Chapter 5: Raceday 2nd March 1996

It was four thirty in the morning when Gerry woke up for the toilet. A cold night, like many nights that week, he ended up having to extract himself from Mary's tight grip around him as she tried to stay warm. She mumbled something incomprehensible as he got up from the bed. Fearing she might wake herself and proceed to have a go at him for making her feel cold, he tiptoed out of their bedroom, across to the toilet. Not wanting to disturb anyone, Gerry didn't switch the landing light on and used his memory in the dark to make it over to the door, finding it wide open. He gently shut the door behind him, with the aim of not wanting to wake the rest of the house up fresh in his mind and got on with the business at hand. Flushing a minute later, he washed his hands at the sink and dried them on his hand towel, stopping only to yawn before opening the bathroom door again to leave.

Click

"Jesus!" Gerry whispered a screech.

In his infinite wisdom, Joe was waiting for him at the other side of the bathroom door and cocked a loaded rifle, pointed directly at Gerry's forehead. This wasn't an air rifle or some sort of relic weapon, it was a fully serviceable Lee Enfield rifle, and it was also not very funny in the dark at half past four in the morning.

"What are you up to boy?" Joe sneered quietly.

"I was conducting a secret meeting with all the local Provo's in the bathroom". He replied. "What the hell do ye think I was doing!"

"Ye could have got a fancy woman in there!"

"Forgive me Joe but…". Gerry finally pushed down the barrel of the gun, so he wasn't staring down it. "…unless I'm conducting a scandalous secret romance with Wonder Woman, then I don't see how I could have gotten a woman into the bathroom. Anyway, it's you who we have to watch when it comes to fancy women is it not?".

Gerry let himself grin at the memory of the trouble he'd caused Joe a couple of weeks earlier. Mary and Sarah were constantly monitoring their father, so much as a look at any woman they didn't know would raise suspicions, which made trips to the shops unbearable for Joe. But Gerry didn't quite realise he was right where Joe wanted him. The patriarch of the family knew Gerry would be celebrating his perceived victory over him and the time to pull the rug from underneath his brash feet had arrived.

"Don't lecture me boy. I know it was you, planting that…thing… in my bin. Did you think I was born yesterday ye great tool!?"

Gerry's heart sank. All this time he thought he'd played the perfect trick on Joe and yet he'd failed to remember a very important fact when it came to his father in-law. Joe would always win over him. Believing anything other than that was a foolish man's game.

"Got ye now haven't I boy?".

"And shooting me does what exactly… hmm?" Gerry was only slightly shitting it… only slightly…

"Oh for… who taught ya common sense, Franz Reichelt?" Joe shook his head. "Covering for the wains was about the only good thing I've ever seen ya do".

At this point Gerry believed he might be having a nightmare and thought about pinching himself to see whether he would wake up. But deep down he knew it wasn't and it was more of a nightmare that he was truly living than one in his head.

"Your… not angry about this?"

"Congratulations eejit, pass go and collect two hundred while yer at it! If my Mary would have found out about the wains, her blood pressure would have gone through the roof! I can't be havin' her sick and having to have a useless bastard like you look after her".

"Right… and I'm not being retaliated against?" Gerry still didn't see the full picture.

"I already have ya dose! They say a fright like that can take a couple of years of yer life. That's two years less sufferin' for Mary, so it is".

Joe had stitched him up like a kipper and Gerry couldn't respond with anything other than a slightly open mouth. Joe simply grinned like a small child in a sweet shop, taking all the best sweets from the pick n mix and leaving Gerry with the sour grapes. It only told Gerry one thing. As long as Joe still breathed, he would never be able to achieve any true victory over him.

"Now piss off Gerry, Mary will be gettin' cold".

"Right. Is Orla here yet?" He whispered instead of moving on as requested.

"She's downstairs, buzzin' already". Joe softened, lowering the gun completely.

"She'll win Joe".

"Aye I know". Joe replied as Gerry walked past him but spoke again before his son in-law could disappear. "And Gerry?"

"Yes Joe?"

"Do us all a favour and break ye neck out shopping".

Huffing at the final rebuke from Joe, Gerry scuttled back into the bedroom and got back into bed, finding Mary's arms around him again soon after. Little did he know what he would be in for later that morning, as from behind their bedroom door, Mary heard every word of his conversation with Joe.


Clare reached the Quinn house at around half past eight and Mary fed her like she would on a normal school day if she'd turned up. She agreed with Erin on the way home the day before that she would meet her there before they walked over to the Mallon house to meet James. Orla was long gone by the time she got there and would have most likely been on the road already with Joe and her mother, following the horse box. A little while later, the two of them sauntered out of the Quinn house and down the street, carrying bags in their hands that contained wellies for them to wear. Mary would go ballistic if Erin came home with muddy shoes and insisted upon taking the wellies if the ground came up bad. When they reached the top of the street Michelle and James lived on, Erin spotted her boyfriend stood outside the house already and turned to Clare. She sighed, knowing exactly what Erin wanted.

"Give me the bag".

Erin smiled her gratitude and threw the bag at her. Clare could only watch as Erin ran down the empty street, James moving out into the middle and waiting for her. She took a leaping jump and dived into his arms, James spinning her around as they giggled, his hands resting on her hips. They were soon kissing passionately when he returned her to the ground and Clare took a slow walk over to them, partly to give them some more time alone and also to avoid having to be near any of it.

"How long have we got?". Erin whispered between kisses.

"Not long enough…". He stopped to kiss her again. "…for what I want".

His voice was thick with desire and Erin's whole body began to weaken around him, her knees feeling like they'd been removed completely.

"Is anyone else home?" Erin dared to pose the question to him.

"No". He whispered as he kissed her neck, aware that Clare could see what he was doing and the disgusted look on her face. "And we have time for… other things".

The moment he put it across to her like that, there was absolutely no stopping them. Shouting out to Clare that they would be back in fifteen minutes, precisely the time Mr Flanagan was due to arrive to pick them up, James took her hand, and they ran inside, giggling giddily all the way until the door shut. Clare, seemingly designated as both pack mule and now lookout, stood at the gate by the front of the Mallon house with a hand on her forehead.

"Why am I friends with these people?!"

Precisely fifteen minutes later, James and Erin re-appeared, slightly more dishevelled looking and still doing up the buttons of their respective shirts. Clare groaned her frustration at the pair but neither took any interest as they recovered from whatever they'd been up to inside the house. She didn't dare think about what they might have done. The couple were holding hands again and spotted a car coming up the street and recognised it to be Mr Flanagan's. He pulled up in the empty spot outside the house, wearing a suit more fitting of a mafioso than a History teacher. He was wearing a striped suit and tie with black trousers, only missing the fedora and cigar to complete the look. He wasn't even the owner of the horse and really James should have been dressed like that, but the Englishman preferred a more casual look.

"Good morning sir". James leaned in through the passenger window. "Or should I call you 'The Don'?"

"Don't push it James". He chuckled. "You really aren't dressed for this".

Mr Flanagan didn't quite catch Clare mumbling 'Only just about dressed', but Erin did and elbowed her to shut her up, not wanting the History teacher to be any the wiser about the couple's morning activities.

"Get in then".

Not wishing to test the teacher's patience, James sat in the front and not the back with Erin. It wouldn't be a good look for a teacher to be found driving around two of his students who were all over each other in the back of his car. The bags of wellies sat on the middle seat, separating Erin and Clare and the teacher frowned in his rear-view mirror at the scene.

"Is Michelle not joining you then?"

Michelle was still a sore spot for them. She stayed true to her word from the day before and refused to speak to any of them for the rest of the day. It hadn't held with James; they couldn't function at home at all if they didn't communicate and Michelle also made it very clear she didn't want her parents involved when it came to Danny. In an attempt at appeasement, he'd agreed to her wishes but when he tried to fix the damage created earlier in the day, she brushed him off and stood firm in her belief Erin was trying to ruin her relationship with Danny. It left James torn; he wanted Michelle to be happy and have a relationship but agreed with Erin that Danny was not the one and was real trouble. He'd only briefly seen her that morning too as she was already on her way out with her parents to the shops and then having another driving lesson with Martin afterwards, which Deirdre would be sitting in on. Mr Flanagan took the silence from the three of them to be a problem.

"Don't tell me you've all fallen out with her?" He probed.

"It's… complicated sir". James advised.

"That complicated that you didn't invite her to see Orla race?"

"She was invited!" Erin clarified, almost shouting. "She just had… other plans that we didn't think were important".

"But she did?"

"Yes". Erin looked away and out of the window, still angered by Michelle's actions of the prior day.

"I don't wish to seem nosy…". The teacher shuffled on his seat so he could eye them all. "…but I get the impression that this is about a boy".

The three of them all blushed slightly and scratched their necks, the sign for Mr Flanagan that his assumptions were correct. They couldn't hide anything from him.

"We think he's bad news sir!" Clare confided in a fret. "He's a Scanlon, one of THE Scanlon's".

"Right. I know the family… the reputation. But I thought you watched each other's backs? I'm sure she knows that, and should your fears be realised, you'll be there for here… won't ye?"

The three of them, with the teacher's reminder of the bonds of their friendship in their ears, nodded in unison.

"And if you believe she's in real danger, then you tell me, and I will make sure that Michelle comes to no harm. You have my word".

"Thank you Mr Flanagan". James kept a straight face, a gentlemanly thanks passed along.

"That's alright James. And for heaven's sake, call me Robert the lot of you's, just for today. We aren't at school now".

They all laughed quite heartily at their teacher, taking it in turns to answer 'Yes Robert' to him and giving him a chance to test how well he could roll his eyes. He checked with them that they were all wearing their seatbelts and they were soon on the road to the Enniskillen hunt track. The journey would take just under an hour and a half, unless there were any unscheduled stops and Orla's race was at twenty past twelve so they would get to see her before she needed to weigh out. The rain held off and the day was warmer than any of the others that week, a considerable improvement on the chilly night too.

"Frankie didn't tell me what silks she'd gone for James". Robert asked about halfway through the journey.

"Ha well, I'll be honest she looks more like a Grenadier Guard than a jockey in them".

A mention of a military formation such as the Grenadier Guards was bound to get a rise from the History teacher and he guffawed at the wheel at the sight of Orla dressed in the uniform of a solider, riding in a hunt race.


Once they'd pulled up at the racetrack, it didn't take long for them to find Joe, Orla, Sarah, Frankie and 'The Wee English Fella'. Paul was off declaring the horse when they arrived and no doubt finding out just who the opposition would be. It wasn't like the races under National Hunt rules, you would never know your opponents until shortly before the race and with a field of thirty-five entries and a maximum of thirty runners allowed, she could have been facing a whole host of good horses.

Orla was already decked out in her kit and she'd had to spend the whole car journey in it because there was no changing room for her at the course. Joe wouldn't let her change in with the men, knowing how they would act around her and was not willing to put his granddaughter in that situation. She was only just old enough to be able to even contest the race and he wouldn't have her being scarred for life by the behaviour of some of the nastier jockeys. When she first spotted her friends and History teacher, she ran to them, initiating a group hug with James, Orla and Clare as Robert went over to see his brother, Joe and Sarah, who were stood with their horse.

"Ye look the part Orla". Erin giggled.

"Aye these little silks are cracker, so they are. I reckon I'll get some matching pyjamas if Mammy will let me". Orla gleefully replied.

"How's the horse?" James asked as they pulled out of the hug.

"I tell ye James, he is ready to rock!" Orla's joy could not be contained. "I checked him over this mornin' back at the stables and he whispered in my ear and told me he's got it ye know".

The three of them laughed at her ridiculous statement and she laughed with them but Orla being a horse whisperer didn't seem too far-fetched to James, although he decided not to air that point with the others in case they mocked him for it. Before anyone of them could say anything, Joe beckoned James over to see him and Erin let go of his hand so that the owners could discuss things alone.

"Ye might want to put a suit on next time son". Joe addressed James's shirt and jeans first.

"You as well". James gave one of his trademark lopsided grins. "Robert's already commented on it".

"Well at least I'm wearing one, so we won't offend them completely. Ye excited?"

"I'm excited… nervous… I don't know what to say for what you've done for me Joe. With the horse… with Erin…". James's voice contained genuine emotion, which Joe looked on fondly.

"Yer a good lad son. I'm proud to have ye in my family so I am".

Joe would never be able to lean forward and hug him in full view of the others, as they would believe he required hospitalisation from the out of character action, but if he could at that moment he would have done. He never thought he'd find himself considering hugging an Englishman, but life threw up these odd scenarios and he couldn't argue with God's decision to bring James into their lives.

"Did you walk the course?" James smiled, offering Joe a mint from his pocket as he took one out.

"We were here first, so we got round before anyone else had even pulled up! It's running good at the moment but Paul reckons it's a bit softer round the home bend".

"Perfect for our lad". James looked at the horse, being held onto by Frankie while Sarah and Robert chatted away next to him.

"Son, we could have this race at the mouth of the Foyle, and he'd gallop on".

The two of them laughed and looked around to see Paul coming back from the declarations tent around the other side of the course stables. The group all convened around their horse as he carried a piece of paper with him and the saddlecloth with Orla's designated number.

"Give us the run down then Paul". Frankie ordered.

"It's a field of fifteen including our lad".

"Fifteen!?" The shocked Frankie sought confirmation, Paul nodding to confirm it. "That's a lot for a four-year-old maiden!"

"Aye I know and there's some good un's too. We're all running off level weights, I asked about the allowance, but they told to me feck off and threatened giving us a penalty if I didn't shut it".

"Orla doesn't need one!" Erin stated adamantly. "Do ye?"

"I need a Wham bar, I'm famished but I have to keep me weight down ye know".

"Back to the race". Paul stopped the tangent being explored further. "We're the last entry alphabetically so we're number fifteen. And Orla, ye've got to get up to the weighing room to weigh out shortly, I suggest the sooner the better ye know".

Orla went to retrieve her saddle and whip, though even when pushing the horse at home, she'd yet to have to resort to using the whip on him. She didn't really want to. The rest of the group continued to discuss the race, Sarah having a lot of questions for Paul who did his best to answer them all, even some of the more bizarre ones. Geared up and ready, Paul and Joe set off to the weighing room with Orla, who would have skipped all the way there if her Granda would have allowed it.


Being so prompt allowed Orla to weigh out first before any of the other jockeys made it to the weighing room. The judge appeared to have had the fright of his life when she appeared in the room, not used to seeing a young girl with no apparent racing background turning up to ride. Whilst he held his tongue on any judgement, when the rest of the jockey's turned up, they were far from pleased to be seeing a girl riding in their race and made that displeasure known.

"What the fuck's this?!" One of them said, looking at Orla.

"Didn't know we get a lunch service as we go round now boys!" Another remarked, to the laughter of the seven or so jockey's that had arrived in the room.

"Settle down gentleman. Give the wee lass a chance". The judge intervened.

"I'll give her a chance alright". One of them suggestively smirked.

The laughter of the jockey's filled the weighing room and the Judge didn't try to calm them the second time. Orla didn't really understand what they were saying but Erin told her when they were eating dinner the previous night that they might say rude things to her because she's a girl. Erin didn't go into the finer details of sexism and how Orla would no doubt face it because her cousin would most likely not understand but she'd passed on one piece of advice to help her.

Ignore them, they will talk out of their holes!

"Morning fellas. I see yer talking out of yer holes like me cousin said ye would".

The jockey's, not expecting to be spoken back to by a girl were stunned into silence. They'd ridden against women before, but they expected them to just take the abuse and accept it as the done thing. Never had a girl stood up for herself in the weighing room previously and none of them knew how to deal with it for a few seconds. Eventually though, the smallest one of the lot found something to respond with.

"A Derry girl? Well boys we are honoured".

"A City girl?" The murmurs went down the ranks of the jockeys, who were now all stood in a line waiting to weigh out.

"Yer out of yer depth here girl". The little one continued his jeers. "A city girl like ya self, should be back in yer fancy houses in the warm, not out here on our patch".

"Ach yer a funny little fella". Orla giggled. "Are ye one of the ones who cleans the chimneys before ye go to school?"

She thought the comments to be genuine questions, but the jockeys were getting their backs up at the city girl coming in and insulting them.

"Watch ye mouth girl". One sneered.

"Aye". A couple of them agreed.

"I only want to see your mouth if it's at the e-"

The jockey about to make that comment stopped as the door to the weighing room from the outside was open and two blokes stepped through and were looking straight at him. He didn't know who the two were, but he had enough sense to know that finishing the sentence would see him out of the race with at least a broken nose. Joe and Paul were the two men in question, and it was the former's presence that caused the most shock amongst the ranks.

"Shit, is that… Joe McCool?" One of them at the back whispered.

"Joe McCool". The name was heard again in the ranks.

Joe knew his name would mean something to some of the jockeys. Most likely through their fathers and grandfathers rather than themselves but his name carried weight. Back in his younger days, under the noses of the authorities, Joe used to go out into the country and play illegally staked card games with some of the jockeys of the time. His reputation for being tough when anyone tried to cheat him or shit talk him was legendary and the fact he was recognised by jockeys of another generation said as much.

"Ye wanna finish what ye sayin' there boy?" He got right up in the face of the man he'd interrupted.

"I… erm…".

"I thought not". Joe seethed. "Come on Orla love".

Orla happily followed her Granda out, also giving Paul a cheeky smile as she passed him, one which was reciprocated. Paul knew all these lads well and they might have let Joe and Orla go without any further challenge, but he wouldn't be so lucky.

"What's this fuckin' pet project of yer's Paul?" The smallest one again spoke up.

"Ye can laugh now ye prick". Paul smirked as he stood with his hand on the door handle. "But ye won't be laughin' when she's twenty lengths ahead of ye at the line".

The jockey's broke into rapturous laughter when he shut the weighing room door, simply unable to comprehend why an experienced rider like Paul thought a girl could beat them. A city girl, a girl who wasn't meant to be mixing in their scene. Not one of the jockey's would admit to their deep lying fears that they were frightened to lose to Orla and the shame it would bring upon them.


Race time drew closer and they were all in the paddock as Paul gave Orla the leg up on 'The Wee English Fella' and led her round the ring. The crowd were not quite as vocal as the jockeys at their disapproval of Orla but there were still murmurs around some of the seasoned racegoers. An unknown girl riding for the fairly enigmatic Frankie Flanagan raised eyebrows and the attention was only on her and not the horse, most writing it off immediately just because it was her in the saddle. The tannoy went and the announcer went through the prize money for the race, a meagre one hundred and fifty pounds for the winner, ninety for second and sixty for third. After he'd finished with all of the rules and regulations, the announcer turned to the most important information for the racegoers and especially those punting, reading out the list of horses who would be going down to the start.

Number one, Adolos, trained by…

Number two, Buncrana Steel, trained by…

The course announcer went down the list, speaking about the trainers, jockeys and owners of each horse in detail. Joe and James listened carefully to the information they might gleam from it, identifying the number seven, 'Lost in Rico', as their main rival. Paul informed Joe that the rider of that horse was the same bloke that made the comment to him before he left the weighing room, the same fella who'd led most of the sexist abuse against Orla. The trainer he was riding for was a well-respected Southern trainer who'd often raid further north with some of his better horses and this looked to be one of them.

"And finally number fifteen, The Wee English Fella, trained by Frank Flanagan and ridden by…"

The announcer stopped for a moment and Sarah looked to Paul and Joe for an explanation, Robert and James both frowning at why he'd stopped too. Paul had a fair idea and that was confirmed a second later.

"…Orla McCool. And it'll be drinks on me if that one even clears the first fence!".

The put downs of Orla spread to the course's official announcer, who Paul knew to be a man of over forty years' experience on the amateur circuits. An unknown young girl riding a raw young horse generated a high degree of amusement and he left the tannoy on so that everyone around the course could hear it. Some joined in, finding it just as amusing that Orla had the audacity to try and contest an event such as this whilst others said nothing and just went about their business.

"What a prick!" Clare summed it up beautifully.

"He can't get away with that!" Erin complained. "He should be thrown off the course… and… and told not to come back!"

"That's just the way it is girls. That's racing". Paul sighed. "But I reckon in about ten minutes we'll have changed a few minds eh?"

A chorus of 'Aye's' went through the group as they walked over to the spot where they would be watching the race from in the owner's area. None of the other owners would speak to them, and other than one or two of the other trainers exchanging greetings with Frankie and Paul, most chose to sneer at the outsiders. Erin was becoming riled by it, but James held her steady to prevent her from charging out and slapping one of the particularly snooty women.

All the way to the start the other jockeys tried to harass Orla, calling her names and putting her down but she didn't listen to a word. The moment she was comfortable atop her horse, she was in a different world of calm and focus that couldn't be disturbed. The start was just before the second last fence and they would complete the two fences before setting off for two laps of the course. Lining up on the outside as she'd told James she would earlier that week when they were walking home, Orla was in the zone.

As the tape went up, it was party time.