‘Jack did that to you?’ Billy looked horrified.
‘No!’ she laughed. ‘He just told me I can ride Ta’ Qali in his next race,’ she said.
‘Bloody ’ell. What did you do to piss him off?’
‘No, it’s a good thing, see. Ta’ Qali can be really good, Billy. Jack thinks a jockey change might bring out the best in him.’
‘Rather you than me.’
‘And he’s letting me ride Peace Offering in the Kim Muir at the Festival. I can’t believe it. My first Festival ride and such a high profile horse.’ She took a deep breath and exhaled with excitement. ‘Have you noticed Jack’s in a really good mood today?’
Billy grinned.
‘Sure he is. Haven’t you heard?’
‘Heard what?’
‘Oh, shit.’ Billy clumsily crossed himself. ‘Sorry, I swore I wouldn’t tell.’
Chapter 35
Come the evening of the Girl Guides’ Lights, Camera, Action event, Frankie still wasn’t certain Rhys would show. While she’d spent a productive day schooling Aspen Valley’s novices at home, he’d had a full book of rides at Taunton. She was already regretting her decision to come dressed as Lara Croft. Not only had her body not seen the sun for six months, but the temperature inside Helensvale’s Community Hall bordered on Arctic. As she set up a table of DVDs, a squealing herd of Hermione Grangers and Ginny Weasleys ran by pursued by Charlotte, snarling through plastic vampire teeth. She wished she could run around with the abandon of the girls to warm up.
‘Right, come along, girls!’ Bronwyn, the Guider In Charge shouted, clapping her hands. ‘Get into your patrols. You’ve got a camcorder each to make a short film and we haven’t much time.’
Frankie sighed and tried to hide her disappointment. Rhys obviously wasn’t going to show. When she’d reminded him that morning about tonight’s Go For It, he’d only said he’d see if he could make it. He wouldn’t make any promises.
The thirty girls gradually came to order and Frankie took the helm of Starfish Patrol. Charlotte was still grinning in her vampire teeth, Mischa was patting her blonde Marilyn Monroe wig alongside Harriet in a Pink Ladies jacket. All she needed was a cigarette dripping from her lip and she could have stepped off the set of Grease. Cassa had donned a nurse outfit, four sizes too big for her, which Frankie was struggling to place in the world of cinema.
‘Have you girls thought of any ideas for a film then?’ she asked once they were all settled.
‘A vampire movie!’ lisped Charlotte.
‘Yes!’ agreed Mischa. ‘Then I can be the victim. Cassa can be the doctor trying to save me—who are you meant to be anyway?’ she asked, wrinkling her nose at Cassa’s costume.
Cassa shrank away.
‘Someone from Grey’s Anatomy?’
‘Oh, okay,’ Mischa said with disinterest. ‘We’re going to need some tomato sauce for blood.’
Frankie shook her head.
‘If you’re sure your mothers aren’t going to complain about stains—’
In the relative quiet of the hall, the heavy entrance door slamming shut roused everyone’s attention. Captain Jack Sparrow stood uncertainly in the doorway with a sack of treasures slung over his shoulder. An intake of girlish breath pre-empted a universal window-shattering shriek as the girls dropped what they were doing and stampeded over to him. The pirate limped forward, making a great show of swaying on his sea-legs.
Frankie’s heart swelled. She watched with escalating pride and something resembling love as Rhys greeted the girls in character. She walked over at a more leisurely pace, silently laughing at him, while at the same time thinking how very well he pulled off the role.
‘Johnny Depp, eat your heart out,’ Victoria, her fellow helper, murmured in her ear. ‘I’d take a trip down his gangplank any day.’
Frankie smiled like only the sexually self-satisfied can.
‘Sorry, I’m the only one allowed to rock his boat.’
‘Mm-hmm,’ Victoria murmured in approval. ‘Frankie, I’m impressed.’
Frankie grinned then turned to watch Rhys withdrawing a tripod from his contraband sack to show the eager Guides.
‘Not as impressed as I am.’
*
The following morning was deceptively bright despite being overcast. Frankie whistled as she mucked out her boxes, warmed by the physical work and the large imposing presence of Ta’ Qali overseeing her progress. She gave him a quick pat on his muscled shoulder then pushed her wheelbarrow out into the chilly yard. She noticed Jack walking her way in the company of an elderly man.
‘Morning, Frankie. Is Blue Jean Baby on the horse walker?’
‘No. Just about to muck her out now so she will be in a sec.’
‘Hold that thought. This is her owner, Mr McCready. Ron, this is Frankie Cooper, Blue Jean Baby’s lass and Aspen Valley’s amateur jockey.’
Frankie wiped her palm on her jeans before shaking the man’s cold gnarly hand.
‘Nice to meet you, Mr McCready. Blue Jean Baby’s a real character.’
Ron McCready’s face creased into a smile.
‘Frankie Cooper?’ he said, directing the emphasis at Jack.
‘Yup, one and the same,’ Jack nodded.
‘Well, well, well. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Frankie,’ he said with a hoarse Cornish accent. ‘And good to see the next generation so involved in racing too.’
Frankie assumed the old man must have known or heard of her father. His eyes were a milky blue, kind and warm and Frankie gave him her most genuine smile.
‘Would you bring Blue Jean Baby out for us to have a look at?’ Jack said.
‘No problem.’ Frankie led them over to the last stable in her row. ‘Dory? You having a lie-in?’ she joked when Dory’s ever-present head didn’t materialise over the door. The three peered inside. Frankie’s heart sank to her soles faster than an express elevator. The stable was very empty.
‘Maybe you forgot that you’d put her on the walker?’ Jack suggested slowly. He gave her a meaningful look. Frankie gaped. She wasn’t losing her mind. She most definitely hadn’t seen to Dory yet. In fact, she hadn’t heard a peep from Dory’s stable since she’d arrived. Frankie looked at the bolted door.
She turned to Jack and Ron McCready and laughed jovially.
‘Yup. You’re right again, Jack. Please excuse me—second day back. Still getting the old brain back on the job.’ She knocked her knuckles against her skull and rolled her eyes. ‘Why don’t I go get Blue Jean Baby while you wait in the office where it’s warm?’
Jack narrowed his eyes at her.
‘Yes, that sounds a good idea,’ he said, his voice wooden. He would make a terrible actor, Frankie reckoned. ‘You go find Blue Jean Baby and we’ll go have a cup of tea.’
*
With owner and trainer walking away, Frankie sprinted out of the block. It was pointless checking the walker. Unless Dory had put herself on it, she wouldn’t be there.
‘Maybe June or someone put her on before I arrived,’ she said, skidding to a halt.
She ran back into the yard and nearly flipped over Romulus’ half door in her haste. Romulus jumped in fright and June looked up from her raking.
‘June, did you put Dory on the walker earlier?’ Frankie said breathlessly.
‘Dory?’ the lass looked confused. ‘No. Why?’
‘She’s missing. And her owner’s here to see her.’
‘Shit. She must have taken herself on walkabout. I’ll come help you.’ June collected her barrow and tools and Frankie held the door open for her.
‘You check the walker. I’ll check the home paddocks.’
*
Frankie jogged down the track separating the paddocks, her rapid breath ghosting the air in front of her. Each lush field stood empty in the cold. Tiny snowflakes began to fall.
‘That’s all I need when I’m looking for a grey horse,’ she muttered.
At the end of the track, she stopped and leaned her hands on he
r thighs. A stitch twisted her side. She hoped Jack was stalling Ron McCready over his cup of tea.
‘If I were Dory, where would I go?’
Useful perhaps with any other horse, but Dory was eccentric enough to gallop to London and join a West End theatre production. What if she wasn’t on Aspen Valley property? What if she was on the roads? Dread dragged the air from her lungs and she ran back down the track, faster, more desperate.
At this rate, it wouldn’t matter how much Jack stalled the owner, they would have to break the news that his horse was missing.
‘Dory!’ she called helplessly.
The snow began to fall faster, the flakes fat and dense. She could barely make out the far end of the paddocks. She reached the stables again and was met by June.
‘Any luck?’ she called.
June shook her head.
‘Oh, God. Where is she?’ Frankie groaned.
‘There is one place we haven’t checked. Dory spent her summer in the paddock on the other side of the hill next to Jack’s house. She might have gone there.’
‘Crikey, that’s going to take us forever to run up that hill. Mr McCready’s going to start to wonder.’
‘We’ll take the quad bike,’ June said.
*
Riding shotgun, Frankie clung to June’s waist as they bounced up the hillside track. Jack’s house rose into view, a barn conversion dusted with fresh snow on its roof. June pulled up alongside the gate to a paddock nearby and Frankie scrambled up the bars to peer through the murk.
‘Dory!’
Only the wind, swirling the snow into flurries, answered her call.
She and June exchanged worried looks.
‘She must have got out onto the road,’ Frankie said at last. ‘I’m going to have to go tell Jack. Oh, why did her owner have to come see her today of all days!’
‘Come on,’ June said. ‘Better not waste any more time. Have you got your phone on you? It’ll be quicker to tell him and keep looking at the same time.’
Frankie despaired. She was just digging her mobile out of her pocket when a sound, high on the wind, made her stop.
‘What was that?’ She stopped to listen. For a moment only the gusting wind and steady growl of the quad bike broke the silence. Then the sound came again. Fainter. But Frankie was certain.
‘It’s her. DORY!’ she yelled again.
‘Where did it come from?’
‘It sounded like it was coming from there,’ she said pointing to Jack’s house.
June mirrored her dubious expression.
‘Let’s go check it out then.’
Frankie straddled the growling bike again and the pair bounced off the main track and onto the driveway.
‘DORY!’ June took up the call.
A clearer whinny reached them and June hurriedly shut off the bike’s engine.
‘It sounds like—she can’t be inside, can she?’ Frankie said.
Jumping off the bike they ran round the side of the house. As one, they stopped dead. Slowly, they digested the scene before them.
‘Fuck me,’ June murmured.
‘Oh, God. Dory. What the hell have you done?’ Frankie strode towards the mare on the other side of the fence. Jack’s entire vegetable garden was ploughed up beyond recognition. Blue Jean Baby was caked in mud, her belly distended from where she’d gorged herself and been unable to jump back out of the garden. A sheepish smile hung from her radish-tinted lips.
‘Jack is going to kill us both.’
*
Frankie stood awkwardly in the warmth of the office facing the two men. Ron McCready was surprisingly understanding when the truth surfaced.
‘Horses will be horses,’ he shrugged.
‘And Dory will be Dory,’ Jack muttered, looking less impressed. ‘I’ll get the vet out just in case she develops colic.’
‘Sorry about your veggie garden,’ Frankie said.
‘Forget it. Why don’t you go clean up Dory while I give Warnock a ring? I’m sorry about this, Ron.’
The elderly owner beamed at Frankie from his seat.
‘No problem at all. Makes me feel part of a yard again.’
Back in the biting cold of the yard, Frankie hurried across to Dory’s stable (where the top door had now also been closed). The old man’s words looped round her mind. Now that she had a moment to think, his name did sound oddly familiar.
Ron McCready. She thought back to Dory’s previous racing engagements, but her owner had failed to attend any of them. No, it wasn’t through Dory that the name was niggling her. He’d mentioned feeling part of a yard again. Had he been involved in racing in a different capacity? Earlier, he’d implied he’d known her father. He must have been in the game for a good few years then.
McCready, McCready.
She unbolted the stable doors and gasped. In her mind’s eye, she saw her laptop screen before she’d spilt coffee over it all those months ago. Ron McCready had trained Crowbar, the horse who had won the Grand National for Alan Bradford.
*
In a haze of possibilities and speculations, Frankie scraped the mud from Dory’s legs. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the half-door. Ron McCready smiled in at her.
‘Mind if I come inside the warmth? Jack’s been sidetracked with vet issues so I thought I’d come pay you both a visit.’
Dory reached out and nosed his pockets for treats.
‘Yes, of course.’
He snuffled into a handkerchief and Frankie hesitated.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to wait in the office? It’s a lot warmer in there.’
The old man waved her away.
‘It’s been too long since I’ve seen my Blue Jean Baby. Been in hospital with a chest infection that wouldn’t shift. The joys of being a pensioner in winter.’
‘You used to train, didn’t you?’
Ron McCready responded with another warm smile.
‘That I did. Didn’t have quite as big a set-up as Jack does here, but we had our moments of glory.’
Frankie carried on brushing Dory. She bit her lip, summoning her courage.
‘My dad rode for you, didn’t he?’
He gave a wheezy cough and Frankie waited for him to answer.
‘If Doug Cooper’s your dad then yes, he did. A fine rider just as you are, I’m sure. Not every Tom, Dick and Harry gets a job with Jack Carmichael.’
‘Thanks.’
She opened her mouth to ask another question then closed it again when she failed to compose the words. Airily brushing the mud from Dory’s temples, she tried a different approach.
‘Dad sometimes mentioned a horse that you trained—Crowbar, I think it was,’ she said. ‘He must have been some horse to have.’
‘That he was. Lazy as a dog at home, but he saved his energy for when it really mattered.’
‘But he had two jockeys, didn’t he?’
She paused in her grooming, fearful that she was probing too deep, but Ron didn’t seem to notice. He chuckled and shook his head. Even though his eyes still travelled over Dory’s body, she could tell he was looking back into the past.
‘Wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it? Your dad and Alan Bradford practically shared everything. Those two were inseparable.’
Frankie dropped the dandy brush.
‘They were friends?’
‘Well, of course. Shared a house when they were both doing their apprenticeships. Your dad was best man at Alan’s wedding if I remember correctly. Poor sod. Had to stand up and do a speech in front of hundreds.’ He paused to reminisce then nodded. ‘That’s right, I remember that day well now. Maria’s parents hadn’t spared any expense—mind you, they could well afford it. Your poor dad was so nervous about telling stories about Alan without getting him in trouble with the new in-laws. They were all Spanish too and—well, you know, the British sense of humour isn’t universally shared.’ He gave a raspy chuckle and shook his head.
Frankie stared at him, her li
mbs numb. She nearly lost her balance when Dory shoved her. Her assumption that her father and Alan Bradford had always been enemies lay in rubble in her brain. They’d been friends? And by the sounds of it, not just friends, but best friends.
‘Is that why Alan Bradford rode Crowbar in the National then? Because they were friends?’
The old man tilted his head back to look at her curiously.
‘Doug never told you they were friends, did he?’ he said.
Frankie gave an ambiguous shrug and retrieved the brush from the straw. She started on combing out the clots of earth from Dory’s mane.
‘I know that they knew each other. There’s no big secret or anything,’ she said. ‘I was just wondering why my dad didn’t ride Crowbar in the National.’
‘Why are you asking me these questions?’ he said with a grey frown. His face took on the expression of someone who’s realised they’ve said too much. ‘I think you should ask your father if you’ve got questions. It’s not my place,’ he mumbled. He gestured at Dory with his hand. ‘Mind you use a soft cloth on her ears now.’
Abandoning her grooming, desperation got the better of her.
‘But why? All I want to know is why they fell out. If I could just understand then it would be okay. But right now, I don’t know what Rhys and I are doing that’s so wrong.’
‘You and Rhys?’
Frankie grimaced. That one had slipped out like a fart in an elevator.
‘Yeah, kinda.’
‘Alan’s son, Rhys? Oh, Lord. Talk to your father, Frankie. That’s all I can say.’
‘But—’
‘Come along now. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of work to be getting on with without standing around chatting.’
Frankie sighed. She saw Jack walking briskly over to them from across the yard and her shoulders slumped. Theories and questions buzzed around her head like rush-hour traffic. So hers and Rhys’s fathers had been best friends. Where had it all gone wrong? Did Crowbar have anything to do with the bust-up? Who was to blame? Why wouldn’t Ron McCready tell her what had happened? Why did Doug Cooper still hate Alan Bradford’s guts so vehemently thirty years on?
Chapter 36
Fine flurries of snow were still silently falling when Frankie mounted the steps to her parents’ front door that evening. The brass knocker, lit by the security lantern, burned her fingertips with cold. Vanessa answered the door, delight and surprise on her face.
Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) Page 23