How could I? You are my papa and I love you.’
‘Oh Pepe, you deserve a better father than me. I’ve let you down. I haven’t been around too much for you, following my dreams instead of making you the centre of my universe.’
‘Stop, Papa. You will make me cry,’ I said.
Chapter 22
The next morning, like every morning, I was up long before six: bathroom, clothes on, kettle on for a cup of tea for the other lads, then along to the tackroom to get the waterproofs from my locker, and pick up the waterproof sheet for Golden Boy. The morning was still and beautiful, the ground coated in a crisp, sugary frost. Cobwebs hung in the air; the horses breathed white smoke, like dragons in the mist. Behind the trees the orange sun began its slow rise over the eastern horizon.
It was another long day of training and learning. I suddenly became nervous as they loaded Golden Boy into his horsebox in the afternoon for the race the next day. When Dinny Mulligan drove off with him and another colt in the double-horse trailer, I felt the nerves of my stomach creak. Mrs Harris asked me into the dining room for cocoa and oatcakes, but to be honest I could hardly swallow. My throat was dry.
‘You’ll be fine,’ she said confidently. ‘Did you talk to your daddy?’
‘Yes, Mrs Harris. He is coming to the race tomorrow along with Grandma and Grandad.’
‘Of course they are! Okay, Pepe, listen to me. Just takeGolden Boy around any way you like. We don’t know much about him yet and I’m not expecting a big finish. Just get him around at his own pace. Give him an outing. That will satisfy me. He’s a bit of a gamble but he comes from a good line, and I have a special feeling about him.
‘Getting a horse balanced means keeping your balance – every stride and every second has to suit his rhythm. A jockey has got to make a horse want to run for him. You’ll keep your eye on things, any little problems? Only you can tell us. I have confidence in you, Pepe. You’re well up to it.’
‘I will give it my all,’ I said, remembering a phrase of Paddy Deveraux’ from the school.
I could not sleep that night. I got in and out of bed, checking my kit so many times that the activity ruined my chances of deep sleep. I got an early call to have a quick gallop on whatever was available before breakfast. I had my gallop and then climbed into Mrs Harris’s four-wheel drive with the other jockey, Kieran Fahy, and two other lads from the yard. Already people were moving bumper-to-bumper towards the racecourse as we drove through Kilcullen. I felt quite tired. On the drive I kept out of the conversation and managed to doze off, and the sleep really set me up for the day ahead.
It was a pretty good day on the weather front. There were light showers of rain that then eased off, leaving a damp atmosphere about the racecourse. I watched a few races, but could hardly concentrate on them. As the race before mine was announced I went to the changingrooms. Liam Deveraux was there, in a joking mood, as was Susan Holmes, but I had terrible pre-race nerves. Of course, I tried to hide them.
‘You look like a ghost.’ Paddy Deveraux tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Pepe, this is nothing you haven’t done before.’
‘I know,’ I shrugged, leaning down over my boots and giving them a final rub of a cloth. ‘It is the roaring of the crowd that I am worried about.’
‘You’ll grow to love it,’ said Paddy, going over to Liam.
Soon it was my turn to weigh in. This takes place in a special room supervised by the Clerk of the Scales. There is a large, red scales with a huge, clock-like face on it. I sat down on the chair to be weighed, with my saddle in my lap. My weight was five pounds under, so I was given a bigger saddle to bring me up to the average for the race.
My nerves grew worse and worse until I walked out towards the paddock, and suddenly it was as if I had been doing this all my life. Golden Boy, number fifteen – the
‘Oh Pepe, you deserve a better father than me. I’ve let you down. I haven’t been around too much for you, following my dreams instead of making you the centre of my universe.’
‘Stop, Papa. You will make me cry,’ I said.
Chapter 22
The next morning, like every morning, I was up long before six: bathroom, clothes on, kettle on for a cup of tea for the other lads, then along to the tackroom to get the waterproofs from my locker, and pick up the waterproof sheet for Golden Boy. The morning was still and beautiful, the ground coated in a crisp, sugary frost. Cobwebs hung in the air; the horses breathed white smoke, like dragons in the mist. Behind the trees the orange sun began its slow rise over the eastern horizon.
It was another long day of training and learning. I suddenly became nervous as they loaded Golden Boy into his horsebox in the afternoon for the race the next day. When Dinny Mulligan drove off with him and another colt in the double-horse trailer, I felt the nerves of my stomach creak. Mrs Harris asked me into the dining room for cocoa and oatcakes, but to be honest I could hardly swallow. My throat was dry.
‘You’ll be fine,’ she said confidently. ‘Did you talk to your daddy?’
‘Yes, Mrs Harris. He is coming to the race tomorrow along with Grandma and Grandad.’
‘Of course they are! Okay, Pepe, listen to me. Just takeGolden Boy around any way you like. We don’t know much about him yet and I’m not expecting a big finish. Just get him around at his own pace. Give him an outing. That will satisfy me. He’s a bit of a gamble but he comes from a good line, and I have a special feeling about him.
‘Getting a horse balanced means keeping your balance – every stride and every second has to suit his rhythm. A jockey has got to make a horse want to run for him. You’ll keep your eye on things, any little problems? Only you can tell us. I have confidence in you, Pepe. You’re well up to it.’
‘I will give it my all,’ I said, remembering a phrase of Paddy Deveraux’ from the school.
I could not sleep that night. I got in and out of bed, checking my kit so many times that the activity ruined my chances of deep sleep. I got an early call to have a quick gallop on whatever was available before breakfast. I had my gallop and then climbed into Mrs Harris’s four-wheel drive with the other jockey, Kieran Fahy, and two other lads from the yard. Already people were moving bumper-to-bumper towards the racecourse as we drove through Kilcullen. I felt quite tired. On the drive I kept out of the conversation and managed to doze off, and the sleep really set me up for the day ahead.
It was a pretty good day on the weather front. There were light showers of rain that then eased off, leaving a damp atmosphere about the racecourse. I watched a few races, but could hardly concentrate on them. As the race before mine was announced I went to the changingrooms. Liam Deveraux was there, in a joking mood, as was Susan Holmes, but I had terrible pre-race nerves. Of course, I tried to hide them.
‘You look like a ghost.’ Paddy Deveraux tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Pepe, this is nothing you haven’t done before.’
‘I know,’ I shrugged, leaning down over my boots and giving them a final rub of a cloth. ‘It is the roaring of the crowd that I am worried about.’
‘You’ll grow to love it,’ said Paddy, going over to Liam.
Soon it was my turn to weigh in. This takes place in a special room supervised by the Clerk of the Scales. There is a large, red scales with a huge, clock-like face on it. I sat down on the chair to be weighed, with my saddle in my lap. My weight was five pounds under, so I was given a bigger saddle to bring me up to the average for the race.
My nerves grew worse and worse until I walked out towards the paddock, and suddenly it was as if I had been doing this all my life. Golden Boy, number fifteen – the
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