Sugar Daddies (53 page)

My spirits soared.

I waved to the guys and Mum as I took up position at the start, and the officials counted down from ten and we were off. Samson opened out into a gallop, ears pricked forward as we charged towards the first fence. We cleared it easily and the spectators let up a cheer which made my heart sing. I gave him a pat and tried to relax, keeping his pace fast but steady as we headed for the first of the water jumps.

He didn’t falter, jumping right through and galloping up and over the bank the other side. He took a solid looking triple and his pace was perfect, and he gave his all on the straight as we made our way to a coffin jump. He cleared it big, but it didn’t matter, straight into another gallop and I was loving it. We were both loving it.

I felt the thrum of my body, my concentration on my posture, on the hands that guided Samson, and we were as one. I moved with him, felt the thump of his hooves on the ground, and this was everything, everything I wanted.

Halfway through the course and I realised we were in with a shot, maybe not of coming top, but certainly of beating Verity’s time. I’d heard she’d had an awkward jump, a ditch right at the end of the course, and she’d gone in wrong, almost sending her mare tumbling, only to recover with just a lagging pace to stumble over the finish line.

We could take her.

As long as we kept it up.

I encouraged Samson on, through water and over a wide table jump, over a fallen tree fence and over another bank, and he was doing so well, so fucking well. The spectators were cheering and the commentators were saying good things, and I was smiling. Really smiling.

My heart started thumping as we came to the final third, and my adrenaline picked up. I knew our time was good, I just knew it. A quick glance at my watch told me we were in the game to beat Verity’s time, but it would be close. Her mare was faster than we were, more skilled, but we were doing it, a solid effort, giving it our all.

I urged Samson on, and he did me proud, even though I felt he was tiring. I pushed him over the final straits, and he put his heart into it, tearing along to the final hurdles. The biggest fence of the course and he jumped it with ease, landing a little hard but he recovered well, back into another solid gallop. His ears were still forward and his heart was still all in it, and so was mine.

I dared to dream, dared to hope, my heart bursting with pride as we curved on round to the final section.

I knew Rick and Carl would be waiting there at the final jump, Mum, and my dad, and probably even Verity, too.

It would be our moment. Our moment of victory.

Please let us win, just let us win.

Samson saw the jump coming and I saw Rick and Carl, Mum and my dad, too. I tried not to look at them, zoning out of the gathered crowd and focusing back on the fence. The drop was quite big, and Samson wouldn’t see it, I angled him into position, but our time would be close, so I gave him a squeeze encouraged him onwards, and I was so happy, knowing how solid we looked, how in sync we were.

This would be our victory, our sweetest moment.

I tried to be smart, aiming for the far edge to give us a couple of paces advantage on the final stretch. I tried to look our best, tried to show off, tried to prove how great we were, how perfect we were, how great my Samson was.

And I took it wrong.

I made a mistake.

I gave Samson mixed signals, and he turned awkwardly, taking the fence mid-way. He was off balance when he took off, and I was, too. I couldn’t adjust my position quickly enough to compensate, couldn’t guide him for the drop, and in my hesitation he’d lost some height.

A moment of horror as I realised the inevitable, my breath leaving me as I felt Samson’s rear hooves clip the top rail. I didn’t loose the reins quickly enough, and I was too far forward in my saddle. He hit the ground heavily on his front legs, and I couldn’t sit back to rebalance him.

We toppled, and I felt it in slow motion. Felt him lurching forward and taking me with him.

His front legs went from under him, his unbalanced rear end crashing forwards to send us both tumbling, and the bank was unyielding, unforgiving.

I heard a gasp from the crowd, and my own heart in my ears.

The whistle of the wind.

A weird stillness.

And then a thump as we landed, a terrible sound as we skidded. And pain. In my leg. Pain as his weight rolled onto me, and pinned me.

My head bashed into the ground, and the world felt far away, my vision blurred.

And everything hurt.

People and screams, and Samson’s breath.

And then it all faded away.

That horrible moment when time stands still. When you see the inevitable, the horror unfolding right in front of you, but you are powerless to do shit about it.

I couldn’t tell you the moment my breath caught in my throat, when that instinctual sense of dread enveloped me and chilled me to the bone. Their jump just didn’t look right, didn’t feel right, and had me pushing through to the barrier before they’d even fallen, helpless and petrified as our beautiful girl went tumbling.

Samson’s legs went from under him, and he went forward, and Jesus, they landed so hard, both of them, and there was a scream, a horrible scream as she took his weight, a horrible thump as they landed and slid.

And then she was still. Our beautiful girl was still.

Samson writhed on the floor, and there was blood. His eyes were wild and frantic, his instincts raging as the officials rushed over.

And so did we. Rick and Debbie, and David, too. All four of us piling over the rope.

Katie’s eyes fluttered as she regained consciousness, her gaze flicking around before the horror came rushing back. Her face contorted with pain, her leg still stuck under Samson’s shoulder, and she was ashen, so ashen.

“My leg!” she screamed. “It hurts! It hurts so bad!”

The officials were trying to stop Samson struggling, but he was wild, his legs flailing. He couldn’t get a grip against the slope of the bank, trying desperately to get enough leverage to take his own weight and failing. Both of his front legs were bloody, but one looked worse, his hoof hanging awkwardly as he flailed.

I felt sick. So fucking sick.

Not so much at the injury, but at the expressions on the faces of the people who knew this kind of shit. The people calling for medical assistance on their walkie-talkies.

They hitched Samson enough to free Katie’s leg, and she screamed a terrible scream as they pulled her out, and pulled her clear. Her mother was at her side, and so were we, trying to tell her it would be alright, that she would be alright, but she wasn’t even listening. Her eyes were fixed on Samson and were streaming with tears.

“Help him,” she said, and her hand clutched at mine. “I don’t care about me, just help him! Oh God, Carl, don’t let them hurt him. Please don’t let them hurt him!”

She pushed me towards him, and I moved, a tentative step towards the fallen animal. And I was impotent, for the first time in my adult life I didn’t know what the fuck I should do.

The paramedics arrived, and gave Katie some oxygen, painkillers, too, talking in calm voices as they tried to examine her leg. They made her lie flat and fastened her into a neck brace, splinted her leg as she cried into the oxygen mask, and I was scared, so fucking scared. I shot Rick a pitiful look and he was ashen, too, crouched at Katie’s side while she death-gripped his forearm, her mother on the other side of her with tears in her eyes.

I closed the distance between me and Samson, and David appeared at my side. He gave me a look that said this was futile, and his knowledge of eventing horses filled me with absolute dread.

“We have to save that horse,” I said under my breath. “Whatever it takes, David.”

He nodded, patted my shoulder.

A guy who was clearly a vet was crouched at Samson’s forelegs as a couple of stewards held the animal down, and his face was stern.

“How bad is it?” I asked. “Please tell me you can fix him.”

My heart was in my throat as he tipped his head from side to side. “We need to get him up, he fell awkwardly, I hope he can stand.”

“And if you can’t get him up? If he can’t stand? What happens then?”

David gripped my elbow, and I knew. And so did Katie.

“No!” she screamed. “Carl, don’t let them! Whatever it takes, Carl! Please don’t let them hurt him!”

It broke my heart to see her there, in so much pain, with so much fear. The paramedics busied themselves preparing her for the ambulance, and Rick and Debbie looked so helpless, as helpless as I felt.

“He has to be able to support his weight,” David said, his voice so low. “If they can’t get him up, Carl…”

I shook my head. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much this horse means to that girl. We have to get him on his feet.”

He nodded.

“Clear some space,” the vet said, and they gave Samson some room. He braced his forelegs on the ground, even the mangled one, and attempted to push himself up. I held my breath, willed fate to give him a break, but the poor brute slipped and fell, collapsed back against the bank, his sides heaving. I cursed under my breath.

The vet shrugged, shot me a fatalistic glance.

“He just needs some help,” I said. “Let’s give him some help. Come on David, help me.” We joined the stewards, and as the poor brute strained for a second attempt, I put my hands under his flank and lifted, pushed him upright with all my strength. “Come on, Samson,” I hissed. “Come on boy, get on your feet. There’s a good lad.”

David pushed and I pushed, and we gave it everything we had to help that horse back to standing. He braced his weight on one of his forelegs, and he wavered just a moment as he struggled for grip. We gritted our teeth, held him steady, and his weight shifted as he lurched and heaved. His leg held, took the weight, enough for his back end to come up and under him.

A big lurch, and a shove from us at his side, and he was on his feet. The boy was on his feet.

I was breathless, heady, my forehead pressed to Samson’s sweaty neck as he struggled to limp forward on his battered legs.

“Tendon damage,” the vet said. “Extensive, I’d say.” He looked at me, looked at David. “This horse is unlikely to work again.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. None of that matters.”

“His recovery will be expensive.”

I waved my hands and so did David, and for that one moment our thoughts aligned in perfect sync.

“Whatever it takes,” I said.

“Fine,” the vet said, and got to work.

They limped Samson from the course, and applied cold compresses as the horse ambulance arrived.

I let them do their job, let the experts take over.

And I begged fate for mercy.

“You saved him,” Katie whispered as they lifted her into the ambulance. Her voice was muffled and fragile, her eyes so sad.

Our beautiful girl looked so broken, so weak, all trussed up on a stretcher.

I leaned over her. “No,” I said. “I just helped him up.” I gestured towards David. “We both did.”

“Good job, Carl. David,” Rick said, and Katie’s hand was still clamped tight to his wrist.