Pony Stories (3 Book Bind-Up) (Red Fox Summer Reading Collections)

by K. M. Peyton

  He didn’t like to admit that he was bored at home after a few days, or that his parents liked to think all their children were working, that they would be worried if the neighbours started to talk, saying, ‘I wonder why David Smith’s at home. Why, only a few days ago he was on holiday. Don’t say he’s lost his new job already.’

  David knew Pat had never lived in his world. Nobody bothered whether she was working or not. Nobody cared. She doesn’t really know what life is like, he thought. She’s never wondered how she’s going to buy the next meal. He felt much older than her now, almost grown-up as he boxed Tornado.

  She gave him Tina, his suitcase.

  ‘Thank you for everything. I don’t know how to thank you enough,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t then. It’s nothing. I may come down next week-end; if I do, perhaps we can ride together,’ she answered.

  He saw them riding together down lanes they had both known since childhood.

  ‘Oh, good. It’ll seem like old times,’ he said.

  ‘Exactly,’ replied Pat.

  They stood together saying nothing until an engine was hooked to the horse-box.

  ‘Time to say good-bye. All the best,’ said David then.

  ‘Yes. Regards to your parents. Let me kiss Tina good-bye,’ answered Pat.

  She said good-bye to Tornado and Tina, pushed her chestnut hair back from her eyes.

  ‘Well, look after yourself,’ she said.

  He climbed into the groom’s compartment. ‘Pity you aren’t coming too. It’ll be cooler at the Hall than up here,’ David said.

  The box was moving now. Pat stood waving.

  ‘Thanks again,’ shouted David.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ cried Pat.

  He watched her out of the window, still waving, standing quite alone on the siding now.

  Then he started to think of arriving home. What would his mother say this time? Would his father be furious? I’ve lost two jobs in a very short time, he thought, and nobody else in the family has ever lost a job. I shall soon be the black sheep. He looked at his saddle again, at his broken reins, and the wave of elation on which he had ridden all morning became less buoyant.

  He thought: Pat is such an optimist. She brushes aside the difficulties in life as though they don’t count. His future looked very ugly to him now. He was beginning to dread his approaching appearance in his home village, and he started to wonder how he was to set about acquiring another job.

  So while Pat rushed back to her aunt’s to change before a lunch date, David sat glumly in the horsebox, watching his future grow blacker each moment before his eyes.

  I ought to sell Tornado. I should never have bought Tina, he thought. They’re both a handicap when it comes to jobs. If you’re a girl it’s different. You can help a little in the house, look after children, have pocket-money, and your horse is welcome. People expect girls to have horses, but not someone like me. Travelling swiftly between Slough and Maidenhead, he started to feel bitter.

  One needs money to get on, the right background, he thought angrily. The dice have always been loaded against me. One can’t pretend not to notice the fact for ever when it’s staring you in the face all the time.

  The train stopped at Reading. He got out, bought himself chocolate, potato crisps, a pork pie, which he shared with Tina. Pat’s got people like her Aunt Jill behind her, he thought, and saw his mother’s work-worn hands kneading pastry. It’s different for her.

  He had never thought like that before. His successful elder brothers despised people who blamed circumstances for failure in life. But sometimes his father would say, ‘Oh, well. It’s different for them,’ alluding to someone like the Lewishams. Now he agreed wholeheartedly with his father, ignoring the fact that he had Tornado and his pony Folly to call his own, that he had started from scratch and yet been able to jump his own horse at some of the biggest shows in England.

  When they reached Oxford, he thought again: Yes. The dice have always been loaded against me. All my life I have had to fight.

  Riding once more through Oxford with Tina on his knees again he admitted defeat. He was too angry and miserable now to enjoy the sunshine, or the well-remembered fields they passed presently. The horrible reality that he was jobless stared him in the face, obscuring the sun, killing the beauty of tall trees against blue sky, making the whole landscape hideous to David, making him think for the second time in about two weeks: I’m returning home a failure.

  He tried to imagine jobs he might take, but now he couldn’t think anyone would wish to employ someone like himself, plus a dog and horse.

  I shall have to sell Tornado, he decided, and it was a relief to have made the decision. But that will take time, he thought a moment later. I shall have to advertise her. People will want to ride her. And supposing she bucks them all off? Whichever way he turned, there seemed to be an obstacle facing him; and each moment Church Lane was drawing nearer and he would have to tell his parents what had happened, and hear the comments of his neighbours. He could imagine them saying things like, ‘Fancy you back already, David’ and ‘When are you going to get fixed up with another job? Why don’t you try the Labour Exchange?’ as the weeks passed and he was still at home.

  And once Mum was proud of me, he remembered. How she used to boast! Now people will be able to have their own back.

  Presently he turned down the drive to the Hall. Swallow grazed alone in the park. He took off his broken saddle, called to Swallow, let Tornado go, watched the surprise in her eyes, until she rolled, over and over, again and again as though to shake the dust and dirt of London from her bay coat for ever and ever.

  He thought: Lucky Tornado, living in the present, never dreaming that she may be sold. He turned back along the drive, because suddenly there were tears blinding him and he was ashamed of them, because he was almost grown up. Something told him then that if he sold Tornado he would give up the struggle, fade into obscurity, whatever Pat might say.

  He watched Tina running ahead, smelt the rhododendrons on each side of the gravelled drive, thought: Dad will have just got in. They’ll be having tea.

  He met no one as he walked home, and the nearer he drew to Church Lane the slower his steps became. The cornflowers were out in the garden. Today the back door was shut, but from the kitchen came the smell of fish cooking.

  London seemed far away now. He could hardly believe that he had spent the morning with Pat. He picked up Tina. He could hear the wireless now blaring out music into the summer’s evening.

  They’ll never understand what it was like at the Mews Stables, he thought. He walked up the path, opened the back door, said, ‘I’m back again.’

  They both jumped up; his mother upset her cup of tea.

  ‘What have you done?’ she cried.

  ‘Where have you sprung from?’ asked his father.

  He kissed his mother’s forehead, said, ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t stand it. You’ve never seen such a place, and they started to use Tornado for the pupils . . .’

  ‘Well, sit down and have some tea,’ his mother said. ‘I’ll make a fresh pot.’

  ‘No. Don’t bother.’

  ‘You’ll be getting a bad name, David. Couldn’t you stick it any longer? You mustn’t put your horse before yourself,’ said Mr. Smith.

  ‘Well, now I’m going to sell Tornado. I’ve made up my mind,’ David said, and felt like weeping as he sat down at the familiar table between his bewildered parents.

  ‘Sell her? But she means more to you than anything, that horse,’ cried Mrs. Smith.

  He remembered buying Tornado, breaking her in, her first show; he saw her bay head and large, kind eyes watching for him in the mornings, whinnying when she heard his footstep; he remembered hunting her, her speed, her scope in jumping. But I’m going to sell her, he decided. Life isn’t like I thought. There’s no room for Tornado in my life any more.

  ‘Switch off that darned wireless, Mother,’ said his father.

  ‘Are you s
hort of cash, then?’ he asked David.

  ‘No. Not yet, anyway.’ David wanted to be alone now; he wanted to think things out, reshape his life.

  ‘Your puppy’s grown,’ said his mother.

  ‘Well, eat something, David,’ said Mr. Smith.

  He forced himself to eat. Outside the church bells pealed. ‘Bell-ringing practice,’ said his father.

  He was home, but in a sense it wasn’t home any more. The air was sad with disappointment. At this moment his parents seemed almost like strangers. The same clock ticked on the mantelpiece; the same flowered curtains met the same brown window-sill; the same black kettle sang on the black range. The cottage was the same as it had always been as long as he could remember, but always before his parents had been behind him. Now he could sense their disapproval; they were ashamed of their youngest son.

  Forcing fish down his throat, he thought: Why did I come home? There must be somewhere else I could have stayed. Where do people go who have no home? I could have pretended to my parents that I was still in London, invented a story.

  ‘Well, what are you going to do now? Where’s Tornado?’ asked his father.

  ‘In the park. I met Pat in London. She’s been wonderful.’

  ‘What, Pat Lewisham?’

  ‘Yes.’ He realised now how wonderful Pat had been. ‘She took me to stay with her aunt. She saw me on the train this morning,’ he said, and now the whole episode seemed like a dream, a fairy tale. Pat thinks life should be beautiful, he thought; soon she’ll be my only friend, or, rather, the only person I can turn to for help, the only one who will understand.

  ‘How did you meet? Did you look up Susan while you were in London?’ asked his mother.

  It never occurred to him to look up his sister, probably because they had nothing in common.

  ‘You might have gone to her for help.’

  ‘But I didn’t go to Pat. I met her in the street.’ How fantastic it all seems now, thought David.

  ‘Don’t bother the boy, Mother. He looks to me as though he needs a good night’s rest. Everything will look different in the morning,’ said Mr. Smith.

  ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t have stayed there even if the Pages hadn’t put Mr. Carruthers on Tornado. Mum, you should have seen what I had for lunch and breakfast – cold pilchards, corned beef and old spuds. And I had to get my own supper. I never finished till ten o’clock at night, and was up at six each morning. I couldn’t have stuck it,’ David said, seeing all the horrors of the Mews Stables before his eyes again – the endless stalls to be cleaned, the dejected horses, fat Muriel Page and her lean, shifty husband swilling beer. ‘Their place smelt like a pub does in the early morning,’ he added.

  ‘Then you were right to come home. I wasn’t happy about you going, was I, Dad? I can’t help wondering what the neighbours will say, though – you back in less than a week and all,’ said his mother.

  David had Tina on his knee now. He couldn’t eat any more. He fed his puppy with bits from his plate.

  ‘Let them talk. Some of them haven’t so much to talk about anyway,’ said Mr. Smith.

  In a sense, the worst was over now: he had told his parents. But he was still jobless. Dreadful days stretched ahead; tomorrow he must begin: advertise Tornado, perhaps advertise himself.

  ‘Young professional rider seeks post. Experienced. Good worker. Excellent reference. David Smith, 10 Church Lane.’

  He needn’t mention Tina till everything was almost settled – that is, if anyone answered his advertisement.

  Tornado, he could say, was a promising jumper and One Day Event horse. He could list her winnings. People must have seen her. The trouble would start when prospective buyers desired a ride. But perhaps he could sell her over the telephone. He had heard of people buying horses like that without seeing them. But would that be honest? he wondered, seeing himself boxing Tornado once more, but now for the last time. He could feel tears rising behind his eyes; in a moment he would be crying; he stood up ashamed, clutched Tina, while an awful wave of despair engulfed him completely, leaving no room for anything else. Once he had believed that dreadful things didn’t happen as long as you were honest, worked, told the truth. Now he didn’t believe anything – least of all that if you did what was right everything came right in the end.

  He felt his mother put her arm round his shoulder. ‘You’re ill, David. That’s what you are,’ she said.

  But he knew he wasn’t – not physically, anyway. He just felt as though there was nothing left of his dreams. ‘I’m all right, Mum.’

  The church bells had stopped ringing now. He thought of Tornado with Swallow in the park; like old times, he thought. If only we had never given up the riding school. I could have gone on alone. Why didn’t I?

  ‘What are you going to do next?’ asked his father.

  ‘Advertise myself and Tornado, I suppose.’

  ‘I’ve just remembered something,’ said his mother. ‘That letter for David. Where did we put it, Dad? We didn’t have your address. You never left it.’

  A letter, thought David. Nobody ever writes to me.

  ‘It had a Devon postmark,’ said his mother, routing among the collection of vases, David’s past trophies, and a mug saying From Bexhill which stood in a cluttered disorder on the mantelpiece.

  It won’t be good news, thought David. It can’t be from Major Seely. Perhaps Sheila’s invited me to her wedding. All the same, his heart had started pounding with excitement and with the first gleaming rays of hope.

  ‘It came just two days after you left. Perhaps I put it on the dresser,’ said Mrs. Smith.

  David started to search too now – frantically, as though his life depended on the letter.

  Tina, imagining a game was afoot, began to rush round the kitchen yapping joyfully.

  ‘Did you take it upstairs, do you think, Mother? Maybe you put it in his room,’ said Mr. Smith.

  David ran upstairs with Tina yapping at his heels. Then he heard his mother call:

  ‘David, I’ve found it.’

  I mustn’t hope, he thought. It’s sure to be bad news. He ran downstairs, took the letter, looked at the postmark.

  ‘I think it’s from Major Seely,’ he said.

  His hands were trembling. He tore the envelope open and read:

  ‘DEAR DAVID, – I was shattered to receive your letter. But first let me apologise for not having written to you before. Unfortunately, I was rather ill on first arriving in France and I could make neither head nor tail of Mr. Booth’s letters. My wife and I were very surprised, however, when we received one from him saying you had left of your own free will.

  ‘As you may guess, we came to the conclusion that you didn’t like being at Hampton House and that there was nothing we could do about it.

  ‘But, to cut a long story short, now we’re home and, with the co-operation of Jimmy and Sheila and Olive, have got to the bottom of things. Mr. Booth has gone, and if by any chance you’re free and can forgive me for the shocking way you’ve been treated, would you consider returning at increased pocket money of £2 a week and, of course, with your puppy and Tornado?

  ‘Hoping you’ll say yes, I’ve entered Jolly Roger for a One Day Event and I’ve been jumping Sandstorm on the lunge and she is in great form.

  ‘Kindest regards from us both,

  ‘Yours very sincerely,

  ‘RICHARD JOHN SEELY.’

  ‘Look,’ cried David. ‘Look,’ handing the letter to his parents, thinking: Everything’s all right. I needn’t sell Tornado. I’m not a failure after all. I can go on show jumping, One Day Eventing. . . . I can begin again.

  ‘It’s just as I always say. If you do what’s right everything will come right in the end,’ said Mrs. Smith, handing back the letter with eyes full of tears.

  ‘Well done, son,’ said his father, reading the letter slowly, reading it twice, three times, looking at David as though he was seeing him for the first time.

  THE VISITOR

  NE
XT MORNING DAVID rose early and, with Tina at his heels, ran to the nearest kiosk to put through a call to Devon.

  Major Seely was fetched from his bath.

  ‘I’m sorry to telephone you so early, sir,’ said David, ‘but I only saw your letter last night.’

  ‘Are you coming back to us?’

  ‘Yes. I’d like to very much.’

  A great many pleasantries followed.

  ‘Well, come as soon as you can. I’ll put a cheque for your horsebox in the post this morning,’ said Major Seely as the pips sounded for the second time.

  David walked back to the cottage seeing himself, as he had so many times before, riding for England. Nothing seemed too difficult for him now, nothing impossible.

  The past few weeks were nothing to him now except a bad patch in his life which was over. When he met Mrs. Emmett, whom he had known as long as he could remember, he found it easy to smile and ask after her health and tell her that he was returning to Devon very soon.

  He felt free – freer than he had for months. He thought: While I’m here I’ll go over to Milton and have a look at Folly. How lucky I am to have a horse, a pony and a dog!

  His mother had cooked an extra-special breakfast when he returned to the cottage, and the sad atmosphere of the evening before had gone, to be replaced by a feeling which David could only describe as similar to that which always hung over them at Christmas or on a birthday.

  After breakfast, when he was upstairs combing his hair before he walked across the Common to the Hall, his mother called, ‘There’s a visitor to see you, David.’

  And now he could hear Pat laughing in the kitchen.

  He ran downstairs.

  She was standing talking to his mother. ‘I’ve heard your good news. Isn’t it wonderful? I came back last night. London was stifling,’ she said, turning to David.

  She was dressed in riding clothes. To have her there was like putting the clock back six months.

  ‘I thought we might go for a ride this morning. What do you think?’

  A moment later they were walking across the Common together.