The Pony With No Name

by Tracey Corderoy

  ‘See?’ scowled Georgina, appearing in the yard. ‘Useless little beast!’

  ‘He isn’t,’ hissed Bryony, trying to stay calm as a sudden surge of hate towards Georgina began to bubble deep in her tummy. This feeling was unfamiliar and very unsettling. Bryony had never before hated anyone.

  But Georgina was wrong. This pony wasn’t useless. He was clever – and curious, and loving!

  From the moment they’d met in the beech wood, he’d listened. Just like he was listening now. Letting out a soft excited blow, the pony nuzzled Bryony’s arm.

  ‘Oh!’ Bryony’s heart melted. ‘Hello to you too . . .’ she whispered back.

  Bryony stroked the little white star between his eyes. How could Georgina think badly of him? If only she’d just give him a chance!

  The pony gave a light-hearted nicker as if to say: ‘Clever you for finding me again.’

  ‘Ha! And clever you!’ Bryony smiled. ‘For remembering me!’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Georgina frowned. ‘He can’t understand what you’re saying!’

  Bryony felt herself bristle but didn’t reply. It was stiflingly hot in the stable yard and there was a light sheen of sweat on the pony’s coat.

  ‘Why is he shut away,’ asked Bryony, ‘on such a beautiful day? Why isn’t he outside nibbling the grass in the paddock?’

  ‘That’s up to me,’ Georgina replied coolly. ‘I don’t need your advice.’

  ‘I know, but, Georgina – please,’ begged Bryony, ‘let him come out for a while. I’m not trying to take over, I promise, but, please, Georgina?’

  Georgina smiled. ‘Hmmm . . . maybe,’ she sniffed, weighing Bryony up like a cat taunts a mouse. ‘Though to be honest there’s not much point. All he does is tap, tap, tap all day.’

  ‘That’s because he’s bored!’ Bryony gasped. ‘And he knows that you don’t . . . like him. He’d do anything you ask if you were just kind.’

  Bryony looked at the pony. ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered, stroking him between his ears. She must have hit a ticklish spot, for suddenly he let out a frilly little snort and his left ear flopped to the side. He had such a loving nature. Why couldn’t Georgina see it?

  ‘What’s his name?’ asked Bryony.

  ‘He hasn’t got one,’ replied Georgina. ‘Call him “Nothing” if you like. Nothing’s all he’s good for, after all!’

  Bryony felt like hitting her, but that wouldn’t do any good. For now, she had to do things Georgina’s way . . .

  ‘You said you might let him out?’ said Bryony.

  ‘And so I might,’ grinned Georgina. ‘But he can only come out if you promise me something first.’

  ‘What?’ cried Bryony. ‘Promise you what? Tell me!’

  ‘Hmm . . . well,’ said Georgina, taking her time. ‘The deal’s quite simple, really. You must forget that ad in the post office. If my mum – or yours, for that matter – asks if you want to come here again, you have to say “no”. Make up an excuse. Anything. You want to be the actress, after all! Say you hated the stupid pony or—’

  ‘No!’ cried Bryony. ‘I won’t lie! I won’t say I hated the pony!’

  ‘Fine,’ said Georgina. ‘Then he stays cooped up. Poor thing.’

  With that, Georgina turned on her heel and began to stroll away, but the little pony nuzzled Bryony’s arm again.

  ‘Georgina!’ yelled Bryony. ‘All right, I promise! I’ll lie if that’s what it takes. Now, please, Georgina – please let me open the door.’

  Georgina turned back. She was smirking, her dainty lips as cold as her eyes. ‘That’s more like it! Go on then – you may open the door,’ agreed Georgina. ‘But don’t go getting too attached. Last time you’ll ever visit, don’t forget!’ And raising her eyebrows, Georgina marched off leaving Bryony and the pony alone.

  It could have been an hour, or it could have been ten minutes, Bryony lost all track of time. She led the little pony out to the paddock and as soon as he saw the luscious green grass, his fluffy little ears flicked forward. Bryony smiled. At last! He looked so happy!

  ‘And now,’ said Bryony, patting his side, ‘off you go and explore. Go on – the whole paddock is yours. Have fun!’

  At first the pony looked uncertain. Like he wasn’t sure what to do. So Bryony did a little gallopy run. ‘And you!’

  The pony seemed thoughtful, then he started to trot. Slowly at first. But as he got more confident he started to pick his hooves up higher – as if doing a funny little dance.

  ‘Trit-trot, trit-trot! Yes! That’s the way!’ smiled Bryony.

  Eventually he began a wide circuit of the paddock, like he needed to stretch his powerful muscles after being cooped up for so long. He kept coming up to Bryony to check she was still there and then trotting off again. It was so great to see him do whatever he pleased!

  Finally he came to a stop near Bryony and nuzzled her shoulder with his velvety muzzle.

  ‘A tickle?’ giggled Bryony. ‘Just behind the ears?’ The pony looked hopeful.

  ‘Okay, sure!’

  As she tickled him, just like before, his left ear suddenly flopped to the side. Now he’d learned what tickles were it was like he never wanted them to stop!

  Before she could stop herself, Bryony was imagining that this little pony was hers. Imagining they had all summer to run free and explore Brook Dale together. So much more fun than exploring it on her own. The leafy lanes, the woods, the fields, the hills were all out there waiting for them! And she’d never ridden any pony along a beach before. How amazing would it be to do it for the first time on this pony?

  The daydream ended in a flash of white-blonde hair. Georgina Brook was striding back through the orchard.

  Bryony rested her head on the pony’s side, feeling his heart beating. The afternoon sunshine was dancing on his coat, bringing out rich deep red tones.

  ‘Don’t believe her,’ Bryony whispered to him. ‘Don’t listen when she says you have no name. Your name is Red. The colour of smiles, and poppies and huge ripe strawberries! The colour of a door on a city street far, far away . . .’

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ said Bryony’s mum as they made their way back to Plum Cottage. She turned to look at Bryony. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yes!’ Bryony answered quickly. So quickly, she only realised afterwards that she’d just told a lie. The first lie she had ever told her mother.

  Bryony immediately felt her lips go tingly. Like the lie had triggered off some fast-acting poison that was making her feel really unwell.

  While her lips had gone so numb she could hardly feel them, her stomach felt like she’d swallowed a boulder! Bryony knew that she’d worry about that lie for ages.

  And the truth was she was not okay. She’d never been less so, in fact. If moving house had made her oddly wobbly, it was nothing compared to how Georgina had just made her feel. Georgina Brook was cruel to Red, who had done nothing to deserve it. He just wanted to be loved. What was so wrong with that?

  ‘Come to the beach one day?’ Bryony burst out before her mum could ask her any more questions that she didn’t want to answer.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ smiled Mum. ‘And maybe,’ she said, ‘Bella and Georgina could come too? I really did like Bella. But what did you think of Georgina and the pony? I bet you can’t wait to go back and help with him!’

  This was it. The question she’d been dreading. Did she do as she’d promised and make up an excuse to never go back? Or should she be honest and say she’d love to go back. Not for Georgina, of course – but for Red.

  Bryony hesitated. Red. But a promise was a promise, wasn’t it? And Georgina might be even nastier to him if Bryony broke the deal.

  ‘Bryony?’ said Mum.

  ‘I’m just . . . I’m not sure,’ Bryony mumbled, still undecided how her answer would end. ‘I mean . . . I-I thought it might be good to help with the pony – b-but Georgina is, um . . . managing. So I think that maybe . . . maybe I should just leave her to it.’

&nb
sp; Bryony fell silent. It was done. She wasn’t going back to Brook Dale Manor. No more Red.

  ‘Oh!’ Her mother looked really surprised and a little disappointed too. Bryony felt immediately guilty. If she had nothing more to do with Georgina, most likely Mum wouldn’t see Bella much either. After Mum had just said how much she liked her.

  That evening the mood inside the cottage was flat. Mum burned the fishcakes, Josh hardly said a word, and Bryony took her pony posters down. The last thing she needed were reminders of what she’d never have.

  When Bryony finally wandered back downstairs, she saw Josh huddled in front of the TV with his old rugby ball in his lap. It suddenly struck her that it was Wednesday night. Back in the city Josh used to have rugby practice on a Wednesday night. Then afterwards his best mates – Max, Ollie and Ben – would come back to their house for supper. Maybe Josh was missing his friends too, a lot more than he was letting on? Perhaps this was what this new ‘gang’ was all about? Josh, trying to feel like he belonged again . . .

  Bryony sighed. It was all so hard! She plonked herself down beside Blueberry on the sofa. A cuddle might be nice. But Blueberry Muffin wasn’t one for hugs or fussing. Besides, he was in a right strop tonight because earlier Mum had gone and confiscated the only mouse he’d ever caught. If he wasn’t so plump (and lazy), thought Bryony, he might have a bit more luck! She shook her head. She may as well just go to bed.

  ‘Sorry . . .’ said Bryony, meeting her mum at the top of the wonky stairs.

  ‘About what?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Brook Dale Manor,’ replied Bryony. ‘If me and Georgina had become friends, you and Bella might have too.’

  Then it dawned on Bryony that her not going back would affect Mum in other ways too. The Brooks probably had tons of posh dinner parties they might have asked Mum to do the flowers for. Their posh party friends would have seen these and maybe wanted some for their own parties. And this would have helped Mum get back on her feet and get to know more people too.

  ‘Don’t worry, love – I’m fine!’ Mum smiled, stroking Bryony’s hair. ‘You sleep well. Are you okay?’

  ‘Sure!’ said Bryony in such an overly cheerful voice it told the world she was the exact opposite.

  She hurried off down the landing before Mum could pick up on her sadness. Already she was missing Red desperately.

  She slipped into her room and shut the door. Never before had she felt so sure that she wouldn’t sleep a wink all night!

  *

  ‘She did what?!’ Grandpa cried the following afternoon as he sat with Bryony in his garden.

  ‘Why, that little madam, what a nerve!’

  Bryony and Grandpa had spent the afternoon working on Grandpa’s vintage car. He’d bought the car new just before he’d got married over fifty years ago. But the old MG Midget (he’d christened her Matilde) had long since stopped working. In the past few years, however, after Grandma died, the old car had become Grandpa’s latest ‘project’.

  ‘Well!’ sniffed Grandpa. ‘I hope you told your mother what Georgina Brook made you promise!’

  Bryony was quiet.

  ‘Bryony?’ said Grandpa.

  Eventually she shook her head. ‘Well, no . . .’

  Bryony sighed, now deeply regretting that in a moment of weakness she’d gone and blabbed about Georgina to Grandpa. She hadn’t meant to. It had just slipped out. Maybe because she’d had so little sleep and it was playing on her mind that Red was there, and would always be there without her . . .

  Looking across to the dark green MG, Bryony tried to change the subject. ‘So,’ she said, ‘looks like Matilde’s almost finished.’ But Grandpa was quite as determined as Bryony sometimes.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell her?’ Grandpa went on. ‘Why not tell your mum the truth about Georgina?’

  ‘I can’t,’ replied Bryony. ‘And you mustn’t either. Really! It’ll be fine. I just need to try and move on, I guess, and I will.’

  ‘But Georgina Brook blackmailed you,’ Grandpa frowned. ‘She doesn’t deserve that pony! I’ve a right mind to—’

  ‘No, Grandpa, please!’ gasped Bryony. ‘Please, don’t do anything – promise me. I don’t want Mum to know the truth or she’ll really worry. You should have seen her at the Manor yesterday. She seemed so happy. And I’ve upset her already because now she and Bella won’t be friends because I’m not going back. And letting her know what Georgina did will only upset her more. And I just . . . well, I just—’ Bryony stopped.

  ‘I just don’t want Mum to be sad, that’s all.’

  Grandpa was quietly thoughtful for a moment. Then he took Bryony’s hand.

  ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘I’ll not say anything. But if Georgina ever bullies you again, you promise you’ll tell me, yes? You’re a kind soul, Bryony, and I can’t bear the thought of anyone like her taking advantage of your good nature.’

  ‘I promise,’ said Bryony, giving him a hug. ‘I’ll tell you.’

  Walking home that night, Bryony felt better knowing Grandpa was on her side. Not ever going back to see Red was going to be just awful. But now, at least, she wouldn’t have to pretend to be happy around Grandpa, because he’d understand.

  As she emerged from the beech wood and climbed the drystone wall into her back garden, Bryony found herself in the bit she liked the most – her very own ‘secret jungle’.

  Here, you entered (if you dared) a dark, damp kingdom where monster brambles ruled and nature sent neatness packing. Here, broken flowerpots and unknown climbing shrubs greeted you from every angle: under your feet, and overhead – a thick green canopy blocking out rain and sun.

  This was a place tucked away from the world. A place for remembering and dreaming up future adventures. And a place just to sit by yourself if you wanted to think.

  An old garden shed hid out here too, groaning under the weight of wild honeysuckle. Next to it was an iron bench, its legs part-buried in the soil so it looked like the savage garden was swallowing it up.

  This bench was a steely dark grey colour. It must have once looked beautiful, but now it was peppered with rust. Bryony liked it all the more for that; it had character.

  All around it was a sharp tangle of brambles. But Bryony could just about make out the curly metal pattern of its upright back, tendrils of dark ivy snaking round its loops and twirls.

  Here was the ancient tree-swing too, hanging from one of the plum trees. The last time Bryony had swung on this she’d been bubbling over with excitement. She’d been so sure she’d find Emma again and they’d have wonderful times with Red. But of course her perfect daydream hadn’t worked out.

  Instead of the swing, Bryony chose today to sit on the old bench instead. Her head was as tangled up with thoughts as the bench was with rampaging ivy, so it seemed the perfect place to think things over.

  Thwacking the brambles away with a stick, Bryony beat a path to its rusty seat and sat down on it beside a snail which slipped into its shell immediately.

  ‘Yep, I get it,’ Bryony sighed. The snail was as keen to be alone with its thoughts as she was with hers.

  Bryony wondered why a nice girl like Emma (for Emma had seemed really nice) would choose Georgina Brook as a friend? If she ever did find Emma again, Bryony decided, she’d be sure to ask!

  She also wondered how hard it would be not telling her mum about Georgina when before this she’d never had any secrets to keep?

  And then there was Red.

  However would she cope with not seeing him any more? This time yesterday – precisely now – they’d been happy in the paddock together.

  ‘Ahhh . . .’ Bryony sighed. How everything could change in just a heartbeat . . .

  *

  The next few days were horribly confusing.

  Each time Bryony heard hooves on the lane she’d fly to the window half hoping to see Red, and half hoping not to.

  Not seeing him always left her empty and sad. But if she were to see him, Bryony knew that not being able t
o run to him would be the hardest thing in the world. Not patting his face, not tickling his ears, not holding him close and feeling his heart beat. Not being able to tell him that he was special . . .

  So although it was beautifully sunny, Bryony stayed cooped up indoors. For she didn’t want to risk bumping into Georgina either!

  Instead she passed the time reading anything but pony stories and making models of anything but ponies. Mum asked a few times if she wanted to bake. But the last time she’d baked she’d been so excited about her visit to the Manor, and she didn’t want anything to remind her of that happy night.

  Then it happened, one lazy afternoon: a simple thing that changed everything. As a surprise, Mum baked some pastries for Bryony and left them on a plate outside her door, like they often did to cheer each other up.

  Mum tapped on the door and Bryony heard her leave. Then she smelled baking and went to see. And there they were – a plate of cinnamon whirls.

  ‘Cinnamon!’ gasped Bryony. That was Red’s special smell!

  Of course, Mum hadn’t realised as Bryony hadn’t told her. But breathing in the smell, Bryony knew she couldn’t fight it any longer. She needed to see Red – now – or her heart would break!

  ‘Mum!’ cried Bryony, thundering downstairs.

  ‘I—’ she panted. ‘I changed my mind! I’m going back . . . to the Manor – now!’

  ‘Oh, right!’ Mum looked really surprised as Bryony threw on her Converse.

  ‘Um, Josh – why don’t you go too?’ Mum asked. ‘It’ll give you something to do.’

  ‘As if I’d want to do that,’ scowled Josh, glancing up from his comic. ‘Anyway, I’m off to meet Dartt soon. He’s got his hands on some old skateboards from, err . . . somewhere, and me and the others are gonna do them up.’

  ‘From where?’ asked Mum suspiciously. She wasn’t sure about Josh’s new mates.

  ‘Anyway, see you!’ Bryony called, leaving them both to it. She flew out of the door and off down the lane, her feet light and her head quite giddy. This was so out of character. So impulsive!

  Georgina would be vile, of that she was sure.