Authors: Paddy Cummins
'Thanks a million, Garry, for the kind words, much
appreciated. Perhaps sometime we might meet at a hunt in Punchestown ... enjoy the experience together..'
'Well, that would be really something, wouldn't it? I'll certainly look forward to that.'
'Problem is ... I'll now have to get a new horse.'
'Of course you will.' He was right about her being a survivor.
They didn't discus Poker's demise. There was no need. They were both true horse lovers that understood how these things happen. As long as
the little horse didn't suffer unduly, got properly looked after, that was all that mattered. Every horse could and would be replaced.
'And I hear you bought Joe Leahy's big mare?'
'Well, in fact, it wasn't me, Jenny ... a lady living nearby bought her ... I was only acting as agent.'
'She's now got a really nice mare.'
'She sure has,' agreed Garry, 'she'll be some mare in a
couple of years time ... make a lovely race mare.'
'Oh, really,' enthused Jenny, 'perhaps we'll see her at the Punchestown Festival.'
'No, I'm afraid not. There was a disappointing tone to his
voice. 'That mare will never see a racecourse as long as Mrs Dilworth has her ... she hates racing.'
'Ah, what a pity ... still, she'll probably give her a great life.'
'That's for sure ... she'll be treated like a baby ...
almost spoiled.'
'I hear you're into training in a big way ... any winners yet?'
'Not yet. I'm only in my first year. All young horses that need a bit of time ... next year though ... it should lift off.'
'That's great ... you must love it ... it's a great life isn't it?'
Jenny's thoughts flew back to her own career decision which could have gone either way. Her horse-loving mother pushing her towards an
international riding career - her father cherishing the hope of her entering business and following in his footsteps. Dad won the battle.
'You know, I almost chose it as career myself.'
'You did?'
'Yes, Garry. It was a very difficult decision at the time, and I still can't really get away from it ... it keeps pulling me back'
'I know, he said, 'I know exactly what you mean. It's like a drug ... I think you're born with it ... I couldn't see myself doing anything
else; totally addicted to it ... strange isn't it?'
'Well, it's lovely to be making your living from something you're addicted to ... you'll be very successful.'
'Oh, I hope you're right ... it's tough going though ... the expense of setting up and all ... you need a lot of luck.'
'You make your own luck, Garry, a good product, well managed and marketed will always succeed.'
He was surprised at this little lecture in business administration over the phone from someone who has just had a brain operation.
'Know something, Jenny?'
'What's that?'
'You're the very one I need ...could I hire you as my
business adviser?'
'Afraid not, Garry, too expensive.' They laughed loudly.
Jenny was becoming increasingly conscious of Nurse Wall's presence nearby. She must have been amazed at the transformation a simple phone
call could bring in a sick patient. She pretended not to notice. Jenny could go on talking horses to Garry all day but she had better stop now.
'Have to go now, Garry ... but in fact, I'm not going
anywhere ... I have to stay here for another five boring days ... anyway, thanks for the call.'
'Thank you, Jenny, great to talk to you ... look after yourself ... and I'll challenge you at Punchestown some day.'
'Well, thanks a million, Garry. Sure that's an offer I can't refuse ... strange isn't it, and I don't even know what you look like.'
'Just as well, Jenny ... not a pretty sight,' he joked, 'bye
now ... take care ... bye.'
'Bye and thanks again, Garry ...b...y...e'
Jenny felt the tension which had been choking her all morning gently float away. She just lay there in total contentment. That phone
call was the best thing that could happen to her. It brought her back to reality. It gave her a new perspective on her accident, her present situation and her future.
Her fall wasn't the tragedy that Ken made it out to be. It was just a routine accident that occasionally happens to horse riders. Okay,
she lost her little horse - which she regretted - but she would be looking for a new one for next year anyway. That hunt over the famous Punchestown country was special - everything she expected it to be. It was so thrilling that she
will definitely be back for more. Ken will be livid - worse than ever now. How would she handle him? She didn't know, but she would somehow.
Her old motto crossed her mind: "Problems are made to
be solved."
She'd work that out over the next few days. It will give her something to be doing - a new project - a file marked "Ken". If he only knew.
"Poor Ken, how did he end up with a rascal like
me?"
***
***
The bleeping of the reversing lorry horse-box signalled the arrival of the big bay mare at Mrs Dilworth's place. She was in the sitting-room having coffee with her Rector husband, Bart, and Garry Wren, who
had just come over to lend a hand. She was a great woman for attention to details - left nothing to chance. In a couple of days she had travelled to Dublin, paid Joe Leahy, arranged with the Curragh Bloodstock Agency for the transport, requested Garry's presence for the unloading, had the stable
repainted, disinfected, and filled with new bedding, ready for its important new inmate.
Garry liked visiting the Dilworth's. They were lovely people but there was something about the place that attracted him too. The big granite
stone house had lots of character: ivy-clad gables, dormer windows, ornate fascia boards, dense neatly-cut laurel hedges, and seclusion. The little stable yard at the rear was cute too, a mini horse haven, connected to little railed
paddocks, with rich greenery everywhere.
A hundred yards over the road was the Protestant church, and it too had that old world charm. The rugged stone building, shaded by ancient tall trees, was surrounded by beautifully maintained lawns and flower-beds,
richly coloured stone walls, big piers, and ornate wrought iron gates. It was a work of art - a credit to the Rector's dedicated work.
Reverend Bartholomew Dilworth was a fresh looking man for
his sixty-three years. Tall, handsome, laid-back, guiding the community for over thirty years. A beloved Pastor, a good gardener, a painter, decorator, general handyman, always busy doing something. He knew nothing about horses though, left that to his wife; she was the equine expert.
Mrs Dilworth was never otherwise referred to by anyone in the parish except Bart. To him she was Jane, five years younger, almost as tall, greying short hair, soft features and casual dress. A healthy outdoor
woman, logical and pragmatic on the outside, warm, generous and compassionate inside.
They had no children. That was a disappointment. Still, they had fulfilment in each other - Bart the humble churchman, she assisting,
supporting and giving generously of her time to the community.
Garry led the mare down the ramp from the lorry, walked her around in a circle to give Bart a look.
'She's a fine, good-looking mare, God bless her, and a kind
eye too.'
'She still has a bit of furnishing to do,' noted Garry.
'Yes,' replied Mrs Dilworth, I'll take her easy this year, let her strengthen up.'
Garry was going to suggest Point-to-Point racing next year
but didn't - Mrs Dilworth would probably scorn the thought. He knew the mare would be brilliant at it. He saw her jumping, admired her lovely galloping action. She'd win several races, would be the ideal type to go for big hunter
chases like the Tetredema Cup at the local Gowran Park racecourse, or the big races at Punchestown. But he knew it wouldn't happen Mrs Dilworth wasn't a racing woman - had no interest in it.
'Too dangerous, she would say, 'when you have a nice mare,
mind her for hunting and breeding ... why burn her out on the racecourse.'
Garry saw her logic - it was her way. It wouldn't be his way though. If the mare had it in her to win good races, why deny her the
opportunity? Horses love racing.
The stable was large, comfortable, and smelled of strong disinfectant. The deep straw bed was so inviting, the mare immediately got down for a good roll, then went on a tour that took her to the oat-filled trough,
the water bowl, the hayrack, and around again.
'She'll soon get used to it,' said a happy Mrs Dilworth, 'I'm delighted with her ... thanks Garry ... come in now 'till I pay you.'
Protesting weakly, he followed her, expecting a small reward.
She handed him an envelope containing five hundred pounds.
'Oh, but I couldn't take that, Mrs Dilworth. It's far too much. I haven't earned it ... my job was easy.'
'Take it now, Son. It's all part of the deal. As you know the asking price was five thousand - she was well worth it, but I refused to go higher than four and a half. That's the other five hundred ... you did a great job for me ... sure we're all happy now.'
'Oh, thanks a million, Mrs Dilworth, you're too kind ... I hope she's really lucky for you.'
'You're right, Son, that's the most important thing.'
'Make sure you call me if you ever need help ... you know
where I am ... I'd be glad to come over anytime.'
'Oh, I will, but I hope I won't need to.'
Garry was full of warm contentment as he drove back home. That bit of money was never worse wanted.
"That's what I call a really decent woman,"
he kept repeating to himself.
* * *
It was Friday of the fourth week since Jenny left hospital.
Her bruised body had almost fully recovered, her energy rapidly returning. This surge of physical wellbeing was triggering a new mental condition: boredom! She would soon have to release some energy or she'd go mad.
The first two weeks weren't too bad - she had her mother
staying with her - at Ken's insistence. The following week she went home with her mother to the little farm in Duncoin. That was great. The long chats over coffee recalling happy childhood days, the afternoon walks around the familiar
old countryside, meeting old friends and neighbours - not seen for years. The ponies, not as many as before, but at least a dozen beauties. It was like old times again to be back in the midst of those wonderful Connemara ponies. Her
mother was now an expert breeder, a recognised authority after all her years of study and practical experience. It was a true labour of love that kept her busy and positive, partially filling the massive void left by Sam's untimely departure.
But this week was all down hill for Jenny - Ken busy at the
Clinic, she closeted in the big house, all alone, lonely and bored to death. She knew there were several things she could do to occupy her mind - a bit of painting and decorating, a little attention to the garden, a touch of polishing
to the brassware and furniture. Somehow she couldn't get started on any of them - she just wasn't focused. Her mind was too active with a continuous rush of tangled thoughts. But she could see one distinct pattern emerging through the
haze: it was all pointing in one direction - the Global Life Headquarters in Blackrock. That's it! She had to get back to work. Nothing else would restore some normality to her life - get her back on an even keel again.
But how would she manage it? She still had two weeks of leave left in an arrangement that was agreed between Don Lenihan and Ken while she was unconscious. Her job was taken over by the underwriting manager from the British division, and he wasn't due to return for another two weeks. It
would be messy. Lenihan wouldn't co-operate or be flexible - certainly not for her. "
Oh, to Hell
with him"
- she could handle him, despite his awkwardness. She rang his office.
'I'd like to speak with Mr Lenihan, please.'
Kit, the receptionist, recognised Jenny's voice.
'Oh, it's Jenny, isn't it? How are you Jenny? We've missed you ... when are you coming back?'
Jenny was popular with all the staff.
'Thanks very much, Kit ... I'm fine ... I hope to be back soon.'
'Oh that's great ... looking forward to seeing you ... here's Mr Lenihan now, Jenny.'
'Thanks Kit.'
'Well, if it's not my old flower Jenny ... what a pleasant surprise ... I was just about to ring you ... how are you?'
He was at it again - pure waffle - she felt like spitting
out.
'I'm fine, Don ... in fact, I'm so well that I'm coming back on Monday.'
She knew it was the only way. Don't ask him - just tell him. There was a pause - she waited.
'Well Jenny, that might be a little awkward.'
'How?'
'Well, Mr Poole from England has another two weeks here ... we can't just suddenly get rid of him like that.'
Jenny was beginning to heat up with anger. This was more
bullshit from Lenihan - she wasn't taking it.
'Can you put me through to Mr Poole, please?'
That took Don by surprise. He couldn't refuse. Poole was standing in for Jenny - it was her department.
'You're now through to Mr Poole.'
'Hello Mr Poole.' She had only met him once before in London - had found him to be okay.
'I'm sorry Mr Poole that you had to take over here at such
short notice because of my accident. It must have been a big disruption for you ... thank you very much.'
'Oh, not at all ... I'm enjoying it ... the change did me good ... how are you? ... you sound great.'
'I'm fine now, thank you. In fact, the reason I'm ringing is to let you know that I'm coming back on Monday.'
'Oh, that's great. You've made a remarkable recovery in such a short time. I'll arrange to move back then this weekend.'
'Will that knock you about in any way, Mr Poole?'
'No, not at all. It'll be just fine ... I'll be back at my old desk on Monday ... and so will you.'
Nice man, thought Jenny
- that's what I call a real nice
man.
She was a new woman as she replaced the receiver. Now! What's next? She looked enthusiastically around.
Yes! I know!
Walking up through the fields at the rear of the house, she felt great. Complete with
clip-board, marking pegs, and measuring tape, and suitably attired, she was ready to make a start on a little project dear to her heart. Andy Leahy had been brilliant in giving her his stable for Poker. She would soon be getting a
new horse - it was time she had her own stable.
******