Dead Weight

by John Francome

  Captain Redbeard was in a good rhythm and jumping easily out of the soft ground. There were only ten runners and Easy Does It, who usually made the running, was being held up, so the pace was sensible. They were at the end of the first circuit already, and he could hardly remember how they got there. Perhaps there was something to be said for autopilot after all.

  Chris finally broke the silence.

  `What the hell does O’Neil think he’s doing? He’s never going to win from back there.’

  They’d all been watching the race. It was their lives. It was what they did. Innocent girls died cruel deaths, but the business of racing went on.

  ,I never got to brief Jimmy,’ said Louise. `I was on my way to talk to him when I heard about Becky.’

  Chris turned to her. `That shouldn’t have made any difference. Mr Delancy talked to him.’

  `But Delancy wanted him held up. He said now we had a proper jockey we should ride a proper race.’

  Chris groaned. He too had thought Delancy had ditched his half

  baked ideas about how his horse should be run.

  `I guess we’ll see who’s right, then,’ he said. `He’s got to make a move now or he’ll be run out of it.’

  In a weird way, Phil found the burden of his knowledge helpful. As they entered the back straight for the second time, with four menacing fences and an open ditch ahead, he felt the familiar bubble of panic form in his stomach. Other runners were around him now, the big shape of Easy Does It bearing in on the outside and a tiring horse pecking at the jump ahead. This was shaping up as his nightmare scenario - travelling at speed on an iffy jumper, hemmed in on all sides with no chance of escape should someone make a mistake.

  He thought of Rebecca, dead in a ditch at the age of nineteen, and of his pathetic attempt to help her. The bubble in his belly shrank and he sailed over the fence ahead, landing upsides of the tiring animal in his path.

  He nudged the Captain on, lengthening his stride into the next. Though she’d never admit it, Julia was happy not to be at Haydock with her husband. Seeing Phil through his psychological bad patch was hard work, and she could do with a break. Today she had her own worries, but the possibilities were exciting. Callisto was having his first run for two years in a race for horses who hadn’t won anything for more than twelve months.

  Because Callisto had been such a good horse, finding a suitable race for his comeback hadn’t been easy. Julia didn’t want him to lump top weight around in a handicap. Neither did she want to throw him in against top-class horses who were race fit. In the end, she had decided on this three-mile hurdle at Kempton. It was a bit too far for him, but at least there wouldn’t be the strain on his pelvis which he might get from jumping fences. And if he got tired, Mark could simply pull him up.

  It had been a last-minute decision to enter the race, but it felt right and she had no regrets, nervous as she was about the outcome. Phil’s dad, Ted, was acting as groom, and the owners, Jack and Yvonne Mitton, were in attendance. The only thing that could have improved the day was if Phil had been riding. Instead, Mark - at Phil’s request - was in the saddle. He’d put quite a bit of work into the horse and deserved to be on board.

  Julia had spent time on the phone with Yvonne but she’d not met her before. She was unprepared for the sight of a tiny, water-thin woman who walked with a cane and leant heavily on her husband’s arm. Her voice, though, was full of vigour as she said, `I can’t believe Callisto is racing again. Do you really think he’s ready?’

  They’d been over this before on the phone, but Julia hadn’t been entirely straightforward. Now, seeing the anticipation in Yvonne’s face, she had the urge to confide in her further. She detached the frail woman from Jack, who took the hint and disappeared to check out the bookmakers’ expectations of Callisto’s chances.

  `To be honest,’ Julia said, `I don’t know if he really is ready. I just know he wants to have a go.’

  Yvonne cocked her head on one side and looked at her shrewdly. Julia continued. `He ambles around most of the time like he couldn’t give a monkey’s, but when I get him to do a piece of work he wakes up. The more you ask him to do, the more he does. I was wondering one morning if he’d like to go racing again and-‘ She hesitated. This could be embarrassing.

  `Go on.’

  `He just looked at me and it was as if he’d said “Of course I bloody well do”.’

  Yvonne didn’t say anything. Julia wondered whether she should have kept her mouth shut.

  `It’s stupid of me,’ she said hastily. `I often imagine I can hear horses speak.’

  Yvonne squeezed her arm. `You’re not the only one, my dear.’ Captain Redbeard was jumping like a stag, which was rather out of character. He’ll cock one up in a minute, thought Phil, as they came out of the bottom bend into the home straight for the last time. There were nearly four furlongs left to go and just three fences to negotiate.

  They’d made progress through the field and now they were lying fourth with the fancied Easy Does It a length adrift. Phil was feeling confident. The favourite looked like he was going flat out just to keep up the pace, and the horse ahead was beginning to wobble. The Captain, on the other hand, seemed to have plenty left in the tank.

  A tremendous leap at the second last took them within two lengths of the leaders. The Captain was turbocharged and the rest were going backward.

  I’m bloody well going to do this, Phil thought as he galloped towards the last.

  The riderless horse came out of nowhere, rushing gleefully past them on the inside and then veering away from the fence into their path. There was nothing Phil could do.

  Suddenly he was spinning through the air in slow motion, instinctively curling into a ball and bouncing on the turf as he took the impact. The ground shuddered as horses thundered over him, showering him with mud, deafening him with the thumping hooves and their riders’ shouts. Then the din receded and all was quiet.

  Phil wiggled his toes, left foot then right foot. He twisted his pelvis gingerly and moved his legs. It was OK, he was in working order.

  He was on his feet before the paramedics reached him, unplugging earth from his ear. He was still alive - unlike some.

  Captain Redbeard’s fall left Easy Does It in fourth place. Next to Louise in the ambulance room, Chris was on his feet, yelling at the screen. Hugh too was transfixed, exclaiming loudly as the loose horse wiped out Phil Nicholas.

  Louise also stared at the television, but for once the sight of a horse race did not work its familiar magic. It was simply a diversion. She wished the race would never end so she could keep the reality of Becky’s death at arm’s length. Did it really matter who won or lost?

  She could see Easy Does It was not going to get past the horses in front of him. As all Greenhills knew, he was a one-paced horse and had to be ridden accordingly. Unfortunately, Jimmy O’Neil had never ridden him before and he’d been given the wrong instructions.

  As Easy Does It crossed the line five lengths behind the horse in third place, the consequences were clear to Louise. Justin Delaney would blame her for the defeat and send his horses elsewhere.

  Well, so what?

  Phil refused a lift in the ambulance and trudged back to the unsaddling enclosure to find Russell waiting for him.

  `So what happened?’

  `Is the Captain all right?’ Phil said. He’d not seen the horse since he’d been dumped on his backside.

  `He’s fine,’ Russell replied shortly, not to be deflected. `What went wrong?’

  Phil shrugged. `I ran into a loose horse.’ What else was there to say? `You shouldn’t have been back in the pack like that. I told you to get him out and make the pace.’

  Phil was puzzled. `We were all expecting Easy Does It to do that.’ Russell sighed in exasperation. `But he didn’t, did he? And I happened to know he wouldn’t, which is why I told you to get out there and take advantage. Only you weren’t listening, were you?’

  Phil couldn’t deny it. He remembered the
trainer’s words before the race completely passing him by in the shock of hearing about the girl’s body. `Sorry, boss.’

  Russell gave him his death’s-head glare. `I don’t know what’s up with you these days, Phil.’

  The return to Kempton of the old favourite, Callisto, had attracted much enthusiasm from a generous crowd, and sentimental money had pushed his price down to 5-2.

  `Ridiculous,’ snorted Jack. `He hasn’t run for two years.’

  To Julia, Callisto had the air of someone trying to look blase but who was really as pleased as punch.

  `See,’ she said to Yvonne as they watched him go down to the start from the balcony of Jack’s box, `he’s trying to look cool, like he’s won here many times before, but he’s drinking it all in.’

  Yvonne laughed, the paper-thin skin wrinkling around her eyes. `He can’t get enough of it. Of course, he has won here in the past.’

  `And he was second in the King George,’ chipped in Jack. `He even led the field turning for home but it was too far for him.’

  He was hopping from foot to foot, like a schoolboy putting off a trip to the toilet. Julia realised he suffering from nerves, as she was herself. `Just as long as the old boy doesn’t trail in half a mile behind,’ he said.

  Amen to that.

  `Too bad if he does,’ said Yvonne, fidgeting in her handbag and producing a packet of cigarettes.

  Jack glared at her. `Where did you get those?’

  She shrugged and peeled off the cellophane. ‘Macpherson would have a fit,’ Jack continued.

  `Stuff the bloody doctor,’ she said blithely, and offered the packet to Julia.

  She shouldn’t. She’d sworn off them since the last time.

  She took the thin white tube and eagerly accepted Yvonne’s lighter. She lit both of their cigarettes. Bliss. With the first drag that nagging uncertainty in the pit of her stomach disappeared. Good luck, Callisto. What will be, will be.

  Jack was still hopping. His face a scowl of disapproval. `And I thought you’d be good for her,’ he muttered at Julia. Yvonne giggled and waved the packet under his nose. `Oh, sod it,’ he said, and took one.

  Mark had been thrilled when Phil had asked him to ride Callisto, though he’d taken care not to show it.

  `What’s up? Don’t you fancy it yourself, then?’ `I can’t, I’m too busy.’

  Mark was well aware of that. Phil was too busy cocking up rides he should have had.

  `You’d be doing Julia a real favour,’ Phil continued.

  `In that case - anything for the gorgeous Julia’ - which was a stupid thing to say, but Phil didn’t appear to mind.

  `Thanks, mate,’ he’d said, clapping Mark on the back.

  So, for the past few days, Mark had made himself available to ride Callisto out and discuss progress and tactics with Julia. It had all been strictly above board. There’d been no return to the flirting of a few weeks back, but a man could dream, couldn’t he? And spending time with the curly-haired blonde in her tight jodhpurs gave rise to some pretty interesting dreams. Phil was such a lucky bastard. Of course, a word in the right ear about his visits to a shrink might change that luck. He’d been hoping that Russell might have drawn his own conclusions about Phil’s recent performances, but apparently not. Maybe he’d have to give the trainer a nudge.

  Mark put the thought to one side and concentrated on the race ahead. Callisto had come on a treat. He’d shed weight and, thanks to Julia’s regime, built up muscle on his weakened right side, so he now moved in a straight line. The big question - among many smaller ones - was whether his long-term injury would hold up under race conditions.

  So far, so good, thought Mark. There’d been a spring in the horse’s step as he’d gone down to the start, as if he was eager to get on with business. That suited Mark just fine; he was eager to get on with it himself and show Julia what he could do. He’d give the horse a damn sight better ride than her old man could, that was for sure.

  Julia’s instructions had been to take it easy, but Mark was not inclined to plod around at the back of the field.

  `Why don’t I just play it by ear?’he’d suggested. `You know, see how he gets on. If he doesn’t fancy it I’ll pull him up.’

  Now, as the tapes went up and the horses surged forward, he tried to get a feel for the animal beneath him.

  At home, everything Callisto did seemed like a real effort. Now, as they raced towards the first flight of hurdles, Mark was shocked by the horse’s power. He took a firm tug on the reins and concentrated on getting him settled. But as they got within a dozen strides of the small obstacles, Callisto took control and surged forward. It was as if he were saying, `You sit still and I’ll show you what a real horse can do.’

  He stood off the hurdle what seemed to Mark to be a stride too soon. Mark held his breath, but Callisto sailed through the air, landing just as far the other side and passing four horses as he did so. The old fellow fancied it all right.

  Towards the end of the afternoon, Louise summoned up the courage to seek out Delaney.

  `You don’t have to see him, you know,’ said Hugh. `I’ll take him a message, if you like. Explain the circumstances.’

  `He won’t care about the circumstances. In any case, it’s my job to go.’

  He offered to accompany her but, much as she would have liked that, she stepped into Delaney’s box on her own.

  `I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,’ the banker observed. Why did everything he said sound insincere? Surely that was a drawback in the business world?

  `I’m sorry I wasn’t on hand before the race,’ she said.

  He dismissed her apology with a blink of his reptilian eyes. `I’ve decided to move Easy Does It. I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise.’ It didn’t, but it still hurt.

  `That’s not fair,’ she protested. `He would have done much better if he’d been allowed to make the running.’

  `It’s not just one race, Miss Fowler. It’s my observation that your yard is a shambles without your father at the helm. I’m sorry for what’s happened to him but I can’t make decisions based on sentiment.’

  `But Dad will be back soon!’ she blurted out. `What shall I tell him?’

  `Tell him that I’m moving my horses to Russell Dean. I’m sure Greenhills will soon be back on form but I can’t afford to wait.’ `You bastard,’ she said without thinking.

  He was unfazed. `You’re not the first to call me that, Miss Fowler. I take it as a compliment.’

  Julia took great pleasure from watching Yvonne Mitton as Callisto led the field around Kempton Park. The small, thin woman squealed with excitement as the horse stretched out, soaring over the hurdles. Yvonne’s delight was almost as pleasing as Callisto’s performance.

  `My word,’ said Jack, `it’s as if he’s never been away.’

  The horse was ten lengths clear at the two-mile marker, despite putting in enormous and unnecessary leaps at the hurdles.

  `You can see he’s really a steeplechaser,’ said Julia. `He’s not touched one of those hurdles.’

  `We’re going to win,’ cried Yvonne, gripping Julia’s hand so tightly it was painful. `Jack said you were a miracleworker.’

  It was all going so well that Julia bit back her words of caution. Maybe Callisto would win - what a triumph that would be.

  But a triumphant comeback wasn’t really on the cards. Halfway down the back straight on the second circuit, Julia saw Callisto flag. Suddenly he was treading water and the chasing pack were closing fast. He took the next hurdle in customary style, but by the time his back legs had cleared the obstacle the next horse was level. Three animals went past him in a knot as Callisto laboured in their wake.

  `Oh, no,’ cried Yvonne.

  `He’s pulling him up,’ muttered Jack. `I guess he did pretty well to get so far.’

  `Never mind,’ said Yvonne, her disappointment obvious.

  Julia had her eye on the horse as Mark led him slowly back. She just hoped he hadn’t broken down. />
  Keith had only had two awkward moments so far - three, if you counted explaining the state of his eye. Neither Fred nor his lad, Jeff, who’d come up to help exercise the hounds, had looked convinced when he’d told them about slipping on to a garden stake when clearing the vegetable patch. Jeff had laughed and asked him to demonstrate, but Fred told him to belt up. Then he’d winked at Keith and said, `I’d hate to see the other fellow.’

  Keith had let that pass, but he’d had to think on his feet when they’d let the hounds out and they’d made straight for the gate into the cow pasture - the spot where the Beast had dealt with the girl. To Keith’s alarm, the hounds were all over it.

  `Something’s gone on,’ said Fred.

  `A fox must have had a rabbit out here,’ Keith said.

  Jeff was peering intently at the ground. The boy had sharp eyes as Keith knew well enough. `I don’t see no fur or nothing,’ he complained. Keith was relieved when they moved off. He’d cleaned up by the gate as best he could, so there was nothing obvious to see. Of course, if police forensic people were to go over it that would be a different story.

  But his biggest fright came later, when he got Fred to help him with the heifer. They’d got it inside to skin and cut up when Keith saw, standing on the floor by the incinerator, the girl’s boots. He’d meant to burn them but there they still were. Shiny leather riding boots, size four or five, just screaming out for Fred to notice and say, `Whose are those?’And what would he say then?

  But Fred was such a pillock he never saw a blind thing and Keith sent him off to fetch him some headache pills - which he needed, that was no lie.

  As he tucked the boots out of sight, Keith thanked his lucky stars sharp-eyed young Jeff was still in with the hounds.

  The whole business with the girl had been a cock-up. He’d acted on impulse and everything had gone wrong. He had to learn from his mistakes.

  Next time he’d have a proper plan.

  `Is he all right?’ Julia called to Mark as he rode Callisto back to the unsaddling area. She was relieved to see that the jockey was smiling.