by Jilly Cooper
To Tresa and Michelle, Tommy was the school swat, always working, always putting the stupid horses first, because she had nothing else with which to fill her life. They couldn’t appreciate that the public adored Tommy because she always smiled and although no one hugged and patted her horses more enthusiastically when they won, she comforted them and their jockeys equally lovingly when they lost.
116
This festering jealousy erupted one late January evening after the Larkminster Cup, when traditionally jockeys and stable lads and lasses from neighbouring yards joined up at a Larkminster club called Electric Blue for a party.
On this occasion, the drinking was very heavy, both to celebrate Furious’s victory and to blot out a hideous death. Harvey-Holden had run the lovely little mare called Gifted Child, who had never really fulfilled the promise she had shown when she was trained by Marius. He had therefore instructed his hired assassin, Vakil, who had so terrorized Bullydozer, to slip Gifted Child a bucket of water before the race.
As a result, she broke a blood vessel and her off fore, landing clumsily six out. Struggling up, she collapsed trying to jump the next fence. Her stable lass had gone home in tears. Vakil, unmoved, had pocketed £300 from Harvey-Holden, and this evening was intending to lay a stable lass or at least a prostitute. ‘Why you no kiss me?’ he was asking Tresa.
‘Because you’re not a good kisser,’ she snapped back.
Vakil worked forty-eight weeks a year and sent his wages home to support his wife and four children in Pakistan, whom he boasted would one day become dentists and lawyers and keep him in his old age. Tonight he was planning to enjoy himself.
The party from the racing yards was seated at a long table looking down on a dance floor filled with writhing couples and surrounded by more packed tables. As well as Tresa and Vakil, the racing party included Josh, Michelle, little Angel and jockeys Johnnie Brutus and Dare Catswood, who’d had a second at Larkminster, and Dare’s brother Jamie. Jamie was Harvey-Holden’s new pupil assistant, who claimed he wanted to train horses but was really more interested in getting up at midday and shagging stable girls.
Jamie had a loud voice, wore red cords and a striped scarf – a prat in a cravat – and was accepted because Mummy had horses in training and rich Daddy was a member of the Jockey Club. Jamie was good with owners and at opening champagne bottles, and it was agreed H-H needed someone like that.
The group were all shouting with laughter. Yelling to make themselves heard over Lily Allen and the pounding of the disco, they gazed through visibility much thicker than the fog at the races earlier, in order to play a game called Snog-a-Trog. Snog-a-Trog involved each person in the party picking out a really unattractive member of the opposite sex – which was often hard through the gloom – and seeing how quickly they could snog them. Jamie, whose new job it was to time horses on H-H’s gallops and who was already very drunk, was randomly timing progress with a stopwatch.
Michelle, looking sexually predatory in tight red-leather trousers and a red see-through shirt with a red bra underneath, had kicked off. She had approached a bespectacled geek in shortsleeved crimplene and with a mullet, who’d been dancing around waving his arms like an over-adrenalized tic-tac man, only to be primly told he was engaged. Josh was now across the room dancing with a girl with a turbot’s face and a huge bust, which rather precluded him getting close enough to kiss her.
This caused as much mirth as the fact that Awesome Wells, who had been expected to join the party after whizzing up to Wetherby, had afterwards got into the wrong private jet, fallen asleep and ended up in Dubai.
Amber, who was also riding at Wetherby, and Rogue, who was riding at Fairyhouse, were expected later, as was Rafiq. After his great win in the Larkminster Cup, Rafiq was doing a television interview about being the latest role model for young Muslims.
Great excitement was caused by the arrival of Eddie Alderton, a very blond American flat jockey who had grown too heavy and tall to do the weights, and was trying his luck as a jump jockey at Rupert Campbell-Black’s yard, Penscombe. He also turned out to be Rupert’s grandson, far more beautiful and drunk than anyone else, and he was buying most of the booze.
‘I wanna play Snarg-a-Trarg, I wanna play Snarg-a-Trarg,’ he kept saying.
‘You gotta girlfriend?’ asked Tresa, licking her lips.
‘Ah got five.’
‘Five?’ shrieked Michelle disapprovingly.
‘That still leaves two days free a week, if you’re up for it,’ said Eddie. ‘Snarg-a-Trarg.’
Lily Allen was followed by Michael Jackson, then by Lady Gaga.
‘He settled beautifully, switched gears going into the last, you’d think he’d just jumped in at the start,’ Johnnie Brutus was telling himself.
‘I’m going to have a crack at that tarty blonde,’ announced Dare Catswood, and came back very shaken. ‘It’s a bloke, tried to drag me into the Gents.’
‘Here’s Rogue,’ sighed Angel, ‘isn’t he gorgeous?’
Rogue had had a treble at Fairyhouse today and was riding there tomorrow, but had come back for the party.
To match his eyes he was wearing a kingfisher-blue sweatshirt which said, ‘I rode work for Rupert Campbell-Black and survived. Could you?’
As he walked in, girls nudged each other, tossed their hair and rucked up their dresses. Rogue glanced round, waved at Johnnie Brutus, scowled at Dare Catswood, then, clocking that Amber wasn’t at the table, made his way over to Tommy. She was sitting in a dark corner, making herself as inconspicuous as possible.
‘Hi,’ he said, kissing her. ‘Where’s Amber?’
‘So sorry, she’s not coming.’ Then, as Rogue’s face fell, ‘She’s just texted me, she’s gone to see her dad who’s in hospital in London.’
‘Do you know which hospital?’
‘I think she said the Marsden. She didn’t know you were turning up here.’
‘D’you want a lift home?’
‘I’m waiting for Rafiq.’
‘OK, see you.’ Ignoring the yells of ‘Rogue, Rogue,’ he was on his way to the door when Johnnie Brutus swayed after him.
‘Where you going?’
‘Back to Ireland.’
‘You just arrived. You’re working too hard, relax. I’ll find you a slapper, there are a couple at our table.’
Rogue glanced at Michelle and Tresa. Having just discovered he was Rupert’s grandson, they were laughing uproariously at Eddie Alderton’s jokes.
‘I’ve had them both and they were rubbish,’ said Rogue bleakly, and he was gone.
‘Where’d Rogue go?’ protested Eddie. ‘I wanted to talk to him. I want to ride Lusty in the Gold Cup but I guess Grandpa’ll put up Rogue. Thinks a lot of Rogue.’
‘Thinks a lot of himself,’ snapped Tresa.
‘Who was he talking to?’ drawled Eddie.
‘Tommy Ruddock, works in our yard.’
Eddie got out a pair of binoculars and stared through the gloom at Tommy.
‘That’s my Trarg.’
Michelle and Tresa screamed with laughter.
‘Have a crack at Lotto Briggs,’ advised a returning Johnnie Brutus. ‘Dare peeked into the ladies’ changing room at Cheltenham, said she wears grey underwear, has a forest down there and her girlfriend would geld you. But you’d win first prize, Eddie, you can’t get uglier than that.’
‘No, I’m going to try that Tarmy,’ insisted Eddie, ‘she might know something I don’t know about Rogue.’
Tommy tried to make herself even smaller. She was overwhelmed with longing. If only she were beautiful, like the other girls, jumping, swaying, their blonde hair swinging like the willows of Willowwood, showing off lovely legs in jeans or the shortest of minis.
She was used to melting into the background. Sometimes, out of kindness, girls dragged her on to the dance floor. Tommy was aware that tonight she looked particularly plain. She’d been up since five, ridden out four lots, driven to the races and back and bedded the horses down
before coming here. She hadn’t slept last night, worrying quite unnecessarily how Furious would perform. But the rain, which had been great for him, had frizzed up her hair more than usual. The heat in the room had turned her pink face red, and she’d forgotten a powder compact to tone it down.
When she got to the races, she’d found someone had pinched Rafiq’s silks and Furious’s cheek pieces, so she’d had to rush round begging replacements from travelling head lads and valets. She suspected Tresa had nicked them but she mustn’t get paranoid. Oh God, they were all laughing and looking in her direction.
She supposed Rafiq was turning up because he’d hoped Amber would be here. Shy about going into clubs, he had asked Tommy to wait for him this evening. She drained her pina colada, then noticed the most beautiful man in the group, white-blond and Nordic, jumping down from the platform and fighting his way across the room.
‘Tarmy Ruddock,’ said the softest Southern voice.
Tommy started as the Adonis put two glasses of champagne down on the table and said, ‘Budge up.’
Tommy budged.
‘You are a legend.’
‘Me?’
‘You do Furious and Mrs Wilkinson, I’ve read about you in the Racing Post. Even my grandfather wants to poach you.’
‘Me?’ squeaked Tommy.
Tommy couldn’t believe anyone, despite squinting slightly, could be so good-looking.
‘Furious was awesome for a change,’ said Eddie dismissively. ‘My grandpop would soon get rid of those mulish antics.’
‘It’s part of Furious’s character, he had a deprived childhood.’ As Tommy raised her glass to drink, her trumpet sleeve fell back to reveal a huge bruise.
‘Jesus, your boyfriend do that?’
‘No, Furious, he gets excited. I haven’t got a boyfriend.’
‘You have now,’ said Eddie. ‘Come and dance.’
‘Oh look, Eddie’s got her on the floor,’ screamed Michelle.
‘Can’t dance,’ said Tresa, as Tommy bounced around like a bull terrier puppy.
‘Doesn’t get much practice,’ sneered Michelle.
Jamie Catswood was looking at his stopwatch. ‘He’s going super,’ he told the others.
As Eddie drew Tommy against him, Tommy could feel the solid muscle beneath his blue denim shirt. As he laid his cheek against hers, he made a thumbs-up sign behind her head to the giggling table, followed by a drinking sign to tell them to fill up his and Tommy’s glasses.
The Black Eyed Peas were electrifying the dancers.
‘I’ve got a feeling tonight’s going to be a good night,’ whispered Eddie into a bemused Tommy’s ear.
They were all convulsed with laughter when a shadow fell across the table. It was Rafiq. He was wearing, courtesy of Hello!, tight black jeans and a shirt the clear scarlet of runner bean flowers. His hair, newly cut and styled for the Channel 4 interview, was spiked upwards with product, showing off the flawless cheekbones and forehead usually hidden by flopping black curls. He looked arrogant and antagonistic – not quite the ideal role model for young Muslims – as he scowled across at Vakil.
‘Here’s the “Shere” Khan of Hello!,’ mocked Josh.
‘Rafiq, Rafiq. Great win!’ called out Tresa. ‘Come and join our game.’
‘What game?’ said Rafiq.
‘It’s called Snog-a-Trog,’ brayed Jamie Catswood, with whom Rafiq had already had spats about the British Army’s presence in Afghanistan.
‘Snog-a-Trog,’ shouted Michelle over the din. ‘You each pick the ugliest person in the room and then have a competition to see how quickly you can snog them. Johnnie’s about to get a black eye from Lotto Briggs and Michelle goofed with a geek. It’s your turn next, Vakil.’
‘And Eddie’s chosen Tommy,’ said Tresa bitchily. ‘He’s doing good.’
‘He what?’ It was like a rifle shot. Rafiq swung round. There was Tommy, laughing and bouncing around on the dance floor.
‘Eddie’s got a dog on his telephone already,’ giggled Jamie.
‘Black Lab – another dog won’t make any difference.’
‘Take that back,’ hissed Rafiq, seizing Jamie’s arm and raising his fist. ‘Take it back.’
‘All right, mate, calm down,’ said Jamie, looking rather frightened. ‘I was only pulling your leg.’
‘What you mean “pull my leg”? You think I’m gay?’
‘It’s a figure of speech, dickhead,’ said Josh. ‘Means taking the piss. For God’s sake, cool it, Rafiq. Get him a drink, someone.’
Eddie’s hand had moved downwards. Tommy had a big butt for sure, but as she smiled up in wonder, he noticed she had very pretty white, even teeth for a Brit and a sweet pink mouth and such sweet breath it would be no hardship to kiss her.
But as he bent his head, a vice gripped the shoulder he’d dislocated last year and he howled in pain, as he was pulled off Tommy and punched in his own perfect American teeth, a blow which threw him across the room.
‘Leave her alone, you bastard.’
‘Rafiq,’ stammered Tommy, ‘whatever’s the matter? Eddie only asked me to dance and bought me a drink, he was being so lovely.’
‘Lovely, my arse,’ snarled Rafiq, grabbing her bruised arm so she too shrieked in pain. ‘We’re going home.’
‘He knew all about Furious.’
By this time Jamie and Josh had jumped down from the platform and closed round him, Jamie picking up Eddie and restraining him as he tried to take a pot at Rafiq.
‘Cool it,’ snapped Josh, ‘you don’t want to get stood down before Cheltenham.’
‘Get out of here,’ Rafiq snarled at Tommy, then as she reluctantly moved towards the door, ‘go on, quickly. Wilkie’s cast herself.’
The moment she’d gone, he turned on Josh and a swaying about-to-lunge Eddie.
‘I’m not having her humiliated,’ he spat. ‘If any one of you bastards breathes a word about snogging trogs, I keel you, I keel you.’ Such was his mad dog frenzy, even Eddie backed off.
‘It was a game, Rafiq,’ called out Tresa, who’d also jumped down from the platform.
But Rafiq had vanished into a night as dark as himself.
‘My God, there was murder or rather suicide bomb in his eyes,’ said Dare.
‘I’d commit suicide if I had a bum as big as Tommy’s,’ Tresa said, giggling nervously as they climbed back up to the table.
‘Well well well,’ Josh shook his head, ‘I thought Rafiq was hopelessly hooked on Amber.’
‘Amber’s well fit, I’d love to shag her,’ mumbled Eddie, grabbing a napkin to stem the blood pouring from his mouth.
‘Tommy’d look better if you hid her face and that frizzy hair under a burka,’ said Michelle bitchily. ‘Are you OK, Eddie?’
‘It’s your turn to choose a trog to snog, Vakil.’ Jamie got out his stopwatch.
But everyone had lost their taste for the game, particularly Michelle, when the geek with the mullet and the fiancée sidled up and asked for her telephone number.
117
Tommy and Rafiq were silent on the way home. Brilliant stars glittered through the bare trees, gardens were lit with snowdrops. Rafiq was desperately analysing his feelings, his volcanic burst of rage … Was he merely defending his dear friend whom above all things he didn’t want hurt, or could it be jealousy, a lightning strike, sudden excruciating pain to see her smiling up at the effortlessly handsome Eddie?
‘Is Wilkie OK?’ muttered Tommy.
‘She wasn’t cast, I made it up. I am sorry, Tommy. We have another early start tomorrow. I kept you waiting, I don’t want you to get too tired.’
Slowly Tommy’s heartbeat grew slower.
Back at Throstledown, they found Furious and Wilkie flat out and snoring. Furious looked particularly sweet, his hooves curled round his nose. Chisolm, snuggled up against Wilkie’s belly, opened a long yellow eye.
Rafiq looked at Tommy. It was as if he’d seen her for the first time, through newly polished spectacles. How dare
those pigs call her a trog? He walked her upstairs to her room.
Outside she stammered, ‘That was such a brilliant win.’
‘I learn Furious could win the Gold Cup today,’ said Rafiq softly, ‘but tonight I learn something much more important. I have been barking up wrong treat.’
He took her round, anxious face in his hands, flattening the fuzzy hair, seeing how long and dark were her eyelashes and how bemused with love her eyes. Unable to stop himself, he dropped a kiss on her trembling lips, which tasted faintly of champagne.
Tommy shuddered then kissed him back, keeping her mouth shut then opening it timidly as her hands crept very slowly up his chest.
‘Oh Tommy,’ mumbled Rafiq and kissed her much harder. ‘It is truth, I dragged you away because I was jealous.’
‘Jealous,’ squeaked Tommy in amazement.
‘I want you to be just mine.’
Then he let her go and opened the door further.
‘You need sleep,’ he smoothed the purple shadows beneath her eyes, ‘and we must take this very slowly because you are so precious to me. I cannot bear anything to go wrong.’
Afterwards, Rafiq couldn’t sleep. He felt huge happiness and confusion. Sweet Tommy, how could he have wasted so many opportunities when they’d been alone together?
As he prostrated himself in prayer on the white fur rug Tommy had given him for Christmas, he thanked Allah first for Furious’s amazing win and then for Tommy. Then he groaned. ‘Oh God, when I begged for someone to love, I forget to tell you what colour and what faith.’
Reeling with ecstasy and shock, Tommy, once her door was shut, was brought down to earth by a message to ring her father whatever time she came in.
‘Young Rafiq was in a fight at Electric Blue tonight,’ were his first words.
‘Jockeys are always having fights,’ protested Tommy.
‘Knocked out Rupert Campbell-Black’s grandson’s front tooth.’
‘How d’you know this so fast?’
‘We’re watching him. His cousin Ibrahim is rumoured to be back in England. Find out what you can. If he says anything it’s your duty to tell me.’