Blind Beauty (28 page)

The next jump, narrow and at an angle, was not inviting. This was the famous Foinavon Fence when the whole field had piled up and the winner was the only horse so far behind that he was able to pick his way through the carnage when he got to it and continue on his way. This side of the course was flanked on the outside by a high embankment and a railway siding. Where the railway crossed a canal at the top end, the racecourse abruptly turned left to avoid going into the water.

“The horses used to fall in quite often. But they've built a fence since.”

Drab housing shut off further views.

“The trouble with jumps this high,” Peter said, “is that you can't see what's on the other side.”

“Bodies, you mean?” asked Wisbey.

“Yes. Unless you're in the lead. Then there aren't any.”

Peter was trying to find the best ground.

“We'll walk it again tomorrow, when they've tidied it all up. It helps to know, when your horse is getting tired. And navigation – in case you're in front, Tessa.” He laughed. “The courses cross up here.”

There was an ordinary course inside the grandstand end of the Grand National course that was used for all the other races. The races that didn't matter, thought Tessa. They could have entered one of those. Having seen the fences she knew now what everyone said was true: she was mad. Yet she had never mistrusted her talent. She was not afraid of riding the fences. She wasn't
afraid
. But she felt… there were no words for what she felt. She said nothing.

“Scared?” jeered Wisbey.

They came round the home turn, up to the Chair, the biggest of all the fences, in front of the stands, jumped only on the first circuit, and then up the long, long run in. The sun was sinking behind them. A factory hooter bleated for knocking-off time.

How strange,
thought Tessa. Whatever was going to happen?

They went back to the stables. This time tomorrow it would all be over.

Tessa refused to go out with them, for a meal, in spite of all the persuasion. She wanted to be on her own, to be with Buffoon, eat in the lads' canteen, she didn't want to know anyone.

“Leave her,” Jimmy said to Peter.

They went off in Peter's car and Tessa went back to Buffoon. She wasn't going to leave him. Not now. Not ever.

T
he morning dawned cold and wet. Tessa rode out along with all the others, fed and groomed Buffoon and then was only too grateful to be taken under Peter's wing. He arrived in his car and took her off for breakfast in the smart hotel.

“And a rest, Tessa. You can lie about, have a hot bath, drink coffee. Wind down. You should have come back last night.”

“It's better now,” Tessa said.

Jimmy and Wisbey were at the stables. She could relax, read the papers. Marimba and Tom were still favourite, Buffoon at fifty-to-one. There were a few pieces on her and her old horse, but nothing that she had not read before. She did not want to read it again. But she enjoyed her morning of leisure, sunk into one of the hotel's deep, plushy armchairs with the central heating purring around her and the coffee-pot at her elbow. At least it was better than sweating it out in a sauna like most of her male companions, to get weight off. She was allotted to carry ten stone and only weighed eight. She could eat as many chocolate biscuits as she liked, and would still have to have lead weights inserted in her saddle-cloth to give Buffoon his proper weight.

Peter kept the panicking Myra out of her hair, treated her to a light lunch and then drove her back to the course.

The traffic was solid, the punters streaming in as the rain gave way to fitful sunshine. The excitement was tangible, the crowd exuding an electricity that sparked in every face, the bookmakers shouting, the loudspeaker voice flaring down the wind. In the stables the activity was as frenzied, the same excitement contained in the faces of the travelling lads and the girls who all recognized that the day was special. It wasn't like an ordinary racing day at all. Tessa was not alone in her shell of amazement. Did Buffoon sense it too, looking out over his door with his ears pricked up, the tips almost touching, as horses for the first races were led past? He knew he was going to race. But did he remember where he was? Did he remember the first time over the great fences, the surprise of Bechers, the sharp turn by the canal? Tessa thought he did. Buffoon wasn't stupid.

“But you've got me with you this time.”

For better or for worse. Tessa put her arms round his neck and laid her cheek against his.

“We'll make it, Buffy,” she whispered. “I don't care what they say.”

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it buoyed her up while the minutes ticked past. Into the weighing room… her colours… pushed here and there… seeing Tom at one point in just his breeches, laughing with a valet. “This way.” They looked after her, the only female, patronizing. She didn't care. It was all a dream, until she was outside again in the queue of lean men and the camera lights were flashing and the television boom pushed in her face. “What was she feeling?” She couldn't answer, there being no words. Oh, to be out there on Buffoon's back!

“Oh my God, I don't know how you feel, but I'm knocked up already,” Myra muttered to her. “I don't think I can watch this at all.”

“Ma, he's the safest horse in the race!”

What a stupid thing to say, tempting fate! Oh Buffy, why am I doing this to you?

A mad face in the crowd, shouting, “Me darling! Go for it, me darling! I've put me shirt on you, and me trousers too!”

Her idiot, drunken father, with his idiot, drunken friends, all waving. Her heart lurched with the old wild, despairing love. Her
father
! No wonder she was such an idiot too, with those inherited genes…

“Dad, save it! You're crazy!” She had to laugh.

They disappeared in the crush.

Greevy came up and gripped her hand.

“Best of luck, Tessa! Stay safe! I'm rooting for you.”

And two familiar faces leaning over the paddock rail, shouting at her. Shouting? Her staid schoolteachers, Mrs Alston and the Battleaxe! Their faces red, their smart hats awry, they shouted out good wishes.

Tessa's emotions were shattered in all directions. Everyone had gone mad, not only herself. Then Jimmy's hand on her shoulder, hard and purposeful.

“You're a great girl, Tessa. Enjoy it. It won't happen again, it's your chance.”

She looked at him, knowing suddenly that it was his teaching and support that had got her where she was. He had always gone along with her dreams. Dear Jimmy. She loved him! He legged her into the saddle.

“I wouldn't mind being in your place now,” she said.

He laughed.

Tessa sat high, perched over the bony mountain of Buffoon's withers, seeing the familiar rabbity ears ahead of her twitching to the excitement. This was her place, whatever the surroundings. She was at home. Her horse. A shiver of pure exaltation went through her. Whatever happened, it was worth it. All the heartache… and now… jostled, whistled at, exclaimed over, they moved forward into the parade.

Wisbey was on the leading-rein, the official lad, excited at the task, to lead Buffoon down the course in the parade before the start. Peter and Myra and Jimmy departed to try and find a good place in the stands and Tessa rode out with all the others. They milled around, getting into parade order, and Tom went past on Marimba. At close quarters the horse looked magnificent, a big, spare animal with a long, elastic stride, very laid back but interested in all the excitement, looking about him with bold, intelligent eyes. Tessa, who told herself she wasn't thinking about winning, did not see how he could be beaten. But then, anything could, and did, happen in the National. Tom didn't see her. He was pale and serious, not laughing any more.

They went down past the stands, interminably, and then the first horse turned and was away. One by one they all cantered off down to the start.

“It's all yours, matey,” Wisbey said as he unclipped the lead-rope. “Best of luck, Tess.”

For once he was serious too.

At last!

It was fantastic to be moving, to let the brakes off, alone at last with her horse. The presence of all those thousands of people seemed distant now, of no account. She had no cares, riding her own horse, no one to let down but herself. No one to blame. Only Buffoon and herself, to do what they could.

Milling around at the start, she saw Tom again. She thought of Maurice watching him, having staked everything – what a burden Marimba carried along with the top weight! She wanted Tom to win, but not Maurice. Impossible. Tom was lining up on the inside next to the rail. Tessa got behind him, knowing the good ones were on the inside. She didn't want to be behind no-hopers at the first fence where usually there were fallers. Not to be brought down, that was the priority. At the back, she could move across wherever there was a gap.

That was the plan, but when the tapes went up, it was all such mayhem that her plans were forgotten. A horse barged into her from behind (Buffoon never being the liveliest horse away) and nearly knocked her out of the saddle, and when she got herself balanced again another horse gave her a bang on the other side. Their stirrups clinked together and the other jockey swore at her. Tessa swore back, enjoying it. Buffoon was running straight as a die, at his own pace, and the other horse went on, came to the first fence and disappeared from sight as if shot.

Tessa had time to see, make up her mind and steer clear, pulling Buffoon across so that he was nicely sighted. He flew over the big fence easily. Tessa saw three horses down, and the rest of the field a great wedge of flying tails and butterfly silks fluttering ahead of her. The speed was crazy. Buffoon was last by the look of it, so she took him back to the inside to save ground. Now she could see nothing of the next jump, only hope and pray. She should have been on the outside but it was too late now.

There was nothing ahead of her but backs and buttocks, a glimpse of the high iron gateways shutting off the Melling road, of giant hoardings. Somewhere ahead five foot of solid thorn hedge was lying in wait – it must be soon!

The horse ahead of them changed shape, launching skywards. Tessa, ready for it, felt Buffoon's momentary check of surprise, the quick, self-preserving extra stride, and then they were airborne, magnificently, Buffoon's powerful quarters catapulting them over the obstacle with startled generosity. The air was filled with the crashing of twigs and expletives and Tessa suddenly saw the whole field ahead of her, charging on like cavalry, the course running like a green river into the far, far distance. Buffoon landed with a surprised grunt, and she drove him on, imbued now with the desire to keep in touch.

“Not too far behind, you old beggar, Buffy. This is important!”

He cocked an ear. The third jump, Tessa remembered, was nasty with a ditch in front like an elephant trap. She saw it coming, sat into Buffoon with all her strength, driving with back and legs, heard the clonking and crashing of the horses in front and saw the backsides flying, white breeches and swirling tails. A jockey rolled under Buffoon's feet but Buffoon side-stepped to miss him, nearly pitching Tessa off over his shoulder… She grabbed his unplaited mane, saw the jockey momentarily curled up like a hedgehog beneath her, rolling away under the rail. And then it was on to the next.

Two loose horses now ran alongside, which was not good. She could not move out now if she wanted, and was afraid they might cross in front of her. She waved her whip and shouted at the nearest, and it veered away, saw the jump ahead and pricked its ears. It sailed over and Buffoon went with it, stride for stride. Who needs a rider? Tessa wondered.

Buffoon had got the measure of the big fences now. There were a lot of horses ahead of them but quite a lot of disaster behind, and still the loose horses alongside. Shut in, Tessa knew she was going to have to ride Bechers on the inside, whether she liked it or not. But her confidence was growing with every stride, and when the famous jump came Buffoon met it on a perfect stride and soared over. Landing seemed to last for ever with the big drop, but Buffoon got it right, landed safely and gathered his legs together neatly with just a snort of surprise to show his feelings. The cold wind knifed through Tessa's sweaty silks and for a moment in the air she felt as if she was out of the race, in another world altogether, on wings. Her heart was flying. The feeling of bliss laced with genuine fear was a cocktail she had never experienced – she could think of no other circumstances that could induce it.

“Oh Buffy!” she shouted at him. “You are wonderful.”

Flecks of foam from his mouth and dollops of wet mud sprayed her face. She had to wipe her goggles on her sleeve to see the next jump, the narrow one before the Canal turn. It was at an angle, nasty, but luckily her loose horse companions went veering out to the right, straight on and jumped on the far side, so she was able to steer nicely round on the inside and keep in tight for the Canal turn. By her inside tactics she was keeping quite well up, and when the first horses went into the Canal turn she got a good view of Tom in the lead, jumping and turning at the same time so that his great horse made two lengths on the ones beside him, making almost a right-angle in mid-air. Strength and balance… Tom was a great rider. When Tessa came to the same spot Buffoon jumped on the inside but went much wider than Marimba, galloping out into wide open spaces but, fortunately, not taking anyone with him.

Tessa heaved him round, swearing at her incompetence. Buffoon went charging off on the new course, seeing his companions ahead of him, and went into Valentines in a smother of flying spruce, through one of the kicked-out gaps. There was a strong smell of resinous pine joined with the smell of steaming horse and wet grass, and more mud spattered her goggles. Tessa felt as if her arms were being pulled out, dishevelled and not much in control. The jumps were coming up fast and all she could do was steer and hope for the best, tired already and disillusioned as to her talent. It all seemed a great muddle with herself surviving more than dictating. But at least she was still there! Greater jockeys than herself had come to grief. But Tom on Marimba was miles ahead.

Buffoon seemed happy enough, loping along in his usual not very assertive way, no doubt wondering when the winning post was coming up. In the lull after the twelfth jump, when there was a long way to go without obstacles, Tessa tried to gather herself together and take a breather. They weren't even halfway yet and she felt she had had a hard day. And the next jump was the enormous Chair in front of the stands where Jimmy and Peter would be watching along with thousands of other people. In the flesh.

But she was still there, and there were horses behind her, and loose horses both behind and in front, and Buffoon felt full of running. And interested. He could hear the start of the cheering from the stands as the first horses rounded the long bend and came into the straight, and his big ears pricked up and Tessa told him he was a good boy and there were miles to go yet. And as he settled into his long stride into the straight she felt that they were catching up, although she had been sitting quite still on him. The ground was certainly heavy and no doubt the pace was not really fast, but it suited Buffoon more than some of the more skittish competitors. She could see the Chair now and hear the roar of the crowd. The big jump was narrow but by the time she got to it the leading horses were over and heading for the water jump. She had all the room in the world. Buffoon judged his stride, lengthened without her help and flew over as if it were a mere hurdle, so big that she was almost dislodged. But no, the landing was balanced and smooth. With the great roar of the crowd in her ears she went as if on wings to the lovely easy water jump, soared over it and was away round the turn and out into the country again. She could feel Buffoon's surprise, looking for the stable, but she legged him sharply towards the inside rail. The ant-like figures of the lads whose horses were galloping loose were bobbing about the side of the course in an effort to catch them. But not Wisbey! She would make Wisbey eat his scornful words! Perhaps even now he was cheering her on.