Fly-by-night

by K. M. Peyton

  ‘Elizabeth, wash your hands. They’re filthy,’ Ruth said, from force of habit, going to the tea-caddy. How strangely things worked out, she was thinking. Her mother put out the meal for the three of them, and they sat down to it. Peter had a good appetite, whatever his spiritual starvation, and there was no need to force a conversation when they were all so healthily occupied. When he had finished Peter said to Mrs. Hollis, ‘Can I go and have a look round before it gets dark? Isn’t there a creek at the bottom of the lane — the lane that goes to the right, off the estate?’

  ‘Yes, there is,’ Ruth said.

  ‘You can go,’ Mrs. Hollis said. ‘But be back by seven, before I have to go out.’

  ‘Can I come?’ Elizabeth asked Peter.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Peter said.

  Elizabeth leapt eagerly from the table and fetched her gum boots. Peter went out with her, apparently quite happy that she should accompany him.

  ‘I’m glad she wanted to go,’ Mrs. Hollis said to Ruth, pouring herself a cup of tea and sitting down rather wearily. ‘She’ll keep tabs on him. He’s not likely to throw himself in, with her around. And I didn’t want to say no to him, the first night.’

  Ruth looked at her mother, shocked. ‘Throw himself in? Surely it’s not that bad?’

  ‘Well, no normal, happy child presents itself at a police-station and says it refuses to go home, and please could they find it somewhere to live. Which is apparently what he did.’

  ‘But very sensible, if you feel like that,’ Ruth couldn’t help pointing out. ‘Better than running away in an aimless fashion. And his father is beastly.’

  ‘So I understand. Mrs. Challoner had to do some investigating, and went to see him, and said that he was absolutely flabbergasted at what Peter had done. He said if he came back it would all be all right, but Peter flatly refused to go. It seems that since the mother died, three or four years ago, the father more or less drowned his sorrows in work, to the exclusion of all else.’

  ‘The horse-dealing business,’ Ruth put in.

  ‘Yes. I realized it was the same McNairs that you went to see last year, when Mrs. Challoner was telling me all this. Apparently Peter was expected to go along with his father, and submerge himself in the horse business, too, but Peter had other ideas. It seems he’s not the slightest bit interested in horses. He didn’t worry very much at first, but as he got older, and presumably more competent, his father expected him to be riding all the time. He started keeping him away from school, just to ride. And Peter got fed up. The last straw was apparently when his father stopped him eating bread and potatoes because he was getting too heavy. So he just walked out.’

  ‘Good for him.’

  ‘Mrs. Challoner thought it would just be a matter of talking Peter into going back home, and smoothing things over, but when the psychiatrist fellow looked into it, he said Peter was on no account to go back. So that’s how we got landed with him. Mrs. Challoner knew about Ted, so knew we had a spare room. And round she came.’

  ‘Queer,’ Ruth said. She was still bemused by the way things had worked out. ‘He’s a marvellous rider.’

  Her mother looked at her sharply. ‘After what I’ve told you, I hope you’ll have more sense than to start talking horses to him. I told Mrs. Challoner that she might not have chosen a very good place for him, what with you and your horse-nonsense, but she didn’t think that merely seeing a pony out of his bedroom window would be more than he could bear. But you’re on no account to trouble him with your pony problems, Ruth.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  ‘That’s the one thing that really wouldn’t do him any good at all. He has to go and see the psychiatrist once a week, so they must consider he needs watching. I don’t want you to upset him.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t!’ Ruth said indignantly.

  ‘We’ve enough problems to get on with at the moment. We don’t want any more.’ Mrs. Hollis finished her cup of tea and looked at the time. ‘Your father will be in in a minute. I must put his meal on.’

  Ruth started to do her homework on the cleared end of the table. But she could not concentrate on what she was supposed to be doing. She kept thinking of Peter being under her nose all the time, and herself not being able to ask him about Fly-by-Night, when everything went wrong. ‘Torture,’ she thought, digging her pencil deep into her notebook, making an agonized doodle. ‘Cruelty to children.’ She drew a little girl, transfixed by an arrow. ‘It’s me that will be going to the psychiatrist when Peter’s finished.’ She longed to tell Ron what had happened, and see the expression on his face.

  All her tack was dirty and needed cleaning, but she spent the evening watching the television. Peter sat on the other end of the sofa, staring at the screen. The only conversation that passed between them at all was a few desultory remarks about school.

  CHAPTER X

  PEARL MAKES A BET

  IT WAS A hot summer, the hottest for years. The ground was baked hard, and big cracks opened up in the clay down by the creek. Ruth rode Fly-by-Night along the dry paths, her thighs sticky with heat against the saddle, flies singing in a cloud round the pony’s head. If it hadn’t been for the goal she was working for, she would have been very content. Fly-by-Night had stopped bolting with her; he trotted and cantered when she asked, and nearly always stopped when she wanted. But he had a definite mind of his own, which was still a match for her riding. There were days when she had battles with him, long-drawn-out miserable affairs which she won by patience rather than skill. She could not rely on his obedience; she could not be sure, when approaching even a small ditch, that he was going to jump it. The fences at Brierley were as impossible as mountains, by his present standards.

  Ron said, ‘If you take him to a Pony Club meeting, they will teach you how to do it. Isn’t that what it’s for?’

  Ruth agreed that it was. ‘They only meet in the school holidays. I’ll go to the first one in August.’ She did not want to admit to Ron that the thought of going to the first meeting terrified her. She was afraid Fly-by-Night would make a fool of her in front of all those competent girls.

  Even if she had not been given definite instructions about not troubling Peter with her ‘nonsense’, Ruth realized, as she got to know Peter better, that her own instinct would have stopped her from opening the subject. It was as if Peter, normal in all other respects, had put up a sort of barrier where horses were concerned. He never passed a comment on Fly-by-Night, seeming almost not to see him. When Ruth passed him out riding — which she did quite often, for he went down to the creek a lot to swim, or look for butterflies — he would just nod his head to her, but never linger, or stop to watch, or pass any remark. He never mentioned any of his riding experiences, or his home, or his father, or his brothers, as if none of his past life had ever happened. Ruth supposed this was a symptom of the disturbance that the psychiatrist was interested in, but when she asked him what he did at the psychiatrist’s — having pictured him lying on a couch recounting his life-history — he said, ‘Oh, we go to Lyons and eat chocolate eclairs,’ which did not help Ruth at all.

  But in all other respects Peter became a normal member of the family. He was no trouble at all, quiet, obedient, perfectly good-natured. At first he hardly spoke at all, but gradually he thawed out. He smiled more often, and at school, Ruth noticed, was far more lively than he had been. When the time came for Ted to come home from hospital Mr. and Mrs. Hollis decided that he might just as well stay. They had got used to having him around, and there was room for another bed in Ted’s room. Mrs. Challoner was very pleased with their decision. ‘He’s settled down so well with you. It would be such a shame to have to move him just at the moment. His father’s gone abroad, you know, so perhaps the change will do the gentleman good. I hope so, because Peter will have to go back to him eventually.’ Ruth hoped the nasty Mr. McNair would stay abroad for a long time. She liked Peter, and was still hopeful that, after a few more sessions eating chocolate eclairs, he would get round to ta
lking ‘horse-nonsense’ with her.

  As the first meeting of the Pony Club approached at the end of July she tried to convince herself that she had nothing to worry about, but she was not very successful. She tried to tell herself that this meeting would, in fact, solve her problems, because that’s what the meetings were for, but she dreaded her introduction to the ranks of those capable, cold-eyed girls. She longed to ask Peter about them, and about what happened at the meetings. She got as far as saying to him, ‘I’m going to a Pony Club meeting on Wednesday,’ but Peter only said, ‘And the best of British luck,’ which did nothing to make her feel any more optimistic. If he thought she needed it, it was no more than she felt herself.

  Having prevailed upon Pearl — in vain — to join the Pony Club and accompany her, Ruth resigned herself to the awfulness of this first experience, and spent most of Tuesday on a marathon cleaning operation, of her pony, her tack, and her shabby clothes. As the day went on she got gloomier and gloomier, so that in the evening Ted and Ron kept passing remarks about the joy of owning the most faithful of man’s servants, a horse.

  ‘If I were you, I’d take up basket-weaving instead,’ Ted told her. ‘You could get a fair old load of cane for the cost of that brute.’

  But the brute, when she had finished, did look lovely. Ruth was cheered when she went out again in the evening, and saw him grazing under the trees in the last of the sun, the golden light adding an extra burnish to the work she had put in on his coat during the afternoon. He had filled out beautifully since the spring, yet was not too fat, for Ruth had been keeping him in the garden all day, where the grass was very spare, and only letting him into the builder’s field at night. And his extra inches were muscle, not flabby fat; his shoulders and quarters were hard and strong, his eyes bright with good health. When he saw her at the fence he came cantering up, as he always did now, and pushed his nose at her eagerly. She rarely gave him titbits, for he had taken to biting when she had given him too many. Now, at least, he never bit, but he still gobbled his lips at her in his thrusting pony way, all bounce and push. Fly had never been a pony to just stand and let himself be stroked.

  ‘Be good tomorrow, please,’ Ruth whispered, and sent up a little prayer to the first star.

  Having ridden very little on roads, Ruth had worked out a route to the meeting mostly through lanes, and when she had to go where there was traffic she got off and led Fly-by-Night. She supposed this was all wrong, but she did not want to be landed under a car for the sake of principle. As he was not shod, she had always put off taking him on roads, but now she realized that it was a part of his education that she would not be able to put off much longer.

  Fortunately for her pride, she was mounted and progressing quite satisfactorily when four girls on ponies clattered out of a turning just ahead of her. She felt Fly-by-Night gather himself together underneath her; she sat down tight and took a firm hold on the reins, and was just able to prevent him in his mad rush forward from cannoning into the hind quarters of the last pony. The rider turned round and gave Ruth a surprised look, as Fly-by-Night let out an excited whinny. Ruth, crimson, said, ‘I’m sorry.’ She could feel Fly-by-Night’s excitement, the very thing she had dreaded; he was bouncing beneath her, snatching at the bit, swinging his quarters about.

  To her great relief the girls ahead of her turned into a field gate, and she found, following them, that she had arrived at her destination. She was committed now. Whatever happened, she felt, was now out of her hands. She could but do her feeble best.

  Beneath her, Fly-by-Night, taking in the scene, trembled with excitement. There were about thirty ponies in the field, and a middle-aged, military-looking man with a fierce black moustache — whom Ruth remembered was Major Banks — was bawling at them all to assemble in the middle and circle round him. With him there were two or three older girls, more or less grown-up, and an elderly man sitting on a shooting-stick. She had just arrived in time. Without dismounting, she cast off her shoulder bag with sandwiches and her headcollar in it, so that it landed under a convenient bush, and headed Fly-by-Night hopefully towards the circling riders.

  He went like a coiled spring, in bounds of excitement, whinnying loudly. Ruth was preoccupied with keeping him from getting out of control; she knew from the way he fought her hands that at any minute he would get his nose up in the air and rush off headlong. Major Banks was eyeing her nervously, but Ruth’s eyes were fixed on Fly-by-Night’s amazed ears, flexing backwards and forwards.

  ‘Steady, steady, you little idiot!’ she muttered, but her voice was as nervous as Fly’s progress.

  She managed to join the circle, with Fly dashing and darting, crowding the pony in front, and still letting out his frantic neighs. The girl behind wisely kept her pony at a distance, for which Ruth was greatly relieved, for she was afraid Fly would kick.

  Major Banks was picking out the competent riders for the more advanced training, and the ones left circling, Ruth concluded, were the ones for the elementary class. Just as she was thinking that perhaps the worst of Fly-by-Night’s astonishment was giving way to acceptance of this strange new game, the competent group was sent away to the other side of the field. As the riders set off at a fast trot, in a big bunch, Fly-by-Night took off in pursuit, whipping round out of the circle and breaking into the wild canter that Ruth had been dreading. She pulled at him, but he put his nose up, snatching at the bit.

  Ruth heard Major Banks roar something at her, but she knew she was on her own. She sat down as firmly as she could to the lurching, unbalanced pace, and heaved desperately on the left rein to circle Fly back to where he had come from. With his head pulled round he galloped on as best as he could, but Ruth’s brute strength gradually prevailed, and he started to slow up, in big jerks, showing the whites of his eyes.

  Ruth, bitterly embarrassed, turned him round towards the group she was supposed to be with, but he refused to go in this direction, and napped round to face the other way. With brute force once more Ruth hauled him round again, and drummed him with her heels. He faced the right way, but would not move, except backwards. By the time Major Banks reached her, Ruth was biting back tears of humiliation.

  ‘What’s all this, animal?’ Major Banks said quite cheerfully, reaching out a hand to Fly-by-Night’s bridle. ‘You want to be with the others, do you? Well, we want you over here.’

  He put a hand on the reins and led Fly-by-Night, who went without any more trouble. Ruth sat still, sick with despair. The two groups of ponies were now circling with one of the other girls in the centre of each; everyone was occupied, and Major Banks halted Fly-by-Night and looked at Ruth, stroking Fly’s neck.

  ‘You didn’t manage that too badly,’ he said. ‘Don’t look too worried. Young, is he?’

  ‘Yes, he’s four. I had him when he was three.’ ‘You had him unbroken, I take it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The Major shook his head and tut-tutted. ‘Same old story. These so nice but quite crazy parents will buy their children a sweet, wild pony, and expect them to grow up together.’ He smiled at Ruth quite pleasantly. ‘Hard, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ruth stiffly. ‘Only I bought him myself. My parents had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Even worse,’ said the Major cheerfully. He stood back, surveying the now resigned Fly-by-Night thoughtfully. ‘I’ll say this for you, you’ve an eye for a nice pony. Very nice.’

  Ruth’s spirits rose a notch.

  ‘We’ve had wilder animals than this in the Pony Club.’

  Ruth’s spirits rose another notch.

  ‘Join the others,’ said Major Banks. ‘He’ll be all right.’

  Fly-by-Night, having fastened his eyes on the right set of ponies, joined them without any further trouble, walking in a circle round the instructor, a dashing-looking girl of about twenty slashing a crop against her gum boots. Ruth could feel vibrations of amazement still coming up through Fly, but his demeanour was now more subdued. She began to think she might be able
to cope.

  For an hour and a half they rode in circles, walking and trotting, first all together, then one by one, then in a long row over a very low cavaletti, then one by one. Ruth, concentrating hard, never had time to wonder what the others were thinking of her; they all had their problems, too, she came to realize. And most of them didn’t have such a handsome pony as hers. On the other side of the field the more advanced riders were doing much the same thing with Major Banks, only their jumps were bigger and their circles were smaller, and the performances were altogether more polished.

  At lunch-time Ruth had hoped to talk to some of the girls and perhaps find the understanding friend she was always hoping for, but Fly-by-Night, tied to the hedge, kept getting his feet tangled up in his headrope because he was still excited, and she had to untie him after a few crises and spend the lunch-hour holding the end of the rope herself. As he kept darting about every few minutes, and she was trying to eat sandwiches at the same time, it was not at all restful. She was very envious of the girls whose ponies stood dozing, and who were able to picnic on rugs with bottles of pop and no troubles. She realized that there were things Fly-by-Night had to learn that she had not even thought of yet.

  When it was time to tack up again, Fly threw his head about every time she tried to get the bridle on, and while all the other girls calmly trotted off to the centre of the ring, Ruth was left fighting and dancing round in circles by the hedge. But the instructress came over and, with the same cheerful nonchalance that Major Banks had used, offered help.

  ‘Little beggar, aren’t you?’ she chided Fly, and had the bridle on instantly. Then she said, ‘Nice pony. New, is he?’

  ‘It’s his first Pony Club meeting.’

  ‘They all have to learn.’ Ruth’s only consolation lay in the fact that nobody seemed to think that her troubles were anything out of the ordinary.