at six that morning, making up beds for Shagger’s holiday lets. She couldn’t afford to join the syndicate, but she was depressed by the SATS Level 4 essays she was marking. They were so colourless, dull and unimaginative, from children stuck behind computers all day, when there was so much beauty in the world. People needed adventure.
Chris and Chrissie had just discovered their latest stab at IVF hadn’t worked. Chris felt his wife needed cheering out of her despair … Joey, Jase and Woody had been in at the start and loved Mrs Wilkinson. Niall loved Woody and would seize any opportunity to be near him.
‘As well as the initial three thousand,’ explained Alan blithely, ‘we’d each have to put in a hundred and eighty-five pounds a month. That’s to pay twenty-two thousand a year to a trainer for the gallops, feed, vets, entries, jockeys and transport.’
‘Same as Bagley school fees,’ volunteered Trixie.
‘If I take care of the insurance,’ asked Shagger, refilling his and Toby’s glasses from Etta’s Pimm’s jug, ‘can I have my share free?’
‘I have to be straight with you,’ said Alan, ignoring him. ‘Eighty per cent of owners never have a win.’ Then, looking around: ‘But if we do win, the jockey gets 10 per cent of the winnings, the trainer 10 per cent, and the owners a socking great 80 per cent. We won’t make a fortune, but as we take off to race meetings round the country, we’ll have one hell of a ball.’ The scent from the garden was getting stronger as a gold full moon with a halo rose out of the trees to watch the fun.
‘Also you don’t all have to have an equal share,’ Alan rallied the doubters. ‘If you feel three thousand is too much, you can split it between two or three.’
Gathering up a second jug waiting on a side table, smiling shyly, Etta began to fill up everyone’s glasses.
If I joined this syndicate, thought Alban, the Major and Pocock, I could get closer to this sweet woman.
There was a long pause and even longer faces as everyone redid the sums and decided it was one hell of a commitment. They could hear the roar of Farmer Fred’s combines and the pat of tennis balls. Then Miss Painswick put down her knitting and announced that ‘Bagley Hall gave me a good pension. I’ve got a few savings. I’m very attached to Mrs Wilkinson and I’d like to be part of her future.’
‘Oh Joyce.’ Etta grabbed her hand.
‘Oh well done, Miss Painswick,’ said Dora, ‘Hengist would be proud of you. I’d like to have a share but I’m not sure I can afford a hundred and eighty-five pounds. I’ve got “A” Levels next year, so I won’t have time to flog so many stories.’
‘I’ll take a half-share with you, Dora,’ said Trixie, stopping texting in her excitement.
‘With what?’ demanded Alan.
‘You’ll help me, Dad. You won’t have to pay school fees any more if I go to Larkminster High.’
Pocock, who would soon be working extra time for Corinna and Seth, then said he’d take a half-share with Miss Painswick.
‘Good for you, we’ll chip in too,’ said Chris. A horse would take Chrissie’s mind off the baby. ‘We can’t sell Mrs Wilkinson to some ’orrible owner who might not cherish her. She belongs to Willowwood.’
Jase, Woody and Joey, though they were committed to Not for Crowe and Family Dog, agreed to take a fourth share.
‘Just over sixty pounds a monf,’ said Joey, who was yet to tell Mop Idol about a third horse he’d bought with his point-to-point winnings.
Debbie glanced at the Major, who polished his spectacles and nodded.
‘Father and I have always wanted a Mercedes when we retired,’ said Debbie, ‘but we’d rather have a racehorse!’
‘Oh, come on, Toby. We’re both working, and if the Cunliffes are joining …’ pleaded Phoebe. Then, turning to Alban: ‘And you come in too, Uncle Alban. And you and Tilda could take a share, Shagger.’
‘I suppose we could manage it,’ said Tilda, hiding her blushing face in another turgid essay. Anything to provide an ongoing link with Shagger. She’d just have to take on more coaching.
‘Even with Etta, that’s only nine shares,’ said Shagger crushingly. ‘We haven’t got enough people.’
‘Yes, you have,’ said a deep, husky voice and in walked a tall, dark, very suntanned man in a black shirt and jeans, who was followed by an equally beautiful sleek black greyhound. As everyone surged forward to kiss him or shake his hand, except Phoebe,