Loving Spirit

Ten
    ‘Joe! Joe!’
    Joe had been collecting empty haynets. Ellie raced up to him. ‘I’ve got to talk to you!’
    ‘Why?’
    Ellie hesitated. How did she start? I can talk to Spirit … . Joe would think she’d gone mad. Spirit’s telling me stuff … That was just as bad.
    ‘Well?’ Joe pressed.
    ‘Um, it’s Spirit.’
    ‘He’s OK, isn’t he?’ Joe’s brow furrowed.
    ‘Yeah – yeah, he’s fine. It’s just …’ Ellie chose her words carefully. ‘Look, promise you won’t think I’m mad, but I think I can communicate with him. Really communicate.’ She could feel her eyes sparkling despite her worries about telling him. ‘It’s like I can talk to him. He’s telling me things about his life and …’ Joe’s eyebrows had risen. ‘It’s true!’
    ‘Yeah, right. Hey, look, was that something pink with a curly tail I saw flapping past?’ Joe grinned.
    ‘Joe!’ Ellie exclaimed, stamping her foot in frustration. ‘I mean it!’
    ‘That you can talk to Spirit?’ Joe looked disbelieving.
    ‘Well, not talk exactly.’ Ellie struggled to explain. ‘Not like chat in words. It’s mainly pictures and feeling stuff.’
    ‘So, what’s he been telling you?’ Joe said, but from his tone Ellie could tell that he still didn’t believe her.
    ‘Oh, forget it. It doesn’t matter.’ Disappointment flooded through her. She’d really wanted to share it with Joe. She’d hoped he’d get it. But maybe it was too much to expect. It was pretty bizarre. ‘I’m just being stupid.’ She forced a smile. ‘Joke!’ She saw Joe’s relieved smile in return. ‘So, what do we have to do this afternoon? Did your dad say?’ she asked, quickly changing the subject.
    ‘Yeah, tidy the muck heap.’
    Ellie sighed. ‘Great.’ It was her least favourite task.
    After she and Joe had swept up all the loose straw, flattened the top of the muck heap and made it into the perfectly rectangular shape that Len liked, she went back to Spirit’s stable, still feeling a bit let down that Joe hadn’t believed her. She stood looking at the door for a few minutes, and then fetched some bale string and a screwdriver and a metal hook from the toolbox in the tackroom.
    Fifteen minutes later, she stood back, satisfied. She had removed the bolts and the door was now fastened with a plaited rope of bale string that ran through two hooks. She tied it in a quick-release knot. She could undo it and open the door without a sound.
    ‘Hi, Ellie,’ Stuart said, walking over. He nodded at the stable door. ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘I think the noise of the bolt was scaring Spirit whenever it was opened,’ Ellie explained. ‘That maybe something happened in his past and the noise of the bolt reminded him of it. He might relax more without it.’
    Ellie hoped Stuart wouldn’t be cross. To her relief, he nodded in approval. ‘Good idea. Look, when you’ve finished can you come and help me with Milly for a while? I need to pull her mane.’
    ‘Sure. I’m done here.’ Ellie followed Stuart up to the clipping barn where Milly was tied up. The little chestnut didn’t like having her flaxen mane pulled to shorten and thin it, and had to have one of her front legs held up otherwise she would move around too much.
    Stuart got out the mane comb and Ellie picked up Milly’s left front hoof. As Stuart worked, pushing the comb down the mane and pulling a few strands out at a time, Ellie studied his face. The more she got to know him the more she liked him; he was quiet but kind and he knew so much about horses.
    ‘How did you come to work here, Stuart?’ she asked curiously.
    ‘I met your uncle when I was working at a racing stables. We got on and he asked me if I’d come and work for him. Racing’s a young man’s game and so I said yes as soon as he asked. He taught me all about the showing world – he knows his horses and he treats them well. He may seem harsh and he hasn’t time for hangers-on, but the horses who are here, well, they have a good life. They go out in the field, work, get top-rate food and lots of grooming. If I was a horse I’d want to be here.’
    ‘Unless you were old or lame,’ muttered Ellie. Joe had told her stories about horses and ponies that her uncle had got rid of when they were unable to show any more.
    Stuart chuckled. ‘Well, there is that. Your uncle’s no time for sentiment, but that doesn’t make him a bad man. And he’s helped a fair few problem horses in his time. Horses other