“I like that. I’d also like it to show we’re inclusive.” I add.
“That’s not a bad idea, almost a USP. Something that sets you apart from the other clubs.”
“Yeah, something like that,” I agree. Oscar’s words spark the beginnings of an idea that I’d like to discuss with Gabriel, but it can wait until after the tournament.
After Oscar leaves I still can’t settle, so I walk down to the barn. The horses we’ll be playing tomorrow aren’t being worked today but they are getting a check-over just to make sure they’re all okay to play.
Alfie is leading Arrow up the central aisle of the barn, and when he reaches the end he walks back. Then he repeats the process in trot. I spot Cole, the vet who’s watching out for any signs of lameness. His opinion is important as it’ll decide which horses can or can’t play.
“Hi, Cole,” I say, going over to him. Cole is also local, but I don’t know him very well. He’s a few years older than me, so I barely remember him from school, and I’ve been away for most of the last decade. Though I’ve met him on the couple of times he’s visited since I’ve been here. He ignores me while he’s watching Arrow move, but once he’s finished he straightens up.
“Hey, Charley,” he greets me. “He looks fit and well. I’ll just check his heart and he should be good for tomorrow.” He places the end of a stethoscope on Arrow’s ribcage as he listens. “Yes, he’s fine.” He nods to Alfie who leads Arrow away. Milly is waiting to bring the next horse.
“Thanks, Cole, “ I say. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Cole will be on site for the games in case we need any veterinary support.
I just get a faint wave as I leave, his attention already on the next horse. I’ve invited him and his husband Johan to the awards ballon Saturday night, but I don’t think he likes socialising much as I got a very non-committal answer.
When I get back to the centre I do one more final walk round, suffering Felix’s knowing smirk. The more I get to know him, the more impressed I am with his organisational skills, and I start to relax a little more about tomorrow. I work on my laptop until Gabriel comes back. He’s spent the afternoon with Andrés, setting out signage for the event from all the major roads and through the village to the centre, making sure the parking is set out for the horseboxes and cars.
We walk through to the staffroom where Andrés and Simon are waiting. Simon has his phone out.
“I’m done with prepping food tonight, unless anyone else wants to do it. I’m ordering pizza.”
“Pizza sounds perfect,” I say. I have no desire to stand and cook either. The others agree. He finishes with the app within a minute and we all head home. We eat round at Andrés and Simon’s house, with Andrés playing the piano for us afterwards until I start to nod off.
“C’mon, sleepyhead,” Gabriel says, helping me up out of a very comfortable chair. We stagger next door, and after setting the alarm for earlier than normal, Gabriel folds himself around me and I fall into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
GABRIEL
There’s something about the early morning of a match day that sets it apart from the everyday. It’s not just the bustle of last minute preparations—horse fence lines being erected, horseboxes arriving and their occupants being unloaded, snorting and shaking their heads with excitement as they know what’s to come. It’s something else, in the air quality, even the smell of it feels special and I love it. I live for moments like this, and now this is my dream come true. I stand on the small rise that separates the land where the centre sits from the rolling parkland down to the main house. Originally landscaped to preserve the view from the house, it serves as a perfect vantage point for the majority of the estate. I can see down to the new barns as well where I know Kirsty, Alfie, and Milly will be getting our horses ready for our game later. I can see Charley moving some tables out onto the restaurant terrace overlooking the match field, while some of the wait staff are erecting parasols. The early mist will burn off soon and we’re expecting a warm day. Charley, in beige trousers and a light blue shirt, looksbeautiful as always, and I’ll go and help him in a minute, after I’ve checked that everything is going smoothly in the visiting horses area.
I can’t resist sending him a quick text, though.
Morning, Sunshine
It’s not like I didn’t say good morning to him in better ways when we woke up in his bed earlier, but that was hours ago.
I watch him pull out his phone and read the message. He scans around; he knows me well enough to realise I’ll be visible and watching him. His eyes lift to where I’m standing, and then drop to his phone.
Morning, Angel. Stop admiring the view and come help. Bring coffee.
So bossy now. Yes, I love grown-up Charley very much. I laugh and pocket my phone before making my way down the rise and back to work.
Three hours later I swing myself into Merlin’s saddle, riding over to where Andrés, Linden, and Charley are walking their horses in a line, discussing tactics. Linden and Andrés are talking about what they’ve seen of the play between the first two teams. I join them and we turn the horses back toward the field ready to play.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Linden glances across the field at the opposing team. I follow his line of sight. I should’ve known there was only one person who’d make Linden say that—Xander Dubarry, a former Woodcoutts boy like us, but also the one person Linden hates in this world. I thought he was more of a rugby player than polo, so I had no idea he playedfor the Dockington Diamonds, a club across the county. When they entered the tournament, the players weren’t listed in case they needed to substitute anyone. But I wouldn’t have refused him entry. Linden might hate him, and he might be a surly guy—or rather that’s how I remember him from school—but he is entitled to play.
“Easy, Lin, just ignore him and play,” I say.
“He just better stay away from me,” Linden spits and moves to the end of the lineup in the centre. Andrés looks at me with a quizzical expression, silently asking if this is going to be a problem, and I shrug. I don’t know. I haven’t seen Xander in years, probably not since school, and I don’t know the full details of why Linden hates him. We’ll just have to wait and see. I can’t think any more about it as the whistle is blown and the ball is thrown in. The next seven and a half minutes is a flurry of pounding hooves, the ball being hit from one end of the pitch to the other. Charley makes a great pass to Andrés, who scores a goal, and by the end of chukker we have three goals to their two. Linden is quiet as we swap horses in the few minutes before the next chukker, so I hope that means he’s managing to keep a lid on his feelings for now. Almost before we have time to take a breath we start again. This chukker evens things, and by half time we’re five goals each.
Nobody scores in the third, so when we take the field for the fourth and final chukker it’s all to play for. It’s intense, no one giving any leeway, and we battle it out. By the time we reach the final minute we’ve both scored another goal so it’s still level. Linden has the ball and is riding up the left side of the field. I see Xander’s horse galloping alongside him. There are rules about cutting across a horse’s line, which are designed to keep people and horses safe, and Xander is close to doing that but so farhasn’t fouled. Andrés is beside me, muttering under his breath in Spanish as he watches, ready to spring forward if needed. In the last few seconds Xander manages to swipe the ball, sending it back down the field. We all set off after it, but one of his team reaches it first and sends it through the goal just as the whistle goes. We’ve lost. I reach Linden just after Andrés.
“Did you see that? He fouled,” Linden snarls.
“No he didn’t, Lin. It was fair play.” I might not like the result, but that’s polo.
