Wiltshire, England
July 2015
What will you do when you get lonely?
Blacky snorts loudly and I rub his neck to calm him. "There's a good boy," I murmur. "There's no need to be nervous."
Persis, sitting atop Blacky, laughs. "It's his first tournament. He gets to be a little nervous."
"So long as you're relaxed about it," I remark and look at her over my shoulder.
"We'll be fine," Persis answers confidently and reaches forward to pat Blacky's flank. "Won't we, boy?"
Blacky arches his neck and prances to the side a little. I hold on to his reins firmly and can feel Persis tighten her grip on the other end of the reins as well.
He'll be fine" reiterates Persis, sounding completely calm. "You did such great work with him this past year."
"As did you," I add. I might have helped make Blacky feel more confident, but Persis was the one who trained him up well enough to be able to tackle this tournament at all.
"We both did," Persis amends and when I look back at her, I can see that she's smiling.
Tossing his head, Blacky sharply draws in air and I remind myself that as long as Persis is relaxed, they will be fine. Blacky is easily spooked, but he also takes his cues from the rider and when the rider stays calm, so does he
We've reached the starting area where horses and riders have to wait until it's their turn on the cross country course. There's still one pair ahead of Persis and Blacky, so I start leading them in circles.
"Molly and I will wait at the water obstacle near the finish," I tell Persis.
"Ah, yes." She nods. "That's a tricky one."
"Do you think he can do it?" I ask, peering up at her. Blacky can be skittish when he has to jump into water.
Persis shrugs. "If he gets too worked up, I'll just take the alternative route. He's here to gain experience, not to win anything, so there's no pressure. I just want him to have a good tournament."
"That's sensible." I smile and briefly stroke Blacky's nose. He blows out a long breath of air, almost like a sigh.
"Number 174!" calls out the time keeper and signals for us to come closer. "It's your turn."
Clicking my tongue, I lead Blacky towards the starting line. The time keeper counts down the seconds and once he clears them to start, Persis immediately urges Blacky into a gallop and towards the first obstacle.
I watch them until they disappear around a bend in the course, before turning and walking to the water obstacles near the finish line. Molly is already waiting there and waves her arm to gain my attention.
"Did everything go well?" she asks once I've joined her at the side of the course. This being an event for novice horses at a fairly small tournament, there are not a lot of spectators, so we have a clear view of the water obstacle.
"Yes, their start went well," I assure Molly. "Blacky is a bit nervous, but Persis says he's allowed to be."
"It's all new to him," Molly replies understandingly. (Molly is always understanding of all horses. It's what makes her such a good groom.)
"Yes, he still has to get used to it," I agree. There's a brief pause, before I enquire, "Did Tomato get settled in well?"
Molly nods. "Yes, she's happily munching on a net full of hay. This isn't new to her."
Indeed it is not. Tomato is one of Persis's more experienced horses and she's riding her in one of the more difficult competitions this weekend. Tomato already tackled a tougher version of the cross country course a few hours ago and is currently sitting in a promising 5th place with just the show jumping part to go tomorrow. Molly is here as official groom to Tomato, just as I took over grooming duties for Blacky for this tournament.
"Looks to be a successful weekend," Molly remarks.
"Fingers crossed." I raise my right hand, index finger and middle finger crossed. Molly laughs.
A chestnut horse gallops closer and we fall silent as we observe the rider steer the horse towards the water obstacle. The horse hesitates for a moment, but then there's a surge forward and the pair clears the obstacles easily.
I look down at my watch to determine when it's time for Persis to arrive, when I hear a loud voice behind me. "Oi, Rilla!"
Frowning slightly, I keep my gaze firmly on my watch. I know just from the tone of the man that he's a reporter.
"Any comment on your ex getting arrested?" he calls out.
I can feel Molly looking at me from the side, but don't react except to briefly shake my head. "Ignore him," I tell her.
She nods. "Okay." A moment passes before she adds curiously, "Did your ex-boyfriend really get arrested?"
"I don't know and I'm not going to ask," I remark simply.
"Uh-huh. Okay." Molly sounds disappointed, but lets it slide.
Or at least that's what I think, because when I turn back to her after having watched the rider of a skittish grey horse chose the longer alternative route around the water, I can see she's scrolling through her phone.
"Looks like that reporter is right," she informs me quietly, still looking down at the phone. "Apparently, that old boyfriend of yours from school got arrested while trying to break into a laboratory accused of animal testing practices."
Yes, that sounds like Carl alright. (Wouldn't be the first time either.)
I sigh. Molly looks up.
"You didn't want to know that," she realises, scrutinising my face.
"There's nothing I can do about it either way," I reply. "I don't know why people think I could control what my ex-boyfriends do, but I really, really can't."
Molly sighs dramatically. "Who can?"
Indeed.
I might have asked whether she's had ungood experiences with ex-boyfriends as well, but in that moment, I spy Persis and Blacky coming up from the small copse of wood and galloping towards the water obstacle. They both look good as they swing away from the alternative course and towards the water. Blacky flares his nostrils, but his look is one of concentration and not of nervousness, which is definitely a good sign.
I keep my gaze firmly on Persis and Blacky as they prepare to jump over the obstacles and into the water – until I see a movement out of the corner of my eye. Briefly looking over at the man on the other side of the course, I realise he's pulled out a Union Jack – and feel myself freeze in shock.
It's one of these moments when you know exactly what will happen. It's a moment when you can see the next seconds play out in front of your inner eye but are completely powerless to stop them from happening.
I know, but there's nothing I can do.
Time moves painfully slow as Persis and Blacky take off to jump while at the same time, the man raises his flag and waves it. And as they do, I know I should do something, but it feels like I'm completely frozen, unable to stop what will inevitably happen.
I want to scream, but I don't even get time for it. It's just a fraction of a second later when Blacky sees the flag, shies away, loses his footing and crashes down into the solid obstacle beneath.
My scream comes just one single moment too late.
If time moved agonizingly slow before, it suddenly speeds up as Blacky topples down, taking Persis with him. Catching his legs on the obstacle below, his heavy body somersaults through the air, landing on the ground with a loud, sickening sound. Persis is thrown from the saddle, being catapulted through the air until she comes to lie in the shallow water.
For a moment, no-one moves.
Then, it's like everything is happening at once.
I'm rushing towards Persis, dimly aware of Molly being hot on my heels. On the other side of the course, one of the PPOs tackles the man with the flag while the other two hurry towards their charge. Somewhere behind me, a tournament official jumps into action, while the few spectators exclaim loudly in shock and surprise.
"Persis?" I call out insistently as I crouch down next to her. "Persis? Please say something!"
Her eyes are closed, but there's a low groan.
"Persis?" That's Molly, appearing at my side.
I reach out to touch a hand to Persis's face. A shadow falls over us and I know it's the PPOs.
"Don't move her!" I quickly look up at them. "If her back is hurt…" But I can't finish the sentence.
Persis moans softly and I look down again, moving my hand over her face in a futile attempt at calming her.
"Is she hurt?" asks Molly anxiously.
"Her leg," comments one of the PPOs. When I move my head I can see that her left leg is weirdly twisted.
"Persis, darling?" I implore. "Can you talk to us? Does anything hurt?"
Her eyes flutter open and she looks at me, but her gaze is one of confusion, as if she isn't grasping what's happening. "Rilla?" she croaks. "What…?"
"It's okay. Shhh. It's okay." I smooth back her hair peeking out from under the helmet and her eyes slide close again. "Stay with me, Pers," I beg her, cautiously patting her face. "Stay with me. Come on, no falling asleep. You need to stay awake!"
She groans in protest, but opens her eyes again, as if under greatest effort. "It hurts," she whispers. "My leg, it… it…"
"Shhh," I soothe her. "I know it hurts. The doctors will be here soon. They'll take care of you."
Persis swallows and I can see how much strength it takes her, but she nods and forces her eyes to stay open, keeping her gaze locked on me. "My head…" she begins.
I place a finger on her lips. "It's okay. Don't speak. Someone will be here soon."
Please let someone be here soon!
There's a commotion behind me and I notice Molly rising to her feet. "The paramedics are here," she announces and I breathe a sigh of relief. Seconds later, I'm gently but firmly pulled aside by a man and a woman in high-vis vests.
"Miss?" asks the man, directing his question at Persis as he kneels down next to her. "Can you hear me, Miss?"
It is with a feeling of reluctance that I step back to give the paramedics space. Rationally, I know there's nothing I can do anyway, but my instinct is to stay close to her. Molly, perhaps sensing this, slides her hand into mine and holds on tightly. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the PPOs hovering by our side, no happier about having to keep back than I am.
I keep my gaze locked on Persis and the paramedics, watching closely how they examine her carefully and start on the treatment. An indiscernible amount of time later – could be minutes, could be longer – an ambulance rolls up behind us and two more paramedics pile out. (Or could one of them be a doctor?) We're pushed back further as all four of them work to transfer a softly moaning Persis on a stretcher.
"Who comes with her?" asks one of them, looking from Molly and me to the PPOs.
"We do," one of the PPOs declares and nods at his colleague.
I open my mouth to protest, but before I can articulate my thought, better sense takes over. It's their duty to protect her, even now, especially now. They need to stay with her and I just want to and need trumps want.
Molly still grips my hand tightly as we watch the stretcher with Persis being loaded into the ambulance. The PPOs climb in after her, but not without promising to keep me informed.
"Will she be alright?" Molly asks anxiously and looks at me with wide eyes.
I take a deep breath. "She was awake, wasn't she? That's a good sign. I'm sure that's a good sign." I'm not sure whether I'm trying to assure Molly or me, but I reckon that in the end, I'm not having any success with either of us.
"I should call her parents," I tell Molly distractedly as I detangle my hand from hers and reach into my jeans pocket for my phone. As I do, I turn my head to the side – and let my phone slide back into the pocket.
Worried about Persis as I was, I didn't even think of Blacky, but now my gaze falls on him and I immediately realise that Persis wasn't the only one who was hurt in the fall. Blacky is still lying on his side and it's clear that he's agitated. He tosses his head and as I watch, I can see him try to scramble up from the ground, only to collapse again with an agonised sound of the kind I've never heard a horse make. It makes my blood run cold.
"He's hurt," whispers Molly.
Yes, he is. And it doesn't look good.
I swallow heavily. "Would you go and look after Tomato?" I ask Molly. "I'll take care of Blacky. I'll call you if I hear anything from Persis."
Molly's face shows reluctance, but also relief. When I give her a light push, she consents and leaves in direction of the stables, though not without looking at me and Blacky over her shoulder several times as she walks away.
With Molly taken care of, I take several cautious steps towards Blacky. There are two people bend over him and as I come closer, I recognise the tag identifying them as the veterinarians on duty.
"Excuse me?" I ask, my voice sounding all wrong. "How is he?"
Once more, Blacky tries to get to his feet and once more, he fails miserably, his legs giving way under him and his body collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud. It hurts to watch.
Out of instinct, I kneel down next to Blacky's head and stroke his forehead and muzzle in an attempt to calm him. "There's a good boy," I murmur. "I know you're in pain. I know it hurts. I promise it will be over soon. It's okay, Blacky. It's okay."
He stares at me with wide, panicked eyes. His breathing is heavy and his nostrils are flared. He's the very picture of a horse both terrified and in pain.
"His left foreleg is broken," a quiet voice from above explains. "We also believe his hip might be fractured, but we couldn't move him enough to examine it closely."
"What… what does that mean?" I choke out. My hands are still stroking Blacky's head, almost frantically so. His entire body is tense and his eyes still have that terrible expression, but he doesn't fight as much anymore. Instead of struggling to get up, he lies on the ground, staring upwards, clearly terrified.
"We can't say for sure without having examined him, but there is a chance the fractures could heal," the voice answers hesitatingly. "He'd need to be operated on and he'd have to stay in a sling for months afterwards. It would take a long time and there's no guarantee that it would work. Even if the fractures heal, he might always be in pain."
"You want to put him down," I state, without looking up at the vet.
The man sighs. "It's not my decision to make, but… if he were my horse, I'd let him go."
I pull Blacky's head into my lap and look down at his wide, dark eyes. As I do, I imagine him confined to a stable for months on end, hanging in a sling from the ceiling, barely able to move. Months of confinement for this honest, gentle horse that always loved running around on the pasture more than anything in his life. And not even a guarantee that afterwards, he will get to run on his beloved pastures again.
It wouldn't be fair.
I love this horse more than any other, but as I imagine what his future would be like, I know with absolute clarity that it wouldn't be fair. I don't want to let him go, but to keep him here would be cruelty and he doesn't deserve that.
"I'd need permission from his owner," adds the vet. "Or from an authorised substitute."
"His owner is currently in an ambulance and in no state to decide anything," I reply. "And the other two people authorised to make decisions about her horses are currently on an official engagement in Glasgow."
I rub Blacky's forehead and finally look up at the vet. He's an elderly man and he has kind eyes. "In their absence, will you accept my decision instead? I promise to take full responsibility."
He considers me and I can see the pieces click into place in his mind. "Yes, I think I can do that."
I take a deep breath. I can't deny that a tiny part of me hoped he'd refuse. A tiny, selfish part that doesn't want to let go of this beautiful horse.
"Will you stay with him?" asks the vet. "Your presence calms him."
"He knows me," I answer simply. The idea of staying here, of watching him die, makes me sick to my stomach, but I don't budge. If it helps, I will stay. He deserves nothing less.
I cradle Blacky's head closer, bending over him and letting my hair fall forward, shielding both of us from the outside world. I'm only dimly aware of the two vets moving around close to us. Instead, I close my eyes and focus on Blacky's warm breath, coming out in short gasps.
"It'll be over soon," I promise. "Just a few moments and you won't be in pain anymore. You don't need to be scared. It will be fine. I promise. I don't know where horses go, but I imagine it's a place that has lots of pastures to run around and trees to nibble at and apples to munch on. Oh, and carrots! Carrots, as many as you can eat. Would you like that, boy? Would that be a good place for you?"
I don't know when I started crying – maybe as far back as the initial fall – but now my tears are streaming down my face freely, dripping down on Blacky's fur. I try to wipe them away with one hand, but to no avail. Blacky just looks up at me with that dark, dark gaze of his.
I keep whispering to him as I feel his head growing heavy and see his eyelids slip close. Finally, there's a long, heavy sigh as the anaesthesia starts working and the tension goes out of him. Somehow, I imagine it's a sigh of relief. I stay right where I am, cradling his head and murmuring words of nonsense, until, an eternity later, there's a touch at my shoulder.
"He's gone," says the vet with the kind eyes.
For a moment, I hold Blacky's heavy head close, press it to me in a final goodbye, before abruptly letting go of it and scrambling to my feet. Now that I know that he's gone, I can't look at him anymore, so I firmly close my eyes and turn away. The tears are still running down my face and there are sobs shaking my body. I'm crying for Blacky who is dead and Persis who is in hospital and for how this lovely day turned so awful so fast.
I stumble forward a few steps, until I collide with a solid figure. Looking up with tear-blurred eyes, I recognise Hanson.
"You… you need to be with Persis," I stammer, feeling suddenly very strongly that Hanson should be with Persis to protect her.
"I'm where I'm supposed to be," Hanson answers simply as he puts an arm around me and rubs my back comfortingly.
"But –" I start to protest.
He shakes his head. "She has two officers with her, just as she ought to. I'm where I'm supposed to be."
I stare at him, bewildered. "You're here for Persis." After all, with Ken gone, his PPOs were temporarily re-routed to his family members and Hanson was attached to Persis's detail. He should be with her. He should protect her!
"Do you want to go to the hospital and check on her?" Hanson asks, changing tactics.
For a moment, I consider him warily, but I guess if it gets him to go and protect Persis, it's a sensible plan. "Okay," I agree.
Hanson gives me a gentle push, when a sudden thought strikes me. "What about – ?" I can't say the word.
"They'll take care of it," promises Hanson. "We'll go to the hospital."
I nod, letting go of a shuddering breath. "Okay."
His arm around my shoulder, Hanson steers me past the throng of onlookers. I keep my head lowered, by hair hanging into my face and my gaze fixed on the ground. As we walk, I spy what looks to be the remains of a professional camera near the edge of the water.
"What – ?" I begin, looking up.
"Some photos should never be taken," replies Hanson, guessing my thoughts. "Don't worry about it."
"Okay." I nod and lower my head again.
"I handed the man with the flag over to authorities," Hanson adds quietly as we walk. "I don't think he meant any harm though. He just wanted to support his country and his princess. Poor man was absolutely devastated."
I take in his words and I know I should be indignant at this idiocy, but I can't muster the strength to feel any anger. It feels so… useless, in light of what happened. So, instead of saying anything, I just shrug and continue walking.
Not looking where we're going, I trust Hanson to bring me where I need to be. I don't raise my head until we've reached a dark SUV and Hanson opens a door for me. I just start climbing inside when, struck by sudden panic, I turn back to Hanson and plead, "Will you stay with me?"
"Of course," he promises calmly. "As long as you need me to."
And he does.
He stays by my side the entire day. He's with me in the car and then, in the hospital as we wait for Persis to come out of surgery. He stays near while I call Owen (very easily the hardest call I ever had to make) and when I go visit Persis in her ICU room. Finally, he takes me back to the car and to our hotel near the tournament grounds. When I decline his offer to drive me home to London on account of being utterly exhausted, he even offers to get a room and stay as well. For a second, I'm tempted to agree, but I think of his wife and his baby daughter and send him home. My nightmares, I will have to face on my own.
I wave Hanson off and turn for the hotel entrance, feeling physically and emotionally drained. I don't expect to sleep a wink tonight, but I know I at least have to try.
"Princess?"
I start as a figure steps from the shadow, but a second later, I recognise the voice, the unruly hair and, yes, also the nickname, and relax again.
"Sam," I blink at him, confused. "What are you doing here?"
He shrugs, looking awkward. "I heard about what happened. I texted you, but you didn't answer and I was worried. I thought… you might want a friend."
My tired brain is still struggling to make sense of his appearance. "How do you know where I'm staying?"
"I got lucky. They said this is where most of the competitors and their teams stay and I just thought I'd give it a try," answers Sam, still looking uncertain. "Was that okay?"
There are all kinds of implications to what he's saying, but it's too complicated to think through. Instead of trying, I simply focus on the fact that he's here, that he drove all the way from London just because he thought I might need a friend.
I look at Sam, tears slowly filling my eyes. When he notices, the unsure expression on his face turns to horror. "You're… you're crying!" he stammers. "I didn't mean to make you cry!"
He looks so utterly stricken that I smile slightly, despite there not being anything to smile about. "It's okay," I assure him, wiping away tears. "It's just… it was sweet of you to come. I'm glad you did."
Sam nods, seemingly a little calmer. "I'm glad I came." There's a moment of pause, before he asks, "How… how is the princess?"
I've gotten so used to him calling me this that I need a second to realise that he's talking about Persis right now.
"She's got a complicated fracture in her left leg and a nasty concussion," I answer. "They had to operate on the leg and she's in a lot of pain, but the doctors said she should be fine."
Sam lets go of a breath and looks honestly relieved. "That's good news."
"It is," I agree.
A long moment passes and the question hangs between us unspoken, until Sam dares to utter, "The horse…"
I try to speak, but find that my throat is constricted, so I just shake my head.
"Bugger," murmurs Sam, genuine sorrow on his face.
Again, I attempt a smile to reassure him, but fail miserably. Instead, I feel the tears taking over again and this time, there's no use wiping them away.
Sam steps from one foot to the other, clearly unsure what to do, but when my tears don't subside, he seems to give himself a mental push. He crosses the distance between us and awkwardly puts his arms around me.
At first, I hesitate, but then I let my head drop forward, hide my face against his shoulder and cry into his t-shirt. Sam pats my back and makes soothing noises, which makes me cry even harder.
Minutes pass, as Sam just holds me and I cry all the tears I didn't dare cry before. I had to put on a brave face for Persis and a brave voice for Owen and while Hanson was extremely kind, I knew I couldn't start blubbering all over the poor man either, especially because he already went above and beyond his job description anyway.
Sam, however, is here for me. I don't have to pretend or be strong for him. He came here to be my friend and to be my support, and I can lean on him, without having to hold back. He's here and I'm lonely – I've been lonely for months – and it feels good to have someone by my side again, someone who has my back, no questions asked.
"Feeling better?" Sam asks when my tears finally start to dry.
I raise my head and give him a watery smile. "A little. Thank you."
He shrugs, looking a bit embarrassed. "Don't mention it."
"No." I shake my head. "I mean it. Thank you for coming here and for being here and for being there for me. It means more than I can say. Really, truly thank you."
"I'm glad I could help," Sam replies earnestly. "I was afraid you'd think me intrusive, but I was worried about you and I… I just wanted to see whether they're okay."
"I'm not okay," I answer honestly. "But I'm better and that's thanks to you."
He smiles one of his wide, lop-sided Sam smiles – and that's when it happens. For the briefest of moments, his gaze flickers down, from my eyes to my lips, and that's when I know.
For the second time today, it's as if time itself slows down and I know exactly what will happen. I can see it perfectly clearly, see him leaning down and our lips meeting, like a film playing in front of my eyes.
I see it with the same clarity I saw Persis's accident before it happened, but while I was unable to stop her fall in time, I am able to react to this before… Before.
It would be easy. It would be easy to let him kiss me and to lose myself in him, to stave off the grief and the pain and the loneliness. It would be so, so incredibly easy. I don't love him, but I like him, because he's kind and caring and here. It would be easy to kiss him and easy to be with him and if I'm being honest, easy sounds so much better than what I have now.
But even as I look into Sam's eyes, the scene playing in front of my eyes changes, to be replaced by a memory from over two years ago. There's Ken, sitting on the sofa in our Oxford living room and I can hear his words as if he was standing next to me, 'Whenever you find yourself wanting out of this relationship… promise to tell me?'
And promise him I did.
I turn my head to the side, Sam draws back and the moment is gone. He's back to being the friend who came to support me when I needed it, and I'm back to being the girl who's had a seriously awful day.
We're back to being safe, or we would be, if not for the very tiny voice in my head, wondering whether my life will ever be easy again.
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Layla' (written by Eric Clapton and Jim Gordon, released by Derek and the Dominos in 1970).
To Guest:
Oh, absolutely! It's your opinion and as such, it's perfectly valid. Not everything is going to speak to everyone equally and that's totally fine. We're all different people and that's as it ought to be. Life would be shockingly boring if it was different!
In that spirit, allow me to remark that while many readers see this story primarily as a romance (and that's absolutely okay!), to me, it's not so much a romance as it's the tale of Rilla growing up and coming into her own. Her love life is a big aspect of that, but it certainly isn't everything, so there will always be parts where the romance takes a backseat. That's certainly true at the moment, and I respect that the story reads as less interesting to you right now, but at the same time, to me, these current chapters are pretty important for Rilla's personal growth.
The truth is, I think, that while I very much respect your opinion, I will ultimately always write the story that is fun for me to write. I'm posting it here as an offer to readers, but it is very much that - an offer. I won't lie, it absolutely makes my day when someone enjoys what I write and I adore hearing what readers think of it, so yes, feedback makes me happy. However, here's also where we note, again, that everyone is different and everyone likes different things. And that is not only fine, it's a good thing.
Thus, if you decide this is not the story for you anymore, I hope we had a good run up until now and that you'll find another story fish in the wide fanfic sea that is more to your liking. If, on the other hand, you decide to give it another go and/or return to reading at a future point, we'll be here, the story and I, to happily welcome you back.
To Rach H:
I was sitting here and writing review replies when yours popped in, so that was some excellent timing =).
I actually thought about going into more detail with Di's wedding, but people keep telling me the story is too long as it is, so it fell by the wayside. I honestly don't think anyone quite realises how many scenes I have in my head that get cut to keep the story from running into the millions ;). To give you a glimpse into part of what got cut though, Joy's pretty happy and settled in her life right now, so there's not much new with her. As for Nan, while she certainly felt a bit wistful, it's been two years since her own wedding fell apart, so I imagine she's mostly come to terms with it. First and foremost, she's happy for her sister and at least this wedding had the advantage of Jerry not being invited!
I'm glad you agree that the conversation with Di was an important one, because I think so, too. Rilla's family has suffered the fallout from her relationship without any of the benefits (not, as you said, that Rilla herself is experiencing many of those right now) and Di had some especially nasty things flung at her by the press. She doesn't know Ken and his beliefs as well as Rilla does, so with reporters out there harassing her, coupled with his mysterious absence, you have a situation where she's wary of what's really going on. That's why it was so pivotal for her to know the truth - otherwise, she could have ended up being pretty hurt.
Speaking of hurt, Rilla has finally admitted that Ken's decision hurt her and also made her angry, which is quite the step for her! She didn't arrive there on her own, but that's what mother are for! You're never too old to run to them for comfort ;). Plus, they will always have your corner, which is what Anne is doing here. Her opinions aren't completely impartial because she sees her job as backing Rilla up - and she does that job rather well, doesn't she?
Oh, yes, if news about the evening at the pub gets out - which is a certain risk - , the reactions won't be pretty. (On the other hand, Rilla is due some clemency from the universe right now, so she'd deserve for it to stay under wraps.) As for Sam getting famous and how he could achieve this... keep hold of that thought... ;)
