Taking the Fall (17 page)

‘Somebody’s got to take the fall for all that fun, Duncan. You or someone else. But you’re the one on the end of the line, so it’s going to be you.’

When Aaron talked about taking the fall, both men knew he meant the business of stopping a horse from winning. You could force an error and make a bad jump. You could pull up. You could ease up. You could literally fall off if you were crazy enough. You could do anything you wanted so long as you didn’t win and the stewards couldn’t prove a thing.

A horse owner Aaron had ridden for in the past came over and clapped him on the back and talked bullshit about the race. Aaron smiled and said little until the man was done. He moved away and left them alone.

‘But you can’t just send stuff back,’ Duncan said. ‘It’s like giving him the finger.’

‘Yes you can.’

‘Did you ever send stuff back?’

‘Did I agree to talk about me, or about the things I’ve done?’

When Aaron fixed him with his brilliant blue-eyed heart-stopping stare, Duncan understood why some of the other jockeys called him the Monk. He also knew why they never said it to his face. He felt like the older jockey could see to the bottom of his soul.

A weird intensity came over Aaron. He gripped Duncan by the wrist. ‘You come to me for advice. You know the answer already. But I’ll tell you this for nothing. I’m not a religious man. For me there’s only one religion and that’s the religion of getting over the jumps clean and true.’

He took another modest sip from his glass and stared out of the window. For a moment he seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, his own world. He looked burdened. ‘Take your father. Charlie is the sort of man who could have teamed up with any of those shady figures. He could easily have done those things he was accused of and got away with it because it would have suited them to protect him. But he didn’t. Why? Because he was a man who was clean on the inside as well as on the outside. All they could do was rub some of their own dirt on to him; they knew what would stick and the people who would help them to make it stick.

‘You see, people like Charlie are a big threat to them. You get one man brave enough to stay clean and the entire house of cards starts to fall in. I say thank God for men like Charlie.

‘You know what I see when I go out there? A ray of golden light along the green turf, unbroken, between the starting tape and the finishing line. That’s a jockey’s life, that ray of light, and you’re not riding the horse, you’re riding that ray. Have you done your level best to win each and every race? Somebody comes to you and asks you, and so you pull up a horse, well, that ray of light is broken. It only has to be broken once, and you can win as many races afterwards as you like, but it’s broken for ever. You can’t put it back together. You’ve taken the fall; and after that, you’re falling, always falling, for the rest of your jockey’s life.’

Aaron let go of Duncan’s wrist. Then he drained his glass, got up and left the table, leaving Duncan alone, wondering whether the old jockey was a loony or was truly inspired. After a moment Mike came and joined him.

‘Heavy bloke, isn’t he?’ Mike said. ‘But I do love the guy.’

‘I need another drink,’ Duncan said, ‘and a fuckin’ prayer book.’

12

T
he honeymoon between Duncan and Petie Quinn wobbled a little one morning in January. They were preparing a seven-year-old gelding called Round Robin as a possible for the Cheltenham Festival. Round Robin was lined up for the testing two-mile Queen Mabb’s Championship Chase, a test of athleticism and speed with no margin for error.

Duncan arrived at the stables to find Petie in a tetchy mood, tearing a strip off one of the young stable lads. It wasn’t anything Duncan hadn’t experienced himself at six thirty in the morning from Tommy back at Penderton in the good old days. But even by Tommy’s standards Petie was laying it on a bit thick. The red-faced kid who’d fastened a girth too tight or too loose or whatever was close to tears.

Duncan knew better than to interfere. He was going on the gallops with Roisin so he slipped away to get himself ready, but not before he saw Petie aim a good hard kick at the lad. Luckily the boy was quick and danced out of the way of the boot before disappearing like a rat across the yard. It was the first time Duncan had seen Petie lash out physically.

By the time Duncan had kitted up, he’d learned that one of the senior stable lads – a different lad – had had enough and had walked out that morning, leaving them short-handed. Then he heard the throaty exhaust of Kerry’s clapped-out Hillman Avenger arriving. From behind the stables Duncan heard Kerry’s car door open and close, followed by a loud exchange of words.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’

Kerry said, ‘Couldn’t get the damn thing started, Petie. Bloody car needs an axe taking to it, you know?’

‘If you can’t be here on time, I don’t want you here at all.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me well enough.’

‘Jaysus! What’s eatin’ you today?’

‘Have you come to do any work? Or just to jaw at me?’

Then Petie must have crossed the yard, because Duncan heard him roaring at someone else.

Roisin came by. She already had her riding helmet on. Maybe because of the mood her father was in.

‘What gives?’ Duncan said.

‘Don’t try to figure it out. He just goes into one now and again. It’ll blow over.’

The plan had been for Roisin and Duncan to take Round Robin and another horse and gallop them up together, while Kerry and the rest of the gang went elsewhere. Petie had a change of plan. He wanted to work them, along with Kerry and Roisin and four or five other horses.

‘The ground is soft and I want to see what that will do,’ he said.

‘It won’t be as soft come March,’ Duncan said, ‘now will it?’

‘I think it will be. We’re in for a very wet spring.’

‘How do you know that? Is this some kind of yokel farmer wisdom?’ Duncan said, trying to make Roisin giggle. ‘Did a swallow fly out of your boiled egg when you broke it open this morning?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Did you find a sprig of green oak up the cow’s arse?’

Petie glowered at him. Then he said, ‘I want you to jump out in front today, and stay there.’

‘This isn’t the horse for that,’ Duncan said.

‘That’s how you’ll ride him,’ Petie said.

By now, three or four of the stable hands and riders had gathered round. Maybe Duncan should have shut his mouth. ‘This isn’t how we’ve been working him, Petie.’

‘No, we’re changing that.’

‘But we’re only a few weeks away.’

‘And it’ll be soft and this horse has an engine and it will tire the competition early. That’s it.’

‘You don’t know that! It doesn’t make sense!’

Petie walked up close to Duncan. He was a few inches shorter than his jockey but he said, right in his face, ‘How many times have I given you instructions? Never. So when I have instructions to give you, you’ll take them.’

‘I will if the instructions make sense.’

Duncan never saw it coming. Petie dug him a hard punch to the side of the mouth.

Some of the stable lads got between them, and within a second or two Petie was walking away back to his hovel of a cottage, with Roisin chasing after him shouting, ‘Daddy! Daddy!’

Duncan was raging. He was all for going after the old man. But Kerry was there in his face. ‘Let it go, will you? Let it go.’ The group of riders and stable hands stood now in silence. One or two stared at the brushed concrete of the yard; others lit up cigarettes. But they all looked away from Duncan.

After a few minutes Petie came back out of the house with Roisin. By now Roisin was the one who looked furious. As the stable hands began to disperse, Petie called them all back together. He wanted them to listen. He walked towards Duncan with his head lowered. You could see the freckled bald spot in the middle of his thin brown hair like a bird’s egg in a nest.

He drew himself to a stop, and without lifting his head muttered something. ‘Ipogssse.’

‘What was that?’ Duncan said, looking to Roisin.

‘Aye. Thassu. Mmm ipogsse.’

‘Daddy!’ Roisin yelled. ‘You apologise properly now! Do it or else!’

Petie lifted his head to his daughter. ‘What in hell do you want? Does a man have to lay himself across another man’s boots? Does he have to lay down on the concrete, does he?’

‘Daddy!’

Petie relented and looked Duncan in the eye. ‘All right. I apologise. I was out of order. I shouldn’t have done that. I’d take it back in a heartbeat if I could.’

‘Forget it,’ Duncan said. ‘Let’s get these horses away.’

‘Ride as you see fit.’

‘No. You’re the trainer and the owner. We’ll give it a go.’

‘No, no. You’re the jockey. You’ve proved it.’

‘Hell, are we going to argue it the other way now?’

And the matter ended there. It was forgotten, so far as these things could ever be forgotten. Duncan followed Petie’s instructions and jumped Round Robin to the front. In the soft going there was nothing that could come near him.

After returning from the gallops, Duncan and Kerry were invited into the cottage for the bacon sandwich ritual as if nothing had happened. Petie grunted a bit, moaned when he couldn’t find the tomato ketchup and stared morosely into the fire as he ate and slurped from a giant mug of tea.

Duncan couldn’t keep his mouth shut. ‘Look, Petie, is anything on your mind right now?’

Petie didn’t even look up from the fire. ‘I’m not always a man to be around, you know?’

‘Daddy has episodes,’ Roisin said. ‘He should take medication but he’s too pig-headed.’

‘What’s an episode?’ Kerry wanted to know.

‘Most of the time he’s all right. Another time he’s like you see him now. Another time he works like a man possessed, or you might catch him in a field in the middle of the night trying to ride a cow and he thinks it’s Arkle.’

‘That was just a bit o’ fun,’ Petie said flatly.

‘Take your damn pills, why don’t you?’

Petie still didn’t look up from the fire. He picked up a poker and prodded a burning log. ‘There is something I want to say. About your asking questions, Kerry. No one likes questions. But you were looking out for your man here, I understand that. I want you to know there
is
history, but it’s long, long over. Things seem simple when you’re a young man. It’s over. I had to buy my way out of it, if you know what I mean. Twenty years ago.

‘But listen to this, Duncan. I know what those bastards did to your old man. I know. And you want to know the only thing that stops them doing the same thing to me? They’re scared of what they think I am, are you with me? Even though it’s not true, they think it is. It stops them coming after me. And I like it like that. There. I don’t mind if they keep thinking that way about me. It keeps them well away. That’s the top and bottom of it.’

The others had gone quiet. Petie laid the poker down.

‘Lads, I come good in the end. You ask my daughter here. Whatever faults I have as a man, I come good in the end. Now, shall we get some work done?’

The efforts of the Jockey Club to keep the issue of Whistle And I’ll Come out of the media could not have been very strenuous. It was all over the tabloids that the horse had been doped. The dope in question was cocaine. Though the red-tops were careful to report only ‘rumours’ that traces of cocaine had been found in Whistle And I’ll Come’s bloodstream.

What blew the story up was the contribution of a bizarre ally that Charlie seemed to have found in a complete stranger who was a powerful figure in racing. Old Etonian Duke Cadogan went on record in every paper vouching for Charlie’s character. C
HARLIE
’
S
N
O
C
HARLIE
U
SER
S
AYS
D
UKE
ran one headline. C
HARLIE
’
S
M
Y
D
ARLING
chimed in another, as Duke Cadogan went out of his way to repeat, over and over, that Charlie was a respected trainer with an unblemished reputation. He would, he said, ‘eat my hat’ if the allegations against Charlie Claymore proved to have any substance.

This unasked-for support had Charlie rubbing his chin. He’d never met Cadogan; he’d never exchanged a single word with him; he’d never done any business with the man. Yet here was Cadogan speaking about him as if they were old friends. It didn’t add up. Though, of course, this passionate declaration of support had the effect of inflating the story of a simple blood test – which might have been buried in the inside pages of the
Sporting Life
– to one that headlined the sports pages of every newspaper in the country. Anyone who had never heard of Charlie Claymore certainly had heard of him now.

Anyone who
had
heard of Charlie, and who thought of him as a reputable figure in racing, might now entertain doubts.

When the test results were returned, Whistle And I’ll Come tested positive for cocaine. In addition, tiny traces of cocaine were found in samples taken from the horse’s stable.

A bookmaker also came forward to prove that both Charlie and several of his stable staff had backed the horse heavily.

Charlie was called by the Jockey Club to give his account. He stated plainly that if there were traces of cocaine in the horse, then someone other than him or his staff had put it there; someone who wished him ill. When asked who that might be, Charlie named a couple of names and asked if they might also be investigated.

The chairman of the inquiry told him that he had no remit for such investigations.

‘Remit?’ Charlie asked. ‘What’s a remit? Is that the fancy word for a fat brown envelope stuffed with twenties?’

The chairman rubbed his finger under his nose and glanced away.

Three days later Duncan found his dad clutching a letter from the Jockey Club. The old man’s face was ashen. He was trembling.

‘What is it, Dad?’

But Charlie was unable to speak. Duncan gently prised the paper out of his father’s hand.