Taking the Fall

by A. P. McCoy

  ‘Duncan, why do you think it is that I am drawn to you? It’s because you are so different to my father. I don’t think he loves me and the truth is I don’t think I love him. I feel like all these years I’ve just been an inconvenience to him and he has used his money to buy me off whenever I have made demands. I’ve had lots of goodies but no good love.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be like that, Lorna. I can give you good love but not many goodies. Maybe when a few more successes come my way—’

  Lorna put a finger to his lips to shut him up. ‘What if I said I could help you become Champion Jockey? Not this year, maybe not next, but in the future?’

  ‘What? I’d say let’s get rid of these guns and go back up to the house to your bedroom.’

  ‘Right. Come here.’

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Bruised ribs,’ he said, laughing. ‘Go easy on a man, will you?’

  Cheltenham was all anyone could talk about. The training was all done, the form was in and there was little more to be added in practical terms. Except for the endless talk about this one’s chances and the other’s prospects. At Petie’s yard they took the horses over the gallops, but steadily, dreading the idea of any of the yard bruising a hoof or picking up a small or silly injury. The stable runners had been finalised. Duncan and Kerry each had two rides on day one, Champion Hurdle Day. On Champion Chase Day, Duncan was booked for three rides and Kerry two. On Gold Cup Day, the last day, they had one ride apiece. None of Petie’s jockeys were riding in the Gold Cup itself. ‘Next year,’ he said, waving away all questions. ‘That’ll be ours next year.’

  This left both Duncan and Kerry hungry to get their names in more races. Petie just wasn’t the man to stick a horse in a race for the hell of it. He regarded running a horse out of its class as no experience at all, and unlike some of the main movers and shakers in the business, his stable was too small to have a stake in every race going.

  Duncan was still hoping for an offer from Cadogan, but it was looking less likely. Kerry too was fishing around. Mike Ruddy said he was ‘working on it’, but it was a tall order. Duncan wasn’t above pressing Lorna to ask for him. Her answer was a shrug. ‘Osborne hates your guts,’ she said. ‘Daddy’s not your biggest fan either.’

  No, Duncan thought, but George Pleasance thinks the sun shines out of my leathery jockey arse right now.

  The big surprise was that Roisin was going to have two rides on Champion Chase Day. One of these races was for women jockeys only. The other was open to both sexes. There was a feeling that women-only races were just a novelty, and that female jockeys had been struggling to prove that they could compete at the top level.

  ‘I dunno,’ Kerry said. ‘It can cut up rough amongst the men. What if she gets hurt?’

  ‘On a better horse I’d back her against you any day,’ Duncan said.

  ‘What does that prove? And didn’t she fall off the weighing machine?’

  Roisin, who had to listen to this, said, ‘You dog, Kerry! You know damned well we made up that story so that we could pull in Duncan on the day. The stewards won’t agree a last-minute switch for nothing.’

  ‘So it wasn’t true?’

  ‘Where did I put that whip, you wee shite!’

  Then he got a rub. Cadogan asked him to ride in the first race on day one of the Festival. The Tipping Point had little chance and would be well served to end up in the first four. Cadogan had gone through Mike Ruddy.

  ‘Take it,’ Mike had shouted down the phone, not knowing that Duncan had every intention of taking it.

  ‘What about Petie? He’s put his foot down.’

  ‘You leave Petie to me. I’m your agent. You pay me so that everyone can think I’m a shit and you’re the nice guy. So you just be nice to Petie while he and I have a talk.’

  ‘He’s no pushover.’

  ‘Look, Duncan. You made a deal with him. Free to ride, free to choose. That was the agreement and he’s not changing it now. Besides, with the form you’ve been in, he’s not going to want to lose you next season. Don’t you worry about it. He’ll shout at me and I’ll shout at him and then we’ll all do things my way. Your way. You know what I mean.’

  Duncan put down the phone. He didn’t like setting other people to fight his battles. Then again, as he thought about, it did have its uses.

  At least with The Tipping Point no one was likely to ask him not to try.

  18

  ‘I heard them talking,’ Lorna said. It was a few days before Cheltenham. ‘It was one of those discussions that sounded like it wanted to be an argument. But George Pleasance always gets his way. They were talking about one of Daddy’s horses called Rah-ho-tep.’

  They were at Cadogan’s place. Duncan had taken every opportunity to be up there with Lorna lately, and that afternoon – apart from the staff and groundsmen – they had the whole place to themselves. Before he’d gone into the house, Duncan had parked his old Capri and gone to have a look at the great hangar of cars. By now he knew how to access the garage from the main house. It seemed but a short while since he’d first walked into that garage, cursing Cadogan and picking out the Lamborghini for the day, never guessing that he might fall for Lorna.

  As he went in, the sensor flickered on a row of lights one after the other to reveal once again Cadogan’s enormous collection of silent motors. He looked over the cars for a moment before he left them to their silence and their dust.

  He spent the afternoon with Lorna, most of the time naked and having sex on the giant leather sofas. It was Lorna who had prevailed on Cadogan to give Duncan at least one ride at Cheltenham. She was expecting her father back in the evening, so Duncan sent her upstairs to get showered and changed, telling her to come back wearing something that wouldn’t make Duncan want to change his mind.

  He gave her a couple of minutes, then followed her upstairs to make sure she had actually got into the shower. Then he crept back down to Cadogan’s lounge. He already had the number from the Rolodex Lorna had used to place a bet, and he picked up the onyx-handled receiver and dialled the number.

  He remembered exactly the words Lorna had used, and when he got an answer he said, ‘Hello, I’d like to place a bet on the Duke Cadogan account, please.’

  ‘Certainly. Can I have the race venue, time and name of runner, please.’

  ‘Cheltenham, last day, four forty-five.’

  ‘And the runner?’

  ‘Rah-ho-tep, to win.’

  ‘And the stake, sir?’

  Duncan named a figure and the line went quiet. Then the voice said, ‘I’ll just have to verify the number you are calling from, sir. Is it all right if I phone you back immediately?’

  Duncan agreed and put down the phone. He wondered how Lorna was doing with her shower upstairs. He strained his ears for the sound of running water. He needed to stay by the phone. He couldn’t afford to have any of Cadogan’s staff answering.

  After a moment the phone rang and Duncan whisked the receiver off its cradle immediately.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said a new voice. ‘I’m just going to confirm the bet you are making with us. Rah-ho-tep, to win at Cheltenham, four forty-five, last race of the final day.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ said Duncan.

  The new voice repeated the figure.

  ‘Correct,’ said Duncan.

  ‘Can you give me the gateway code, sir?’

  ‘That’s Red Rum.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s such a large bet, I’m just going to have to get approval upstairs. Can you hold on?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Duncan hung on to the phone, straining his ears once more to make sure Lorna hadn’t finished in the shower. The voice at the other end of the line took an age to return. He thought he was going to have to hang up. He heard someone coming.

  It was one of the maids. She bustled into the room, and then seeing him she backed out smartly. She couldn’t possibly know who he was speaking to.

  At la
st the voice returned. ‘Thank you, sir. Because of the extremely large character of the bet, I have to ask for a second gateway code. I hope you don’t mind the security.’

  Duncan froze. He didn’t know another gateway code. The only other word he knew was the one he’d used at the Ritz. He took a deep breath and said, ‘Oscar.’

  There was a pause at the other end of the line. ‘Thank you, sir, and I’m sorry for the extra security. Your bet is live.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Have a good evening.’

  Duncan replaced the receiver. He sat back and waited. After a few moments Lorna came bounding down the stairs, showered and perfumed.

  ‘Did I hear the telephone go?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t think so. Or maybe one of the staff took it.’

  They heard the sound of a car drawing up outside.

  ‘Just in time. Here’s your dad.’

  19

  Downpour. For the three days before the Festival the heavens had opened and saturated the course. The waterlogging was so heavy that there was speculation about the Festival being postponed. But then the sun came out and the puddles disappeared and the superb ground staff started working miracles on the track.

  The great thing about an event like Cheltenham was that everyone was there. It was like a gathering of the clans, but with stables instead of clansmen. The owners and trainers were like the chieftains, with their courts and their attendants; and the jockeys were the champions or gladiators sporting the colours of the court. Of course there were those you might not want to see as well as those who gladdened your heart. But everyone was there.

  Sandy Sanderson happened to be one of the first jockeys Duncan spotted. He wore the same bitter half-smile as usual, treating everyone around with casual disdain. He’d been Champion Jockey an incredible nine years running, but this year his crown was under threat. He was still out there in front, and the matter wouldn’t be settled until after Cheltenham, and probably still in his favour. But there were a lot of people in the game who had enjoyed seeing the crown wobble.

  On the other hand, there were many people not connected with the inner circles of racing who seemed to love him. The punters. The media. Somehow this man was still as popular as ever with the general public.

  Duncan got to catch up with the gang from Penderton, and many other friends from across the years. Of course some new acquaintances were there too, including Aaron Palmer. Mike Ruddy, suited and booted, was keen to exhibit his own little court. Things seemed to be going well for Ruddy in his new incarnation as agent, because he arrived in a neat Alfa Romeo with two glamorous ‘personal assistants’, tanned, leggy girls whose job seemed to be nothing more than following Ruddy around holding clipboards and rolled umbrellas.

  ‘Are we paying you too much?’ Duncan said.

  Ruddy took him aside. ‘Sshh. Car, girls and clipboards all hired by the day. I’ll have ten new clients by the end of the Festival. Any more trouble with Petie?’

  ‘None. What did you say to him?’

  ‘He saw reason. Here, that daughter of his is a bit of all right, isn’t she?’

  Clever man, thought Duncan. He’d spotted that Roisin was and always would be a bridge to the old man.

  Duncan was riding the first, third and fifth races on the opening day. The first race was in Osborne’s colours on The Tipping Point. He would have preferred to open in Petie’s silks, but that wasn’t to be. As it was, Kerry would be opening for the Quinn stables in the second race on Brighton Taxi, the very first horse Duncan had ever ridden for Petie.

  Duncan went into the paddock. Osborne was his usual cheery self. He bared his ginger-spotted teeth like an old nag.

  ‘It’s a great day for the races!’ Duncan said brightly, deliberately trying to get up Osborne’s nose.

  ‘Nothing to do with me,’ growled Osborne. ‘One race and you’re done. You’re out of my hair.’

  ‘Which hair would that be? No one’s had a look under that sweaty old fedora for six years.’

  Osborne had had enough. He walked away. ‘Get this idiot legged up,’ he said over his shoulder to one of the stable lads.

  Duncan could exchange banter all day with someone like Osborne, and without ever looking ruffled. But there was someone in the paddock he didn’t want to bandy words with. Someone who in the scowling game could make Osborne look like a rank amateur. He could still almost make Duncan’s knees tremble.

  ‘That’s one thing as I never thought I’d see. Charlie’s lad in Osborne’s silks and on the back o’ Cadogan’s ’oss.’

  It was Tommy, from the Penderton stable, still head lad.

  ‘Good to see you, Tommy!’ Duncan tried.

  ‘Good to see you,’ Tommy mimicked, withering. He stood and stared and shook his bony old close-cropped head.

  Duncan felt a shaft of shame, but there was nothing he could say right then. He’d been through the same thing the night before. On visiting Charlie at Grey Gables at first his father hadn’t wanted to see him. He’d got the sporting papers in his hand and had seen Duncan’s name printed on the card against that of William Osborne and Duke Cadogan. He seemed to have forgotten everything that Duncan had said to him last time, and they’d had to go through all the shouting and tears and emotional recriminations again.

  But even Charlie couldn’t make him feel the way that Tommy could. Crusty old Tommy represented everything in the racing game that was right and true. And his last words to Duncan in the paddock before turning away were, ‘That’s right, son, you hang your head.’

  It was almost enough to make him want to finish the game right there, before the Festival had even started.

  He mounted The Tipping Point and groaned out loud as his cracked ribs squeezed.

  ‘Hey, are you up for this?’ said Osborne’s stable lad. ‘You’ve gone white.’

  But it wasn’t the pain in his ribs that had turned his face white. It was the stinging shame from Tommy’s words. He turned his mount and trotted down to the starting line for the first race, a hotly contested Grade 1 curtain-raiser called the Brightstar Supreme Novices’ Hurdle. It was just over two miles, run on the old track at Cheltenham, with just eight hurdles.

  The starter had a reluctant horse to deal with, so he circled the pack a few times before calling them in. Then they were off. The ‘Cheltenham roar’ went up from the crowd, a traditional greeting for the first race. Even so, the reluctant horse stood as still as a statue as the others broke free, and stayed that way for several minutes.

  The Tipping Point was good going forward, so Duncan decided to stay close to the two front-runners and see if he had the stamina for the run-in. The ground was heavy and loose and kicking up a lot of black mud. Some of the runners were clattering the stiff hurdles rather than jumping them, but The Tipping Point was clearing well and showing no sign of error. An idea stirred in Duncan that he might have a chance here after all.

  He raced with the favourite, negotiating the left-hand track and sensing the growing murmur from the grandstand as they approached the third-last. When it came to making his challenge, the jockeys ahead of him saw him coming, gave a squeeze and he was left behind. The Tipping Point just tired. Duncan felt the horse might have finished closer, but he just didn’t stay going. He fell away to sixth place on the run-in, with the crowd cheering home the favourite.

  It was more than he had a right to expect – Osborne or Cadogan giving him a chance in the opener was never going to happen. He tried to remind himself what a great event this was, and that he’d been there and was part of the curtain-raiser; but it just wasn’t him. He had no interest in making up the numbers. There was no satisfaction in riding an unfit horse into sixth place.

  Mandy Gleeson was in the winners’ enclosure, interviewing for TV. She signalled to him as he came in before turning away with the microphone for a few words from the favourite’s trainer. She no doubt wanted to ask him on air how he felt about riding in the grand opener. But he was anxious
to get out of Osborne’s silks and back into Petie Quinn’s sky blue. And that was what he was doing in the Weighing Room when someone slipped past him and said quite loudly in his ear, ‘Boom! Boom!’

  Sandy Sanderson was already on his way before Duncan could reply. He could have shouted after him. Something about exploding his overhead snooker lamp. But no, he thought, I’ve other plans for you.

  He went out to watch Kerry in the second race, the most highly regarded minimum-distance novice chase in the calendar, named after the legendary steeplechaser The Poniard and attracting the best novice chasers around. After the joint favourites Kerry was amongst the pick on an Irish seven-year-old called King Solomon’s Mines. He ran a good race too, and finished a staying-on third.

  There were to be no big prizes that first day for Petie Quinn’s cohort as Duncan and Kerry were outclassed in the remaining races. Duncan also claimed a third, and though there was no glitter to be had, it was felt that Quinn had announced himself on the big stage and that he was keeping his powder dry for deeper into the Festival.

  Petie’s big day was the second day, Champion Chase Day.

  ‘Got all your Mad Micks and your Provo Paddies around you today, Claymore?’ It was Sandy Sanderson in the Weighing Room. His hostility seemed to be growing. On the first day of the Festival he’d chalked up just one winner where he might normally have expected three or four.

  ‘Oh they’ll be around here somewhere,’ Duncan said. ‘Waiting for you.’

  ‘I’m surprised you don’t race in a black hood, son. That’s how they do it up on the Falls Road, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, you don’t see a lot of horse racing on the Falls Road,’ Kerry chipped in.

  But Sanderson was on his way out of the Weighing Room. That was his style: snipe and go.

  Roisin it was who was first to sprinkle the glitter powder. The Amateur Riders Novices’ Chase had been replaced this year – amid great controversy amongst the dinosaurs of the racing fraternity – by the women-jockeys-only event. Women jockeys were not new to the game, but not everyone thought they were up to it. As if to prove or disprove the point, one of the most gruelling races – four miles and twenty-four fences – had been given over to the event. To say it was well supported was an understatement. Every major stable was represented in the race.