Hopes (11 page)

Closing her eyes, she fought for control. The air of the stable seemed to smell of him. She breathed it in. She could almost imagine that she would open her eyes and see him standing there.

She stood there for a long moment before she opened her eyes and looked around the empty stable. Fighting back the tears that suddenly prickled again, she picked up the rug and left.

When the horsebox came driving down the lane later that afternoon, Luke told Ellie to go inside. “I’ll deal with Len.”

“No.” Ellie had a feeling that Luke was going to be in real trouble for digging the grave in the field. “I’m not letting you face him on your own.”

“And I’m not letting you stay. You don’t need to hear this conversation.” Luke steered her to the house. “Please. Go inside. You’re upset. You’re not in a fit state for a fight with Len. Go.”

Ellie hesitated, unused to letting herself be bossed around. But something deep down told her Luke was right. She was at the limits of her strength—she could not face her uncle right then. She looked into Luke’s blue eyes and knew he’d be OK. “Thanks.”

Luke smiled at her capitulation, one of his first smiles of the day. “I’ll come and find you when the worst is over.”

Ellie slipped up to her room. Sitting on her window seat, she watched as Len arrived back, saw his face as Luke told him the news—a brief nod as he told him about Spirit, a look of incredulity and anger as Luke told him about digging Spirit’s grave.

Ellie could hear her uncle’s bellow from all the way up in her bedroom. He let out a stream of swear words.

Luke stood unbothered as Len ranted and raged at him. He simply stood there with his arms folded, taking it.

Ellie didn’t want to hear any more. She left the window seat and went to the bed. Lying down, she stared at the white painted ceiling. The pain came bowling back. Spirit was dead. However much Len raged about it, Spirit’s body was now lying in the grave Luke had dug, the fresh soil dark and brown against the green of the grass. Her life would never be the same. Ellie turned on to her side and felt the sobs start all over again.

For the next few days, Ellie walked around in a daze. Nothing really seemed to touch her. She did all the jobs she had to do, went to school and rode the horses, but all she wanted was just to get through each day, living for the moments when she could be alone and properly think about Spirit. Waking up each morning was awful. Ellie would blink her eyes open, feeling sick inside, as the realization of what had happened crashed over her. She would pull the covers over her head, unable to face the thought of another day without Spirit. But she had to. She couldn’t stay in bed; she had to get up, carry on.

She spoke to Joe on the phone and told him what had happened. “Oh, Els. I’m sorry,” he said in dismay.

Her heart clenched. The line was so clear it sounded as if he was just down the road. “Yeah, well… How’s everything with you?” She’d had emails from him, telling her he’d settled in well and saying how great Ray was.

“Good. But that’s not important. How are you?”

She swallowed. She knew if he was too nice to her she’d cry. “I’m…” she hesitated. What could she say? “I’m doing OK,” she managed.

“How’s Dad been?”

“Oh, you know. Mad with Luke for digging a grave for Spirit, shouting at everyone ’cause we’re so busy. He hasn’t found another groom to replace you yet.”

“And completely ignoring the fact Spirit’s died?” Joe said, knowing his dad well.

“Yeah.” Her uncle had said very little to her about Spirit. She hadn’t expected him to. After all, he hadn’t offered her a single word of sympathy when her parents had died and so it didn’t surprise her that he didn’t try to comfort her in any way or make any exceptions to her workload on the yard. If anything he was making her work harder—now she had Joe’s ponies to ride too.

“I’m so sorry,” Joe said again. “I wish I was there.”

You could have been!
It took an effort to bite the words back. It was hard not to feel angry. Since Spirit had died, anger was one of the feelings that most often swirled around inside her. Anger, bitterness, a feeling that it wasn’t fair. “I’d better go,” she said, suddenly not wanting to talk to him any more.

“Call me again soon.”

“Yep,” Ellie said briefly. She clicked the phone off.

And after that, she didn’t call him again. She just couldn’t face it. Every time she thought about him she wanted to blame him for not being there. If he rang her, she made excuses not to talk to him and she replied with just a few lines to his long emails, saying she was fine. It was what she said to anyone who asked. She felt disconnected from everyone and everything.

When she returned from school on the Monday, eight days after Spirit’s death, she found Len, Helen, Luke, and Stuart gathered around Fern’s stable door. John was inside. Just from the way they were all standing, Ellie could tell something was wrong.

“What’s going on?” She went up to Luke.

His face looked serious. “Grass sickness. It’s Fern.”

Ellie stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Grass sickness?” She knew it was a serious illness. “But she was fine this morning.”

“It often comes on suddenly. She started looking colicky after you’d gone to school. She’s got it bad. She’s started with muscle tremors now. John will have to put her to sleep.”

Ellie waited for the shock to hit her, but it didn’t. She felt immune, removed even from news as awful as that. “Oh.” She saw Luke look at her in surprise.

“Oh?”

Ellie realized that her reaction wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “That’s dreadful,” she faltered. “What made it happen? Where did she catch it from? What about the others?”

“John said it’s not contagious. It just happens in some horses. Their gut freezes—gets paralyzed—and they can’t digest any food. There are all sorts of factors that bring it on.”

“What about the foal?” The foal still didn’t have a name. Len had been too busy to name her.

“She’s up in the pony barn, upset at being separated from Fern. John’s sedating her now before he puts Fern to sleep. She’s been throwing herself at the door and trying to jump out of the stable.”

Compassion did start to flicker through Ellie at that. The chestnut filly must be so confused. Only a month ago, she’d been taken from her home and had to travel a long distance. Her mom had been the one security she had. Now she was separated from her too—this time forever. Ellie felt a rush of pain.

She swallowed. It was too much to deal with. She focused on becoming numb again. Numb was good.

John came down from the pony barn. “OK, the foal’s calm now. Let’s see to the mare.”

“Damn hell!” Len said, puffing out through his teeth. “They’re dropping like flies at the moment. She was a good mare too.” He glanced at Ellie and Luke. “No digging a flamin’ grave for this one.”

Ellie took a breath, trying to compose herself as he strode off.
I hate him
, she thought dully. Not letting herself think about what was happening in the stable, she walked slowly to the house, concentrating on the everyday things, getting changed, retying her hair in a ponytail. Why did so many bad things have to happen? She thought about her mom’s saying:
every ending is another beginning.

It was a stupid saying. The end of something wasn’t always a beginning. There was no new beginning with Spirit’s death; it was just the same old life only far grayer because it was without him, day after day when she felt as if a part of her was missing. And there would be no new beginning for the foal. Mom had been wrong. Sometimes ends were just ends.

Going back outside, she checked the whiteboard where Len wrote down who was to be ridden, then headed up to the pony barn. She had to ride Gem that afternoon. The blue roan pony had been quiet since Spirit died. All that week, whenever he had been in the field, he had lifted his head hopefully if he heard another horse being brought to the gate. Ellie was sure he had been looking for Spirit. She stroked his face as she reached his stall. “You miss him too, don’t you, boy?”

Gem nuzzled her. She thought how confused he must feel, his friend suddenly vanishing. Generally, most horses seemed to take loss in their stride, adapting, getting on with things without fretting. But Gem was a very sensitive horse. For a moment, it crossed her mind to try talking to him, to tell him. Maybe if he knew he’d stop looking for Spirit. She hesitated, her hand on Gem’s neck. Should she?

But she would only be able to do it if she could open herself up, clear her thoughts, fill herself with love and send it to Gem.

A lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t do that now. She felt utterly drained. It was all she could do to keep herself going day after day, doing what she needed to, talking when spoken to. She couldn’t, just couldn’t, find the energy to give love too. And what would be the point? She hadn’t been able to help Spirit when he had needed her most.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the pony. “I just can’t.”

Instead she groomed him, spending time stroking him and talking to him. Taking comfort from being with him, knowing that he missed Spirit too. To her relief, her uncle was still busy, organizing Fern’s body being taken away, and so she rode on her own in the school. When she concentrated on riding, she could just about forget everything else. Not quite forget, but push things to the back of her mind at least.

She schooled Gem in circles, glad she was riding him and not feisty Milly or difficult Picasso. He was so easy and obliging, so keen to please; his only fault was his nervousness. Ellie focused on reassuring him and relaxing him. By the end of the session, he was going softly and well.

Afterwards, Ellie took him for a walk down the lane to cool him off. As she rode along the drive, she let him stop at the bank of grass where she had taken Spirit to graze in the last few weeks of his life. The afternoon sun was warm and she dismounted, putting her arm over Gem’s withers as he grazed. Looking down across the valley, she thought about all the times she had stood there with Spirit. She didn’t want to remember too vividly in case it brought too much pain so she tiptoed around the memories. Shutting her eyes, she let herself remember in flashes—the curve of Spirit’s face, the softness of his neck, the feel of his breath on her hands as he nuzzled her…

Suddenly she heard his voice as clearly as if he was standing beside her.

Look for me and I’ll be there.

Her eyes shot open but there was just empty space, trees, grass, the driveway. Disappointment crashed over her—disappointment and exasperation at her own stupidity.

Spirit’s dead, he isn’t ever coming back, accept it
, she told herself angrily. But as she remounted, the first lines of a poem that was read at her parents’ funeral came back to her. It was about how when someone dies, they are not gone, not in the ground, buried and dead, but still there, around you in the air nearby.

It’s just a poem
, she thought.
When people—
when horses—are dead, they’re gone. They don’t come back. You know they don’t.

But Spirit’s voice had sounded so real…

Despite herself, Ellie couldn’t help glancing back to the bank as she rode away.

“ELLIE?” LUKE CAME
to find Ellie as she mucked out Milly’s stable. It was Saturday morning, almost two weeks since Spirit had died. “Can you help me with Gabriel again today? He’s been starting to throw his head around. Would you do your thing with him? Work out what the matter is?”

But Ellie was already shaking her head. She couldn’t help. Helping would mean talking to Gabriel and, right now, she couldn’t do that. She’d realized that with Gem the other day. “Not today,” she mumbled. “Another time.”

Luke frowned. Trying to ignore him, she continued to muck out. But it was hard—she could feel his eyes following her as she forked dirty straw into the wheelbarrow.

“Have you been to see the foal?” he said suddenly.

“No.”

“She’s not looking great.”

Ellie knew the filly was refusing to drink the replacement milk and the hard feed that Len had been trying to put her on. Ellie had overheard Stuart that morning say how the little foal wouldn’t come anywhere near him, cramming herself into a corner of the stable and then flying at him with her teeth and hooves if he came close. Helen and Sasha had both tried too, but the foal had been the same with them. Since Fern had been put to sleep—disappearing as far as the foal was concerned—she had become even more distrustful of people. Ellie knew everyone was worried about her.

“She’s dropping weight fast,” Luke went on. “She’s got to start drinking soon. There’s talk of putting a tube in and feeding her that way, but that’s going to freak her out even more. She’ll hate people after that.”

Ellie didn’t want to think about it; she turned back to her mucking out.

“Maybe you could have a try with her?”

Wishing he would just leave her alone, Ellie shut her eyes and shook her head, her heart aching.

She heard Luke turn and walk away without saying another word.

Ellie started to mechanically sweep the floor. She focused completely on the regular action, blocking out thoughts of the foal. She just couldn’t cope. Other people could deal with it, not her.

Unbidden, a dream she’d had the night before came into her mind. She’d had the same dream a few times now. She was always standing with Spirit, stroking him on a beach. Their minds were connected. Every time she dreamt it, he was urging her to talk to other horses.

Don’t waste all you have learned. You can do so much good. You can help.

I didn’t help you.

You
can
help others.

Not without you, Spirit.

But I
am
with you. Just look.

Ellie rested on the broom. It had to be the guilt she was feeling at not helping the other horses that was giving her the dream. She should be helping; she knew she should. But how could she when she felt so empty?

After the mucking out was done, Ellie fetched Gem in from the field. It was an overcast day, the gray clouds pressing down towards the ground, and the air itself heavy with dampness.