Eleven

Five horses were going to Kinsey Park. Katie was riding The Mechanic and Brogue in what would probably be his last event of the season, and Roger was partnering Bluebell, Lightoller and the slight brown mare called Little Vision.

Katie watched as Caitlyn stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth in concentration as she wrote out the list of times.

‘There’s twenty minutes covering Brogue’s, The Mechanic’s and Vision’s show jumping,’ said Shelley, reading over Caitlyn’s shoulder. ‘We’re going to need to be on the ball; one of you two will need to have The Mechanic down at the warm-up for Katie as soon as she’s jumped Brogue.’ Shelley pointed at Jules and Caitlyn. ‘The Mechanic’s at the end of section C, and Vision’s at the start of section D, so there better not be any balls-ups.’

As Katie warmed up Brogue for his show jumping, she could hear the commentary from the cross country course, relaying Bluebell Folly’s round.

‘Clear at fences seven and eight,’ buzzed the loudspeaker as she cantered Brogue towards the upright fence. ‘Roger Fleming Bowen taking a perfect line at nine, jumps it well.’

Jumps incredibly well, thought Katie dejectedly, circling Brogue back to the upright again.

‘Bluebell Folly is clear at twelve, looking for a double clear for the Fleming Bowen team.’ The commentator switched his attentions to Petra Williams and Warrior who, by the sound of it, was carting her towards fence five at the speed of a formula one car.

Brogue jumped well but had one fence down, putting him well down the order; he was feeling the firm ground, and Katie assumed that Roger would scratch him from the cross country. As she trotted back to the warm-up, Katie was scouring the area for the liver chestnut of The Mechanic. She only had twenty minutes to get him ready to jump, and there was a quarter mile walk back to the lorry. Finally, she saw Jules, denim shorts above long, brown legs, blonde hair flapping in the breeze as she gossiped with Daniel Jobson’s groom, India. Jules was holding the reins of Little Vision, who should have been patiently waiting at the lorry for Roger.

Giving a bellow of rage, Katie then screamed at Jules to give the horse to her, and she set Brogue off at a spanking trot, dragging Vision alongside her, back to the lorry. Dodging through horses and bodies in the lorry park, shouting apologies and hearing snatches of conversation as she hurried Brogue on, Katie was riding through a red mist.

Roger was delighted with the white horse’s cross country, and as he rode a sweating Bluebell back to the lorry, he wondered if he should suggest to Angela Mac that they put an entry in for the Garwood three-day at the end of the season. He dismounted as he approached his navy lorry and could hear that all merry hell was breaking loose.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’ Katie was yelling at Caitlyn.

Caitlyn, pale and stammering, was hastily tacking up The Mechanic. ‘I’m sorry, Katie – I thought Jules was getting him ready.’

‘She got the wrong horse ready! How bloody useless are the pair of you?’ howled Katie.

Shelley, holding Vision and Lightoller, was shouting at Katie to calm the fuck down as the whole bloody lorry park could hear her and that it was bloody Jules’s fault and not Caitlyn’s.

Roger handed Bluebell to Shelley, took off his number bib and threw his body protector onto the ramp of the lorry. Taking his tweed jacket from the locker door, he pulled it on and took Vision from Shelley, as she fastened on his number bib and handed him his velvet hat.

‘Calm down,’ he told Katie firmly.

For a second their eyes met, and Katie felt a flush descending on her face. ‘I’ve got no time to warm him up,’ she said angrily. ‘They’re holding the course for him.’

‘It’s okay; let’s go.’ He vaulted onto Vision.

Shelley legged Katie onto The Mechanic and they were off, trotting through the lorry park.

‘For the love of God!’ Shelley was fuming. ‘I give the pair of you one job.’

Caitlyn wiped away tears. ‘Jules said she was on it.’

The steward was calling Katie’s number as she and Roger trotted into the warm-up.

‘Number four-five-three! You’re last to go, go straight in please.’

Katie cantered The Mechanic at the practice fence, cleared it and cantered straight in to jump. The bell rang immediately and Katie, still burning with rage, pointed him at the first fence. The Mechanic, shaken by his bizarre warm-up, dodging people and horses in the lorry park, jumped it cleanly. Over the second, the orange and white poles, around the top of the arena to the white gate again, giving it plenty of daylight, across the middle to the tricky double, pinging through it with ease.

My God, thought Roger, catching the horse’s expression. He’s really, really trying.

Katie was bringing The Mechanic to the set of green planks, placed at a crafty angle from the arena barriers; The Mechanic made nothing of it and cantered sweetly down to the pink and yellow poles of number six, which he popped over beautifully. Roger found he was holding his breath as The Mechanic approached the final double. He jumped the first part, took two level strides and soared over the second part to the sound of applause from the crowd.

As the commentator announced that The Mechanic had jumped clear and was leading the class with a dressage score of twenty, Roger’s mouth fell open. Twenty was an incredible score; usually The Mechanic struggled to get a score of thirty something – twenty was phenomenal.

‘Twenty what?’ Katie was alongside him, flushed with anger and success.

‘Just twenty.’ He smiled back at her. ‘Go on, go and get ready for his cross country. I’ve asked Miss Mac to withdraw Brogue; there’s no point in hammering him around on this ground,’ and he cantered off.

Shelley was ecstatic. ‘Twenty! Bloody twenty! I thought it was good but bloody hell. You realise that if you win, he’s qualified for the Scottish Championship?’

‘Don’t,’ warned Katie. ‘Counting chickens and all that.’

‘To be honest,’ whispered Shelley, ‘I’m amazed you can even sit on a horse after the seeing-to you got from the boss on Friday night.’

Katie glared at her. ‘You’re not supposed to know, so shut up,’ she hissed.

Despite Jules’s stony silence, Caitlyn was still trying to apologise to Katie.

‘You actually did me a favour,’ she climbed onto The Mechanic from the lorry’s ramp wearing her pink cross country colours, ‘he’s never show jumped like that in his life.’

Jules looked thunderous.

Shelley watched Caitlyn wrapping plastic tape around Vision’s cross country boots and, after a moment, told her quietly to go and watch Katie’s cross country.

‘Are you sure?’ Caitlyn’s eyes were rimmed with crimson.

‘Yes. I don’t for one minute think that Jules will want to watch it, and we can manage here.’

Giving a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, Caitlyn thanked her and ran towards the exit of the lorry park.

Katie was cantering The Mechanic around the warm-up, occasionally asking him to come back to a halt before demanding he canter on again quickly. She was nervous and wished Roger was there to reassure her, but she knew that he wouldn’t be at the start of the cross country with Vision until after she had set off. She jumped the practice fence and saw Daniel Jobson’s wife at the side of the arena.

‘Good luck!’ Sara called out to her. ‘Brilliant show jumping!’

Lifting her hand to wave her thanks, Katie saw Caitlyn running past the start and out onto the course. She felt a stab of guilt for bawling her out; it hadn’t been her fault, and Katie seethed silently for a second, wondering if Jules had brought her the wrong horse deliberately to mess things up.

Stopping to catch her breath, Caitlyn watched The Mechanic bunny-hopping in the start box, desperate to get on with the job. Katie sat effortlessly as he pirouetted, and when the starter raised his eyes from the stopwatch to give them the order to go, Katie had him facing the right way, and he bounced into a canter. Caitlyn watched them jump the first three fences and made her way up the hill to see them through the combination by the trees.

There was a group of spectators next to the three fences that were decorated with plastic gnomes and pixies, and as Caitlyn approached, there was a blast on a whistle and a man on a grey horse took the long route through the obstacles, twisting and turning to jump the fences, taking up a lot of time.

‘It should be Katie Holland next,’ a lady wearing a headscarf was studying the programme, ‘I do so love her pink colours.’

‘I’ve bought my granddaughter the same hat cover that she wears,’ the other lady was holding the lead of a lurcher, ‘such a pretty silver pom-pom on it.’

As the whistle sounded again, the group turned to see The Mechanic galloping towards them, Katie looking straight through the combination.

‘Looks like she’s going the direct route,’ stated the headscarf.

The Mechanic pricked his ears as Katie sat down in the saddle to collect him and Caitlyn heard her telling him firmly to “steady”. They jumped the first part, took two smart strides, cleared the second part and, with Katie giving him a slap down the shoulder with her whip to keep him straight, cleared the third and were back on their way.

Caitlyn ran back down the course so she could see them over the last few fences while, back at the lorry, Shelley heard the commentator reporting that The Mechanic was clear so far and well within the time.

Roger, riding Vision around the warm-up, watched The Mechanic jumping the huge steeplechase fence as if it was nothing at all and galloping on to the fence adorned with milk churns. The Mechanic stood off the fence a stride, and Roger observed Katie letting the reins slip through her fingers, to give the horse the reach he needed to clear the fence.

‘Roger? You’re next to go!’ called the steward.

‘Can you let another one go before me?’ he shouted back, watching The Mechanic clear a set of enormous poles and hearing the steward ask if anyone else was ready to start.

Shelley was straining to hear the commentary as the water poured into the bucket from the lorry’s water tank.

‘The Mechanic is clear at number twelve, one of the few to get through the direct route clear today…’

Shelley turned off the tap and leant against the side of the lorry.

‘Cathy Marks is clear at seven, and Katie Holland is home and provisionally clear.’

Grinning and clenching her fists, Shelley then carried the bucket to the back of the lorry and saw Jules sitting on the ramp looking boot-faced.

‘What?’ asked Jules huffily as Shelley looked at her.

‘For God’s sake smile, or get a new job,’ suggested Shelley.

Caitlyn was puffing madly but made it to the finish to see Katie galloping up the run-in, standing in her rose gold stirrups, leaning forward to pat The Mechanic’s sweaty neck in praise. Running across to her, she took The Mechanic’s reins as Katie slid pink-faced from the saddle.

‘Amazing round.’ Caitlyn was grinning, the earlier shouting all forgotten.

‘He was amazing,’ corrected Katie as she lifted the saddle flap and loosened his girth, hearing the commentator confirming that they had no jumping or time penalties to add.

‘I’ll take him back if you want to watch Roger?’ Caitlyn had unfastened the horse’s noseband and was rubbing his forehead.

Katie shook her head. ‘You stay and watch him, and I’m sorry I shouted at you – I was panicking about his show jumping.’

‘It’s okay.’

Katie looked at Caitlyn’s kind face. ‘How can you be so nice?’ She unclipped her chinstrap.

Caitlyn shrugged. ‘Roger can be a shouty fooker as well when he’s stressed.’

As Roger came back on Vision after her cross country, Shelley gave a whoop as she checked the live scores on her phone.

‘He’s won – The Mechanic’s won.’ She grinned.

‘All the scores can’t be in yet, surely?’ Roger took off his saddle and dumped it in the locker.

‘Doesn’t matter, no one left to go can catch him. Scottish Championship here we come!’ Shelley’s voice was drowned by cheers from Caitlyn and Katie.

‘Well done, Pink Knickers.’ Roger briefly put an arm around Katie’s shoulders, making her blush. ‘Maybe all the horse needed was a change of cross country colours.’

Bloody hell, he thought. Charles Dee will insist he goes to the Championship, and how on earth can they replicate today’s total fluke?

‘Ooh, Katie,’ said Caitlyn excitedly, ‘you get a lovely set of silver spurs if you win the Championship, and you get training vouchers too, so you can have lessons with someone really good.’

‘Really?’

‘I wouldn’t get too excited about the training vouchers.’ Roger was waiting for Shelley to hand him Vision’s headcollar.

‘Why? Who’s the training with?’ asked Katie.

‘Me,’ he replied dryly.

‘Well, at least if she wins them,’ Shelley was easing off Vision’s bridle, ‘it’ll save you shouting at someone else and them finding out about your foul temper.’

•

Mrs Royal was sitting in the old armchair in the tack room with Otter at her feet. After hearing that The Mechanic had won, she pinned the huge rosettes on the tack room wall above the bridle hooks. As she left the yard, she pointed at Brogue and said that he had a sore foot.

‘He’s had a long day, and it’s hard ground,’ said Shelley as she opened the lorry’s outside locker to unload the tack.

Calling to Roger that there was a shepherd’s pie in the Aga, Mrs Royal was off, calling “ta da” and telling Otter not to follow her.

Shelley announced she was going to the Cup and Kettle for a drink, and who was joining her? Both Jules and Caitlyn offered her a lift.

‘Katie?’ Shelley hung Bluebell’s bridle on its hook in the tack room.

Katie sunk into the armchair. ‘Not me, Shell, I’m knackered.’

As Roger put down a plastic box full of dirty cross country boots on the table, he watched Shelley, followed by Jules and Caitlyn, scraping open the door of the Dorchester. Hearing them stomping to the top of the stone steps through the open door, he took a step towards Katie and slowly pulled down her stock. The mark he had left on her neck was almost purple, and he winced when he saw the impression of his teeth where he had bitten her at the point of climax.

‘Shit!’ he exclaimed. ‘I am so sorry.’

‘It hurts.’ She pulled her stock back up to hide it.

He tugged the silky material down her neck again as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. ‘Christ, I’ve never done that before in my life!’

‘You don’t need to look so bloody proud of it.’

‘I’m truly not.’

She removed his hand and carefully recovered the bruise. ‘Like I just said, it hurts.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘How did you know?’

‘I saw the top of it over your stock this afternoon.’

She dropped her eyes and got up from the chair.

‘Please try to keep it hidden.’

‘What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past two days?’ she asked furiously. ‘Why do you think I’ve been wearing a roll-neck since yesterday morning and didn’t get changed after competing today? I’m sweating my tits off trying to keep it hidden.’

He swallowed; it was the first time he had seen her really angry. ‘I’m sorry about everything; it shouldn’t have happened.’

‘So you’ve said. But leave me to worry about covering a hickey the size of Hampshire and you can stick to…’ She stopped quickly.

‘Stick to what?’ he asked impatiently.

‘Whatever it is you do, alone every night in your enormous house.’

‘Katie—’

‘I’m going to the pub,’ she swung her bag onto her shoulder, ‘and don’t worry, I’ll wear a scarf to keep your reputation intact.’

Seeing the fury in her strides across the yard to the Dorchester, Roger meticulously locked the tack room and slid the key into its hiding place next to the window in the stables on his left. He had been expecting a request for a date or at the very least a replay of Friday night. What he had not been expecting was the anger. She was clearly livid with him for suggesting she try to hide the love bite, because she had been managing quite well without his intervention for thirty-six hours. She was mature for twenty-four, he knew that, but in some ways, she seemed older than him, and that was something he was unfamiliar with. This was different territory, but he felt relieved that she seemed able to put their night in bed behind her.

Her discretion made him want to do it all over again.

As he made his way to the yard gates, Shelley hauled open the Dorchester’s lounge window and asked if he wanted to come for a drink with them.

‘He’s not fucking coming!’ yelled Katie in the background. ‘I’m not spending all night being lectured on what I’ve done wrong all weekend!’

Roger gave a shocked-looking Shelley a little shake of his head and continued walking towards the Hall.