Loving Spirit (14 page)

As soon as they had eaten, Joe hurried away to do some revision, Luke went out and Len sat down to watch the TV. It was Ellie’s turn to clear away. She put the plates into the dishwasher and turned it on, crammed the cardboard packets in the recycling bin and then went out to be with Spirit again.

Spirit recognized her footsteps as she came down the yard and, hearing his whinny, Ellie felt her heart lighten. Putting her arms either side of his warm neck, she rested her face against his mane. He swung his head round and rested his muzzle on her right shoulder. She felt as though he was pulling her in tight, hugging her.

‘Oh, Spirit. It’s been such a busy day. Picasso’s not going to the show now because he won’t go in the horsebox, and then there’s you. I’ve got to find a way to persuade Uncle Len to let me keep you but I don’t know what I can do.’ She could feel the panic starting to curl around inside her, building and swirling like smoke from a smouldering bonfire.
Time was ticking away. Thursday loomed large in her mind.

Spirit breathed softly on her hair. Ellie shut her eyes, drawing strength from him. She’d think of something. Her racing thoughts gradually slowed and her mind emptied. A picture came into her mind. But there was something different about it. She frowned, trying to work out why. It was as if the energy wasn’t quite the same, she realized. She let herself sink into the picture, wondering what Spirit was showing her.

It was dark. There was a lorry full of foals. There were no partitions and the foals were crammed together, stumbling against each other as the lorry threw them about, hooves grazing each other’s delicate legs. The atmosphere was charged with fear and loss.
Mother, mother, mother …

The air was filled with the foals’ silent cries, and suddenly she knew the foals were all being taken away from their mothers for the first time. They were very young and terrified. But she had shared Spirit’s memories of his first journey away from his mother before and it hadn’t been like this. What was going on? Other pictures took over. The lorry stopping. Being herded out into a yard they had never seen before with lots of other ponies there. Shouting. Rough handling. Utter confusion and, running through it all, a deep sense of loss and longing …

Picasso came into Ellie’s mind. She stared at Spirit.
This isn’t you
, she thought.
It’s Picasso. Are you showing me what you know about him?

She felt his answer.
Yes
.

Ellie pieced together Picasso’s story from the images Spirit was sending her. The bay pony must have been taken away from his mother when he was very young. He’d had a terrifying journey to a different yard and then he’d never seen her again.

It explained why Picasso had never travelled well. Ellie felt her heart go out to the pony. Every time he went into a horsebox, it must remind him in some way of that day when he had lost his mother. Was that why he wouldn’t box now? But no, that didn’t make sense. He had travelled many times since he was a foal. Something else must have happened more recently to make him so scared.

Do you know?
she questioned Spirit.

A picture of a snake filled her mind.

A snake?

To be sure, she sent the picture back to Spirit.

His certainty was overwhelming.
Yes
.

Ellie saw a snake writhing in the straw on the floor of the horsebox behind Picasso’s back legs.

No
. She started to shake her head in confusion.
It can’t be
.

Yes
, she felt Spirit insist.

Ellie frowned. There couldn’t have been a snake, there just couldn’t. There weren’t many snakes in this part of England and snakes hibernated in winter anyway. And even if by some remote chance there had been a snake in the horsebox, Picasso would certainly have killed it with his hooves and Joe or Stuart would have found it when they were clearing the straw out. She remembered the bay pony charging out of the box, neck lathered, rug askew, tail bandage left in a heap in the straw behind him …

Tail bandage
.

Ellie’s eyes widened suddenly. Was that it? Maybe the bandage had come loose while Picasso was travelling. She imagined it slowly unravelling as Len had driven along. The end would have brushed against his back legs. If Picasso had swished his tail, it could well have moved through the straw behind him like a snake. He’d been bitten when he was younger, Stuart had told her that, so if he’d thought there was a snake in the straw lining the box then it was no wonder he’d panicked and gone mad.

The importance of what she was figuring out gradually filtered through to Ellie. If it was true then maybe Picasso’s fear of horseboxes could be cured. What they had to do was convince him there was no snake in the horsebox and help him find the confidence to go inside.

But then a new picture came to Ellie. She saw herself with Picasso, stroking him outside the horsebox, and then she saw Spirit inside it. Around him there seemed to be a warm and comforting glow. There was movement and a thud of hooves as Picasso walked up the ramp and joined him.

Ellie stared at Spirit.
You mean you think we could get him to go into the horsebox?

Yes
.

Ellie thought about the image Spirit had just sent. She’d tried talking to Picasso and it hadn’t worked. Still, maybe she could try again. If she
could
communicate with him like she did with Spirit, then she could explain that there was no snake. And Spirit could help too. He seemed to be saying that if he was in the horsebox, maybe Picasso would go in once he realized there was no snake. She knew how much Picasso liked and trusted Spirit.

An idea suddenly shot through her like a firework going off. Maybe she
could
do another deal with her uncle – get him to agree to let her keep Spirit and not send him to the sale if she got Picasso into the horsebox.

It might just work. The plan filled Ellie’s mind, blocking everything else out. But would her uncle agree?

There’s only one way to find out
, she realized.

Carried away by her excitement at the idea, she
kissed Spirit and hurried to the stable door. ‘I’ll be back soon. I’ve got to talk with Uncle Len!’

Ellie raced into the house, unable to think about anything but her plan. Her uncle was watching a football match on TV. He had a bottle of beer beside him and his feet were up on the footstool.

Ellie burst into the room, the idea spilling out of her even before she’d stopped. ‘Uncle Len! If I get Picasso to go into the horsebox – if I cure him of being scared – will you let me keep Spirit?’

Len stared incredulously. ‘Cure Picasso? What are you blithering on about?’

Ellie’s heart pounded. ‘If I get him to load, can I keep Spirit?’

Not even bothering to answer, her uncle turned the TV up with the remote.

‘Please!’ Ellie moved so she was standing in front of him and he couldn’t see the screen. ‘Let me try.’

‘Get out the way.’

Ellie stood there stubbornly.

Len looked at her face. ‘Oh, I see, you fancy yourself as some sort of flamin’ horse whisperer now, do you?’

‘No. I’m not a horse whisperer. But just give me one try. I think I might be able to do it.’

Please, please, please
, she begged him inside her head.

Len hesitated, but then to her delight he nodded. ‘Go on then. If it’ll mean you’ll leave me in peace, then yes, you can try tomorrow. But only tomorrow. I’m not wasting any more time after that. We’ll sedate him and get him in that way.’

‘But if I do it tomorrow, will you let me keep Spirit?’ Ellie pushed. ‘You won’t send him to the sale on Thursday?’

‘Yes …
if
.’ The snort on the word made it clear Len felt she didn’t have a chance. ‘Now move yourself out of the ruddy way.’

‘Thank you!’ Ellie gasped, scooting hastily to one side just as Joe came into the room.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked curiously.

Ellie dragged him through to the kitchen to explain. ‘I’ve told your dad I’m going to get Picasso to go into the horsebox!’ she said, her eyes shining. ‘It’ll be in exchange for keeping Spirit. Isn’t that a brilliant idea?’

Through her excitement, she became aware that Joe was staring at her. ‘You’ve said what?’

Ellie repeated it.

‘But what was the point of saying that?’ Joe looked as if she’d just told him she was going to walk on the moon. ‘You’ll never get Picasso in. Stuart and I have been trying all day. Dad’s right, the only way now is to sedate him.’

Ellie wished she could explain it. ‘I just think I
can.’
I hope I can
, she added to herself, the first few doubts beginning to push through her initial excitement.

‘You’re mental,’ Joe said, shaking his head. An admiring smile pulled at his lips, though. ‘But I wouldn’t put anything past you. If anyone can do it, you can, Els. When are you going to try?’

Ellie took a breath. ‘Tomorrow morning. First thing.’ She went to the door.

‘Where are you going now?’ Joe asked in surprise.

‘Back out to the stables.’

‘It’s gone nine o’clock!’

But Ellie was already out of the door. She needed to see Spirit. As she ran across the yard, reality began to sink in. It was a great idea, but would she be able to do it? She’d tried talking to Picasso before and it hadn’t worked.

She slowed to a walk as she imagined her plan failing and her uncle laughing at her.

Don’t think about that
. The newspaper in the tackroom with the horse sale advert circled in red ink swam into her head. No, her plan
had
to work. She had to talk to Picasso and persuade him to go in.

Spirit was lying down in his stable now. Ellie sat down and put her arm over his neck, torn between her hopes and her doubts. ‘I told Uncle Len I’d get Picasso in the box. I hope I did the right thing.’

As she settled down in the straw and leant against
his solid shoulder, she felt a bit calmer. At least she
had
a plan now – there was something she could try.

But would it work? Would she be able to talk to Picasso? Would she be able to get him into the lorry?

She heard Joe’s voice in her head:
You’ll never get Picasso in. Stuart and I have been trying all day
.

She hugged Spirit tightly. Tomorrow she would find out.

Chapter Thirteen

When Ellie finally got to bed that night, she slept fitfully, waking up every couple of hours. She heard the birds start to sing and saw the sky just starting to lighten. There would be at least an hour until everyone else was out on the yard. Maybe she should get up now and see if she could get Picasso into the horsebox before anyone else got up? The more she thought about trying to get him to load, the less she wanted an audience.

Trying not to make a sound, she crept down the stairs and out on to the yard. As she opened the door to the pony barn, there was a chorus of whinnies and the banging of hooves on doors. ‘Later,’ she told the other ponies as she hurried down the aisle. She fetched four long padded travelling boots and Picasso’s headcollar.

The bay pony was very surprised to see her. He regarded her suspiciously.

‘It’s OK,’ she murmured, putting everything down.
‘There’s nothing to worry about.’ She let her mind clear and concentrated on sending out all the warmth she could. She imagined it wrapping round the bay pony, soothing and comforting him.

For a while nothing happened, but then she caught him starting to glance at her more and more often. Not warily now, but curiously.

She tried not to think of anything but him.
I’m here. I’m listening
, she told him in her head.

Gradually the feeling in the stable started to change. It was almost as if the air flowing around them was slowing down. She didn’t get thoughts or feelings or pictures as she did with Spirit, but she got a sense of gradual connection – of some sort of link – between them.

Picasso seemed to feel something too. He came over and when she held out her hand he sniffed at it, breathing in and out.

‘You’ll be OK, Picasso,’ she whispered. ‘I promise. Just trust me. I know why you’re scared of the horsebox and there’s really no need to be. There’s no snake.’ Shutting her eyes, she sent him pictures of the horsebox, showing him there was no snake, showing him it had been his tail bandage touching his legs.

He snorted. She waited, hoping something more would happen. But nothing did. Standing up, she folded back his rug and ran her hands over him,
stroking him all over. He accepted her touch, and as she returned to his head he lifted his muzzle to her face. She breathed gently into his nostrils and he breathed back.

Ellie ran a hand through his mane, thinking hard. She might not be talking to him in the way she did with Spirit, but she was sure there was some sort of connection between them. Maybe it would be enough? Maybe her thoughts had got through?

She hesitated. She would have liked to spend several days seeing if she could talk to him properly like she did with Spirit, but she didn’t have the time. The deal was that she had to get him to load today. Should she risk it and try? It would be far better to do it while there was no one on the yard wanting to interfere.
Yes
, she decided.
I’ll risk it
.

The yard was still deserted. She ran to the car park and let down both the side and rear ramps of the horsebox before going to fetch Spirit from his stable. He whinnied when he saw her coming.

‘This is it, boy,’ she whispered. ‘I’m going to try and get Picasso in. I hope this is going to work.’

She led him down to the lorry, feeling a flicker of nervousness as she remembered how he had refused to load that day at the horse sale. But the relationship between them had grown immensely since then, and now he followed her up the ramp without hesitation.

Ellie’s heart swelled as she realized how much he had changed in five weeks. Leaving Spirit pulling at one of the haynets that Stuart had put in there for the journey that morning, Ellie fetched Picasso. As they approached the horsebox, the bay pony tensed.