Chapter 15: Gloria Victis 23rd March 1996
Five o'clock. Sarah had gone to sleep on the backseat and Joe left her there with a few blankets over her. He was sat inside the car too, the rain pelting onto the windows that morning from where he parked up outside the stables. It rained all night, and the ground was getting very heavy outside, potentially providing a real slog fest for Orla's second race later that day. She was already getting the horse ready with Paul, who was riding another one of Frankie's horses in a different race at the track earlier on the card.
"Ye nearly ready Orla!" Paul called out.
"Aye!" She shouted back.
She was just finishing up the last little bits with 'The Wee English Fella' before getting him into the horsebox, shared with the horse Paul was riding that was already loaded up. Frankie was busy inside getting documents and other bits and pieces ready before the race. It was a busy weekend for him as he had another runner at Dundalk on the Sunday, which Orla was surprised with finding out that she would be riding on the phone the night before. It was the start of a rather busy ten days or so at the Flanagan stables.
"He's lookin' well". Paul remarked as she led the horse into the box.
"Aye, he's in good shape".
After a couple minutes, the horse was loaded up and ready, and they closed the back of the horsebox. They weren't leaving for a little while yet so the two of them headed inside the rear of the house, Orla needing to get changed a short while later anyway.
"How come ye not ridin' the one tomorrow Paul?" Orla said to him as they got under cover from the rain.
"Ach well I've rode him for a couple of years now and I thought it'd be good to let ye race on an older horse like. Slower races when ye get to his age. Different challenge to yer horse there".
"Oh. Thanks Paul… it's good of ye to help me like that".
"We're friends remember". He smiled at her.
"Aye that we are. That we are".
"Shall we go through what I said about the track for today?"
"Alright. So, ye told me there's only five fences on the circuit and we do two and half laps, jumping thirteen fences".
"Correct". Paul nodded. "And?"
"And it's undulating so it is, so don't hang out the back or he'll get tired, keep him in the middle of the pack until the last three fences, then start movin' up".
He grinned his approval of her repeating what he'd been through with her on the phone the night before, Orla writing down the notes and studying them the rest of the night. When she put her heart into something, she wouldn't waste any energy elsewhere and an outsider would be mistaken for thinking she was a professional rider with the amount of preparation work she did. She'd also asked Paul for advice for the horse on Sunday, the ride out to prepare him on the Sunday morning being the first time she would ever sit on the horse.
"How's James?" Paul then turned the conversation to the stricken Englishman.
"Erin phoned after ye phoned last night. He opened his eye again and was blinking so he was… but he hasn't said anything yet or moved".
"That's fantastic".
"Erin was barely holding it together ye know. I'm happy though. It means Erin's happy again and I want to see her smiling more".
"And how does that make ye feel Orla".
"Cracker… Absolutely cracker!"
That was the honest truth about how Orla felt when it came to Erin. She'd seen the strain of how much James not being there by her side had put on Erin and knowing that he was slowly waking made her feel excited for her. But also for herself. She couldn't wait to have James back by their side, joking away and watching her ride the horses and cheer her victories.
Eventually, Orla headed inside to get changed into her gear, returning a short while later as Frankie and Paul congregated out by the horsebox, ready to get going. Saying goodbye to them, she jogged over to the car, finding Granda Joe asleep as well as Aunt Sarah, behind the wheel, his head lolling to one side. The sound of the door opening woke him up and he looked up to her with a grin, proud to see her in the silks of 'The Wee English Fella'.
"All set love". He whispered, trying not to wake Sarah.
"Aye". She replied in an equally low voice.
"Remember, today is for James. Yer win is for him".
"It is. And I will win Granda".
"I know ye will love". He smiled.
They set off on the journey just as the rain stopped, the course south of Armagh being over a couple of hours away. She was confident she would win for James and Joe was confident too. Besides, she'd have all of her friends there too and that always gave her added motivation.
Preparations were frantic at the Quinn house. Mary believed she had the morning planned out to perfection, to be able to leave by their nine o'clock cut off time. The first step of the plan did succeed, she'd got up at six as she wanted and was showered and dressed by half past. Joe, Sarah and Orla were long gone by this point, so she only had breakfast to make for herself and Gerry as well as a little something for baby Anna. It was with Anna where it all began to deviate from the plan. Uncle Colm was on babysitting duties once again and Mary's instructions to him were clear. Make sure that he got there for half eight.
Colm turned up at ten to seven. He'd already eaten at least but with Gerry still asleep upstairs and Anna not providing enough of an adequate distraction, she was pulled into his long rambling stories. A woman's skirt falling down in church was amusing and shocking in many ways but when the woman died twenty-five years earlier and Colm's story was from ten years before that, patience wore frighteningly thin. It was a setback to her plans, but it wasn't the end of the world and after another hour or so of speeding up a bit, Mary was back on track. The purses were all sorted, her bag had every possible provision under the sun within it and the washing up was done. Then it was Gerry's turn to meddle with her plans.
The incident from two days prior with the wardrobe was still dragging on. She'd known that morning it was a mistake to let the two of them go off on an adventure together, given the previous disasters that occurred when it happened. The surprising part was when the latest disaster came, it was one that took place right outside the house, rather than in the city or out in the country. The neighbour whose car the flatpack wardrobe smashed through the back window of didn't take kindly to it, understandably, and Joe immediately put all the blame on Gerry when they were confronted. That satisfied the neighbour who gave a verbal barrage that even Joe wouldn't throw at the man, but Gerry fought back and the two began a bitter war of words in the street. Joe pulled Gerry away in the end but not before the neighbour threatened all sorts of action in retaliation. Learning of what happened, she wanted the pair of them to apologise and pay for the damages but what she didn't want was Gerry deciding to do it on that morning.
It was nearly ten to nine and Gerry still wasn't back. And then the arrival she'd dreaded all morning occurred.
"MOTHERFUCKERS!"
"Why are ye shoutin' that Michelle, there's only Mrs Quinn here!" An irritated Clare whispered to her.
"Because it's my thing, ya know that".
Walking through to the kitchen, they checked back to see Colm with Anna, Clare giving Michelle an extra glare on seeing it wasn't just Mary in the house. Michelle shrugged it off and instead went for a high five with Mary but didn't see the wooden spoon lying in wait, getting a smack on her palm for her troubles.
"That's for the language!" Mary pointed a finger at her, her expression stern.
"Christ… alright Mary…".
Clare sensed the incoming argument and jumped in to avoid Michelle being strangled on the dining table for her insolence.
"How are ye Mrs Quinn?"
"Raging Clare… Raging".
"Aye I can see that…". Michelle sniggered.
"You'll get the wooden spoon again if ye don't keep it shut Michelle!" Mary turned on her again.
Putting her hands up in the air in a sign of surrender, Michelle took a seat at the dining room table and stretched out while she waited until it was time to go. Clare stayed stood up, fidgeting awkwardly next to her friend.
"For feck's sake…". Mary muttered under her breath looking out of the window.
"What's up Mary?" Michelle asked.
"Ach, Gerry's out talking to the neighbour and he's been ages, so he has. We're gunna be late if he doesn't shift himself".
"Nightmare". Michelle commented, receiving a third stern look.
"Would ye go and find him Clare love?" Mary asked of her.
Clare stared at her, trying to understand if she was being serious and cacking herself at the same time. She couldn't say no to Mary Quinn: it was a death sentence.
"Okay…".
Holding enough nerves to down an airliner, she shuffled back outside, looking to see which house Gerry was at. She found him two doors down to the left and briskly strode out of the gate and down the road to the gate of that house. He seemed to be conversing amicably enough but not wanting to incur the wrath of Mary, Clare took a deep breath and decided to end the conversation on his behalf.
"MR QUINN!" She shouted, at a high pitch.
Gerry practically jumped out of his own skin when he heard her screeching, and the neighbour didn't appear to be pleased with her either.
"Is everything ok Clare?" He frowned with a slight annoyance across his face.
"We need to get going!"
"Aye… right".
He never pulled her up on the need for the shouting out on the street, especially after the much more positive chat with the neighbour. It was almost as if Joe not being present to stir the pot made it all go much smoother. Who would have thought it…
Erin didn't often procrastinate when it came to homework, but Maths was the one exception to the rule. She hated Maths with as much passion as she loved English. It was so rigid in its structure, not letting her explore and be creative like she could be with poetry and writing short stories. Algebra was a particular bore. They would never need to know about it when they had jobs and lives. Her parents never spoke of algebraic equations anyway.
She'd put it off but over lunchtime she decided to hell with it and began to start working on it in the early afternoon. All morning was spent by James's side watching as his eyes would occasionally open although she could never tell if he could really see her or not. He'd also moved slightly that morning, a shuffle she heard when she was stripping the sheets off of the makeshift bed. It was only a small movement but having the ability to move was another important tick off the checklist, though the doctors had already ruled out paralysis.
"Alright there Erin?" Deirdre asked when she walked in, two cups of tea with her.
"Ach, this homework… I hate it!"
Being as overly dramatic as ever, Erin flung her arms into the air as she spoke, Deirdre snickering to herself at the sight. She knew how much drama Erin Quinn could create at the drop of the hat and a piece of homework annoying her so much seemed about right.
"I was always in trouble for not doing me homework ye know". Grinning, Deirdre sat opposite her.
"Really?" The surprised Erin stopped working to listen.
"Aye I was terrible for it. I didn't have the patience for it ye know. Not like our Kathy".
"That surprises me".
"Why? Do I come across as a goody two shoes or somethin'?" She laughed at Erin.
"Yer just very driven and focused. I would have thought it was the other way round when it came to ye and James's ma".
"Catch yourself on! … Kathy was a right little bookworm. When I was about ten…".
The two of them sat there for twenty minutes or so, Deirdre using her lunch break to relive memories of her own schooldays and the times that Kathy would think less of her for not doing her homework. Deirdre was always the one wanting to go out and explore, cause trouble and chase the boys, and it was like that until Kathy reached fifteen. From then on out, the roles reversed, and it was Deirdre who was studying and Kathy out chasing the boys. It was more of an enforced choice for Deirdre, needing to study to be able to do her training as a nurse, the job she'd wanted for a long time. It ended up being pure coincidence that they became pregnant around the same time, but it did dawn on Erin that they both could have had very different lives without having Michelle and James respectively.
"The worst of all though for worrying about homework was yer ma".
"Mammy?!" Erin's shock was even greater at that revelation.
"Aye she was terrible for worrying so she was. Probably worse than Clare ye know".
Erin was starting to think Deirdre was taking the piss because there was absolutely no chance anyone could top Captain cack attack at her own game. Hearing that her own mother was the candidate, she didn't believe it one bit.
"Ye can catch yourself on Deirdre!". Erin sniggered, Deirdre immediately turning stony faced and Erin shrunk back into herself.
"I mean it, she was the worst! I shouldn't tell ye this, and under no circumstances do ye repeat this to yer mother, but she cried her eyes out when she got a detention once. Sobbed like the sun wasn't coming up the next day ye know".
Guffawing at the statement, Erin nodded her agreement not to mention to her ma, but that was free blackmail being offered by Deirdre and she wouldn't forget it.
It was soon time for Deirdre to go again and she left to return to work, being posted in the same ward as to be close to James at all times but still required to do her normal job. Erin looked back down at the algebra, briefly contemplating a further procrastination but, upon deciding against it, sighed and moved on to the next question.
The ground at the Farmacaffley course dried up far quicker than expected from the rainfall of the early hours. It wasn't the worst for the 'The Wee English Fella'; he'd won in the same conditions the last time out, but the fast-drying surface could often be tricky for a young horse to adapt to. Orla was riding in the fifth race at ten to four, a long time to wait at the track but they had to be there early so that Paul could take his ride in the first race at ten to two. The pressure was on for Orla when he won the race in a great battle between four horses as they went to the line. Frankie didn't often run two horses on the same card, and it was even rarer for him to win two races on the same card.
When Orla went to weight out for her ride, she found the jockey's to be far more hospitable than they had been a few weeks earlier. The particularly nasty jockey wasn't riding at the track that afternoon, but a few of the others that did were in opposition again and this time they wouldn't belittle her. They'd seen what she could do, and any underestimation of her ability would be foolish. They even had a bit of craic with her whilst she presented to the judge, Orla joking back with a few quips of her own to the bemused men.
The best bit for Orla came when she went out to mount up in the parade ring and the sea of people shouting her name and wanting an autograph. She'd assumed the one at the dinner table a couple of weeks before would have been a one off, despite Joe's insistence that it was the first of many, and her Granda was proven right. There must have been one hundred people waiting for Orla's signature and to her credit she stood and signed every single bit of paper or notebook handed her way. Sarah beamed in delight at the adulation her daughter was receiving as well as the gang of girls huddled around her. Harriet delivered the news of her own talk with her father once she arrived at the course and he'd agreed to invest in some jump horses ready for the next winter campaign. Frankie and Paul almost didn't want to hear it but the two of them weren't fools, they were never going to hold onto Orla forever. She'd only ridden one race as an amateur but the pair of them knew her talents would be put to use elsewhere. It wasn't a set-in stone decision yet, Granda Joe telling her to think about it, something which all of the girls agreed with. They made for quite the sight in the owners' area, the large group stood with owner, trainer and jockey.
Another change from the previous occasion was the price. Orla went off three weeks earlier at two hundred and fifty to one because she was a city girl with no racing background. 'The Wee English Fella' was the red-hot favourite this time around, a four to one chance in the field of thirteen runners. The distance was again three miles, the standard distance for a lot of the amateur races but the track's rugged terrain made it a severe test of stamina.
"There she goes". Frankie said to the girls as Orla cantered the horse down to the start.
"She looks confident". Aisling remarked, the others voicing their agreement.
"What do ye think then Frankie?" Joe gave him a final questioning of their chances.
"It's a good race… plenty of talent in there and they're all a couple of years older than our lad but he's got a good jump in him as ye know".
"Aye. And the best jockey". He smiled.
"For certain". Frankie smiled back. "But like Paul was sayin', she can't get goin' too early but can't start too late either".
"I'd just push the other fuckers off". Michelle snorted. "And that's why I'm stood here watchin… I know".
Start time approached and Paul returned to take up position with the binoculars, getting a good sight of Orla eyeing up the first fence of thirteen on the way round. Nine less than the race before but that made every jump more critical and 'The Wee English Fella' never had a problem with his jumping. The announcer, the same man from the last time, spent the moments before the race talking up the chances of Orla and her horse instead of the downgrading abuse he'd thrown at her before. She was already a crowd favourite and he'd eaten humble pie and been out of pocket the last time; there would be no harsh words before the off the second time around.
The tape went up and they were off…
The first one and a half circuits went by without too much trouble for her. There were plenty of others who couldn't say the same; there had been two fallers and one jockey rather unceremoniously dumped to the floor within that time. The field of ten that remained were well spread out, the leader taking them along a couple of lengths ahead of the main pack. Orla was sat within the main pack of six, in sixth place in the field and following down the centre rather than the outside like the last race. The three behind them looked well out of it already and the undulating nature of the course was already sapping the strength of some of those in front of her.
From the owners' area they were all cheering for her but were drowned out by the hundreds of people in the main crowd cheering the horse on. James's involvement in the horse was well known too and throughout the day, other racegoers would come up to the group and ask about the real wee English fella. The public would always love a good story to a race, horse racing being known for producing some glorious tales of success and heartbreak, this one being no different. The announcer himself even led the crowd in a round of applause for James, a sign of respect for an Englishman in Ireland that was not seen often.
Racing around the first bend for the final time, Orla began to get the first feeling of something not being quite right with the horse. Usually a reasonable galloper and good round the bends, he was slow and dropped back a place, having to be given encouragement to regain it. She didn't think him to be injured but on the long run downhill towards the fifth last, she tried to think what had gotten into the animal. He seemed to regain a sense of himself on the approach though and jumped forward with such vigour that he gained two places, albeit one place through one of the others falling. The crowd cheered at such a leap but on the uphill drag towards the next fence, he suddenly started to slip away again, returning to the final spot in the leading group of six.
"What is it Robert" Frankie asked his brother, Paul having gone down to the bend to wait for her arrival at the line.
"I don't know Frankie. He's jumping well but he keeps slowin' up".
"Pass em here". Frankie gestured for the binoculars.
Sighting Orla regaining a position before jumping the next fence, he kept her in view over it and this time whilst the horse jumped well, he didn't quicken away from the obstacle as he often would. Something was definitely not quite right but with a young horse that was still maturing, they could sometimes act a little strangely in races and it wasn't grounds to pull the horse up. Passing the binoculars back, Joe took over the duties of watching. His main concern, along with all of them, was that Orla would fall from the horse and get herself hurt in the process.
"How is she Joe?" Harriet asked.
"Well love, she's lower in the saddle than I've ever seen her before…".
"That sounds really pervy Joe". Michelle joked.
"It's lower in the saddle than you've even been either, ye mouth". He retorted from behind the binoculars.
They all sniggered and smirked at the rebuke, Sarah included and even Frankie had to admit it was amusing. Robert, for the sake of his profession stayed neutral on the matter but was fighting a losing battle over Joe's humorous response to the young Mallon.
Back out on the track, Orla was having a hard time understanding what was wrong with the horse. She'd stop driving him on again as he appeared to be back on an even keel as the third last fence homed into view but something still wasn't right. Jumping the third last, she jumped ahead of the horse in third who was tiring and the front two were perfectly poised for her to catch when she would say go for it coming around the top bend. But for a third time, on the short run between the two fences, the horse lost ground and the leaders put three lengths into her. That left her five adrift and, neither making a mistake at the penultimate fence, gave her a lot of work to do.
"She's losing ground". Joe sighed.
"Jesus…". Frankie trailed off.
"Hey come on guys, there's still time…". Jenny chipped in with positivity. "… you know what they say, Rome wasn't built in a day!"
"I hope she won't be too upset". Clare resigned herself to accepting Orla's defeat.
"I agree with Jenny". Michelle spoke up again. "It ain't over till the fat lady sings and that one over there hasn't belted out Pavarotti yet".
She pointed to a large woman who was stood on the inside of the course by the winning post, the others shaking their heads at her rudeness.
"I think she's got a great chance still". Gerry remarked.
"Stay out of it you, are ye tryin' to curse her?!" Joe furiously replied to him, the binoculars down to look him in the eye before going straight back up. "Well done ye ham-fisted eejit, she's just lost another length!"
"She's got no chance from there". Frankie sighed in resignation himself. "Never mind, we'll go again".
It wasn't really Gerry's fault that the horse was losing ground, but the fact remained that he was, and Orla still sat trying to work it out. 'The Wee English Fella' never felt so lethargic and it couldn't have been Paul misjudging his suitability to race again as he was far too knowledgeable to get it wrong.
"Come on boy". She tried to cajole him as she pushed away. "Yaaaaaa!"
All the tricks that would usually work were not and coming around halfway between the last and second last, she suddenly found herself with seven lengths to find and not enough track to do it. The whip, the last resort for the jockey, was in her hand and she'd always tried not to use it and was yet to need it on her mount.
"Come on boy, don't make me use it!" She almost shouted at the horse.
"I don't want to!"
The follow up came as more of a whimper but it was the honest truth. She really didn't want to use the whip on him.
But with the home bend coming up and an enquiry into her riding if she didn't use it, defeat was looming, and it became a certainty. Drawing it back, she closed her eyes.
Erin's hatred of algebra was only increasing as the day went on. She'd managed to answer, hopefully correctly, some of the harder questions, but found herself unstuck on what was supposed to be the easiest question of the lot.
5x+3 = 7x – 1
"The x is… five… no… maybe". She huffed into the room, the machines not being of any use to her though.
Writing down the workings out, she quickly realised that x couldn't be five. If x was five, then it would make too much on the first part of the equation and the second half wouldn't balance back to make the right figure as it should.
"Fecks sake!" She slammed her fist on the table.
Looking back over it again, she tried nine as the x, but it too wouldn't fit properly, leaving her with same problem as with five. Seeing red, she began to rant.
"What is the point of this! This is meant to be Maths for god's sake, leave the letters alone they're meant to be for English!".
Taking a breath, she continued on with the crusade against algebra.
"And why have so many x's! What's it wantin', trying to have all those x's… a spot on Coronation Street or somethin'".
The equation bore the full brunt of Erin's frustration, taking another torrent of abuse aimed at the equals sign in the middle and complaining that it wasn't a protest for equality, it was a school subject. Erin did think that everyone should be equal, but her maths homework was hardly the place for that debate, and it wasn't fair that her Saturday afternoon was being ruined by the stupid thing.
"Ach come on, this is ridiculous!" She still whined. "5x+3 = 7x – 1… how hard can it be!".
"X is 2".
"Ach, thanks James".
She froze. In a split second, the pen dropped out of her hand onto the table and her breath caught, her knees turning to mush, and blood racing around her body.
"J… James".
She rushed to his side and peered down at him, noticing that this time both eyes were open, and he was blinking away.
"Help…".
Shit. Of course. He was in agony.
Bursting out of the room, her lungs got ready to deliver an eye-popping shout down the hallway.
"DEIRDRE!"
Deirdre was talking to Dr Kennedy and the two of them sprinted down the hallway to James's room, Erin retreating back inside with a hand on the door.
"HE SPOKE! HE SPOKE!"
They let off breaths of relief, fearing Erin was calling them as he'd taken a turn for the worse but instead finding that less than three weeks after being at death's door, James Maguire was back. Dr Kennedy approached on the opposite side of the bed, Deirdre staying on Erin's side and holding her hand as she gripped the rail, tears of happiness running down her face.
"James…". The Doctor tried to get his attention. "… James, this is Dr Kennedy, can ye hear me?"
"Pain…". He murmured in reply to the doctor.
"I know yer in pain James, I'll get something for it".
Dr Kennedy opened a cupboard to the side of where the machines were blaring away and pulled out a syringe ready to inject the pain relief. For the first time in those weeks, James was consciously aware of the agony the severe injures would have on him and he would need it to calm him more than anything. Erin looked away as the needle went in; she wasn't afraid of needles before but seeing one go into James's arm sickened her.
"Tired…". James spoke for the third time.
Erin looked around at both the doctor and Deirdre for an explanation, neither of them offering any surprise at his statement.
"You will be son. You've got plenty of rest to have, settle down there now".
Squeezing Erin's hand, Deirdre ran her other hand over her back to comfort her. He may have been back, but it was only fleeting, and it would be an agonising wait to be able to have a full conversation with him. It could be days away or weeks away, but every minute would be draining nonetheless.
"E… E…". James wasn't done yet though. "…Er… Erin".
Hearing her name, she let go of Deirdre's hand and shot forward to stand over him again, looking down at his beautiful green eyes.
"Yes James!" She cried, softly cupping his cheek for the first time since he was attacked.
"Love… you".
Those were his last words before drifting off to sleep again. The tears trickled out of not only her eyes, but Deirdre's too and Dr Kennedy watched over proceedings with a fond smile. This was one of his favourite bits of the job.
Leaning down, and with no rush, Erin gently placed her lips onto his and held them there. She'd missed doing it, not knowing what it might do if she did it whilst he was comatose, but it had never felt better. She loved him so much.
"I love you too my wee English fella". She mumbled between their locked lips.
The run in of the ten to four race at the Farmacaffley hunt would be one remembered just as highly as the race weeks before at Enniskillen. With her whip already drawn, 'The Wee English Fella' suddenly sprang to life again before she struck him, and the jolt forward almost threw her off. Quickly regaining control, Orla charged around the home bend and the lengths began to drop away. The first two horses were neck and neck, but she had them in her sight now. They were drifting apart on the run up to the final fence, leaving her with a very exciting opportunity that she grasped.
"What the…". Joe could barely speak as she appeared.
"She's… chargin'!" Mary shouted enthusiastically.
"I don't believe it…". Frankie dropped his hat on the ground from the pure disbelief. "… surely she can't win from there…".
"Look!" Robert piped up. "There's a gap!"
He'd noticed the same thing she had from behind the leaders and the fast-approaching horse was angled to go straight between the slogging front runners. The jockey's in front would hear her coming but she was so much faster than them it wouldn't matter. But above all, Orla was talented and liked to put on a show for the crowd so as the two leaders got in close to climb over the last, she asked for a mammoth leap from 'The Wee English Fella' and he took off miles from the fence. A lot of horses would dive through it and the jockey would look like an idiot on the other side when they smacked the turf. But not this jockey.
The horse, fully trusting his rider, delivered and jumped through the centre of the two rivals and into the lead, the crowd roaring at the spectacular leap. 'The Wee English Fella' landed running too but still had the hill to the finish to climb up. The two rivals were quality horses, a couple of years more experienced than Orla's mount. Neither could match her though when she kicked him on, and lengths were soon appearing as if they were being given away for free.
"FUCKING GO ON!"
The loudest shout on the course was of course Michelle's but they were all shouting and screaming for Orla as she charged up the hill and crossing the line, she was up in her stirrups again, roaring to the crowd that adored her, whip in hand once again but still so far unused.
Paul was cheering her on like a madman from around the bend, her victory completing a great day for them both and was tearing up again at the spectacle. He couldn't help but not.
None of them knew, as they jumped into the air and hugged, that the moment the horse revived itself before the home bend, the real wee English fella had spoken his first words in weeks.
Erin was proven wrong about the equation as well, something she was unaware of as her lips found their home on his. Algebra was relevant in real life.
X did equal two. Two victories for the wee English fella.
