the cold wall. She breathed in the smell of leather saddles and bridles, of the horse sweat still clinging to the numnahs. In summer, this place in the dark tack room was the coolest spot on the farm. On this autumn day, it was quite chilly, but it was her hiding place; her thinking corner.
Her eyes were closed but Nicky could tell that someone had just entered the tack room. Probably someone calling me for lunch, she thought. I hope it’s André.
But when she opened her eyes, she saw that it was Ratu who was staring at her from the open doorway.
“Hey, how did you get out of the paddock? I hope you’re not a gate-opener, because that’ll be the end of you as far as Uncle Peter is concerned! Not to mention Paul!”
The pony snorted and scraped her front hoof across the floor, as if calling to Nicky.
“Well, you’re just going to have to go back to your paddock – or maybe into the stable next door,” Nicky calmly explained the rules to the newcomer, who was now standing half inside and half outside the tack room. “Paul doesn’t allow horses to roam around freely between the stables. In fact, he’d have a fit.”
Nicky took a blue halter from a hook without a name tag. She approached Ratu, but then her hands started to shake – again! – and fear gripped her by the throat. Her heart started beating like a drum, thudding in her ears. Small beads of sweat began to form on her forehead.
I don’t want to ride this pony, and this pony obviously doesn’t want to be ridden. But I want to be able to do something; to help – I don’t want to be useless any more …
But I don’t want to replace Charlie!
Nicky’s throat was on fire; her eyes too. For what felt like an eternity, she stood there, frozen to the spot, the halter still in her hand.
Ratu waited patiently until Nicky had begun to unfold the halter. Like a circus horse, the pony came closer, as if she’d put the halter over her own head if she could. She pushed her face into the nose band and dropped her head all the way into the halter.
Nicky struggled with the buckles at first, but finally managed to do them up. Then she took up the halter and gently prodded Ratu in her honey-coloured side. The mare responded immediately and turned to leave the tack room.
By now, Nicky’s whole body was shaking and she was breathing heavily, as if she’d just run cross-country.
Stay focused! Stay focused! This pony is new here; she shouldn’t be wandering around on her own. Horses often bite and kick unfamiliar horses. All I need to do is lead Ratu safely out of the tack room to the stable next door.
The part of the old barn not taken up by the tack room served as a large stable. Many years ago, cows had been milked in here, but these days it was mostly used to stable mares that were on the verge of foaling. Many a foal had come into the world in this quiet space. Nicky led Ratu into the stable and, hands shaking, closed the door behind them. She didn’t even remove the halter.
She thought back to a conversation she’d had with Dr Dave.
“Suffering from a phobia is just like an illness. It’s something that can be cured. There’s nothing majorly wrong with you.” Dr Dave had seemed small and old to her, like a wrinkly tortoise with a leather chair for a shell.
You’re mental, freak! You don’t want to know what happened that day because you did something terrible and wrong. You don’t want to ride any more because you don’t deserve a new horse. You destroyed the one you had. Thanks to you, a front-end loader has dumped his body into a hole in the ground!
“The medicine that will cure the fear inside you is words. We banish fear by talking about it,” Dr Dave had explained in a sympathetic voice. “A broken arm or leg is fixed by setting it in plaster. For infection, you take antibiotics. But fears and phobias need to be talked about for the patient to heal.”
Words, words, words … heal, heal, heal …
Dr Dave’s voice went around in her head like a stuck record.
As Nicky dropped her head onto the lower half of the closed stable door, she accidentally knocked her forehead. A bit dazed, she touched the sore spot, thinking that the last thing she needed now was a big blue bump on her freaky face.
From the direction of the field paddock there was suddenly a great rattle of hooves and clouds of dust as ten horses galloped wildly past her. She had to flatten herself against the stable door to get out of their way as their powerful hooves kicked up sand and pebbles, spraying her in the face.
She’d have to find Grandpa, and quick.
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