Meg and Merlin Read online

  To Tabitha

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1 Wishing and Wanting

  2 A Birthday Surprise?

  3 The Runaway Pony

  4 The Ride of a Lifetime

  5 A Dream Comes True

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  Wishing and Wanting

  Meg wanted a pony. She wanted a pony so badly that it hurt.

  Every night Meg pulled the duvet over her head and curled into a tight ball. She shut her eyes and wished and wished and wished for a pony.

  Meg went riding once a week. Every Saturday afternoon Mum and Dad drove her to the local riding school.

  Sometimes the teacher gave Meg’s group a lesson. Sometimes she took them for a ride into the countryside.

  Whatever they did, Meg looked forward to her ride all week and then it would pass in the blink of an eye. After that, Meg would have another six long days with no ponies. No rides.

  And then, five months ago, Dad had his work hours reduced and Meg’s riding had to be cut back to once a fortnight. When the same thing happened to Mum a few weeks later, Meg could only ride once a month. Even that was tricky for her parents to afford.

  Meg knew she couldn’t complain. But it was so hard! The days and weeks between rides felt like years.

  Meg had always longed to have a pony of her own. She dreamed about ponies at night, and when she was awake ponies filled her head.

  At home she drew pictures of ponies. At school, instead of doing her sums or her writing, she thought about galloping across a sandy beach on a wild white stallion or riding over mountains on a dark bay mare.

  Every single Christmas Meg wrote to Santa: “Please, please, please can I have a pony? If you could bring me a pony, I’d never, ever ask for anything else ever again.”

  Every year Mum and Dad asked if there was anything special she wanted for her birthday and Meg always said “a pony”. So she got presents that were odd shapes and sizes and had china or plastic or wooden ponies inside.

  Meg had a herd of them crowded together on her windowsill. There were so many she couldn’t pull the curtains shut any more.

  Once she’d even written to the tooth fairy: “I don’t want any money. Please, please, please could I have a pony instead?”

  And it worked. In a way.

  The tooth fairy left a tiny silvery horse under her pillow. Meg wore it on a chain around her neck.

  The presents were all lovely things to have and Meg knew she should feel grateful. But pretty necklaces and herds of toy ponies just weren’t enough to fill the great big hole in her life. She longed to love a real, live pony of her own.

  CHAPTER 2

  A Birthday Surprise?

  On Meg’s tenth birthday the early morning sun cast shadows of her toy pony herd on the ceiling.

  Meg woke early. But there was no point getting excited, she told herself. She’d maybe get a small present from Mum and Dad, but they were still asleep and wouldn’t be up for ages.

  She was about to turn over and go back to sleep when something tickled at the back of her mind. Meg had the oddest feeling that something, somewhere was different.

  She breathed in. There was a smell in the air – Meg could just pick it out. Something sweet. An animal smell. Grass. Manure. She knew what it was, but it was in the wrong place. The smell of the stables! Something odd was happening.

  Meg sat up in bed and peered out of her bedroom window. Her jaw dropped open.

  A pony was standing in the front garden.

  Was she dreaming? Meg blinked once, then twice. It was still there.

  She rubbed her eyes and looked again. There it was, head down, cropping the grass as if it belonged there.

  Meg sat, nose pressed against the window, gazing at the pony. And the pony must have felt Meg’s eyes on its skin, because suddenly its head came up and it looked right back at her.

  For a moment Meg thought that all her wishes had come true.

  The pony was perfect. Just perfect. From the top of its ears to the end of its long, silky tail, the pony was more beautiful than anything Meg had ever seen. A gleaming black coat. Four white socks. A star on its forehead. The red head collar it wore made the pony look almost as if it had been wrapped up with a ribbon.

  Somewhere deep down inside, Meg knew that the pony wasn’t really a birthday present. She’d heard Mum and Dad talking about it often enough, late into the night when they thought Meg was asleep.

  “It’s not just the expense of buying one, is it?” Mum would say. “It’s feeding the animal. And paying rent for its stable.”

  “And the vet’s bills!” Dad agreed. “Let’s not forget them.”

  There was no getting around it. It was a great pity, Mum and Dad agreed. But no matter how hard they worked, no matter how much they cut back on what they spent, they couldn’t afford to get a pony for Meg and that was the end of it.

  And yet there was this pony, standing in the garden. Maybe her parents had won the lottery and hadn’t told her, Meg thought. Maybe they wanted to give her a surprise? Perhaps one of them had got extra hours at work, or been given a better job, or something? Things like that happened to grown-ups sometimes, didn’t they?

  For a few golden moments Meg let herself think that something amazing had happened. This pony was hers. A gift, on her tenth birthday. Dizzy with happiness, she tiptoed downstairs. She didn’t want to wake up her parents and break the magic spell.

  At the front door she stood still. Suddenly she wasn’t at all sure that the beautiful pony would be there. Maybe she had just dreamed him?

  She shut her eyes and drew in a deep breath. With all her strength she wished for the pony to be out there waiting for her. “Please oh please oh please don’t vanish. Please oh please oh please be mine.”

  She opened the door. Just a crack. Taking another deep breath, Meg peered out.

  And there he was, eyes like pools, looking at her. The pony made a soft, low rumbling sound in its throat as if it was saying: “Hello” or “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting ages”.

  Meg had heard the ponies at the stables making the same sounds. At the end of a ride she was sometimes allowed to help with the untacking. Then they’d turn the ponies out into their field. Some of them would have a good roll and then they’d all walk away across the grass, grunting and rumbling, making soft, snuffled sounds, talking to each other in Horse.

  But no pony had ever done that to Meg before. No pony had ever greeted her. Not until this very moment.

  The pony gave another soft rumble. And this time it seemed to be saying something else. This time it seemed to be asking, “Are you coming out or what?”

  “Yes,” Meg whispered. She opened the door a little more and slipped into the front garden. She took two then three steps down the path in her bare feet.

  “Hello,” she said, stopping in front of the pony. In response it lowered its head until its nose was almost brushing hers. And then it puffed a cloud of warm breath into her face.

  She’d seen ponies do this too when they first met. Blowing air at each other seemed to be the Horse way of saying “What’s your name?” or “Where are you from?”

  Meg blew gently up the pony’s nostrils. And now they’d met each other properly, the pony stood still so Meg could stroke him.

  She slid a hand under his thick mane and felt all the way down his warm neck. She was looking for the itchy place that she knew would send the pony into a happy daze when she scratched it. Nobody had taught her how to do it. She’d found out all by herself that most animals have an itchy place that they can’t reach and scratch for themselves.

  Next door’s dog went wild if Meg tickled him on the back just above his tail
. The cat over the road was the same. Meg had once been on a school trip to a farm and there she’d found out that pigs loved having their backs scratched from neck to tail with a nice long stick.

  As for ponies? Meg knew that if she found just the right spot and scratched just the right way, the pony’s top lip would begin to twitch and flick. If she carried on for long enough, the pony would rest its nose on her shoulder. Then it would start to rub her with its velvety top lip.

  With the riding-school ponies it sometimes took a long time, but this pony started nuzzling her almost at once. The two of them stood on the grass, happy and relaxed. It was like the best dream. Meg scratched the pony’s neck and breathed in the sweet, honey smell of Horse. The pony began to chew the collar of Meg’s pyjama top to show how much he liked her.

  But then Mum opened the front door wide and called out to Meg.

  And Meg’s happy dream came crashing down around her ears.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Runaway Pony

  “Meg!” Mum called. She looked from Meg to the pony and back again. “What on earth is going on?”

  And then Dad was there too, standing behind Mum and looking out at Meg.

  “Oh, Meg!” he said.

  Just two words. Full of pity.

  That was it. That was the end of Meg’s daydream. A sea of sadness washed over her. No one spoke. They didn’t need to. Mum and Dad’s faces said it all.

  They hadn’t won the lottery. They hadn’t got better jobs. This pony wasn’t a surprise birthday present. Meg was just being silly.

  The wonderful hope that had swelled like a bubble in her chest burst.

  This beautiful pony wasn’t hers. He belonged to someone else. Some other girl. Some other lucky girl who had rich parents and a perfect pony. The animal had got out of his field, that was all. He was an escapee. A runaway. And he’d have to go back.

  Right now, that other girl would be in a panic, Meg thought. She would be looking for her pony in his field, yelling his name.

  She’d think he was lost. Galloping along a busy road, wild with terror, cars and lorries speeding past him. Or maybe she’d think he’d been stolen. She’d be frantic with fear.

  “I’d best make some phone calls,” Dad said softly. “Someone will be mad with worry looking for that animal. You stay here with it, Meg. Make sure it doesn’t go trotting off, eh?”

  Meg put her forehead against the pony’s. She shut her eyes and tried her very hardest not to cry.

  In no time at all Dad was back.

  “He belongs to a woman called Mrs Hill,” Dad said. “He’s come a fair few miles to end up here. She lives right over at Hunts Cross. That big old house next to the green.”

  “Is she coming to get him?” asked Meg.

  “No …” said Dad slowly. “I told her we’d take him back. Is that OK? Did I do the right thing?”

  Dad held the pony’s head collar while Meg went inside to get dressed.

  She tugged on her second-hand jodhpurs and charity-shop boots and then pulled her riding hat from under the bed.

  And then she went downstairs.

  “Oh, Meg!” Mum sighed. “How can you ride him? You haven’t got a saddle or a bridle or anything.”

  “We can tie some rope on to his head collar, can’t we, Dad? That will be OK for reins.”

  “But how will you find the place?” asked Mum. “It’s miles away!”

  “I can take my bike,” said Dad. “If I cycle ahead, Meg can follow.”

  “Riding bareback? Are you sure?” Mum looked at the pony. “Is it safe?”

  Meg was sure.

  One of the many things she’d learned at the stables was that you could tell a lot about ponies by their eyes. This pony’s eyes were friendly. Honest. Kind. This pony’s eyes told Meg to trust him.

  “Yes,” said Meg, loud and clear. “He’s safe.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The Ride of a Lifetime

  It was the best ride Meg had ever had in her life. It was better than anything she’d ever dreamed. The pony was like a living, breathing, magical creature. He was totally different to anything she’d ridden before – wide awake, bursting with energy, ready for anything.

  Meg always felt a bit sorry for the riding-school ponies. They had always seemed half asleep. She thought that they’d far rather be eating the grass in their field than trotting around the place with children bumping up and down on their backs.

  The riding-school ponies walked along nose to tail when they were out on a hack. They knew all the paths they had to follow and all the places where they had to trot or canter.

  You didn’t have to ask them to do anything, Meg thought. They knew it all. And if you tried to make them go a different way or trot when they normally walked, they’d ignore you.

  They plodded along slowly until it was time to turn for home and then they’d get faster and faster and there was no stopping them until they were back in the stable yard. You didn’t have to do any proper riding – they just carried you along. It was like being on a bus or a train.

  When they had a lesson, the riding-school ponies would have to go round and round in circles, doing the same things over and over again. They must get bored stiff!

  No wonder it was an effort to get them moving when it was your turn to trot or canter.

  The moment Meg was on its back, this pony wanted to be off to see what exciting things lay around the corner.

  Meg didn’t need to make clicking sounds or use her heels to coax him forward. She just had to give a tiny squeeze with her legs. Meg said, “Let’s go,” and he stepped out in a brisk, bouncy walk.

  Dad had got some rope from the back of the garden shed to make reins. Meg hardly needed to use them. The pony reacted instantly to the smallest hand movement.

  As they went down the road the pony’s ears flicked backwards and forwards. He was taking it all in, looking around him as if he was seeing everything for the very first time in his life.

  He looked sideways at a scary-looking dustbin. He gave a good hard stare to an old shopping trolley someone had left at the corner of the road.

  Meg felt a little bit alarmed. She had seen horses like this before.

  Mum and Dad took her to the County Show sometimes as a treat. There were always ponies in the show ring who were nervous and jumpy, fizzing with energy and excitement. When they saw something they didn’t like, they’d stare and snort and sometimes leap sideways so suddenly their riders would end up in the mud.

  Meg didn’t think that she’d be able to stay on the pony’s back if he did anything like that.

  Meg kept a look out for things that might alarm the pony. So she saw the long rope that lay curled in a puddle by the side of the road before the pony did and was ready when he stopped dead.

  Meg felt him grow tense, ready to bolt away. But then his ears flicked back towards Meg as if he was asking her, “Can you see that? Is it a snake? Is it going to attack?”

  For a moment Meg was worried. But then she saw that what he needed was for her to tell him it was OK. That was all. If she was calm and confident, he would be too. She rubbed his neck.

  “It’s nothing scary,” she said. “Walk on.”

  And he did. But she steered him in a wide circle around it, just in case.

  Meg lived on a housing estate at the edge of town and before long they were out into the open country.

  Sunlight slanted through the trees. It was spring and the leaves were newly opened and a dazzling bright green. There were bluebells growing in the grass along the sides of the road. It was the most beautiful morning and there was a bounce to the pony’s walk. He was so excited!

  It was as if the pony and Meg were on the most amazing journey together. It was an adventure. The two of them were like explorers. Friends. Meg felt suddenly that with this pony she could do anything.

  He reacted to her smallest movement, speeding up if she tilted ever so slightly forward, slowing down when she sat back. She only had to turn her hea
d to look at something and he’d do the same.

  They reached a straight stretch of road. Perfect for a trot, Meg thought. And the moment she shifted her seat on the pony’s back, he changed pace. His trot was smooth and light, as if he was dancing on air.

  As they came closer to a bend in the road Meg gave just a slight squeeze of the reins and instantly he slowed back to a walk.

  Meg was astonished. The pony responded to every command at once – almost before Meg had given it! It was as if he was reacting to her thoughts!

  When they came to a part of the road with a big grass verge at the side, the pony flicked an ear back towards Meg as if he was asking her, “Shall we?”

  “Yes!” said Meg. And the pony lifted into a canter.

  A memory flashed through Meg’s head. A lesson when she’d been bouncing around in the saddle. The teacher yelling at her, “Flex your back! Don’t bang up and down on the pony! Move with him!”

  But Meg hadn’t been able to do any of it, and the harder she’d tried, the worse it had got. Now suddenly it was easy. She was flexing her spine. She moved with the pony as if her bottom was superglued to his back.

  CHAPTER 5

  A Dream Comes True

  The ride was over far too quickly. Dad had cycled in front of Meg to show her the way. He hadn’t said a word because he didn’t want to intrude on Meg’s ride. But after an hour and a half they reached Hunts Cross and Dad pointed out the big house next to the village green.