Taking the Fall (26 page)

Duncan felt a shaft of shame, but there was nothing he could say right then. He’d been through the same thing the night before. On visiting Charlie at Grey Gables at first his father hadn’t wanted to see him. He’d got the sporting papers in his hand and had seen Duncan’s name printed on the card against that of William Osborne and Duke Cadogan. He seemed to have forgotten everything that Duncan had said to him last time, and they’d had to go through all the shouting and tears and emotional recriminations again.

But even Charlie couldn’t make him feel the way that Tommy could. Crusty old Tommy represented everything in the racing game that was right and true. And his last words to Duncan in the paddock before turning away were, ‘That’s right, son, you hang your head.’

It was almost enough to make him want to finish the game right there, before the Festival had even started.

He mounted The Tipping Point and groaned out loud as his cracked ribs squeezed.

‘Hey, are you up for this?’ said Osborne’s stable lad. ‘You’ve gone white.’

But it wasn’t the pain in his ribs that had turned his face white. It was the stinging shame from Tommy’s words. He turned his mount and trotted down to the starting line for the first race, a hotly contested Grade 1 curtain-raiser called the Brightstar Supreme Novices’ Hurdle. It was just over two miles, run on the old track at Cheltenham, with just eight hurdles.

The starter had a reluctant horse to deal with, so he circled the pack a few times before calling them in. Then they were off. The ‘Cheltenham roar’ went up from the crowd, a traditional greeting for the first race. Even so, the reluctant horse stood as still as a statue as the others broke free, and stayed that way for several minutes.

The Tipping Point was good going forward, so Duncan decided to stay close to the two front-runners and see if he had the stamina for the run-in. The ground was heavy and loose and kicking up a lot of black mud. Some of the runners were clattering the stiff hurdles rather than jumping them, but The Tipping Point was clearing well and showing no sign of error. An idea stirred in Duncan that he might have a chance here after all.

He raced with the favourite, negotiating the left-hand track and sensing the growing murmur from the grandstand as they approached the third-last. When it came to making his challenge, the jockeys ahead of him saw him coming, gave a squeeze and he was left behind. The Tipping Point just tired. Duncan felt the horse might have finished closer, but he just didn’t stay going. He fell away to sixth place on the run-in, with the crowd cheering home the favourite.

It was more than he had a right to expect – Osborne or Cadogan giving him a chance in the opener was never going to happen. He tried to remind himself what a great event this was, and that he’d been there and was part of the curtain-raiser; but it just wasn’t him. He had no interest in making up the numbers. There was no satisfaction in riding an unfit horse into sixth place.

Mandy Gleeson was in the winners’ enclosure, interviewing for TV. She signalled to him as he came in before turning away with the microphone for a few words from the favourite’s trainer. She no doubt wanted to ask him on air how he felt about riding in the grand opener. But he was anxious to get out of Osborne’s silks and back into Petie Quinn’s sky blue. And that was what he was doing in the Weighing Room when someone slipped past him and said quite loudly in his ear, ‘Boom! Boom!’

Sandy Sanderson was already on his way before Duncan could reply. He could have shouted after him. Something about exploding his overhead snooker lamp. But
no
, he thought,
I’ve other plans for you.

He went out to watch Kerry in the second race, the most highly regarded minimum-distance novice chase in the calendar, named after the legendary steeplechaser The Poniard and attracting the best novice chasers around. After the joint favourites Kerry was amongst the pick on an Irish seven-year-old called King Solomon’s Mines
.
He ran a good race too, and finished a staying-on third.

There were to be no big prizes that first day for Petie Quinn’s cohort as Duncan and Kerry were outclassed in the remaining races. Duncan also claimed a third, and though there was no glitter to be had, it was felt that Quinn had announced himself on the big stage and that he was keeping his powder dry for deeper into the Festival.

Petie’s big day was the second day, Champion Chase Day.

‘Got all your Mad Micks and your Provo Paddies around you today, Claymore?’ It was Sandy Sanderson in the Weighing Room. His hostility seemed to be growing. On the first day of the Festival he’d chalked up just one winner where he might normally have expected three or four.

‘Oh they’ll be around here somewhere,’ Duncan said. ‘Waiting for you.’

‘I’m surprised you don’t race in a black hood, son. That’s how they do it up on the Falls Road, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, you don’t see a lot of horse racing on the Falls Road,’ Kerry chipped in.

But Sanderson was on his way out of the Weighing Room. That was his style: snipe and go.

Roisin it was who was first to sprinkle the glitter powder. The Amateur Riders Novices’ Chase had been replaced this year – amid great controversy amongst the dinosaurs of the racing fraternity – by the women-jockeys-only event. Women jockeys were not new to the game, but not everyone thought they were up to it. As if to prove or disprove the point, one of the most gruelling races – four miles and twenty-four fences – had been given over to the event. To say it was well supported was an understatement. Every major stable was represented in the race.

Roisin had been working exclusively with Gypsy George to bring on a seven-year-old French grey she and George had bought amongst a bunch, called Drap D’Or. He wasn’t exactly a handsome thing, with a wall eye and a tendency to dish. But he had a will of iron and a habit of doing everything he was asked. Duncan, who’d already ridden the old track on day one, was on hand with advice about the going; Kerry had advice about everything; and Petie kept telling her not to risk anything, especially in the tiring stages. Finally George scared everyone into staying away from Roisin, who was a sound jockey in her own right and not in need of an overload of instructions.

Drap D’Or was quite low down in the bookies’ rankings, with a starting price of twelves. It was an agonising race to watch. Twenty horses ran. Two fell and three more unseated their jockeys before the twelfth fence. Roisin patiently tracked the leaders but blundered at the twentieth fence, just recovering. She seemed to be outpaced and pushed back into third place after the third fence from home, but in this soul-sapping, arduous race with an uphill finish she rode hard, asking the wonderful and ugly Drap D’Or to find something. Drap D’Or answered, rallying on the flat to take a strong lead and make a glorious finish.

The Quinn camp was ecstatic. Roisin, splattered in mud from head to toe, walked Drap D’Or into the winners’ enclosure talking into Mandy Gleeson’s microphone about what a great big old heart the horse had; but probably every TV viewer was thinking the same thing about this slip of an Irish lass, her face streaked with mud and her eyes flashing inside the outline of where her goggles had been.

They all waited for Roisin to weigh in, Duncan hugging Petie, Kerry hugging Duncan and Gypsy George smiling but trying to ward off some of this excessive hugging. Then Mike Ruddy joined them, roaring his head off and shouting about how he was going to sign up Roisin and make her a household name.

Mandy Gleeson meanwhile was calling over to Petie for an interview alongside the winning jockey. Petie did his normal disappearing act, indicating that Gypsy George was the real trainer. Mandy stuck a microphone in front of George and quickly found that his idea of handling the media was to fold his arms and scowl a lot. But luckily it was Roisin the camera wanted, and that day she was the belle of the ball.

In the next race Kerry brought home a winner in the juvenile handicap hurdle. Two wins for a couple who seemed destined for the marital bed even before the Festival was over. In fact it began to look like such an event might even shape itself round the Festival.

‘And a little bird tells me that you and Roisin Quinn may be an item?’ Mandy Gleeson simpered into her microphone.

‘I don’t know where you’ve got such an idea!’ Kerry said, lifting his saddle off the winner. ‘And if you say any more, you’ll have her father to deal with.’

‘Speaking of Petie Quinn, can you help us get him down here? He seems a little camera shy.’

‘No, he loves the camera, he does. Look, there he is now just, shouldering through the crowds. Get him up here.’

But of course they couldn’t.

As if not to be outdone, Duncan won the very next race, the Spookair Festival Trophy Chase, also a Grade 1, on his old friend Wellbeing, the gorgeous but misshapen little horse with the heart of a lion that had been one of his earliest rides for Petie. Three in a row for the Quinn stables was almost too much to hope for.

Duncan was pumped by the roar of the crowd as he streaked through to win by three clear lengths with plenty in hand. The smell of victory was in his nostrils now, and it was as if he’d suddenly remembered his entire reason for being there. From that moment on all he could think about was the next race; and then he would be thinking about the next race after that; and then the next.

The feature race of the day was the Sparkbet Stayers Hurdle. Three miles. This time around Duncan would have another chance to ride the brave-hearted The Buckler, up against Sanderson on the fancied A La Mode, a French gelding that had won all of his last four outings. But of course Petie hadn’t managed to keep The Buckler’s form a secret either, and Petie’s fine liver chestnut gelding had attracted serious money from the punters and was 3–1.

Down at the start Duncan looked over at Sanderson, not as a mark of respect or recognition, but just to be sure of where he sat in the pack.

Then they were off, at a ridiculously sedate pace as no one wanted to go out in front. For a while it was like an afternoon hack for elderly country gentlemen. Someone had to jump in front at the first and Duncan made sure it wasn’t him. In fact he positioned himself at the rear. It was going to be a long slog in the mud, this three-miler, and there was no home for burnouts.

The Buckler was showing a little frustration at being held way back, but Duncan felt the heavy ground was going to test his stamina so he kept him well covered up. He had a suspicion that the field would thin just after the top of the hill. Someone up ahead had jumped into a three-length lead at the sixth, which would give them a moment of glory for the cameras, but for a race like this they were already spent. They were all still well bunched over the eighth, heavy traffic. Then a little daylight began to appear. Duncan squeezed up. Sanderson, no less crafty, was just ahead of him. But then suddenly at that hurdle there were fallers! Two down. Jockeys sprawling, horses’ legs flailing. Duncan cleared the hurdle and swerved to avoid the mêlée, though the beautifully well-balanced The Buckler hardly seemed fazed.

Duncan giggled in the saddle. He had no idea where that giggle came from. The tremor of his laugh transmitted through the horse. The Buckler’s ears pricked forward. He was enjoying this as much as Duncan was! The horse that had jumped out to the front was already tiring. It fell away like a rag in the wind as The Buckler surged on. Now it was only him and Sanderson out in front.

Duncan noticed that A La Mode had a slight drift to the left at every jump. Not that the drift lost any ground for the class horse, but Duncan thought he could use it. Make it pay. There was no way Sanderson was going to use any of his old tricks on him this time around.

He hit the pedals on The Buckler and took Sanderson on his right at the jump, preventing the other jockey from coming anywhere near him. They landed neck and neck. Sanderson scowled across through his goggles. He was having to urge every last ounce out of his horse. The stick was coming down hard, whereas Duncan knew that The Buckler had more. The Buckler pinged the last hurdle gaining such an advantage that the Cheltenham crowd roared to the heavens.

A La Mode pressed hard in the run-up to the finishing post. In the last few strides he looked to have caught Duncan. But he just didn’t have enough. The Buckler was home and dry, with the crowd roaring in his ears. It was the sweetest of victories. Vindication. As far as Duncan was concerned, it didn’t matter what happened for the rest of the Festival.

With the cheers still ringing out, Mandy Gleeson wanted to interview him. He paid tribute to his team and to the wonderful horse and he even said generous things about the way Sandy Sanderson had ridden the race, which he knew would stick right in the older jockey’s craw.

He got off the horse and sent Gypsy George to drag Petie Quinn forcibly in front of the cameras. Quinn arrived rubbing his hands nervously and looking over his shoulder. ‘Here’s your man,’ Duncan said. ‘Everything is down to this wonderful man. Everything. And you’ll be hearing a lot more of him, too.’

Petie looked like they’d already heard too much about him.

‘Petie!’ said Mandy Gleeson. ‘You’re a hard man to track down! Now I’ve got you, I’m not letting you go. You’ve burst on to the scene here at Cheltenham: Duncan here has just won the impressive World Hurdle; you’re winning everything today and your daughter Roisin won the lady jockeys’ race. Can it get any better?’

‘Well, you know,’ Petie said.

‘A great Champion Chase Day showing for you, Petie.’

‘Yes, yes. Very nice.’

Gleeson was a pro. ‘But it’s not like you’re an overnight success. You’ve been in the game a while.’

‘Yes. For a while.’

‘So what was the best? Seeing The Buckler take this race, or seeing your daughter win?’

Petie put a finger in his ear as if there was a bit of loose wax rattling around. ‘Both worth celebrating.’

She also knew when to back out. ‘Well, congratulations to you and your team, Petie, and we’ll let you go and celebrate.’ She turned back to the camera. ‘I’m sure that the name of Petie Quinn is going to turn up again and again at Cheltenham. We still have more races to come, and of course, the climax of tomorrow’s Gold Cup.’