Keeping the Peace (43 page)

‘May I take your plates?’ a waiter interrupted her.

‘Yes. Thank you. It was very nice. I just don’t have much of an appetite today.’

The waiter began stacking the dishes and coffee cups into a pile.

‘Are you racing later?’ he asked and nodded towards the television.

‘Yes. My horse is running in the National.’

He looked impressed.

‘Really? Which one?’

‘Peace Offering.’

‘Oh.’ He resumed his stacking.

Pippa’s heart drooped. The waiter didn’t appear so impressed now. She turned back to the screen. A damp-looking presenter stood in front of a huge steeplechase fence.

‘This jump is the infamous Becher’s Brook. From this angle, it looks simple enough at a height of four feet ten inches. But if we go round to the landing side, past the brook, we find an angled drop of a further ten inches on the other side of the fence and we can see why this fence has claimed so many victims over the years. Most jockeys try go wide as the drop is less severe the further out you are.’

Pippa’s mouth went dry as she absorbed the suicidal obstacle.

‘To make it even more difficult, horses and riders must jump it
twice
during the race. To raise safety and welfare this jump has already been modified as have some of the other jumps so that the drop is smaller than in previous years. But the risk is now that horses will subsequently jump it faster and be in more danger of falling. Over to you, Bryan.’

The camera cut to another report standing in front of a different fence.

‘Thanks, Sarah. I’m now in front of the Chair, the tallest and broadest of all the fences in the National,’ Bryan announced. He stepped down into the ditch on the take-off side and was dwarfed by the wall of spruce branches. ‘The actual fence is daunting enough at five feet three inches high and three feet wide. But this ditch which I’m standing in is
another
six feet wide. I guess the good news is that this jump only needs to be navigated once.’

‘Oh, God,’ uttered Pippa in a trembling whisper. ‘No wonder Jack didn’t want me to walk the course.’

‘What’s that?’ the waiter said.

Pippa’s fearful eyes met his.

‘That – that
Chair
and that
Brook
are enormous. How can any horse be expected to jump those?’

The waiter shrugged and picked up the plates.

‘All I know is that the Grand National has been run since the mid-eighteen hundreds and there’s always been a winner. Good luck.’

‘Thanks,’ Pippa murmured to his departing figure.

She swallowed and said a small prayer for Peace Offering and Finn.

‘You look very pale. You sure you’re okay?’ Jack asked again.

He and Pippa stood with a clear view of Aintree Racecourse from the Owners and Trainers roof terrace. Pippa tore her eyes from the horses circling before the Start and smiled.

‘Just nervous.’

‘You placed your bets?’ he asked.

‘Twenty pounds to win,’ she replied, crossing her fingers. ‘Will get a thirteen hundred return on that at sixty-six-to-one.’

Jack snorted and shook his head.

‘You’ll get a much bigger payout than that if he wins. Think something in the region of half a million pounds and you’ll be closer to the mark.’

Pippa gulped and her stomach disappeared.

‘You think we can do it?’ she croaked.

‘We’ve only got thirty jumps and thirty-nine other horses to contend with.’ He flashed a smile at Pippa’s saucer-eyes. ‘If you removed those from the equation, I’d say we’d be in with a shout.’

‘Oh, God,’ she said, turning her attention back to the imminent race.

Peace Offering was being jogged in a circle by Finn with some other horses to warm up.

As she watched, the sprawling course, which had lain in murky shadow since the morning’s storm had passed on, suddenly became bathed in light as the sun broke through the cloud. Pippa had never been a particularly spiritual person, even in the most desperate of situations, but as the sun glinted off the wet turf, she felt her anxiety subside. Dave Taylor’s presence enveloped her, filling her with a new comforting confidence.

The starter climbed his rostrum and the forty horses formed a semi-organised wall, jogging towards the tape.

‘We can do it,’ Pippa whispered. ‘Peace Offering can do it.’

She felt Jack’s fingers thread through her own and give her hand a gentle squeeze.

‘That’s more like it. We
can
do it... if Finn keeps his mind on the job.’

Jack’s last words were drowned out by the roar of the crowd as the starter let the horses go. Pippa wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly. She didn’t have time to ponder it though. Her pulse quickened as the stampeding horses charged towards the first fence. Her green and red-striped racing colours could be spotted towards the rear of the field, two off the rail. With caution thrown well and truly to the wind, the horses tackled the first obstacle.

‘Firedrake leads them over the first, alongside Faustian and Alpine Pass on the far outside,’ the commentator droned. ‘We’ve lost a couple in midfield –’

Pippa’s heart thundered in her ears as she tried to pick out Finn among the kaleidoscope of racing colours.

‘Shadow Captain and Gunsmoke are fallers as they now go on to Fence Two!’ the commentator continued.

The mass of horses obliterated Pippa’s view of the next fence as they soared over it like a Mexican wave.

‘How are we doing?’ she squeaked, unable to tear her eyes away from the race.

‘Not bad, not bad,’ Jack muttered. ‘I wanted him wider out than this early on, but fingers crossed he won’t get interfered with by any fallers.’

She swallowed a moan as the spread of Fence Three claimed three more victims.

‘Which one’s Becher’s Brook?’

‘Fence Six and Twenty-Two.’

‘Oh, God.’ She clenched Jack’s hand in hers.

The depleted field thundered over the next two fences, inducing a small sigh of relief from Pippa after each as Peace Offering cleared them both. The remaining runners, spread across the course, now edged towards the inside rail as Becher’s Brook and the sharp turn immediately afterwards faced them. She winced as Peace Offering was crowded.

‘Give him space,’ growled Jack. ‘He can’t see the fence!’

Pippa bit down hard on her lip as Peace Offering hurtled towards Becher’s Brook without a clear view.

‘Oh!’ she moaned as, at the last second, a gap appeared.

Peace Offering gathered himself for the leap and took off. Finn let the reins slip through his fingers as he leant back to counter-balance the steep drop on landing. Pippa clutched Jack’s arm as the horse in front of their team over-balanced and somersaulted over. Finn pulled his mount wide. He ricocheted off another runner, but avoided the faller.

‘They’re over Becher’s,’ the commentator burbled, ‘and we’ve lost Ciel de Nuit, Bigger Bang, Warrior’s Gate and Picture This is also down. On to the Fence Seven, the Foinavon Fence, and Firedrake still leads to Faustian in second. Skylark is kept handy on the inside in third...’

By comparison, the Foinavon Fence looked a doddle after the intimidation of Becher’s Brook yet two horses still managed to unseat their jockeys. Pippa leaned into Jack as the runners veered towards the inside rail.

‘What are they doing?’ she cried as she saw Finn direct Peace Offering at the next jump at a forty-five degree angle.

‘It’s the Canal Turn,’ Jack replied. ‘You have to take it at an angle otherwise you lose too much ground on landing.’

‘They might not land at all if they take those angles!’ She exhaled as her horse rose over the fence and skidded round the turn.

‘Good, Finn!’ Jack muttered, squeezing Pippa’s hand.

Taking comfort from his confidence, she scrutinised the remaining runners before they tackled the next. Peace Offering, by doing nothing but jump accurately, was now running in eighth place, his long neck stretched out as his reaching stride ate up the ground. He pricked his ears and lifted his head as they neared Fence Nine. He took off well away from the fence.

Pippa’s knees weakened as she watched him twist over the brook on landing. Her chest tightened as she continually sucked in her breath. Her attention was focused unwaveringly on her horse scrambling to stay upright.

She exhaled. Two or three horses rushed past Peace Offering as his awkward jump slowed him to barely a canter, but she didn’t care. He hadn’t fallen. He was still in the race.

Five jumps later, they were even more so in the race. The one-time leader, Firedrake, had been pulled up shortly followed by two other front-running contenders who put themselves out of the prize. The crowd’s cheering quadrupled as the remaining rivals galloped past the stands for the first time.

‘Oh, God, it’s the Chair next, isn’t it?’ Pippa quailed. She darted a quick glance at Jack to see if he was as concerned as she.

His mouth was curved into an unconscious smile and his eyes danced with excitement as he lived the race.

‘He’s jumping well. He’s loving those Aintree fences,’ he said.

With Faustian now at the helm, followed by Skylark, the horses streamed down the track towards the formidable Chair. The fifth-placed Corazon crumpled on landing and Pippa groaned. Peace Offering was heading right into their stricken path.

‘Look out, Finn!’ she cried through gritted teeth.

Horse and jockey took off, the image of united co-ordination. Peace Offering stretched higher and wider to clear the yawning ditch and wall of spruce. Pippa could almost see the surprise register in Finn’s body language when he caught sight of the fallen horse on the landing side.

‘Please God, help them.’

They touched down a stride away from Corazon. Peace Offering took half a stride and took off again, hurdling the half-risen faller.

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ Pippa babbled. She wondered how many other repented sins God would allow her. Another fifteen fences’ worth?

Once more, the horses passed the point of departure and across the Melling Road, a much depleted and wearier-looking field though. Pippa’s already hammering heart stepped up the pace as she saw Finn begin to coax Peace Offering faster.

In a steady rhythm, they moved forward, closing the gap on the five horses in front. The only one she knew was Skylark. She listened keenly to the commentator listing them over the twentieth obstacle.

‘Faustian leads by half a length to Skylark on the inside. It’s five lengths back to Tarock in third, in company with Saint Blaise. Then another three lengths to Rossroe Boy in fifth. Peace Offering races in sixth with the favourite, Okay Oklahoma, running just behind...’

‘Who?’ Pippa cried. ‘Isn’t Skylark the favourite? I thought he was the horse we had to beat?’

‘At sixty-six-to-one, there are quite a few horses we have to beat,’ Jack murmured. ‘This’ll test them though – here comes Becher’s again.’

Six minutes in and Pippa felt drained. She could only imagine what Finn and Peace Offering were feeling. How could those weary legs withstand the six foot descent being asked of them? She dared not blink. Peace Offering gathered himself for the leap, looking anything but tired.

‘Too big! Too big!’ hissed Jack.

Finn threw his weight back as if his life depended on it. He lay almost perpendicular to Peace Offering’s back, trying to correct his horse’s over-exertion. The jarring ground came up to meet them. Overbalanced, Peace Offering stumbled forward with his nose scraping along the churned turf, his hooves desperate to find a footing.

‘Please God, I promise never to sneak any more cigarettes and I’ll admit to Tash all the ones I’ve had,’ Pippa whispered in desperation.

God approved.

Peace Offering regained his stride and beneath Finn’s urgings set off to recapture their lost ground. The pair brushed through the next jump and with expert judgement, tackled the Canal Turn. Finding a second wind, Peace Offering closed the gap between him and the front five. Rossroe Boy’s bid in fifth place petered out as he was passed in midair over Valentine’s Brook, six from home.

Pippa clutched Jack’s arm to her like a life-ring.

‘Faustian relinquishes his long time lead five out!’ the commentator cried, his voice rising an octave as the race neared its conclusion. ‘Skylark takes it up! Saint Blaise and Tarock are in a scrap for third. Peace Offering has made good ground and races three lengths behind. Here comes Okay Oklahoma!’

‘Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god,’ Pippa squealed as the horses raced down the side of the course towards the grandstands.

On the big screen, the camera was focused on the favourite, ranging upsides of Peace Offering. Finn glanced across at his rival and lowered his posture. Peace Offering’s limitless stamina reserves kicked in and he pulled clear again. Okay Oklahoma’s jockey pushed his mount along, his whip fanning alongside. But the favourite couldn’t rise to the Aspen Valley duo’s challenge.

Three from the finish, the ditch caught out Tarock. His jockey was pitched over his shoulder into the turf. Behind them, Peace Offering fair hurdled the obstacle. Within a couple of strides, he drew up alongside Saint Blaise.

‘Go on, Peace Offering!’ Pippa yelled, her nervous excitement bursting out in an adrenalin-filled roar. She watched Finn scrub his hands up and down his horse’s neck. ‘Go on, Finn!’

In front, Skylark scrambled over the second last.

‘He’s on empty, look!’ Jack said. ‘That’s just about the smallest fence in the whole race. COME ON, PEACE OFFERING!’ he bellowed.

With Tarock, the loose horse keeping him company, Finn steered his mount towards the second last. Faustian jumped slowly, surrendering second place as Peace Offering slogged over the jump.

‘Oh, my God. I don’t believe this.’ Jack raked a hand through his hair. ‘He’s bloody going to do it. Look, Pippa!’

‘I know! I know! I’m looking!’ she cried, jumping up and down.

Skylark wobbled and ran out of energy like a power cut. Peace Offering’s long stride ate up the margin between them and he stole past the huge chestnut.

Pippa screamed in hysterical excitement.

Only one fence left to jump and her horse was pulling clear. Only Tarock, his reins and stirrups flapping wildly, kept pace on their outside.