Dead Certainty

by Glenis Wilson

  ‘Bound to, I’d say. It’s a small world.’

  Mike dropped me off at the cottage on his way back to the stables. He zoomed off to attend to his horses and I remembered I’d a sick cat to attend to.

  Leo looked to be in exactly the same position as when I’d left him at lunchtime – curled up, cosy and comfortable in his basket. But the cat tray needed changing. A dead giveaway.

  ‘Looking for sympathy, mate?’ He opened his mouth in a soundless mew and stretched luxuriously. His bandage was still securely in place, thank goodness. He’d obviously made no attempt to tug it off.

  ‘What would you fancy – some fresh chicken or a tin of rabbit, hmm?’

  He launched himself from the recesses of his bed and wound in and out between my legs. He was even purring.

  ‘I can see you’ll soon be back to normal. I’ll be sure and let your mistress know. She’ll be pleased, too.’

  I chopped up some fresh chicken into little pieces and changed his drinking water. ‘There you go. Now I’m off to do some work.’

  I left him chewing happily and went into the office to telephone Elspeth. She answered on the second ring.

  ‘Hi. Need to take delivery of the next shoebox, Elspeth. And I’ve a score of questions that need answers. OK?’

  It was OK. Would I like to be ready at eight thirty in the morning? I would? She’d send a car.

  ELEVEN

  A much-battered Metro arrived on time the following morning driven by one of Darren’s sidekicks, John. Looking at some of the dents, I wondered how wise it was to be travelling with him, but beggars, especially one with a plastered leg, can’t be choosers. And at least he’d got here by eight thirty. Elspeth was efficient; I’d never doubted it – she was an extremely successful businesswoman. Her staff would all have to toe the line – including me.

  I pondered on this for a moment as I climbed in. She could have had her pick of ghost writers to do the job, yet she’d chosen me. Must have thought I was up to it even if I didn’t. But that was then. Now, I was beginning to think I could actually make a fair fist of it.

  Yesterday’s afternoon of hard graft followed by burning the midnight oil had helped to change my opinion. The biography was forming up pretty well. I’d run off a hard copy of her family tree back to her grandparents. It consolidated my notes and formed a focus. If Elspeth approved my hard work, we were flying.

  John was a lad of few words, plenty of grunts but little conversation. We travelled in silence but it was an easy one. I ventured a question.

  ‘How’s Darren progressing?’

  John gave a big sniff. ‘Dunno.’

  The famous stable lads’ sniff. It covered all situations and conveyed nothing. One thing John and Darren had in common, though, was the desire to get from A to B in the swiftest time possible. I gave up on the chat and watched the countryside flash past. We were approaching Harby rapidly and it crossed my mind I could very well be stepping into the lion’s den should Marriot be at home. After all, it was his patch and I was the interloper. But I didn’t have long to dwell on the danger. The journey was over in twenty minutes and we belted in through the entrance gates at Unicorn Stables. John slammed both feet down.

  ‘Can’t drive you back, mate. Goin’ racin’.’

  ‘Fair enough. What course?’

  The sniff again. ‘Redcar.’

  ‘Right, have a good day, and thanks.’

  I walked up to the big house and rapped on the oak front door. Seconds later it swung open and Elspeth motioned me inside.

  ‘Didn’t expect a result this fast. Thought you said you wanted some more time.’

  ‘Well, it’s gone rather well. But I’m stuck now because I need to progress through the next phase of your life history.’

  She showed me to her office. The shoe boxes were neatly piled on a corner of the huge desk. I produced the printed out family tree and spread it on the desk top.

  ‘If you could just check I’ve not made a cock-up that’d be a big help.’

  She put on a pair of glasses and pored over the paper. Nodding now and again, she ran a finger down the male line.

  ‘Yes … yes, and Marriot’s name last … Yes, Harry, it’s all correct.’

  ‘Great, we’re definitely in business. Do you want to read my notes so far? Or perhaps you’d rather wait and read them say, halfway through, or even right at the end?’

  ‘The halfway stage, I think. If there are things that I don’t like or simply don’t want you to, shall we say, broadcast, you can alter them at that point.’

  ‘Yes, sounds fair enough.’

  ‘Now,’ she removed the glasses and fixed me with a direct stare, ‘what are these scores of questions that need answers?’

  I fished in my backpack and took out a handset recorder. ‘If you’ve no objections, I’d like to switch on the tape so that it records all our conversation. That way, I don’t have to scribble down notes as we go along and I can give all my attention to what you’re saying. Maybe ask some more questions in addition to the ones I’ve listed down, should your answers prompt them.’

  She nodded compliantly. ‘I suggest then that before we start we have coffee and sit in the lounge in comfort. You can plug the recorder into a power point in there if you need to.’

  ‘Actually, it runs on batteries so location isn’t a problem.’

  She inclined her head. ‘Come along then. I’ve left a tray already laid in the kitchen. Just needs the coffee pouring. Whilst I’m doing that, make yourself comfortable in the lounge, sort out your questions or whatever and I’ll bring coffee through, all right?’

  ‘Thanks, Elspeth. Sounds fine to me.’

  By the time she returned complete with tray – and jar of honey! – I’d spread out the sheets of questions on the settee and made sure the tape recorder was all ready to go.

  ‘Any idea how Darren’s progressing, by the way?’

  ‘Due out of hospital shortly. ’Course, he can’t come back here in the lads’ hostel; it’s not suitable. I think he’s going home to mum until he’s mobile again and fit to ride.’

  ‘Pity it happened. I feel bad about that, he was doing me a favour driving me back and look where it’s landed him.’

  ‘You shouldn’t. Wasn’t your fault, was it? He was simply carrying out my orders.’

  ‘No, but if he had been doing his normal job and hadn’t been driving he wouldn’t be in hospital now.’

  Elspeth shrugged her shoulders dismissively. ‘Can’t let you have John to get you back today. Still, Stan can act as taxi – that is, if you don’t mind travelling in a horsebox.’

  ‘No objection at all. I’m just glad of a lift home.’

  ‘Stan’s the box driver and he’s taking just the one horse to Nottingham races for the three thirty this afternoon.’

  I nodded. ‘Fine, I’m not worried what time I get home.’ And I wasn’t. Leo seemed on the mend. He was very resilient. Beneath the bandage that was still in place, he must have been healing rapidly. Sleep was by far the fastest way back to health and animals were intuitively aware of the need. They were far cleverer than humans. Leo spent ninety per cent of his time fast asleep. The other ten per cent was split between trips to his dinner bowl and litter tray.

  Elspeth leaned back and sipped the scalding coffee. ‘Fire away with your questions.’

  I placed the voice-activated recorder on the low table just in front of us.

  ‘I suppose these are all my childhood and upbringing ones, are they?’

  I nodded, then added ‘yes’ aloud for the benefit of the tape. ‘What I’d like is for you to not only answer the direct question but, if you could, imagine yourself back as a child and try to remember what emotions you felt. I really want to get inside your skin, as it were, to bring you to life for all your readers.

  ‘The more emotions you can recall at specific times, and also the events that were happening then, will help enormously. Facts and figures are fine, they’re very necessary for the
structure, but what we’re after is the big “R”.’

  Elspeth took another sip of her drink and raised both eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘Readability,’ I said. ‘The very best way in this book, because it’s your biography, is to engage the readers’ emotions in tandem, so they identify with the same feelings, the sights you saw, smells, touches, experiences, thrills and, most importantly, any whacking great disappointments. We need to get reader sympathy with you, Elspeth. Hook them in so they find themselves rooting for you. Do you follow?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Harry, indeed I do. I need to have all the men back as little boys fighting to carry my books to school. Plus, all the women as young girls crying with me because I’ve put on so much weight over the summer holidays, probably because of all the ice cream’ – she snorted with laughter at the memory – ‘and I can’t get into my brand new school skirt for the autumn term.’ She smiled slyly. ‘That’s the effect you’re after, isn’t it?’

  ‘Exactly. We want the readers on your side. Think you can do it?’

  ‘You just throw me the question, I’ll catch it.’

  And catch it she did. I was amazed how much she could remember from the time she was about four.

  On her fourth birthday her parents had arranged a party in the garden for their only daughter. A dozen handpicked ‘suitable’ children had received invitations and the tea was going with a bang in every sense of the word – they’d thoughtfully provided crackers and balloons.

  However, when Elspeth’s mother had brought out individual dishes of ice cream crowned with a drizzle of honey and chocolate sauce, it had served as a rallying call to the local wasp population. In the furore that followed, as the children batted and flapped away hysterically at the vicious yellow and black invaders, several of the little guests, including Elspeth herself, had gone from spooning in ‘yummy mouthfuls’ – her words – to being stabbed by fierce burning needles.

  ‘One of the wasps actually landed on my spoon just as I’d raised it to my lips. I’d opened my mouth to lick the ice cream and the devilish thing stung my tongue. The pain was frightful! It made my eyes water and my lips swell up. I just screamed and screamed.’

  I sat nodding, unwilling to interrupt the flow of memory, and the tape purred away on the table recording every word.

  ‘My parents had to take me to hospital because my tongue swelled so much. Anti-histamine job needed. And it hurt for days after. Do you know, I haven’t thought about that for over seventy years and here you are drawing out all my past.’

  ‘I’ll bet a whole lot of your readers will identify with getting stung by a wasp. Whatever age you are, it’s very painful.’

  She threw her head back and laughed. ‘And I’ve just remembered, we had a wind-up gramophone playing. You know, the sort where you had to place the needle in the groove at the start?’ I nodded. ‘My father had just put on a record, and it was playing “The Teddy Bears Picnic”.’ She hummed the first few bars and I found myself joining in; it was contagious, like yawning.

  ‘Isn’t it amazing what you have stored inside your head.’

  ‘Just keep it coming, Elspeth.’

  For the next two hours we beavered away and I got some excellent copy. The job was turning out to be much easier than I’d ever anticipated.

  ‘I have to stop you now, Harry. Things to do.’ Elspeth rose to her feet.

  ‘Of course.’ I dragged myself from the comfortable settee and began putting all my stuff away in the backpack. ‘Can I take, say, a couple of the other shoeboxes back with me?’

  ‘Help yourself – just don’t lose them is all I ask.’

  ‘Scouts’ honour.’

  Out in the stable yard, Stan was loading the horsebox with racing equipment, sweat scraper, bandages, cooler, horse passport. He spotted me coming.

  ‘Hi, want a lift back to Radcliffe-on-Trent? Elspeth said you might.’

  ‘I’d appreciate one, thanks.’

  ‘No probs. Just have to finish loading up Bloody Sal.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘She’s the only horse racing today – Scarlet Salvia.’

  ‘Aah.’ I grinned. Nicknames for the glamorous horseflesh helped to run stables, rather like policemen using black humour to help them cope with demanding situations.

  ‘Can you manage the cab steps?’ he queried with a doubtful look on his face.

  ‘No chance,’ I said airily.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So it’ll have to be the side ramp.’

  ‘Right.’ He carried on stowing equipment.

  I leaned against the horsebox and breathed in all the intoxicating smells associated with being around horses. OK, some of the smells are pretty pungent but God, it felt good. I’d not realized how much I’d missed my racing life. What I’d do if the patella and ligaments didn’t heal as they should and I was permanently grounded … I forced my attention away from the depressing image. It didn’t do to bring in the negatives.

  Down the yard, one of the lads – Stan called him Pete – led out a bright bay from one of the stables. The horse flexed its neck, ears pricked, taking everything in. It had a lovely swinging action as, swishing its tail, it walked towards the horsebox.

  ‘Looking good.’ I nodded in the horse’s direction.

  ‘Yeah, the lads have a bit on.’

  ‘Pity I can’t.’

  He laughed. ‘You know and I know there’s no such thing as a dead certainty with racehorses, even when it looks nailed on. The only dead certainty in life is death.’

  ‘I’ll make sure I remember that.’

  There was no point offering any help in loading the horse: in my present condition I was a total liability. Not a nice feeling.

  Finally Stan had everything stowed to his liking and gave me a hand to scramble aboard. Pete, the stable lad, was sitting inside the cab. In the aisle at the back of the cab there was a lads’ seat facing the horses. Unfortunately, the aisle was narrow and had little leg room. I opted to stand and braced myself at the corner for safety. I couldn’t see much through the little side windows but I wasn’t the one driving. Stan was an experienced box driver and drove very smoothly. Nottingham was a local course and the journey was twenty-five miles max. My cottage was perhaps eighteen miles; we’d be there in half an hour.

  ‘All OK back there?’ Stan called through from the cab hatch.

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ I shouted back.

  The horsebox lurched forward a little and moved off slowly. Scarlet Salvia seemed unaffected by the movement of the wheels turning beneath her hooves.

  I thought over the personal moments Elspeth had shared with me. They would bring the writing to life as I edited them into the script. But although she had opened up quite willingly this morning, I’d gained the impression that the memories she’d shared had been ones she didn’t mind disclosing.

  I was pretty sure that the ones from her teenage years and onwards would be severely pruned back to what she wanted me to know – not the full story at all. But, hey, it was her biography and she was paying the piper – me. So, as long as there was sufficient material, and it was interesting enough for me to weave it into a page-turning read, who was I to argue or demand to be told secrets. And I knew there would be secrets. Marriot’s reaction had confirmed that.

  ‘Coming down Harby hill now, mate,’ Stan’s voice informed me. ‘Brace yourself in case I have to slam on.’

  ‘Gotcha.’ It was the same spot coming up at the bottom of the hill where Darren and I had crashed broadside into the horsebox. I braced. This time, however, there was nothing in the road to cause an accident and we sailed on without incident.

  ‘Joining the A52 soon,’ Stan updated me a few minutes later. ‘Sharp left turn, OK?’

  ‘Thanks.’ It was considerate of him to prepare me and I leaned into the manoeuvre and then felt the horsebox pick up speed. We were travelling down the Bingham bypass, headed for the Saxondale roundabout. I knew from experience there was likely to be a nose-to-tail job
and a wait, possibly a sudden braking. I felt the gears change down as we hit congested traffic. Even so, he had to brake suddenly, and accompanied this by a few rich suggestions directed at whoever had just cut him up, but being prepared, I managed to stay upright.

  The box turned left and I returned the favour to Stan. ‘In a couple of miles, Stan, there’s a left turn, just before you get to the Radcliffe-on-Trent bypass. Leads to the cottage.’

  ‘Ta.’

  ‘Will you be coming back after the race?’

  ‘Yeah, well, about an hour or so, when Bloody Sal’s been washed down.’

  I thought about it. Stan would park in the special horsebox park. So would all the other boxes. I was fairly sure the horsebox that caused Darren’s accident was a local one. It didn’t make any sense to have had it shipped in from a long way away. There hadn’t been time; it had been organized pretty smartly. Was it possible that box might be at Nottingham today? Yes, it was quite likely. Only one way to find out.

  ‘D’you mind if I come to the races with you, Stan?’

  ‘Well,’ he hesitated, ‘I don’t suppose Elspeth would mind …’

  ‘Don’t worry about Mrs Maudsley. I’ll clear it with her.’

  ‘OK, then, scrap going home for now, yes?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks. There’s something I want to check on at the course.’

  ‘Anything I can do?’

  ‘Might be. Tell you when we get there; it’s difficult talking through a wall.

  He laughed. ‘Right.’

  TWELVE

  We made good time getting to Colwick, where the course was situated, but all the same it was a relief to get out of the box and down the ramp. Leaning on the crutches lost its appeal after a while.

  Stan and the lad, Pete, needed to take the equipment and the horse over to the stables to await being led to the saddling boxes edging the pre-parade ring. I was back to being a liability right now.

  ‘OK, what was it you needed help with?’ Stan tossed me the question but his eyes and attention were elsewhere. He scanned his watch to check on the time. On racecourses it was all about timing. He needed to declare the horse well before the race; too late and Scarlet Salvia wouldn’t be allowed to run. I quickly told him about the horsebox I was trying to find. He screwed up his face and shook his head.