After the Pony Club Read online

  ​“Ooh,” Susan said. “I suppose I’d better. Not too early though!”

  Major Holbrooke tapped on the door and then opened it cautiously and poked his nose in.

  ​Dr Radcliffe looked up, startled, and smiled. “Sorry,” he said. “Lost in thought.” He stood up and stretched. The boy was asleep.

  ​“Would you like a drink?” the major asked.

  ​Dr Radcliffe grinned a boyish grin and Major Holbrooke wondered how the man could possibly be so boyish when he had so many children. I suppose that’s how he got them, he thought, looking at Dr Radcliffe’s flaming red hair, which had no hint of grey at all.

  ​Dr Radcliffe knocked back a glass of whiskey quickly enough; the major was surprised. “Another?” he asked.

  ​Dr Radcliffe shook his head and suddenly looked incredibly tired and not boyish at all. “I’d better not. I need to ask for your help. Best to be sober for that sort of thing.”

  ​Major Holbrooke’s heart sank. “To do with that boy, you mean?”

  ​“Yes, that’s what I meant. How do you feel about putting him up for a few days? He’s here now anyway, and I’d like to be able to keep an eye on him.”

  ​How do I feel? The major wondered. “I’ve already decided to ask him to stay until Christmas,” he admitted. “He obviously doesn’t want to be at home, and Henry will be here the day after tomorrow. They can keep each other company. But I can’t give him a job; there’s nothing needs doing, and anyway, that boy couldn’t lift a pitchfork the state he’s in. What the devil is wrong with him?”

  ​“All right, I’ll have another drink,” Dr Radcliffe said, holding out his glass. “It’s complicated,” he said, staring at the drink when he’d got it, “and it’s confidential as well.” He grinned that grin again. “Though I don’t see you as the sort to go spreading gossip around the villages. We’ve had all this before, years ago. Dick’s always been a quiet type, shy, you know, and his father didn’t like that so he bought him a pony, forced him to ride.”

  “But Dick likes riding,” the major protested.

  ​“Yes, he was lucky in that. Crispin was an extraordinary pony.” Dr Radcliffe had been staring into the fire. He looked up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not getting to the point very quickly am I? Dick’s father wants Dick to be like him, and he’s not. They sent him away to school, like we do, you know, us hard-hearted, ambitious parents. That’s where I came in, because it was a disaster. He couldn’t stand to be away from home you see. The school sent him back because he was sick, wouldn’t eat, or couldn’t. I never managed to work out which, but his father was certain, sent him to another school and it was exactly the same. He ended up in hospital, for months, and they did all manner of tests but never found anything. Technically, there’s nothing wrong with him.”

  ​“I never knew any of this,” the major said slowly.

  ​“Why would you? I don’t suppose you knew him then. He was much better after they gave it up and just let him go to a local school, and he was always happy in the summer anyway; that’s when you’d have seen him, when he didn’t have to go to school at all, or be tutored or crammed or anything like that.”

  ​“And college is much like school?”

  ​“And being grown up makes no difference when you’re too miserable to be able to eat. I should have thought of that.”

  ​“I’m not sure he is grown up,” the major said. “How old is he, nineteen? You can’t possibly think this is your fault? What do you suppose you would have been able to do about it?”

  ​Dr Radcliffe shook his head sadly. “I don’t know what to do about it now.”

  Sunday

  John Manners came off the telephone and found his vision was all blurred. He rubbed his eyes angrily.

  ​“What’s the matter?” his mother asked.

  ​He threw an arm round her shoulders and smiled, wiping his eyes some more. “It’s Dick,” he said. “He’s fallen ill.”

  ​“Oh dear, I hope it’s not too bad.”

  ​“It’s pretty bad. He’s up at Folly Court; I’m going to go and see him.” At least he had nothing to do he couldn’t leave. That was the best thing about winter.

  ​“Why’s he at Folly Court if he’s ill? Are his parents away?”

  ​“I’m not entirely sure,” John mumbled.

  ​“I’ve never liked Dick’s mother I’m afraid to say, though of course I have tried. She’s not a friendly person at all and she talks in riddles,” Mrs Manners said.

  ​John laughed. He didn’t really like Dick’s mother much himself, what he’d seen of her. She was too beautiful, like a picture in a magazine, cold and detached.

  John stopped off at the Haywards' house on his way, to pick up some of Dick’s clothes. He didn’t expect to see Dick’s mother, but she was there, making everything more awkward than it needed to be. She really didn’t seem as if she could properly be anyone’s mother; she didn’t look old enough for one thing. She wore peculiar clothes that John supposed were the latest fashion, though he had no idea about such things really, and she was so small and delicate that she seemed to need to move particularly carefully in case she broke.

  ​“Oh, how lovely of you,” she said. “Do help yourself. I wouldn’t have a clue what he’d want.”

  She laughed sweetly and her passive uselessness made John blaze with uncomfortable anger. He felt helpless too, being unaccustomed to packing things at all, even for himself. He began by being baffled, but ended up surprised how easy it was; Dick kept his clothes so impressively tidy.

  ​It was only when he drove through the village and passed Basset Towers that John remembered he had promised to take Susan out to lunch that day. Damn! How could he have forgotten that? He ought to have been longing to see her after all the time she had been away. He was really, he told himself. Anyway, she’d understand: that was what was so good about Susan. He could see her in the afternoon instead.

  ​The packing had made him late and he arrived at Folly Court flustered. He had been invited for lunch and they’d started without him. He found he was glad he had missed the beginning of the meal, though. It lasted long enough as it was, interminable, with the Holbookes making polite conversation about his farm and their farm and the horses, entirely ignoring the spectre in their midst.

  ​This Dick was just a skeleton, and he sat up straight in clothes much too big for him, eating intently and deliberately, as if he were sitting some kind of examination, smiling and making polite conversation about nothing. John was horrified and he knew it showed on his face. The major sent him a warning glance, but there was nothing he could do about it. The Holbrookes were watching Dick eat, and Dick was watching them watching him. It went on and on and when it was over at last John couldn’t help but heave a great sigh.

  ​“I brought you some of your clothes, so for heaven’s sake put ‘em on and let’s get out of here,” he said.

  “Where are we going?” Dick asked him in the car, on the way.

  ​“We’re going to my place, out for a ride. You’re going to ride Turpin.”

  ​Dick went white. “Can we stop?” he asked faintly.

  ​John looked at him and stopped the car, and Dick flung himself out of it onto the grass verge where he doubled up and vomited.

  ​“I can’t ride Turpin; he’s just a pony,” Dick said, collapsing back into the passenger seat, shaking.

  ​John kept on course. “Dick, you could climb onto a chicken right now and it wouldn’t notice. Turpin is fit as a flea. He needs riding, but he never gets any. Do it as a favour, please?”

  Turpin and Samson were turned out in the small paddock, which had new rails round it – the ideal home for any old pony, John thought angrily. And he had to say it. “Crispin could have lived here with them. There’s plenty of room. If someone had asked I would have taken him in for nothing.”

  ​Dick walked away into the field as if John had never spoken.

  ​They rode along the bridle path to th
e Roman road and up onto the ridge where the view was not really spectacular, but it was still wonderful.

  ​“What are you going to do?” John asked.

  ​“Go back to college, I suppose,” Dick said.

  ​“The major said you were looking for a job,” John said, uncertainly.

  ​Dick laughed. “That was a joke,” he said. “Or maybe it was a touch of madness – I don’t know. I have to go back to college; there’s nothing else I can do.”

  ​“Why do you have to, if you hate it?”

  ​“We all have to do things we hate in life. Don’t you hate half the things you do? You complain about them enough.”

  ​“I know I complain.” John was embarrassed. Susan was always telling him he complained too much. “And I do hate some of the things I have to do – anyone would – but I don’t hate what it’s all for. That makes it worthwhile. What’s going to college for?”

  ​“Learning things and getting a job, following in one’s father’s footsteps, making a contribution to one’s country.” Dick shrugged.

  ​“Have a different job. Work in a stable like you said. You can have a job on the farm if you like and I’ll pay you.”

  ​“People like me don’t work in stables or on farms.”

  ​John knew that really. Years ago, when they had been kids, spending all that energy messing about with ponies, it had seemed like everyone was equal – the same. Now they were all grown up the differences were undisputable. Dick belonged to a different world, one that John knew nothing whatever about, but there still needed to be some choice, didn’t there? “That’s all very well, but it isn’t working, is it? And after what your father did to you, I’d have thought…”

  ​“He didn’t do anything to me,” Dick said.

  ​“Oh, come on! You need to get angry.” John said, angry himself, but Dick had pushed on and left him behind, so he said it to no-one.

  Dick was so exhausted he could barely feel anything. He slid down from Turpin’s back and found he had to hold on to the sturdy roan pony to keep himself up. John’s Turpin and his Crispin had always been bracketed together in the old days of the pony club. There was a lot alike about them, both old and wise, both kind and patient, but Turpin was never Crispin. Nobody was. It was too much to think about.

  Dick didn’t say much on the drive back to Folly Court. John parked the car and they walked up the drive together in silence.

  ​Major Holbrook opened the door. “Did you have a good ride?” he asked.

  ​“Yes, thank you,” Dick said, smiling a strained smile. “It was lovely to see Turpin – and Samson. We went up along the Roman road. It was like old times.”

  ​Dick would always be polite, John thought. He didn’t sound very much like he meant any of it.

  ​“I’m quite tired now, though,” Dick went on. “Thank you very much, John, for the ride, but if you don’t mind, I’ll…” He dashed away, across the hall and up the stairs.

  ​Fair enough, John thought.

  ​The major looked concerned, though. “Is he all right?” he asked.

  ​“I don’t know,” John said. “It’s always so hard to tell, with Dick. I thought he’d be angry; I would be, but he just seemed, I don’t know, reserved – removed. That’s his problem. He doesn’t have real feelings, or he has them, but he doesn’t let them out. If he would just get angry he’d be all right.” He looked up at Major Holbrook’s interested face sheepishly. “That’s what I think anyway. I have to go really, I was supposed to have lunch with Susan and I forgot.”

  Mrs Holbrooke was feeling secretly pleased. Since the summer George had seemed to be losing his energy. She’d been worried. She sat with her legs tucked under her on the red sofa next to the fire with a glass of wine, and when her husband came into the room in a great state of agitation, she smiled at him serenely.

  ​“That woman is unbelievable. Do you know her?” he asked.

  ​“I’ve met her a few times at things, but she isn’t around much. Everyone says she’s awfully clever and entertaining, as well as being beautiful of course, but I think she seems rather sad. I don’t think she likes her husband very much. What did she say?”

  ​“Almost nothing at all, and she didn’t listen. It was like talking to a plastic doll.”

  ​“But she doesn’t mind if we keep Dick?”

  ​“She wants to take him up to Town for Christmas, but apart from that she doesn’t care. Who are these people Carol?” He threw himself into the other corner of the sofa.

  ​Mrs Holbrooke laughed. “I think you are enjoying yourself. And Henry will be here tomorrow, and the day after that is the pony club rally.”

  Susan couldn’t be annoyed with John. She did try, but he was John and she’d missed him while she was away in sordid Italy. Oh, it wasn’t sordid really, of course it wasn’t. She’d got back from her ride with Noel in time for lunch feeling exhausted because Tranquil had wanted to gallop almost the whole time. But it had been enormous fun, and Noel had had fun too. Susan didn’t think Noel had very much fun these days and it was a shame.

  ​“She’s been working for her father at home and she hates it,” Susan said. “Of course, her father is a dear, but he’s absent minded and not very organised. You’re not listening are you?”

  ​Susan had been expecting John to come and take her away somewhere for lunch but he didn’t and she was so tired she had fallen asleep, and that was the afternoon gone. When he finally turned up with copious apologies and the promise of a fancy dinner in town, she had been so pleased to see him she didn’t even ask what had made him late. But it was a fairly long way to town and now she was starving because of course she hadn’t had any lunch.

  ​John was driving, staring intently out through the windscreen into the night and frowning.

  ​“What’s wrong?” she asked.

  ​He smiled at her. John had the loveliest smile. Oh, he wasn’t fantastically handsome and charming like Henry, but there was something so real and honest about him. Perhaps Noel was right, and it was all very complicated, unless you found the right person.

  ​“There’s nothing wrong with me,” John said. He’d only looked at her for a moment, and then back to the road, but the smile stayed put. “Sorry. You’re right, I wasn’t listening. I was thinking about how perfect everything is and how lucky we are.”

  Monday

  Henry was fed up. He’d tried sitting with Echo in the train but it made no difference, so he sat in the carriage farthest away instead, where he couldn’t hear his horse kicking the box relentlessly. He felt like kicking doors himself was the truth. If Noel had only answered his letter he’d know something. That she hadn’t could mean anything. Maybe her answer had been lost in the post. Maybe his letter had been. But he didn’t think so, not really. Really he knew it was hopeless and he might just as well have gone to Spain after all.

  ​He rode Echo from the station to Folly Court without getting lost, which he considered impressive. It wasn’t as if this place was his home. It’s one of my homes, he told himself, and I’ve too many. He had to ride through the village where Noel and Susan lived and that sobered him up. Oh God, he thought. What’s the use of anything?

  ​When he arrived in the stable yard, a very thin person shuffled out of a stable towards him.

  ​“I’ll take him.”

  It was Dick Hayward, but he didn’t look anything like the way he had when Henry had seen him last. Henry was so startled that Echo was startled too and began to jump about. Henry took him round in a circle and dismounted.

  ​“What are you doing here?” he asked breathlessly.

  ​“Taking your horse for you,” Dick said. “Apart from that I’m not entirely sure.”

  ​And Henry had to be content with that.

  ​“Oy, Aunt Carol,” He said, after his aunt had welcomed him into the house and made him a cup of tea. “Has Uncle George got a whole raft of ex-pony club members working for him now, or what?”

  ​
“Oh, did you see Dick in the stables? He’s just staying with us for a few days. He’s not been well.”

  ​“I could see that – he looks like death warmed up, and not warmed up very much. What’s wrong with him?”

  ​“Well it generally goes under the heading of nerves, but you’ll have to ask him if you want to know more.”

  ​“I did, sort of. He wouldn’t say anything. Aunt Carol, is it all right for me to think this is annoying?”

  ​“It’s not all right, but it is understandable. Will that do?”

  ​“Where is Uncle George?” Henry asked.

  ​“Oh, he went to old Colonel Barton’s this morning. Supposed to be back by now, but you know what they’re like.”

  ​Henry was more than annoyed, he was angry. He’d lost himself somehow in the last six months, that was the truth. His family seemed to have got thin and dispersed, father working abroad, mother fussing over Elizabeth and her babies all the time. School was over for good and he still hadn’t got used to it. The army was all right, but it was a million miles from what he had expected. Uncle George didn’t give a damn and Noel seemed to have turned tail and run away. And now he found he was being made to share a bedroom with someone who had worse problems than he did.

  “It was a lovely evening,” Susan said. She had ridden over to Noel’s again, to school this time, since there was the rally the next day and she seemed to have forgotten how to ride. She’d asked Noel to ‘take her’ but it hadn’t helped. Truant was so elegant these days, with his nose tucked in and all those muscles moving under his neatly-clipped coat; Tranquil looked like nothing at all next to him. But then Noel kept going on courses, and besides she rode him every day.

  ​“You’re a proper instructor now, aren’t you?” Susan asked. They were eating tea with Noel’s mother and father in the dining room.