As the runners left the paddock to make their way down to the start, Ben took advantage of the trainer’s pass Fliss had given him and climbed the stairs to the stands in order to get a better view. Axesmith wasn’t due to run until later in the afternoon and, according to the bookies, Mikey’s current mount wasn’t expected to do a lot; but as he rode out on to the turf, settling the horse into an easy canter, Ben was intensely proud of his young half-brother. The long, dispiriting struggle of his school years was behind him. On the back of a horse he was anyone’s equal.
By the time the starter got them settled and running, Fliss had joined Ben and was following Mikey’s progress on the big screen, muttering to herself all the while. To Ben’s eyes, Mikey’s horse seemed to be jumping neatly and holding its own for speed, and as the field rounded the final bend and moved into the home straight, Mikey was sitting fourth or fifth, not more than two lengths off the leader.
‘He’s doing well,’ he remarked to Fliss.
‘He’s doing very well,’ she replied, transferring her gaze from the screen to the track, and there was a strong undercurrent of excitement in her voice.
The eight horses on the track began to string out as the pace increased and, as they settled against the rail, Ben and Fliss saw that Mikey had pulled up to third place. Two more hurdles came and went and suddenly the second-placed horse was falling back and the Castle Ridge runner was neck and neck with the leader.
Ben could sense Fliss’s growing excitement.
‘Don’t let him drift; don’t let him drift. Keep him straight,’ she urged the distant figure.
‘He’s going to do it!’ Ben exclaimed. ‘I think he’s got him!’
‘Come on, Mikey! Come on!’ Fliss cried, jumping up and down as the two duelling thoroughbreds thundered down the last furlong. Her voice rose to a scream, ‘Yes! He’s done it! He’s bloody done it!’ She turned to Ben, half laughing and half crying, and threw her arms round his neck. ‘He was brilliant! Dad’s never going to believe this! That horse has been unplaced so many times we were thinking of renaming him Also Ran! Your brother’s a magician.’
‘So much for your brother-in-law’s prediction,’ Ben observed, as they drew apart.
Fliss began to straighten her jacket and hair. ‘Ray’s the kind of bloke who can’t bear anyone else to get on. He didn’t want Dad to take Mikey on in the first place. Listen, I must go down and walk him in. Are you coming?’
Visions of sidling, jostling thoroughbreds filled Ben’s mind and he said with a smile, ‘No, it’s your moment. You go on. I’ll see Mikey later.’
Fliss fairly skipped down the stairs and Ben watched her make her way through the crowd, acknowledging the congratulations of her many acquaintances. Suddenly, a familiar voice spoke close behind him.
‘I wouldn’t get any ideas in that direction, if I were you.’
He turned to find Belinda Kepple standing close by. Considering her hostility when they had first met, Ben was a little surprised that she should initiate a conversation now.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that the last person who trifled with one of Eddie Truman’s daughters without his approval found himself out of a job and out of the country.’
‘Oh? Who was that?’
‘Can’t remember his name, it was some time ago. He was a jockey from Poland or Czechoslovakia or some such place. I believe Truman found him riding in South Africa and brought him over. He made a lot of noise about him; swore he’d be the next champion jockey. I think it was all a big publicity stunt. Though, as it turned out, he was good, exceptional even – but it didn’t save his bacon when the crunch came. Got caught with his trousers down – literally, so I heard – and Eddie saw red. Threw him out the night before the Derby and made sure he never rode again.’
‘You don’t mean … he kneecapped him?’
Belinda raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, you’ve heard about that then? No, not this time. I meant he never rode here again. The word was that Eddie got him deported, somehow; sent him back to wherever he came from. I don’t know if that’s true, but nothing would surprise me about that man.’
‘When was this?’
‘Oh, Lord – I don’t know! Years ago, when Helen was about fifteen or sixteen. He wasn’t the man Eddie wanted for her; he had big plans. Though I can’t help thinking she’d have been better off with her foreigner than she is with that miserable bastard she’s got now!’
‘I’d never realised there were so many foreigners in racing. Half the lads at Castle Ridge only speak pidgin English and the other half are Irish.’
Belinda nodded. ‘It’s the same everywhere.’
‘Helen’s jockey – the one that Eddie threw out – was that the year they won the Derby?’
‘Yes, that’s right. With Massingham. Everybody felt so sorry for the boy, he was a likeable lad. But listen, all I’m saying is, just be wary around Eddie. He’s not the man to get on the wrong side of.’
Ben was puzzled.
‘So why the warning? You don’t pretend to like Eddie Truman and I didn’t get the impression you were a particular fan of mine, either. What’s it to you if he and I have a bust-up?’
Belinda pursed her lips.
‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because Fliss is a nice girl, and I wouldn’t want to see her hurt; or perhaps it’s because every time I look at you I see your father, and he and I go back quite a way.’
Ben looked at the secret smile lurking behind her eyes and was hit by a certainty.
‘You’re lovers,’ he said. ‘Good God!’
‘That’s a long way from complimentary,’ Belinda protested.
‘No, I’m sorry. It’s just – you know, parents and all that.’
‘Life doesn’t end at forty, you know,’ she laughed.
‘So, are you still together?’
‘On and off. Your father doesn’t like to be pinned down. I see him for a bit and then I don’t. It’s not what I’d choose but it’s that or nothing. God, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s absolutely none of your business.’
‘Mm. Did I tell you I’ve been offered a job as gossip columnist for Racing Life?’ he asked, tongue-in-cheek.
‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a obnoxious young man? Look, I’ve got horses to see to. Remember me to Johnnie, if you see him before I do.’
‘Yeah, likewise.’
Belinda turned away and then turned back briefly. ‘Oh, and by the way, tell that brother of yours if he ever wants a change of scenery, he can come and ride for me.’
‘Thanks,’ Ben said, surprised. ‘I’ll tell him.’
For a minute or two he stood leaning on the rail and watching the endlessly shifting crowds, his mind occupied with what he had just learned. Had she really thought there was something developing between Fliss and himself? Did Fliss think so? He hoped not; he’d certainly done nothing to convey that message. Attractive as she undoubtedly was, she was too young; besides, he was very happy with Lisa. Wasn’t he?
He remembered the warm contentment of that morning.
Yes, he was happy.
Why, then, did he constantly shy away from thoughts of permanency? Was it a hereditary thing? Belinda Kepple’s description of her relationship with his father had struck an uncomfortable chord. But then his father had more excuse than Ben did. He had two broken marriages behind him; twice he’d been left. And the hell of it was, Ben firmly believed, that if it hadn’t been for the accident that killed his brother, his parents would have stayed together to this day. Now, even after all these years, a shadow of guilt passed over him. One simple, stupid suggestion had started off the tragic chain of events on that morning nearly twenty years ago; one simple suggestion – and he had made it.
Giving himself a mental shaking, Ben moved away from the railings and descended the stairs to ground level. Suddenly the people and the noise grated on him, and he decided to walk up the course to the starting point for the next race, using the exercise and the col
d wind to clear his mind. There was a stone building beside which he could shelter and watch them jump off.
There were fifteen runners in the next race, and they began to pass him when he was still some fifty or sixty yards from the start; tall leggy thoroughbreds, sleek coated and handsome, blowing ephemeral plumes of steam into the cold air, their jockeys not much more than dabs of colour on their backs.
Mikey was the last but one to go by, calmly cantering past on board a light-framed chestnut gelding. He didn’t appear to notice Ben’s trudging figure, and Ben did nothing to try and attract his attention, aware that any undue movement might cause the highly-strung animal to shy.
Looking back down the course Ben could see a dark bay approaching, almost broadside on, tossing and diving its head in an effort to loosen its rider’s grip. Even as he watched, the animal appeared to stumble and then, in one continuous movement, leapt into the air, twisting its body like a corkscrew.
The jockey had no chance. Hopelessly off-balance, his precarious hold was shaken loose as soon as the horse’s feet hit the ground again and he pitched sideways in a flash of blue and yellow silks, the reins still clutched firmly in his hand.
At this point, the horse returned its attention to fulfilling its original ambition – that of reaching his companions as fast as he could – but the jockey had other ideas. Rolling over and coming swiftly to his feet, he tried to dig his heels into the turf and bring the horse to a standstill, but the bay was having none of it and, after a few stumbling steps, its rider tripped and measured his length on the grass.
‘Let go of the reins,’ Ben urged under his breath. ‘Let go!’
Maybe the jockey was an apprentice, like Mikey, to whom every chance to race was precious, or maybe he was just naturally tenacious; whatever the reason he hung on grimly, bumping and sliding across the ground as the horse, alarmed now, broke into a shambling trot, peering sideways at the horror beside it.
‘Oh, let go, you stupid idiot!’ Ben pleaded, looking desperately up and down the course in the hope of seeing someone running to the jockey’s aid.
The nearest possible hope was still some forty yards distant.
There was no one but Ben.
As if to force his hand the horse, still moving sideways, but faster now, was veering in Ben’s direction; without conscious decision he ducked under the white plastic rail and walked calmly out on to the track.
In most cases, it would probably have been a vain attempt. The horse would have seen him coming, swerved around him and continued on its merry way, but this one was preoccupied with the trauma of having something dragging behind it, and didn’t seem to notice Ben at all.
With a strange feeling of detachment, Ben reached out for the horse’s offside rein. The moment his fingers closed round the leather the bay threw up its head and ran backwards but, with the combined weight of the two men, it wasn’t going anywhere. It stopped, dropping gobs of white foam from its open mouth and staring down at Ben with white-rimmed eyes.
‘Thanks, mate.’ The jockey was on his feet in no time and moving towards the animal’s head. ‘Couldn’t give me a leg up, could you?’
‘Sure,’ Ben heard himself say, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
As the slight figure beside him took hold of the reins, the horse, baulked of the chance to go forward, or even sideways, reverted to running round them both in tight circles. Ben felt the beginnings of panic, and had there been anywhere for him to go, he would probably have gone – whatever the jockey might have thought of him – but the animal was effectively blocking all avenues of retreat at once.
‘Just put me up,’ the jockey said over his shoulder, bending his left leg at the knee.
It had been years since Ben had legged anyone into the saddle but the skill seemed to have stayed with him. The next moment the jockey dropped lightly into the tiny flat saddle and pushed his feet into the stirrups.
‘OK?’ Ben asked.
‘OK.’ The blue and yellow silk-covered head nodded. Ben released the reins and the horse was away, trotting on a tight rein to join its fellows at the start.
Ben ducked back under the rails and turned to lean on them, breathing deeply to settle his racing pulse; no longer anxious to reach the starting area and the company of people who might notice his perspiring skin and shaking hands.
As he stared down at the lush green turf beneath his feet, he remembered Jakob Varga’s parting words. Fear itself isn’t weakness, you know. The weakness is not admitting it.
Well, he wasn’t going to deny it any more. What if that had been Mikey dragging behind that horse? This time he’d forced himself to act but it had been a close-run thing. Finally he was prepared to admit that if he couldn’t conquer his fear, he should find himself another line of work.
10
BEN THOUGHT HE was going to pass out.
Melles. Big-chested. Just at that moment the huge grey shire seemed to fill the stable.
Ben began seriously to doubt his own resolve. He’d come to the stables looking for Jakob, and had approached Melles’ box on nothing more than a whim. He knew the heavy horse was possibly the most placid animal in the Csikós’ string and, as the long head reached forward to greet him, ears pricked, he steeled himself to rub the soft muzzle with his hand. His pulse rate moved up a notch and his breath shortened, but he handled it, and when Melles lost interest and returned to his hay net, Ben screwed up his courage, unbolted the door and stepped inside. The horse turned his head and regarded him with mild curiosity, completely unaware of what it was costing Ben to remain within the stable.
If he’d stayed by the door, he would probably have been all right, but Ben was determined to test himself. Three or four smooth paces brought him to the horse’s side and once more he reached out to stroke the animal, this time on the powerful crested neck, and once again – with slow deep breaths – he coped. A small swell of triumph rose within him.
And then Melles moved.
Suddenly a towering mountain of horseflesh blocked Ben’s path to the door. He hadn’t moved particularly fast but, somehow, by the time Ben realised his intent, it was already too late.
The loose box wasn’t very big and with eighteen hands of shire blocking the light from the half-door, its dimensions shrank rapidly to claustrophobic. All the horror of the accident returned to stifle Ben. His vision started to break up and his chest contracted until he just couldn’t seem to get his breath at all. Once again he felt the weight of the horse pressing him into the bodywork of the lorry and saw beside him the white, lifeless face of the person he held most dear: his twin brother, Alan.
Now, through his panic, Ben became aware of approaching footfalls; the quick, light tread that was characteristic of many of the troupe. Maybe that was why Melles had gone to the door. Pray God it wasn’t Ferenc! In spite of – and also because of – his panic, Ben’s pride recoiled from the idea of asking him for help.
A soft voice spoke to the horse in a tongue that could have been Hungarian, Romani, or a mixture of both, and Ben sent thanks winging upwards.
‘Jakob?’
‘Ben?’ The answering voice sounded unsure.
The big grey moved back a step in response to a hand on his nose, and Jakob’s lined but infinitely welcome face peered in at Ben.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m OK.’ Weak, nauseous and sweating from head to toe, but basically OK.
Jakob opened the door and came in, pushing Melles back another step or two. The big grey head dropped to nuzzle his hands for titbits.
‘You shouldn’t be in here. We have insurance, but not for this. Not for you on your own.’
Ben slipped past him and out into the yard. It was raining, a slow steady drizzle, which matched his mood.
Something of it must have shown in his face, for as Jakob shut the door and turned, he looked sharply at Ben.
‘You are all right?’
Ben forced a smile and nodded. ‘Yeah. Sorry about
the insurance. You know I wouldn’t have claimed, anyway.’
‘I know. And Melles is not the horse to harm you. Unless, of course, he had stood on your foot. Tamás said you were looking for me?’ The lift in his voice turned it into a question.
‘Yes …’ Ben hesitated, not sure if he could go through with it now.
‘You want to ride again.’
‘Yes. That is … I did. Now I’m not sure.’
‘Deep down, you do. Or you wouldn’t be here,’ Jakob said simply. He put his arm round the younger man’s shoulders. ‘Come. First we will drink coffee and you will tell me from where comes this great fear.’
The canteen area was deserted when Jakob and Ben reached it; the van closed and many of the chairs and tables stacked against the side.
‘You’re moving today,’ Ben said, remembering.
‘This afternoon. Come on in. I’ll make us a drink.’
Jakob opened a door in the end of the catering wagon and they both went inside. Jakob immediately began to busy himself while Ben leaned against the worktop and watched, but the link between his eyes and his brain was only superficial; his thoughts were firmly elsewhere.
‘If you want to beat this, you have to tell me everything,’ Jakob said after a moment. ‘You’ve kept it inside for too long. Fear thrives in dark, secret places. It grows bigger and bigger until you can’t see the edges any more and you feel that if it escaped it would take control. But that’s not true, Ben. You need to share it – to drag it into the open and face it, and then it will start to shrink. I promise you it is so.’
Jakob’s phrasing was melodramatic but, nevertheless, Ben knew he was right.
Knowing it was one thing, but overcoming the habit of a lifetime was quite another. For the first fourteen years of his life he’d had Alan to confide in – who understood him as only a twin could. But after his death there had been no one; his parents had drawn inexorably and bitterly apart, and neither had much time for their remaining son except as a weapon with which to wound the other. Sharing his worries was a luxury he had learned to live without. Now, he wasn’t even sure he could.
Outside Chance Page 18
