?’ Valent promptly told him to bugger off and stop upsetting Mrs Wilkinson. When Bolton refused, Chisolm, like a bossy staff nurse, butted him out of the stable.
‘Oh fuck,’ said Alan, as the tape ran out.
Word had got around that a big hitter had arrived. Suddenly every trainer on the racecourse made an excuse to stop by and commiserate with Valent and Bonny, who might well be looking for another horse soon.
74
Next day Charlie Radcliffe X-rayed Mrs Wilkinson and diagnosed a possible hairline fracture of the cannon bone. He would X-ray her again in a fortnight and in a fortnight after that, by which time the injury would show up more clearly. After twelve weeks, if nothing more serious had developed, she could very slowly start exercising again, but was unlikely to be race-fit before late spring, which could mean nearly a year off.
Etta, who hadn’t dared ask Marius if she could sleep in the stable with Mrs Wilkinson, spent a miserable night, but was thrilled when Valent rang her mid-morning.
‘Don’t you worry, luv, it could have been a lot worse and later she and Chisolm can come back to Badger’s Court to convalesce.’
‘How lovely to have her home again,’ gasped Etta. ‘Are you sure people won’t mind?’
‘I’m people – and I don’t,’ said Valent and rang off.
Arrangements for the immediate future were more complicated, however. To give Mrs Wilkinson a chance, she had to be confined to twenty-four-hour box rest in big bandages for at least three months. There was even talk of cross-tying her so she couldn’t move around.
Most of Marius’s other horses were turned out. Having been canvassed by Bonny, Romy and Martin were deliberately keeping Etta busy. As a result she had far less time to visit Mrs Wilkinson, who sunk into depression, slumped in her box, refusing to eat, head hanging, not even diverted by Chisolm’s antics. The mass of get-well flowers from fans, propped outside her box and not eaten by Chisolm, had withered away. There were also murmurs of discontent from the syndicate. Why should they go on forking out for a horse that might not be able to race for a year – with no prize money and escalating vet’s bills?
A week later, in early July, Painswick was leaving work when Mistletoe leapt on to her desk, leaving muddy paws all over the medical book and scattering papers.
‘Get down, Mistletoe dear,’ said Painswick fondly, reflecting that six months ago she’d have hit the roof.
Looking out, she saw Valent getting out of his Mercedes, carrying a big bunch of young carrots like a bouquet and heading towards the tack room, then going with Marius into Wilkie’s box. Seeing them return, Painswick turned down At the Races, and poured a beer for Valent and a modest whisky for Marius.
‘And don’t go to bed too late,’ she chided him as she set off for home. ‘You’ve got an early start to Fontwell. There’s a chicken pie for you and Mistletoe in the fridge.’
‘Getting on all right?’ asked Valent as Marius turned up ATR again.
Marius nodded. ‘She drives me round the twist, but she’s an old duck and bloody efficient. She sees off Bolton and Bertie Barraclough, even Nancy Crowe.’
Proudly, shyly, he showed Valent the sapphire and crimson cushion embroidered with the words ‘God, give me winners’, which Painswick had made for him.
‘That’s neat,’ said Valent, and proceeded to give Marius a dressing-down.
‘I know it’s the pot calling the kettle black, Marius, but you’ve got to be more diplomatic, socialize more and stop being so bluddy rude and grumpy. You’ve got to offer owners a more exciting time. They’re not just buying horses, they’re buying oopmarket fun.
‘And Amber mustn’t be so snotty, or Rafiq so sulky. Tommy’s the only decent ambassadress in your yard and she screwed up when she tipped a bucket of water all over Cindy at Worcester. I heard about that.’ Valent started to laugh. ‘Must’ve been bluddy funny though.
‘For a start, I think you should give Rafiq a contract as stable jockey.’ Then, when Marius looked appalled: ‘I rung them up at the Northern Racing College and they said he was bluddy marvellous.’
‘And bloody tricky.’
‘The trickiness would disappear with a bit of recognition. You’d get a 10 lb allowance for him. You need to win more. You won’t get your wife back by losing races.’
‘That’s fuck-all to do with you,’ snarled Marius, picking up the schooling lists.
‘And when are you going to replace Collie? The yard lacks direction.’