were calling out: ‘Thank you for having us, see you next year.’
I won’t see Dad, thought Amber in terror.
The car had to weave its way through a swaying, limping forest of Liverpool ladies carrying their stilettos and queuing up to buy flip-flops, which were selling almost as fast as cuddly Wilkinsons.
Drunks slept peacefully in the gutter.
There was the sign by the exit: ‘John Smith thanks you for drinking responsibly’.
Dad never did, thought an anguished Amber.
The nurses clapped her as she entered the ward.
‘Your dad couldn’t see the TV but Nurse Jenkins held the radio to his ear. He heard everything, he was so pleased and proud,’ they told Amber.
‘He’s just been given another injection to relax his muscles, stop him tensing up against the pain and control the rattle in his throat,’ said Nurse Jenkins. Amber looked at her round kind face in bewilderment.
‘Is he dying?’
‘He’s near it. Go in and tell him you love him. Try not to cry, it’s the last thing he’ll want to hear when he’s leaving this world.’ Nurse Jenkins put her arm round Amber’s shoulders. ‘You couldn’t be braver than you were this afternoon.’
Down the passage Amber could see her mother Janey blubbing into her mobile.
‘Amber and Rupert have just arrived, my sons Christy and Junior are on their way home.’
Amber ran into the room and shut the door.
‘Daddy, it’s me, I love you.’ She took his hand.
Billy was lying on his side, the flesh on his face fallen away. She had to lean close to hear him.
‘Oh darling,’ he gasped, ‘I don’t need to go to heaven any more. I’ve been there today, most wonderful moment when you headed Playboy, and Rupe’s three-thousandth win. What a brave little mare.’
Next moment Rupert stalked in with a briefcase and scattered thousands of notes over Billy.
‘Two hundred grand,’ he said.
‘Should have done it both ways,’ muttered Billy. ‘Thank you, Rupe. It’s your inheritance, darling. You rode so well and Wilkie, what a sweetheart.’
Billy’s voice was hardly audible as Rupert sat down on his other side, putting a hand on his shoulder.
‘Do you remember how The Bull hated water, Rupe? I hope I see The Bull again.’ Billy’s hand in Amber’s went slack.
Out of the window against a rose-pink sky, Amber could see the black silhouette of Paddy’s Wigwam and the Church of England cathedral with its spikes coaxed upwards.
After a minute Rupert, his normally deadpan face contorted by anguish, managed to say, ‘I’m afraid he’s gone.’
And Amber felt free to burst into agonizing sobs.
‘I did it for Dad, I did it for Dad, I wanted Dad to call me home.’
Rupert was still patting her shuddering, champagne-soaked shoulders, unable to comfort her, wishing Taggie was here, when a figure appeared in the doorway and a soft Irish voice said, ‘God called your father home.’
‘Fuck off,’ snarled Rupert, desperately wiping his eyes on a sheet.
Amber looked up in bewilderment to see Rogue, still with the mike in the lapel of his beautiful grey presenter’s suit, still in his television make-up. But no eyeliner or shadow was responsible for the concern and tenderness in his eyes.
‘What are you doing here?’ she sobbed.
‘Come to take care of you,’ said Rogue, as she stumbled into his arms. ‘I know when I’m wanted.’
Word had galloped round and the press prowling outside the Royal Liverpool surged forward as Rogue and Amber came out twenty minutes later. Amber was white and trembling, but warmed by Rogue’s right arm round her shoulders. Before anyone could ask questions, Rogue raised his left hand.
‘I want to say something. Amber and I are together now,’ he ran a finger down her ashen cheek, ‘for always. This afternoon, Amber achieved a miracle winning the Grand National,’ loud cheers, ‘but she has also just lost her father, Billy Lloyd-Foxe, an absolute hero just like herself.’
Even the most hardened members of the press groaned in dismay and sympathy.
‘So I beg you to respect her need to mourn the loss of a truly sweet man and leave us alone.’
For once Rogue’s handsome face was drained of laughter. His shoulders were twice the width of Amber’s. They were the same height, but at that moment he seemed ten feet tall.
Tape recorders were switched off, cameras put down. As a car slid forward, Clancy Wiggins leapt forward to open the door for them.
‘Godspeed,’ he shouted, banging the roof of the car, as they set out for Rupert’s helicopter.
141
FOREVER AMBER! NATIONAL TREASURE! LADIES FIRST! Mrs Wilkinson and her jockey dominated the headlines. The country reeled