidding.

She soon found her feet as the excitement of the auction mixed with her natural competitiveness.

With each bid her determination grew stronger.

She wasn’t just bidding for a building – she was fighting for a dream.

The bidding began at forty thousand dollars. ‘Do I hear fifty thousand?’

Christy nodded and waved her paddle.

‘I’ll take fifty-two.’

The young couple bid again.

‘Fifty-five,’ countered Christy.

And so it continued. Two more people joined the bidding, each taking their turn to drive up the price.

Sweat beaded upon Christy’s brow, her fingers tightening around the paddle as if her life depended on it.

The pace was surprisingly brisk, and the price of the old school hall climbed higher.

It soon approached the limit she’d set for herself.

But with each rival bid her resolve did not waver and she raised her paddle again and again.

‘Sixty,’ called the farmer from the back, his weathered face set with resolve.

‘Do I hear sixty-five?’ called the auctioneer. Christy nodded and raised her paddle.

Astrid whispered. ‘Don’t get carried away, my girl.’

Her friend’s caution went unheard, swept aside by the rapid cadence of the auctioneer’s chant and the answering calls of the other bidders.

Astrid pulled at her arm this time, a gentle attempt to anchor her in common sense.

But Christy was too far gone, driven by a fierce need to win. Everything else was background noise.

‘Eighty thousand,’ called a woman in a floral dress who was on her phone.

Christy hoisted her paddle once more. ‘Ninety thousand.’

Silence. Was that it – had she won?

‘Going once,’ called the auctioneer, looking about. ‘Going twice ...’

‘One hundred thousand!’ a voice rang out from the back and Christy’s heart sank. She hesitated, her grip on the paddle faltering.

‘One hundred and ten thousand!’ Christy declared, her voice defiant, her eyes blazing. The size of the bid made her stomach twist. Everyone went quiet, and she felt as if the world had stopped spinning.

‘Going once ... going twice ...’ The auctioneer paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. Christy closed her eyes.

‘Are we all done?’ The auctioneer waited for what seemed like forever. Then his voice boomed over the microphone.

‘Sold to the young lady in front for one hundred and ten thousand dollars!’ His gavel cracked down, the sound sharp and final, and the crowd erupted in spontaneous applause.

Christy opened her eyes. A wave of relief and triumph left her knees weak. She’d done it – the beautiful old school hall was hers. But even as cheers and applause erupted from her supporters, a nagging voice whispered in the back of her mind, reminding her of the debt she was now burdened with.

The hall rang with the sound of celebration.

Streamers and bunches of balloons hung from the ancient timber beams. Strings of coloured lights crisscrossed the rafters, casting a warm, cheerful glow over the faces below.

Excited voices, dancing feet and the heavy bass of music vibrated through the wooden floor.

Christy stood in the midst of the revelry.

Laughter rang out, punctuated by the sizzle and pop of the barbecue set up outside, where the smoky aroma of grilled sausages filled the air.

Kids ran around with sparklers, and it seemed like the whole of Merriang had turned up to mark the hall’s new beginning – and they’d all brought drinks and plates of food.

Christy moved towards the buffet table and popped a homemade sausage roll into her mouth. Someone gave her a plastic cup of sparkling wine. Everyone was smiling. Her heart burst with pride to see the little community come together in the space she’d fought so hard to preserve.

Clare came over to propose a toast, and they tapped their cups together.

‘Tom and I are absolutely thrilled for you,’ she said.

‘We want a meeting first thing Monday morning to plan ways for Currawong Creek to make use of the hall and at what rate you should charge us. Looks like performing arts is back on the curriculum!’

Astrid twirled under the lights, her tie-dyed scarlet scarf trailing behind as she danced.

She caught Christy’s eye and reached out a hand.

‘Come and join me.’ Christy smiled but shook her head.

She didn’t feel like dancing. Although she longed to lose herself in the celebration, the reality of her financial situation was beginning to hit home.

When her mortgage application was turned down, she’d searched for alternatives.

She could have maxed out her credit card, then applied for another one and maxed that out as well.

But it still wouldn’t have been enough. In desperation she’d approached a series of non-bank lenders, the kind that offered unsecured personal loans without asking too many questions.

However, even they wouldn’t provide the large sum she was looking for – all except one.

When she found Fantastic Credit Solutions it had seemed like the answer to her prayers.

The company offered large unsecured loans with short application times.

The downsides were high interest rates, short payback periods, and steep fees and penalties should she default.

But Christy had been in no mood for caution.

Her eye had been on the prize and the end seemed to justify any means.

Someone produced an electric keyboard and began playing old show tunes.

Astrid stood on the stage leading a spirited rendition of ‘ Cabaret ’, her voice bold and resonant.

When she finished, she came over to Christy, her face aglow.

But her keen eyes missed nothing. ‘You look mighty thoughtful, my girl. Are you okay?’

‘Just processing it all.’

‘It’s been a big day and a lot to take in.’

‘Yes, and when it came to the auction ... I just ... well, I bid way over what I’d planned. Probably more than I should have.’

Astrid gave her a long hug. ‘I did try to warn you,’ she said at last. ‘But now I’m glad you ignored me. We wouldn’t be here otherwise, and the bank wouldn’t have approved a mortgage you couldn’t afford, or if they thought this hall was a bad investment.’

No , thought Christy. The bank wouldn’t have – and they didn’t. She almost confessed her folly but was too embarrassed.

‘There’s almost twenty-thousand in the crowdfunding account you can have,’ continued Astrid, ‘and I’ll contribute something each week to your repayments. How does that sound?’

‘It sounds very generous,’ said Christy.

Astrid squeezed her arm reassuringly. ‘Now, let’s enjoy this celebration. You’ve earned it.’

As the party played out around her, Christy allowed herself to lean into Astrid’s support, feeling buoyed by her friend’s unwavering confidence.

Yet when she went to the trestle bar to refresh her drink, she didn’t see the balloons and streamers and twinkling fairy lights on the wall behind it.

She saw the cracked plaster, the hall’s archaic radiator and the grimy fractured glass in the high, hard-to-reach windows.

The renovations they’d carried out prior to the cabaret show were mainly cosmetic.

True, they’d replaced the rotting stage floorboards, but apart from that they’d just painted over their problems. Each future repair was money she’d somehow have to find, on top of her crippling repayments.

She gazed about the hall, at the people whose dreams now mingled with her own, and felt a surge of determination. Yes, she’d taken a massive risk, and yes, she was out of her depth. But as she met the eyes of her fellow dreamers, she knew it was worth it.