Dead on Course

by Glenis Wilson

  Three fences from home found two of the horses in front running out of petrol and falling back. I knew how they were feeling. By now, my own fuel was getting pretty low, but the adrenalin rush in my bloodstream was overriding my lack of fitness. I set Online at the next brushwood jump and he took it smoothly.

  With four horses in front – two fighting it out in first and second place, and third and fourth nose to nose two lengths behind – and only two jumps left before the run-in for home, I knew Online had reserves I could ask of him.

  We cleared the last safely, and as the other jockeys were now making use of whips to urge their horses on, I simply lay forward along Online’s neck and forcibly threw the reins forward, rhythmically matching his reaching, ground-eating stride, and kicked for home.

  The great-hearted animal responded magnificently, found that extra drop of petrol and stretched for the post.

  Vaguely, I heard the crowd roaring on the stands, but the winning post was coming up fast and, with a horse on either side of me, the three of us flashed past perfectly in line. It was going to take a photo finish to decide the one, two, three.

  I was as high as a jet plane, the weeks lying in a hospital bed a long, long way behind me now. I was back. If Online hadn’t won, I knew I had.

  We pulled up, both sweating and blowing, but filled with the intoxicating joy of living life at full tilt, as it should be.

  We walked back towards the winner’s enclosure as the tannoy broke in above the shouts of the crowd. It was a dead heat between Dark Duke and Online, with the other horse, Silver Charm, in third place.

  I patted the horse’s sweating neck, pulling his ears gently and telling him what a great fella he was. He in turn shook his head, making the bit jingle, and arched his solid, well-muscled neck proudly. Horses know when they have done well and he deserved my gratitude for his gallant effort.

  There was a concerted burst of clapping as we entered the winners’ enclosure. I dismounted and undid the girth, letting the saddle slide down over my arm. I needed to take it into the weighing room with me to weigh in, check that it tallied.

  ‘Well done, Harry.’ Samuel grabbed my hand and pumped it. ‘A superb race. Knew you could do it.’

  ‘Thanks for the support. It certainly helped. Just glad I didn’t let you down.’

  ‘You could never let us down.’ Chloe appeared at her father’s side, her silky hair blowing in the breeze from beneath the black beret. ‘You did great.’ She stood on tiptoe and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘What a marvellous comeback. Bet you’re wired.’

  I grinned and looked across at Mike standing with the stable lad beside the horse. Online was very pleased with himself, tossing his head, still full of it. ‘You could say that.’

  Mike, courteously allowing Samuel to speak first, said, ‘Told you so. Should have put you on several more.’

  I raised a palm. ‘Uh-huh, one’s enough today.’

  His smile spread wider. He knew what I knew and what the others did not: right now my legs were feeling like chewed string. It was true. Nothing but race riding could get you fit. And I certainly wasn’t – not yet. But I would be, very soon. Nothing was going to stop me from accepting rides now. Suddenly, my life was back on course. It was a very sweet feeling.

  They were all three waiting for me in the owners and trainers’ bar after I’d changed out of the green-and-purple silks into normal clothes.

  I threaded my way through little groups of laughing, chattering owners and their trainers, many of whom raised an acknowledging hand to me or called out a quick greeting on the lines of good to see you back. It reminded me of the old saying: nothing succeeds like success. And in the world of horse racing, a jockey was only as successful as his last winning ride. I smiled acknowledgements back and made my way over to where Chloe’s red suit added a bright splash of colour amongst the more muted and suited men.

  Mike pushed a cup of unsweetened coffee into my hand. ‘Grab a seat.’

  My euphoria had calmed and all I felt now was a contented weariness, coupled, unfortunately, with an all-over aching, but especially in my left leg, the one that had suffered the broken kneecap. However, I was glad to be alive, to feel the aches; the man I’d landed on top of back in the spring of the year was dead. He was murdered before he could spill the beans to me about who was trying to kill my disabled half-sister.

  I pushed the dark thoughts away. Today was for celebrating, for coming through and triumphing against the odds.

  Chloe, nibbling a sandwich, pushed the loaded plate in my direction. ‘Are you allowed to indulge?’ she asked coquettishly. And if I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought she was flirting with me. But she wasn’t: it was all a very brave front to hide the gaping wound inside. My admiration for her rose even higher than it was already.

  ‘I’ll join you in one, thanks.’ I sipped the welcome coffee and started on the food.

  Samuel lowered the level in his glass of lager. ‘Business before pleasure, lad. Will you ride Lucifer for me next week at Huntingdon?’

  I looked at Mike who inclined his head in agreement – best not to argue with owners’ requests was a good maxim for a trainer to remember. It would be the first time I’d returned to Huntingdon, scene of the debacle in the spring that had left me flat on my back, first on top of Carl Smith and then in a hospital bed for weeks. Mike didn’t say anything, which actually said a lot. He was leaving the choice up to me, knew there would be some mental fences I’d have to jump, as well as big brushwood ones. We held each other’s gaze for a moment.

  ‘Yes, thanks, Samuel, I will.’

  ‘Good, good.’ He took another pull of his lager. ‘That takes care of the business. So, how about a bit of pleasure, eh? Will you both join me in a round of golf, then dinner at North Shore Hotel?’

  ‘I’m up for that.’ Mike’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Me too,’ I said.

  ‘What say we make it a foursome – ask Victor Maudsley?’ Samuel looked at us enquiringly.

  ‘That would be very kind of you,’ I said. ‘I’m pretty sure he’ll accept.’

  Maudsley was Elspeth’s ex-husband. He was also, before he retired, a trainer – one I’d worked for in my younger days.

  ‘Settled, then,’ Samuel said with satisfaction.

  ‘Better make it a day when we’re not racing, though,’ Mike said.

  ‘I sure will.’

  ‘When you chaps have finished,’ Chloe said, pointing her finger at the massive television screen high on the wall, ‘they’re just about to go off in the next race … and my horse is running in it.’

  ‘Sorry, my darling.’ Samuel switched his gaze to watch the coverage.

  White Lace, a pretty grey mare, was circling round with the other seven runners, waiting for the starter’s orders. She had yet to win a race but had been in the frame once before. Samuel had very recently purchased her as a present for Chloe. ‘Give her another interest,’ he’d confided in me. ‘Well, sort of consolation prize, I suppose.’ As a parent, seeing Chloe’s misery and pain had caused him suffering, too.

  We all settled to watch as the race got underway – a much shorter one of two miles. Joey Godaling was riding, an up-and-coming apprentice. It should prove an interesting race.

  And it did. With an early charge, the leaders went away far too fast, but Joey, already wise to tactics, held White Lace steady just one in front of the back marker. For three-quarters of the race, the three leading horses galloped away, leaving the rest of the field behind by a good eight to ten lengths. But at the next jump, the first horse stood off, made a complete mess of it and pitched forward on the far side. It brought down the other two in a melee of thrashing legs and rolling jockeys.

  With only four horses left in the race, Joey cannily made up ground on the rails and chased the leading pair home. White Lace came in third.

  Chloe was elated, cheeks pink with pleasure and excitement. We cheered and clapped, downed our drinks and hastened from the bar, downstai
rs and across to the winners’ enclosure.

  The horses walked in, nostrils flaring, flanks steaming, to a loud burst of applause. The jockeys dismounted, slid saddles off and left the stable lads to flick over the coolers to prevent the horses getting chilled. I watched as Samuel and Chloe congratulated Joey and patted White Lace. Chloe clutched her father’s arm, thanking him for giving her such a marvellous present. Samuel looked smug. For a little while at least, all Chloe’s heartache had been banished. That, for him, was reward enough.

  The horses were led away and we left the winners’ enclosure and rejoined the crowd. Unexpectedly, I felt a tap on my shoulder, looked round and came face to face with a total stranger, thin-faced, wearing a hooded jacket.

  ‘Got something for you.’ He thrust an envelope into my hand and turned away.

  ‘Hey, wait a minute …’ But he had melted into the crowd. I opened the envelope, read the message and a wave of cold shock ran through me.

  I legged it after him. Dodging in and out round the milling racegoers, I finally caught sight of him near the entrance to the stands. Totally unaware I was following, he’d stopped now and was attempting to light a cigarette. The stiff breeze kept on blowing out the flame on his lighter.

  I came up behind him and dug my fingers deep into his arm.

  ‘What the—’ He spun round.

  ‘OK,’ I panted. ‘You’ve given me the note. So, who sent you?’

  ‘I don’t know what it says – sealed, innit?’

  Forcing him against the wall, I read it to him.

  It was very short: a telephone number at the top followed by the words, You and I are going to meet. Ring after the twenty-sixth of September. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to meet Chloe. The note was unsigned.

  I waved the paper in front of his face.

  ‘So, who wrote it?’

  He shrugged and said sullenly, ‘Jake. He’s inside right now but he gets let out on the twenty-sixth.’

  ‘In prison, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah, s’right. Got caught. He’s doing time for GBH – maimed a security guard.’

  ‘Why does he want to see me?’

  The man looked at me slyly. ‘Don’t you know? That murdered guy, Carl Smith – Jake’s his brother.’

  FOUR

  I watched the black beret being repositioned on the raven locks; the angle was even more jaunty than when I’d first seen Chloe in the parade ring. We were all at Mike’s house helping Chloe celebrate her horse coming in the frame. Generously poured glasses of bubbly had raised her spirits even higher.

  She gave a last peek in the hall mirror to adjust the little hat before swinging round, still on cloud nine, still enthusing about White Lace two hours after seeing her horse hosed down, driven home in the horsebox and comfortably stabled up.

  ‘When the racing bug bites, it really sinks its teeth in, doesn’t it?’ She beamed at me. ‘What a buzz! I can’t wait to go racing again now.’

  I smiled at her flushed, excited face. ‘It doesn’t always go the way you’d wish it.’

  ‘Dear Harry, if it did, there wouldn’t be a buzz, would there?’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Come along,’ Samuel chuckled, ‘these two chaps have work to do.’

  He ushered his daughter over the doorstep and into his BMW. She climbed in and ran the passenger window down.

  ‘Thanks again, Mike. I’ll see you soon, shan’t be able to keep away.’

  We waved them off and went back indoors.

  ‘One happy lady,’ Mike said.

  ‘Samuel’s preening. He’s reversed her mental state in one move.’

  ‘Yes, a gamble buying the horse, but it’s come off.’

  ‘And she’s tough. She’ll take the knock-backs along with the glory days. A new life-long love affair with racing,’ I agreed.

  ‘Can’t be bad.’ Mike grinned. ‘She’s using me as her trainer – it’s great for business.’

  ‘Go on, your cynical act doesn’t wash – this is me, remember? With animals and pretty females, you’re a pushover.’

  ‘Nah. Hard as a horseshoe, I am.’

  ‘In that case,’ I said and put a hand into my pocket and drew out the note I’d been given earlier, ‘could you tell me what I should do with this?’

  He read it and the grin faded. ‘Not something you’d want to be given. Where did you get it?’

  ‘At the races, this afternoon.’

  His male protectiveness asserted itself. ‘You’ll have to ring. I mean, it’s a threat to Chloe.’

  I sighed. ‘Yeah, but you don’t know who wrote it.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Jake Smith. Currently in clink for GBH.’

  ‘Phew. Still, he can’t do any damage if he’s inside. You’ll have to do a prison visit.’

  ‘Due out in two days’ time.’

  He whistled. ‘I take your point. Not the sort of company you’d want to cultivate, eh?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  He looked sideways at me. ‘But you’re going to.’

  It wasn’t a question.

  ‘As you’ve pointed out, there’s Chloe to consider. At least if I ring, it will deflect him from her.’

  ‘Any ideas why this guy wants to see you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Jake is – or, rather, was – Carl Smith’s brother.’

  ‘Found dead in a lavatory at Leicester races.’

  ‘Too right.’

  ‘And he blames you?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as. But it’s the only reason I can think of.’

  I filled Mike in about finding the false teeth on the cottage doorstep that morning.

  ‘Bloody hell! You’ve just got out of one tough situation, now you’re feet first into another.’

  I inclined my head. ‘Pretty much my own assessment, Mike.’

  ‘Samuel knows, does he?’

  ‘No, just you and me – and the also-ran who gave me the note.’

  ‘Just a bit player?’

  ‘Reckon so. It didn’t take much to get Jake’s name out of him.’

  ‘Well, you’re not ringing this Jake tonight, mate. You and me are down the pub. We may have done the necessary and celebrated with Chloe and Samuel, but that was basically trainer’s obligations. No, I’m talking a real celebration – just us. I’m sorry that bloody note arrived when it did, but don’t let it spoil things. You’ve come back, Harry, back to race riding – and winning. After six months of not knowing if you even would, it’s got to be marked. OK, you can name the pub, but you’re definitely going.’ He slapped a hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s great to have you as my retained jockey again.’ He hesitated, raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘You do want to throw your hand in with my stable?’

  I slapped him back. ‘Don’t be so soft, it’s all I’ve wanted for months.’

  He lowered the eyebrow and grinned. ‘That’s OK, then. So, which pub?’

  ‘Horseshoes will do me fine.’

  He nodded. ‘Do me, too. But after evening stables.’

  ‘Count me in. Carrying water buckets will help the biceps no end.’

  Happy hour at the Horseshoes had come and gone, but the majority of stable lads were still lounging along the bench seats and chatting three-deep up at the bar. They were all familiar faces. Several of them worked for Mike.

  A rippled cheer greeted our arrival through the heavy wooden door.

  ‘Keep ’em comin’, Harry.’

  ‘Good on yer, mate.’

  ‘… should have had a bit more on.’

  ‘… great to see you back on board.’

  A few of the snatches of dialogue I picked up; the rest was swallowed up in the general racket, but the bonhomie was practically tangible. I raised a hand in recognition of their bantering good wishes.

  ‘How about a free round?’ Mike said the words out the corner of his mouth.

  I cast a quick glance round at the good-natured crowd; the pub was crowded. ‘Phew …’

  ‘We’ll go halves with t
he tab.’

  ‘I can’t say no to that.’

  ‘Drinks all round on us.’ Mike had to raise his voice to make himself heard, but the erupting bellow of appreciation was deafening.

  Bill, the publican behind the bar, smiled widely and began lining up the glasses.

  ‘You, too, Bill,’ I said.

  ‘God bless Online, I say.’ He filled a glass and passed it over.

  ‘Amen to that,’ I replied, accepting the pint of beer and raising it in acknowledgement.

  ‘So, when’s your next ride?’

  ‘Better ask Mike.’

  Bill turned an enquiring glance in Mike’s direction.

  ‘We’ve runners on Tuesday at Huntingdon and some declared at Cheltenham on Friday and Saturday. Nothing’s definite, but Harry’s got the shout which horses he’d rather ride.’

  ‘I’ll be keeping an eye out for your next, and that’s for sure. We had a bit on you today, lad. We’re all glad you’re back racing.’

  ‘Thanks, Bill. Nobody’s more pleased than me, I can tell you.’

  ‘You’ve had a rough time. Everybody’s real sorry about your sister.’

  ‘Thanks, I appreciate your support.’ I took a long pull of my beer. I used it as a good excuse to avoid looking into his sympathetic face. I could take any amount of abuse, but it was always people’s kindness that got under my guard.

  Darren appeared at my side and accepted a free pint from Bill. He’d swapped stables when Elspeth retired and was the stable lad in charge of Online and three other jumpers.

  ‘No problem with the new whip rules, eh, Harry?’

  ‘Darren.’ I nodded. ‘No, Online’s a gift in the present situation.’

  ‘Pity they’re not all like him; you wouldn’t have to bother counting the eight slaps.’

  ‘Harry always uses the minimum to get the job done anyway,’ Mike agreed. He’d happily set Darren on when his string had increased overnight with all Samuel’s horses being withdrawn from Elspeth’s stables.

  ‘A.P. and Ruby aren’t happy about the ruling – well, most of the lads aren’t. What’s your take, Harry?’

  ‘I’ll be glad when they’ve finished gnawing on the bone at the BHA. The present rules aren’t workable, so they’ll get tweaked. Let’s face it, whips are made differently these days and they’re needed for steering as well as encouragement.’