Extract from Gala Day

It was gone eleven when the door-knocker sounded. Pete stiffened instantly.

It came again; a gentle, hesitant tap. Unthreatening. The momentary fear subsided and he rose slowly, surprised out how set he had become. Out in the hall, he allowed himself a quick glance through the spy-hole, but already had the door unlocked as he recognised his visitor.

‘Sophie!’

‘Pete, I’m so sorry, it’s far too late, I shouldn’t disturb you...’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

He ushered her in and she stood uncomfortably in the living room, suddenly more convinced than ever that she had made a mistake. Pete watched her patiently, unable to guess at the reason for so unexpected a visit.

‘I don’t really know what I’m doing here myself,’ Sophie admitted, as though reading his mind. ‘I’ve just had a bit of a barney with Roddy. I thought I might be able to come and tell you about it. But I feel a bit of a lemon now.’

‘Sit yourself down and tell me all about it. I could use the company.’

She smiled. ‘I forgot you were footloose and fancy free for a while. Not all it’s cracked up to be, is it?’

‘Tell me about it! I have to make my own tea in the morning!’

‘Oh well, you’ll appreciate it all the more when she gets back. Any postcards yet?’

Pete shook his head.

‘I’m thinking of joining her! But Australia isn’t quite far enough away!’ The joke hid her nerves, but Pete wasn’t fooled.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked gently, ‘Is he there? Do you want me to go round?’

‘Oh, no; nothing so dramatic. In fact, it’s a bit pathetic, really.’ Much more pathetic, she felt now, than she was ever prepared to let him know. She blushed at her own stupidity; and Pete smiled.

‘Just a tiff?’

‘I suppose so. Dominic and I didn’t have tiffs.’ She smiled. ‘We didn’t talk. I suppose I’m not very used to relationships yet.’

‘Don’t trivialise it. You wouldn’t have come round if it wasn’t important to you.’

It was very important. But Pete couldn’t offer the escape she had sought.

‘It seemed so at the time,’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘Roddy wants me to go to Deauville with him for the weekend. And I refused. And he issued an ultimatum.’

‘Well, it might not be the most original advice in the world, but is he worth it?’

‘That’s the trouble. I think he is.’

‘Then why not go? You can’t stay faithful to a memory forever, Sophie.’

‘I can’t go racing, Pete.’

‘Roddy’s not insensitive. He won’t expect you to. There’s the Sales and the beach and the night clubs. You’ll have a great time, believe me; it’ll do you the world of good. And if you hate it, it’s just for a weekend, after all.’

She gave a laugh, in agreement; and wished that she could tell him the truth. She didn’t need this caring confidante. What she needed was the public persona. It had been a final straw to clasp at. But no more than that.

Relaxing visibly, she began to take in the room, aware that it was somehow different. The shelves were bare of the usual clutter of ornaments.

‘The cats!’ she exclaimed with sudden realisation. ‘Are you having them cleaned? You’d better have them back up before Barbara gets back!’

Something in Pete’s expression made her bite her lip. Immediately, her own troubles were forgotten.

‘She isn’t coming back, is she? Oh, Pete. I’m so sorry; I had no idea... ’

He made a gesture, as though to say it didn’t matter. But it wasn’t so simple to put into words.

‘I’ve told no one yet. Can’t face it... ’

He stood up, for the sake of it, and went out to the kitchen; offering tea as an excuse and not waiting for her to decline it. She followed him out and stood to one side as he went to the fridge.

‘Shit! No milk, I’m afraid. Forgot to get any in. I’ve been doing some low weights lately.’

‘It’s completely empty, Pete,’ Sophie said with concern, ‘It shouldn’t be empty. I know you’ve been riding winners.’

He smiled ruefully. ‘Somebody must have drunk it, then, eh?’

He grinned, suddenly, at her dismay and a little of his former facade crept back, despite himself. He winked at her.

‘Come on, Sophie, I’m not such a sad loser yet. I gave it to the neighbours. Honest.’ He could see that she remained unconvinced. The brashness faded once more. ‘Okay, so I am a sad loser. I came in; and her things were gone; and there was no milk in the fridge and I really didn’t want to look at bottles of Cliquot and Lanson. So I took them next door. Leave the rest in the weighing room. Sit here at night, sober and miserable and doing my best not to go upstairs to bed...’

‘Oh, Pete...’

‘You don’t take milk anyway, do you?’

‘I tried to keep everything out of the house. I learned to live without it.’ She smiled. ‘I still go without, though there’s no need, really.’

‘Yeah? I can’t handle it myself. I didn’t forget, by the way. But if it was there, I’d lash it in! Black tea and coffee? Urgghh!’

They both laughed and sat down at the table, waiting for the kettle to boil.

‘Actually, there are a few crates of bubbly still down in the basement, if you’d prefer a drink?’

Sophie shook her head.

‘The buggers never give us scotch, do they?! Now there’s a drink I could do with right now.’

‘Then it’s for the best, Pete. What are you wasting for, anyway? Anything specific?’

‘More bloody rides!’ He laughed. ‘Your brother keeps laying them out for handicaps and I’m doing the donkey work, getting them in at the lowest possible weight, and losing the ride that matters as a result! So I reckon if I can ride at, say, eight two, I’ll get to keep the bulk of them.’ He stood up. ‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Whichever. Tea, in preference.’

‘It all tastes like boiling water to me! Tea it is, then.’ He poured two mugs and stabbed at the teabags carelessly. ‘I’ve always done eight four, no problem. You wouldn’t think those last two pounds would be such buggers.’

‘You’re fairly stocky, can’t you sweat it off?’

‘That’s how I kept at eight four!’ He set the mugs down on the table and sat back down. ‘There’s a natural minimum, Sophie-Suds, and we can’t do a thing about it.’

‘You haven’t called me that for too long.’

‘Yeah. I did think you were taking an awful long time to get your life back. Two years; seemed a hell of a time. And now... I can’t see myself ever getting over this. Two years, twenty years... it doesn’t mean anything any more.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘No.’ He smiled. ‘You know, anyway. Been there, done that. A bit harder for you, too. No gradual progression towards the end. Just, bang!’ He turned the mug around a couple of times. ‘Just bang...’

‘Did you see it coming?’

‘Not really. We were comfortable. Like an old married couple. Well, I guess it has been ten years; but I mean like an old married couple. And then, when we came back from Queensland, it was gone. Knowing what she was going to say before she’d said it; knowing what she was going to do before she’d done it. Gone. Like living with a new person. Still Barbara; but not my Barbara. I think I knew I’d lost her. I still can’t fathom why it’s come as such a surprise.’

‘I think that’s harder than your sudden bang theory. I never lost him, you see. I didn’t have to say goodbye.’

‘Oh God! This is morbid, Sophie! Did you want to look at the tape of this afternoon’s racing?’

‘Love to. Where were you?’

‘Pontefract. Tell me you miss it!’

‘I miss them all. But I couldn’t watch again; not knowing what I could see...’

Pete raised a hand in protest. ‘Morbid again!’

She laughed, and followed him through to the living room.

‘This one’s safe. Vetted it and everything. The three fifteen’s a bit of a nightmare; and the four forty-five was a bastard. But no spills.’

‘Any winners?’

‘None; unless you count morally. I should have had the seller. The infamous four forty-five. Terry and Chris worked a blinder on me and I didn’t see daylight till the winner had pulled up! The bastards had fallen out and rode to beat each other all afternoon.’

‘I used to love it when they did that!’

‘Oh yeah, great stuff. Specially if you’re caught in the firing line. Terry was on a ho-hoper. Any day but a work day and he’d have let me through. But he wouldn’t get off Chris’ heels!’

‘We used to check the car park religiously on a work morning,’ Sophie reflected. ‘One car, no arguments, no cat-and-mouse tactics. But both cars there and we’d know we were in for a treat! Dominic would alter his entire riding plans on the strength of it.’

‘Wish I had. Anyway, see for yourself.’ He stuck the video in and settled back to watch it.

‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ Sophie said guiltily, ‘it’s far too late.’

‘Better than going to bed. Does it get any easier?’

‘No.’

‘Thought not.’

‘Did you know; when she actually left?’

‘Kind of. Wouldn’t admit it, I guess. She kept going on and on about it. Her whole family were there. Nothing worse than the recently converted. Zealous. Why don’t you come over? Why don’t you come over? It’s not like we hadn’t tried. But honestly, Soph’, could you see me riding permanently out there? Look at the bloody video. That’s me, the little European guy balanced on the withers. I stuck out like a sore thumb in Queensland. Not my style; not my scene.’ He grinned. ‘Not even any decent racing! Sydney has the best purses. All they were offering us were the bloody beaches! I’m a jockey, not a beach-bum. I don’t ever want to retire. I certainly don’t want to retire while I can still ride.’

‘Not even enough to ride out there for the winter?’

‘Well, I thought so, at first. We’ll see them every winter, I said. More than what most families get to do. And then she kept saying about her sister’s shop. How she’d always wanted something like it herself. A chance to do something of her own. If she wanted a job, I wouldn’t have stopped her. No reason why she had to stay home each day.’

‘Except to sit by the phone,’ Sophie pointed out.

Pete grimaced. ‘Umm. You tend to forget, sometimes. Anyway, I said I wasn’t going to talk about it.’

‘Who’s that chestnut on your inside? Is that Bob, riding?’

Pete studied the screen. ‘Yeah; Bob... sorry, Soph’, I’ll have to look it up.’ He fumbled on the coffee table beside him for a racecard.

‘It’s running through for third,’ Sophie said.

‘Oh, that’s right. That’s that colt of Tim Bradley’s. The one out of that good racemare he used to train. Bob rode that for third today. Can’t think of the little beggar’s name. He ran a nice race though, didn’t he?’

‘Certainly. He caught my eye. He’ll win next time out. Tim would put you up, if you asked?’

Pete looked at the screen with renewed interest. ‘Yeah, I guess he would. I have ridden for him, from time to time. Never ridden a winner for him yet. And Bob wouldn’t necessarily be available again. Not at poncey little tracks like Pontefract.’ He made a mental note. ‘Thanks, Soph’, I’ll give him a ring when I see it going again.’

‘Old habits die hard.’

He smiled at her. ‘You miss it.’

The tape ended, an afternoon’s racing condensed into twelve minutes of action.

‘I do miss it,’ Sophie admitted.

‘She said it was just a holiday,’ Pete said, ‘I knew it was a reccy’. We’d only been back a few weeks, but she booked up for another trip over. Chester week. And you talk about sitting by the phone! The one time she could have really got the call and she was in bloody Australia!’ He smiled. ‘It’s not funny, is it? She only came back to get her things. And that’s it. Ten years down the pan.’