arms, caressing her breasts with a flattened palm as if he were gentling a terrified horse. ‘They are lovely and so are you. I’ve been an absolute shit to you, particularly over History.’ Looking down at her face, he ran a bitten-nailed finger along her quivering lower lip. ‘Don’t cry, let’s go to bed.’
‘It’s no good,’ sobbed Amber, jumping away from him. ‘I want clean sheets, not a fling to anaesthetize the pain. You’re still crazy about Olivia. If we go to bed, you’ll still be crazy about her in the morning. I’ve got too many other things to be sad about.’
‘Hush,’ whispered Marius, and kissed her until she stopped struggling. ‘Well?’
‘Oh fuck, let’s have a fuck, you are so goddamed sexy and an excellent kisser, but only just this once.’ Then she paused. ‘Did you say “stable jockey”?’
‘Yes,’ said Marius, pushing her into the bedroom.
*
When her early call woke her, Marius had gone. Staggering replete, bow-legged into the bathroom, she found he had broken her lipstick scrawling, ‘Definitely ride of the century,’ on the mirror.
Rafiq had been so gutted he had retired to his bedroom and refused to go out with the other jockeys. He sat on his bed staring at the white telephone with its white pad and sharpened pencil, desperate to ring Tommy and tell her how much he loved her and why he had been so cruelly pushing her away. But he was frightened to do so in case, even here, calls were being tapped.
Hearing a thud, he jumped out of his shivering skin, then found an envelope had been shoved under his door. By the time, unfamiliar with hotel bedrooms, he’d managed to unlock and open the door, the landing outside was deserted.
His name had been typed on the envelope. His hands were shaking so much he tore the letter inside, which was wrapped round a thousand-rupee note. This in turn was wrapped round a big needle threaded with black twine. Rafiq swore as he pricked his finger, scattering drops of blood, smearing the letter which in Urdu and black capitals advised him to buy himself a shroud as he would be needing one very soon.
Jibbering a prayer to Allah under his breath, Rafiq fell to the floor. Similar love notes had been sent to victims by the warlord alleged to have murdered Mrs Bhutto. This meant the side he had once supported so passionately would turn against him unless he kept on pulling horses.
Despite all the terrorist camp had taught him about life being but a trifle, it had become very precious since he had fallen in love with Tommy. She would be devastated about Bullydozer.
Oh Bullydozer! For a moment the sense of loss wiped out all feelings of terror. Then the telephone went. What dread threats awaited him? But it was only Tresa.
‘We’re having a party in Awesome’s jacuzzi. Why don’t you join us?’
Rafiq replied that he didn’t feel like partying after what had happened that afternoon.
‘Oh, don’t mention Bullydozer,’ said Tresa, ‘or you’ll set me off. I’m so upset.’
122
Valent was devastated by Bullydozer’s death. Could he have saved him if he’d been there on the day? A horse of David Nicholson’s had recovered from a broken neck and foreleg to win the Scottish Grand National. He had been so proud of rescuing Bully from H-H and had identified with the big, shy, affectionate, bumbling horse. He had already set in motion plans to run him in a Pauline Edwards Memorial Race at Worcester on Pauline’s birthday and to invite Ryan, his wife Diane and the grandchildren down for the day as a way of making amends.
With Bullydozer’s death, his plans were in smithereens. Wilkie was too highly handicapped for the race and Furious would bite everyone, so Valent instead invited the family to lunch in London, with a trip to see a marvellous play called Warhorse afterwards. When he originally planned Pauline’s race, Valent had hoped Bonny would come along and get to know Ryan and Diane, but now he was rather relieved when she told him it would be ‘inappropriate’ if she were present.
‘It’s yours and Ryan’s special day, stay as long as you like, I’ve got lines to learn. I need to engage with The Journey of Bonny.’ This was a dramatized documentary in which she would play herself.
Lunch and the theatre were a huge success. Valent and Ryan talked their heads off, made plans for the future, and the grandchildren were very well behaved and sweet.