22
It was the day of the point-to-point and for Dylan it couldn’t come quick enough. Feeling so isolated from Flora was killing him. He longed to be able to get Phoenix’s race over, then he could give Josh his marching orders. Although, strangely enough, when he’d witnessed him and Flora together in the stable yard at work, he had only sensed a coolness between the two, which had him doubting what he had seen that day in the stables. No, he told himself, he’d definitely seen them in a clinch. Plus, Flora had been acting oddly too, kind of secretive; something had to be going on.
As for Flora, she was at breaking point. Her nerves were only just holding out regarding the race she had ahead of her. She yearned for Dylan’s reassurance to calm her, but that obviously had been ruled out, him being unaware of her deception. Guilt had started to set in too, not helping her unease. Had it all been worth it? And had Dylan sussed out something was afoot? Judging by his coldness she strongly suspected so, and was dreading the aftermath once he’d learnt of her dishonesty.
The Cotswold Races and Country Fair were set in the parkland on the banks of the River Severn and showcased the best of British amateur horseracing over the jumps, combined with rural crafts and an action-packed country fair. Along with eight competitive races, visitors also enjoyed a gun dog display, falconry display, hound parade, ferret racing, wood turning, face painting and a bouncy castle. A tented shopping pavilion housed various stalls, from local and artisan food and drink, to homemade crafts and clothing.
With exception to the first two races, this meeting was run entirely for veteran and novice riders. Phoenix had been entered for the third race, which was due to start at 3pm.
The Delany Racing Yard team had arrived early with Phoenix. Flora had made Josh take her riding kit in preparation and she planned to get to the weighing in room with the rest of the jockeys as soon as possible once she had arrived with Dylan. It was all going to be a little tricky, but she was determined to keep a cool head and do this. Shehadto ride Phoenix; nobody knew him like she did.
Accompanying Dylan and Flora, were Gary and Tracy Belcher. The Belchers had invested in Phoenix and together they had formed a partnership, calling themselves “The Last Laugh”. There was meaning behind the name, as the previous owner of Phoenix had callously written him off, after he had flogged the poor horse almost to death as a flat racer. In desperation he had ordered Dylan to train him into winning. Not having the gumption, or tolerance, to realise that the horse was a natural jumper meant that Graham Roper – a cruel ogre of a man – had lost patience and sold him on to Gary Belcher, not knowing that he formed half of the partnership with Dylan. Dylan had told Flora that Roper would rue the day he wrote Phoenix off and hence the name “The Last Laugh”.
Gary and Tracy were fairly new to Treweham village. They came from Lancashire and were true down-to-earth Northerners. A lottery win meant that Gary was able to pack in his job stacking fridges in Iceland and Tracy hers as a care assistant in a nursing home. Whilst Gary had adapted to the good country life, it had taken Tracy a little longer to become accustomed to the new privileged lifestyle she had been thrown into. Gary had excelled in the shooting club he had joined, the other members finding his Northern humour a breath of fresh air. As a result, the Belchers had never been short of dinner and party invitations.
They had been racing before with Dylan and Flora, which was when Dylan had approached Gary to join the partnership and buy Phoenix. Gary had welcomed the opportunity of owning a racehorse and he’d been looking forward immensely to seeing Phoenix race for the first time.
Once they all arrived, Dylan guided them to the marquee overlooking the course, which included the viewing area for the paddock where Phoenix would be. Dylan passed his binoculars to Gary and pointed the horse out.
‘Blimey, he looks in good shape,’ remarked Gary in awe. He still found it hard to believe he was the owner of a racehorse.
‘Yes, we’ve worked very hard on him, haven’t we?’ Dylan turned to Flora who was looking more agitated by the minute.
‘Err… yes. Dylan, I just need to check on something. I’ll be right back,’ and off she went.
‘But—’ Dylan was left in confusion and a sharp pain of dismissal stung him.
Flora pelted to the changing rooms where an even more anxious Josh stood waiting for her. He was clutching her kit and passed it her as soon as she approached him.
‘Quick,’ he hissed, ‘you’ve only just made it.’ Flora hurried as fast as she could to the changing room and scrambled into her silks. She then quickly joined the back of the queue where all the jockeys stood waiting to be weighed. Flora knew she would have to have weights inserted into her saddle, as she was well under the twelve-stone limit. She forced herself to take steady breaths and calm her nerves. Finally, the procedures had been followed and the jockeys were led to join their horses.
Dylan stared at his watch. It was five to three and Phoenix’s race was about to start. Where the hell was Flora? He clenched his jaw in anger, then was distracted by an urgent pull on his arm. It was Josh, looking anxious.
‘What are you doing here?’ rasped Dylan. ‘The race is about to start.’
‘She made me do it,’ babbled Josh, looking genuinely petrified.
Dylan frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Flora, she’s riding Phoenix – she made me promise not to say anything.’
Dylan’s eyes widened, then the race was announced over the speaker. Looking through his binoculars he saw her immediately. He’d recognise that pert bottom anywhere. He gulped his rage. Realisation struck him: so that’s what the secrecy was all about.
‘The other day in the stables, Flora collared me, said she was riding Phoenix and I had to keep schtum.’
Dylan stared angrily at him. ‘I saw you two embracing,’ he said in a low, controlled voice, making Josh even more restless.
‘No! No, it washerhugging me, in gratitude! Honestly—’
Then all heads turned as the race was about to start. Dylan lifted his binoculars again. My God, there she was, his precious Flora, about to jump those fences and race this course. His heart pounded. How had he not guessed? How could he think her capable of cheating on him? A cocktail of emotions flooded through him: relief, fury, but most of all fear. His beautiful, delicate girl was about to race. He knew more than any jockey the dangers of racing, having sustained bad injuries in a fall himself.
They were off. Phoenix shot out like a cork from a champagne bottle.
‘Come on, Phoenix!’ Flora shouted into her horse’s ear, but he’d already found rhythm and was making good stride. She gripped her reins tight as they approached the first fence, willing the horse to take off and glide through the air with ease, as he had in the training yard. Flora dug her heels in and away he went, sailing over the fence like a gazelle with a smooth, flawless landing. Perfect. Phoenix needed little direction. It was as if the horse knew he was born to jump race; it was in his blood.
Gaining stride, Flora found herself sandwiched between the two leading horses and about to face the next jump, which also had a ditch. Desperate for more room she gave Phoenix a tap with the whip and in an instant he was off, shifting up a gear and passing the other horses. He took another mighty leap, leaving Flora breathless, but he landed again effortlessly, easily clearing the open ditch. She knew Phoenix was a quality animal, but she didn’t know he could dothatso naturally: switch into overdrive like some bionic wonder horse.
*
Dylan gripped his binoculars and held his breath. He was astounded at his horse’s performance and Flora’s, truth be told. It was hard to be cross when he was so infinitely proud of her. His chest thumped uncontrollably as they reached yet another fence. It was huge and he winced, barely able to look, as once again they leapt high, clearing it with ease. He swallowed, tears forming in his eyes, as he watched Flora jump again and again until she looked behind her to see the rest of the field so distant they could have been in another race.
Once safely over the line she raised her arms in triumph. Gary and Tracy cheered with elation, the crowd roared with applause, but Dylan was transfixed by the image of Flora standing up in the saddle as if she’d won the Grand National. Memories of his first win came back to him, along with that sensation of utter elation. He so didn’t want to take that from Flora, but then he so didn’t want her to race again. The very notion terrified him. He was torn.
‘Come on, let’s meet them!’ called Gary, barely able to contain himself. Together they weaved through the crowds and finally made it into the winners’ enclosure. There they were, the worthy winners. Dylan couldn’t help but smile to himself. He didn’t know who looked more pleased, Flora or Phoenix, as the pair basked in all the glory. It was as if the horse was saying,“See, look what I can do,”whilst Flora couldn’t stop beaming and hugging him.
Dylan joined them, which brought all the cameras out. Well, it wasn’t every day the former champion jockey was here at the point-to-point races. Flora looked sheepishly into his eyes, waiting for him to speak.
Dylan closed in to kiss her long and hard. The crowd went wild. Then he whispered in her ear, ‘Don’teverdo that to me again.’ He patted Phoenix before he was doused with buckets of water and calmly led out to claps and cheers.
A local brewery presented a case of real ale to the winning yard in each race. Dylan made a point of letting Gary accept theirs, much to his delight. All in all, the day had been a triumph, but Dylan was still feeling unsettled. How was he going to convince Flora not to race again?Couldhe?
