Blind Beauty (15 page)

“That's Lukey using up his energy,” Jimmy said happily. The big bay horse had white lines of sweat on his neck already, a bad sign. Maurice wouldn't like that.

“That's in our favour, at least,” Peter said. He threw the rug back on and fastened the roller. Buffoon was number five.

They took him back into the paddock and after a few minutes in the crush the jockeys started to come out. Tom winkled his way towards them and ran his eyes critically over the horse he was to ride.

“He doesn't look too bad now. Settled enough anyway.”

“Well, let's keep our fingers crossed,” Peter said. “He's not eaten up, that's the worry.”

He legged Tom into the saddle.

“Let's get going. It's all OK once you're out there,” Tom said. “I'm still glad it's this one I'm riding.”

Tessa could feel the tension rising by the minute. They had to lead out on to the course in number order, no mean feat getting organized as the stewards barked orders. Jimmy came with her, although Buffoon was still calm, and Tessa was glad to have the company, feeling extremely inexperienced amongst this impressive company. Now, when they came out on to the course, Buffoon took hold and dragged her forward, but Tom had a hold of him, and stroked his neck soothingly.

“Not yet, old fellow. We've got a parade first. Then you can go.”

Most horses got impatient as soon as they were on the course, and the parade was a nightmare of plunging, trained-to-the-minute horseflesh, being forced into a straight line, led by a couple of retired winners who were the worst behaved of the lot. The crowd loved it, as the commentator rolled out the names one by one. Tessa looked up and saw Tom's face taut with anticipation, pale and spark-eyed. As the first horse turned and was let go to canter down, Buffoon started to pull and prance. Tessa hung on grimly.

“He feels good,” Tom said.

“He's forgotten that wretched pony,” Jimmy said, and laughed. “Let him go, Tessa.”

Tessa unclipped the lead and Buffoon gave a great leap forward. Tom went with him, balanced and secure, and Tessa and Jimmy watched the familiar red hindquarters pound away down the course. Now the anxieties were forgotten and Tessa felt all her old optimism come flooding back. Anything could happen! In the Grand National, that was the norm. It wasn't like other races.

They retreated off the course and fought their way up to the corner of the stand where Peter stood in the crush. It was hard to move and they could see little, but at least there was a huge television screen which was showing the action. Horses were all over the course, some still going down and some coming back, having had their pipe-opener down as far as the first jump. Now the tapes were being stretched across for the start and the horses were beginning to circle round in readiness.

Tessa stood with the two brothers, feeling herself start to tremble as the horses lined up. The crowd hushed. Tessa could see Buffoon, not pressed into the front, but lined up around the middle.

“They're under starter's orders!”

Straggling across the whole width of the course the untidy line began to move forward. The sun came out from behind a cloud and gleamed on the bright colours. The tapes sprang up. The crowd's roar went up – “They're off!” – and seemed to power the field with its breath, blasting them into the bend at what seemed a terrifying pace.

So fast! Tessa knew it was always a scramble to see light for the first obstacle in such a large field: to fall at the first was a disappointment too far! But it was hard to catch sight of the Cressington colours in the mêlée. Peter had his binoculars up but his fingers were trembling as much as Tessa's. All they could do was listen for possible fallers over the commentary – two at the first but not Buffoon – then none at the second and on to the big ditch which was a tough one. But now Tessa could see Buffoon, well-placed by Tom to avoid trouble, and she saw his huge jump, so big she was afraid for a moment that Tom was unseated. But no, it had gained him several lengths and he was coasting now, still in the middle.

It seemed easier now the fraught start was over and the first few jumps cleared… Survival was all now, and winning a remote dream as, perhaps, it always had been. Anything could happen in this race. The fear and doom was replaced by pure excitement and the joy of seeing their horse taking these big jumps apparently in his stride.

Peter said, “If he doesn't make it this year, there's always next! He's loving it. He's an Aintree horse!”

Buffoon soared over Becher's, landing so far out that he went right up the field. But at the Canal turn he lost it again by his ungainliness. Smaller, nippier horses slipped up his inside while Tom had to steer his big mount steadily round to keep him balanced, losing ground. San Lucar was running a blinder out in front, galloping relentlessly and jumping fast. Tessa ground her teeth, thinking of Maurice's adrenalin running up in his champagne box… To have all that money at stake must make it terrible, she thought. As if it wasn't enough just to love your horse, your heart in your mouth for his bravery, testing it, your own heart thumping in tune. “Why do we do this?” Peter said out loud, but he was laughing. All the distress of the past few days was quite forgotten.

When the field came down towards the stands on the first circuit they were beginning to string out. A group of six or so were bunched in front, led by San Lucar, and then a straggle to another bunch amongst which was Buffoon. Tom had got him on the inside now, saving ground, and he seemed to be going very easily, his long stride making him look relaxed compared with some of the others. As they came to the biggest jump on the course, the Chair, in front of the stands, Tessa found herself shaking again. She saw Tom sit down and drive, asking him, and Buffoon flew, once more landing well out. He danced over a fallen jockey, gathered his long legs together and powered on.

“He's a natural,” Jimmy said. “Whoever'd have thought it?”

They went past towards the water-jump, right in front of where they were standing… close enough now to see that Buffoon was pulling quite hard, to see the grimace on Tom's face as the horse took off a full stride too soon and sailed over the water with another vast jump. Now he was closing on the leading bunch, belting round the bend near the start and out into the country again on the second circuit. Behind them on the wind came the receding frenzy of pounding hooves and the cries of stable lads trying to catch loose horses pulling up near the stables. Tessa tried to calm herself, but it was hard to stand still, breathe, not have hysterics. Just to stay sane … Even Jimmy was showing signs of excitement.

“He's doing you proud, Tessa. Whatever happens, he's shown class.”

Bechers loomed again. Tessa watched the television screen and saw San Lucar go down on his knees on landing. His jockey clutched frantically at the horse's ears but Lukey ducked his head again, the jockey flew off over his shoulder and the big horse continued alone.

Tessa screamed with joy. Buffoon flew over, making the jump look like a pole on the ground.

“Well, that's the opposition gone. It's anybody's now,” Peter said.

The field was now well and truly strung out. Out in the far country the spruce flew from the big hedges as tired horses ploughed through them. Buffoon was now in the leading group, with only three horses ahead of him. Tessa was unashamedly clutching Jimmy's arm, but he said quietly to her, “Don't bank on it, Tessa. This is where three days without food will find him out.”

All the horses were tired now, jumping raggedly, their jockeys holding them together. Tom was sitting quietly, niggling with his heels, but Tessa could see that the big horse was failing, the heart going out of him. His stamina, his great strength, had been sapped by the misery of the past three days. He came round the home turn and into the long straight to the finish, but three other horses were in front of him and going farther away, and as he struggled in their wake two more overtook him. Tessa's heart died with him and the tears ran down her cheeks, but she was smiling at the same time for his bravery. He had given his all. Tom did not ask him for any more, but just held him together to help him over the last two jumps, going for the big holes cut out by his predecessors. The horse came home with his ears pricked, loping slowly up the run-in to finish seventh.

They all ran out on the course to meet him. Not winning did not matter at all any more. The horse had done brilliantly.

“My God, I reckon he could have won! If that damned pony had stayed around!”

Peter was his old self, all the worries of the past few days rubbed out. Tessa was dancing, hugging the sweaty neck, hugging Tom as he slipped wearily from the saddle.

“What a ride! He was great, really great!”

Tom tugged off his saddle and the cloths, his face wreathed in smiles. Peter, remembering his duties, was looking round for the Cressingtons, but there was no sign of them in the crush, so he turned back to the horse, patting his neck, looking him over for injury.

“He could have won, I reckon,” Tom said, “without that Lucky business. Next year, eh?”

“Next year. I'm booking you now,” Peter said.

“I made the right choice. What a bollocking Ferdy's going to get from our friend Morrison! I wouldn't be in his shoes now!” He turned back to Buffoon and kissed him on the nose. “He's a wonder, Tess! And you too – such faith!” And he gave her a kiss too, gathered up his gear and went off to weigh in.

“He gave him a great ride,” Jimmy said.

A lot of people were standing round, gawping and eavesdropping, and now one of them came forward and stood by Buffoon's head. But it was Tessa he was looking at.Tessa looked up, stared, trembled. The shock hit her like a bolt of lightning.

“Tessa?” he said, not sure either.

“Yes?” A whisper.

“This is Shiner's boy, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“I bred him. And you too!”

The sudden breaking of the lop-sided smile showing the tooth broken in a fight, the amazing sparkling eyes laughing at her… Tessa could not believe it. After all this time, her father! After years of dreams, odd quirks of memory, the terrible regret, the anger at his defection… it all rolled away now in what felt like a blast of golden sunshine. She was too stunned to speak.

Declan put his arms round her and covered her face with whisky-smelling kisses. She could tell he was fairly drunk as usual, but it didn't matter. She buried her face in his dirty jacket, not wanting to come up, not wanting anyone to see her out-of-control face. But they were surrounded by a crowd, and Buffoon's reins were in her hands.

Declan was happily proclaiming to all and sundry, “My little girl! This is my girl Tess, and this is the horse we bred from her little old mare, eh Tess? The little old mare with no eyes. My, how she loved that mare. Didn't you love old Shiner, Tess, when you was just a little girl?”

Tessa wanted to die.

She loved him just as much, but not here, for God's sake! Blathering away, on a whisky and Guinness high, he was revealing all the good reasons for the family break-up. Peter and Jimmy were looking on, astonished.

“Declan Blackthorn?” Jimmy enquired.

“The very same, sorr!”

He was sounding now just like a television Irishman, away on one of his spiels. “And this is my own little Tess, my little lost girl, my baby – and my horse too, the ugly great brute I cried over the night he was born–”

“Oh Dad! Shut up!” Tessa muttered, surfacing. “Not in front of all these people.”

She could see Peter and Jimmy smiling. The Cressingtons were trundling towards them, no doubt to talk about the loss of their life's savings. Peter turned away with a groan.

“We've got to take him back to the stables, Dad,” Tessa said desperately. “Can we talk later?”

“I'll be in the bar, my darling. Come back to the bar and have a word before you go. My little long-lost girl–”

A group of equally happy and inebriated Irish friends were waiting to take him away, and Tessa watched him depart with a feeling of relief mixed with terrible pain. What a man! It was like the past coming up and slamming her between the eyes, nothing like the romantic dream she had nurtured of her father all these years. It was how he was, had always been, why her mother had left. Why ever had she dreamed otherwise? It was all plain now.

Jimmy said, “All you need, your long-lost daddy after a day like this! Take it easy, Tessa.”

He could see her state.

“He's drunk!”

“It's a great drinking day for the Irish, Aintree. Give him a chance. You can look for him before we go, when we've done the horse.”

Tessa stumbled back to the stables, leading Buffoon. People jostled them on all sides. Somewhere in the crush she saw another face from the past – Mrs Alston. Was she dreaming? But no, at her side was the Battleaxe, and as they went by the two ladies waved their race-cards at her and shouted, “Well done, your horse, Tessa!”

Were they drunk too?

Tessa felt more drunk than any of them.

Buffoon! What a horse! Could winning feel any better, when he had run his great heart out like that? But for losing Lucky, who knew…?

The quiet Jimmy was wreathed in smiles.

“We all laughed at him, didn't we, when he came? Your beauty! Did you know your dad bred him? Is that why you wanted him?”

“Only when I saw his passport. Not the night he arrived. The dam, Shiner, was my dearest –” She choked.

Covering up, Jimmy chatted quietly. “Declan's name isn't in the passport as breeder. Only a stud name.”

“He called it a stud. Just a row of tin sheds. The rain came through… ” She went there when her parents quarrelled, she remembered, and sat under the tin sheets in one of the few dry spots, talking to Shiner.

“Shiner had no eyes,” she said.

“No eyes! That why your father had her? She was a reject? Should have been put down.”