The Enchanted

by Charlotte Bingham

  ‘How do you do, and good luck with your horse, Mr Rawlins. I have heard great things of him.’

  ‘Fingers crossed.’ Rory smiled before turning to Lynne. ‘Is Connie all right, Lynne?’

  ‘Not really,’ Lynne told him. ‘I mean – sorry – she’s not ill or anything. At least she’s not sick. She’s just not quite herself. We’ll tell you later.’

  Once an oddly quiet Blaze had been legged up by Rory they took their places in the stands to watch the race.

  ‘They’re difficult fences in the home straight, so be warned, everyone,’ Rory said, taking his race glasses out of their leather holster. ‘You come uphill off the bend and the camber’s tricky. Tips towards the rails. The fences are pretty stiff, too, and claim quite a few fallers, particularly when the horses are tiring.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Rory,’ Alice said. ‘I wish I’d stayed in bed now.’

  ‘They’re off and running,’ Rory muttered. ‘Good luck, everyone.’

  Blaze had intended to try to make it all as instructed, but two of the fancied runners, the favourite and joint second favourite, stole a march on him, their jockeys forcing him off his preferred berth on the rails as they waited for the starter to set them off. Blaze had barely finished the turn he had been instructed to take on his horse when they were off. In no time, The Enchanted was a good ten lengths down on the leaders, but seeing the scorching pace they were setting, and remembering what Rory had told him about the two hills he would face on the course and the fact that the going had been declared as good to soft, he decided not to waste any petrol by taking off in pursuit. There was plenty of time. The important thing was to get his horse jumping in a good rhythm, which he had done by the time they had jumped the third fence.

  The two leaders were still ten lengths or so in front, but the rest of the field were well bunched, and judging from the conversation between the jockeys round him no one was particularly worried about the situation, confident that as the race developed they would be able to close the gap at will. Blaze felt the same, remembering that when he had walked the course that morning he had been surprised at how long the run without fences was when the field left the back straight to descend downhill towards the home stretch and the final four jumps. It seemed there was plenty of time to make up ground, and since it was all downhill he kept The Enchanted cantering along with the rest of the field, heading them by about a length, perfectly happy at the way his horse was going and jumping.

  It was only when they reached the top of the hill to turn into the back straight that Blaze’s best-laid plans began to go astray. Coming to the last fence along the back, an island fence with a drop on landing, and with the leaders now only half a dozen lengths at most in front, in an effort to pass him in the air the horse alongside The Enchanted suddenly jumped sharply to the left, going through the top of the birch and cannoning into his horse.

  For a moment it seemed they would be knocked out of the race as his horse lost all momentum, knocked sideways by the impact of his rival, but somehow – and Blaze would never know how – The Enchanted managed to get his front legs untangled although he landed almost on his nose. Instinctively Blaze slackened his reins and sat back, giving the horse every chance of recovery, but as the horse pitched on landing his head came up and back, and hit the jockey in the face.

  Blaze could see nothing except a wall of red. His head felt as if it had been chopped in half by a meat cleaver and his mouth filled with blood. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to fall off the horse and roll to the ground, but that option was out of the question. Not only had he a race still to ride, he had a race to win. So he shortened his reins, took a lot of deep gasping breaths, closed and reopened his eyes several times in an effort to clear the fog and got himself balanced again in the plate, aware only of what was now the distant noise of the race and the vague shouting of the jockeys round about him.

  It all seemed a hundred miles away from where he was, but then as the intensity of the pain faded a terrible giddiness set in. He could see now all right, but what he saw was blurred and very far away. What he could see was a field of small blurred horses galloping in the distance while the ground seemed to be falling fast away in front of him. He was running downhill.

  I’m going down the hill and there’s something I have to remember, he told himself, shaking his head and taking one hand off the reins to wipe the blood from his nose. But I have plenty of time to get Boyo back in the race because we have to go round again. And if we have to go all the way round again, then we have the time, Boyo. I have time to get my head back, I have time to settle my horse, and I have time to make up the ground – next time round. Good. Good. I make up the ground next time round.

  He settled his horse back at the head of the chasing group as they turned into the home straight. Still thinking he had all the time in the world, he didn’t ask his horse, instead letting him bowl along in the same rhythm and at the same pace, as they approached the first fence in the home straight.

  ‘What the hell does he think he’s doing?’ Rory suddenly asked himself and his group as they stood up in the stands watching. ‘They’re going for home now and Blaze is just sitting there.’

  But even in what he realised afterwards must have been a semi-conscious state Blaze could not help being aware of the activity around him as they ran uphill to the first fence in the straight.

  ‘Where’s the fire?’ he shouted to a jockey busy beginning to go to work on his horse. ‘Haven’t we to go round again?’

  ‘Do as you please, Paddy!’ the jockey shouted back. ‘But this is where we get off!’

  It was then that he finally got the picture. Now he understood what all the shouting and the beating and the kicking was about – this was it. This was the finish. No going round again, not for him, not for anybody. He had the last line of fences to ride and after that was the lollipop. Way ahead of him they were already gone for home. As he landed over the fourth from home he could see vaguely the leaders heading for the next fence, half a dozen or more lengths clear of him, and racing hard. But The Enchanted had landed perfectly yet again, passing two of those racing alongside, horses who were visibly tiring, so he knew he had them beat, but not the ones in front, not yet. He let out more rein than he had ever let out before and sat and pushed – and pushed, shaking the reins at his horse’s head but never touching him with the whip. All he did was shake the reins, call to the horse and sit. He’d change his hands if he must, but he’d not hit him – don’t hit him – he remembered that – don’t hit, just sit, and ride him, ride him, ride him! Before he even had to change his leading hand he felt the horse responding to his urgings. He felt the horse coming alight. He felt him flying.

  He could also hear a sudden and almost overwhelming wall of sound, a roar from the grandstands as the racegoers saw what was happening.

  ‘He’s left it too late!’ Rory shouted, watching as the horse flew the second last fence, passing the horse lying in third who was still a good eight lengths behind the two leaders, who were locked in battle on the run to the last fence, both of them still racing although both of their jockeys were hard at work. ‘He’s left it far too late, for crying out loud!’

  ‘Please tell me he hasn’t!’ Alice yelled from her hiding place behind his back. ‘Please tell me, please!’

  ‘He hasn’t!’ Lynne shouted back over the cheering, watching transfixed as their horse continued inexorably to close the gap, coming to the last fence with Blaze still just pushing at him with his hands and his heels. ‘He’s catching them hand over whatsit! Look, Alice! You’ve got to look!’

  ‘I can’t!’ Alice cried. ‘I’d have a heart attack!’

  ‘Come on, Enchanted!’ an astounded Grenville heard his mother shouting, and turned to see her waving her rolled-up racecard in the air. ‘Come on Grenville’s horse!’

  Out on the track Blaze thought he saw a stride before the last fence and was just about to ask the horse to put in a big one when the horse b
eat him to it, jumping once again, just as he had done in his last race, from practically outside the wings as he soared into the air and over the top of the black birch without disturbing a twig. There was a huge gasp from the stands, followed by a roar as the racegoers realised that what they were witnessing was a singular performance by what was definitely a singular horse.

  After landing over the last The Enchanted ate up the ground and the six lengths’ difference between himself and the two leading horses. All at once they were no longer alone, but being passed.

  ‘He’s done it!’ Lynne yelled, jumping up and down in her excitement before throwing her arms round Grenville and knocking his hat to the ground. ‘He’s done it, everyone! He’s only done it!’

  It was an unforgettable sight.

  And that would have been exactly how it finished had not something else happened, something that would stamp this race even more indelibly on its witnesses’ memories. No more than fifty yards from the post and now easily five lengths clear of the beaten horses, Blaze eased both himself and his horse back and in that moment his heroic effort abruptly ended as suddenly a wall of darkness fell about him and he passed cleanly and entirely out.

  Everyone watched aghast from the stands as just yards from the post the winning horse lost his pilot, the comatose Blaze falling sideways from the saddle to the ground, his feet mercifully coming free from the irons, leaving his triumphant horse to gallop joyfully past the winning post with an empty saddle.

  They carried the bloodstained jockey on a stretcher to an ambulance that had been rushed up to the winning line. ‘His poor old face was just covered in blood,’ Kathleen told Teddy as he held the horse’s head while Kathleen washed him down. ‘It was awash with it. He must have taken some sort of bang out there in the country somewhere.’

  ‘If only he could have hung on till he’d passed the damned post,’ Teddy growled. ‘If only he’d just hung on somehow.’

  ‘If he got a crack in the face out in the country, Teddy,’ Rory pointed out, having joined them for a few seconds to see the little horse, ‘Blaze did wonders to stay up that long, let alone ride the race he did. Now I have to go and explain to our loyal owners what happened – then I’m off to see our pilot.’

  A few minutes later, looking at the concerned faces surrounding him, Rory realised he was one very spoilt trainer. These owners, this bunch of anxious people, only wanted to hear about Blaze and the little horse; there wasn’t a mention of their disappointment.

  ‘Our little chap won it anyway,’ Alice said, after a small pause, because she knew from everyone’s faces that she was speaking for them all. ‘I think that’s pretty obvious. So it really doesn’t make any difference.’

  ‘Other than the fact that we’re out of the money. Come on, I’ll buy you all a nice strong consoling drink before I chase after the ambulance.’

  ‘What do you think actually happened, Rory?’ Alice asked when they had all repaired to the owners’ bar.

  Rory shrugged his shoulders, handing round the drinks.

  ‘Bad luck, that’s what happened – jockey injured, stayed on brilliantly, lost consciousness as he came up to the post. Fell off. Bad luck. That’s racing.’

  ‘Which is something I must speak to you about, if I may,’ Grenville murmured.

  ‘Can it wait till I’ve got back from the hospital?’ Rory asked, already making for the door.

  ‘Of course, yes. I mean no – if you could wait just a second.’ Grenville dropped his voice. ‘It’s just that I got an unofficial timing from a chum of mine who’s one of the stewards here, and it appears they’re all talking about it. It seems that was the second fastest time ever posted here.’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Grenville: the same as you were thinking the other day when you phoned me. So you know what I’m thinking too. Same as I told you the other day. Big dreams and small horses don’t mix.’

  ‘I know, I know, Rory. But this hadn’t happened then. I mean, by any standards that was a remarkable performance, regardless of the fact that the jockey finally fell off.’

  ‘The horse is only a novice, Grenville,’ Rory replied, putting his race glasses back in their holster. ‘He was also only carrying around eleven stone today, with Blaze’s allowance taking another seven pounds off his back—’

  ‘I know, Rory, I know.’

  ‘In the race you have in mind he’d be carrying twelve stone with no allowances. If Blaze rides him in a Grade One the horse carries the same weight as the others. But the real point is, they’re both still novices, Grenville, The Enchanted and the boy. Speaking of which, I have to dash off to the hospital – so if you’ll all excuse me?’

  With a doff of his cap, Rory was gone.

  ‘He’s not going to, is he?’ Lynne asked, joining Grenville after Rory had left. ‘He won’t, will he?’

  ‘All it is is an entry, that’s all.’ Grenville sighed as they headed back out on to the course. ‘Just an entry, Linnet. We don’t have to do more than just enter the little horse.’

  ‘Yes, but you could tell by the look on Rory’s face that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, honey.’ Lynne slipped her arm through Grenville’s and smiled up at him.

  ‘We’re the owners. We pay the bills.’

  ‘Rory and his dad – they know all about these things.’

  ‘And we’re learning.’

  ‘You more than anyone, Grenville. You’re becoming a little bit of a turf expert,’ Lynne teased him affectionately. ‘My own little walking, talking Sporting Life.’

  Grenville shrugged. ‘It’s only an entry. At this stage of the proceedings there are going to be all sorts, shapes and sizes entered. So what does it matter? There’s no risk to putting a horse in for a race, is there?’

  ‘Yes, but be honest, Grenville. You don’t think he should be just an entry, do you? You think he should run.’

  Grenville looked down at Lynne, and smiled.

  ‘Chances like this do not come round twice, Lynne,’ he said. ‘Believe me, they don’t.’

  As he headed for the car park, Rory reconsidered the conversation he’d just had and shook his head. He knew perfectly well what Grenville was thinking, but it made no difference. He had no intention of going down that path.

  ‘Mr Rawlins?’ he heard a familiar voice call from behind him. ‘Would it be all right if I came to the hospital with you? I’ve done Boyo and Teddy’s going to box him up. So would it be all right if I came along with you?’

  Looking at Kathleen it was perfectly clear to Rory that he could think of nothing he would like more.

  ‘You’re not suggesting Teddy drives the box back alone, Kathleen, surely?’

  ‘He’s got Julie with him,’ Kathleen replied. ‘They’ll be perfectly all right, because if anything happened Julie knows the ropes. She drives George Clement’s horsebox, after all.’

  ‘In that case, hop in. I’ll be glad of the company.’

  ‘As long as you don’t mind,’ Kathleen said, suddenly sounding a little shy and looking up at Rory from underneath her fringe. ‘I won’t jaw on, or anything. Leave you to your thoughts, and all that kind of thing.’

  ‘You can jaw on as much as you please, Kathleen,’ Rory replied, unlocking the car. ‘As I said, I’d be delighted.’

  He opened the passenger door. Kathleen was about to step in when she saw the inside spilling out towards her, a forest of old racing papers and racecards, sweet and chocolate bar wrappers and empty plastic water bottles.

  ‘Right,’ she said as Rory got in beside her. ‘Since I forgot to give you a Christmas present, to make up I shall spring-clean your car for you.’

  ‘It really isn’t necessary—’

  ‘It really is, Mr Rawlins,’ Kathleen assured him. ‘This is not a car anyone civilised would drive. It must be a health hazard, and we’re not even at the hospital yet.’

  When they arrived they learned that although Blaze had regained consciousness he was still not making much sense. The doctor
in charge told them there should be nothing to worry about, since this was a fairly common symptom of concussion, but even though there appeared to be no fractures they were keeping him in for observation.

  ‘Can we see him?’ Rory enquired. ‘Just to say hello?’

  ‘Of course – but no excitement, please,’ the doctor added after glancing appreciatively at Kathleen.

  When they approached the bed the figure in it looked pathetically small, as if Blaze had been shrunk by the ambulance service.

  ‘Blaze,’ Rory said, raising his voice, as the eyes barely opened. ‘We just thought we’d look in and see how you were.’

  ‘Hi there, Blaze,’ Kathleen said, bending over the figure in the bed and kissing him gently on the forehead, which apart from his eyes was about the only non-bandaged part of Blaze’s handsome face. ‘Haven’t I told you before, this sort of thing just isn’t funny?’

  Blaze stared at them, trying to focus his eyes.

  ‘How’s my horse of Mananan come through the race?’ he enquired. ‘And didn’t I tell you he could fly?’

  ‘He’s come through the race just fine,’ Kathleen said, with a quick glance up at Rory, who was standing on the other side of the bed. She took one of the jockey’s bruised hands in hers. ‘They said no excitement now.’

  ‘The horses of Mananan …’ Blaze murmured.

  ‘You certainly took a terrible smack in the face, you poor lad, did you not?’ Kathleen said quickly. ‘They’re keeping you in until you’re fit for a pretty girl to look at without screaming.’

  ‘He doesn’t know about the horses, though,’ Blaze said, looking at Rory with eyes that Rory could swear had changed colour from the last time he saw them, although being a man he was never too certain of the colour of people’s eyes. ‘You don’t, do you, Stranger?’

  ‘This isn’t a stranger, Blaze,’ Kathleen said. ‘This is Mr Rawlins now. Mr Rawlins trains the horse you were riding, doesn’t he?’

  ‘There was a kingdom below the sea, once,’ Blaze muttered. ‘A long time ago there was a kingdom …’