Chapter 22: Thirty Green Monsters 30th March 1996

Orla McCool was suddenly on the world stage and her family just couldn't believe it. There was silence for minutes at the Altnagelvin, as not one of them believed they were awake. It must have been some sort of cruel dream that they were sharing…

"How…". Erin tried to find the words. "… how… why… why has Granda allowed her?"

"I am going to phone that racecourse right now!" Mary seethed, but found a hand on her shoulder from Gerry as she went to get up.

"Do ye really think anything will stop her?"

Gerry raised a fair point, even if his wife and daughter didn't see it that way. Orla's talent was undeniably superior to that of most, and her passion and dedication could never be questioned. There was no way she wouldn't take the ride, be it the first choice or the last resort.

It was who she was.

Orla McCool, who always stood up when she was needed… and if that meant riding the horse they owned in the biggest race in the world then so be it.

"She might get hurt!" Erin protested.

"Aye!" Mary strongly agreed. "We've already got James here in Hospital, we don't want to be takin' up a bed for Orla now, do we?"

"She's a very brave girl I have to say". Deirdre added her thoughts.

"She doesn't understand! It's hardly like Orla's a genius is it?" Erin continued her protests.

"She is easily lead…".

Gerry and James stayed silent as the ladies argued the points between themselves. The two of them exchanged a knowing look about the situation and were secretly a lot more pleased with the bet James insisted Gerry on making that morning. The rest of them were unaware of it, with Gerry using a trip to the shop as a distraction to race to the bookies. As good a jockey as Paul was, knowing it was Orla doing the steering gave them both an additional boost of confidence in their horse's chances.

"She'll win".

James wasn't asked for his opinion, but it nonetheless silenced the room again. His confidence in his friend outweighed the more than fair notions that she could be hurt. He knew she would do just fine, even if they did not.

"That's a bit premature son". Gerry chuckled, despite deep down being in agreement.

"Don't be sayin' things like that James!" Deirdre scolded him.

Erin simply looked at him with her eyes a mix of concern, understandably so for Orla's safety… but also excitement. She wouldn't dare say it with her mother in the room, but she was really buzzing to watch her cousin get the chance to ride.


Whilst some of the family might have been elated for Orla, Sarah was about ready to throw her father off the balcony of their box. When Joe returned from the stables area, Sarah and Kathy were just walking back in after their cigarette break and he broke the news to them on the stairs when she asked about how her daughter was doing. It took her a couple of minutes to properly register the news, and the shouting began on her part the moment he opened the door to the function room.

"I'm not letting her da!"

"Ye can't stop her now love! She's already in the weighing room!".

The one advantage of being at a premier track was Orla being able to have a changing room and not having to get changed in the car or behind the stables. There was a separate changing room for female riders and with no other women riding at Aintree that day, she had it all to herself.

"I don't care if she's already on the course, I won't let her do it da!"

Clare walked in at that moment, returning from her trip to the loo… which was a disaster. Kathy eyed the slightly ruffled dress, though Clare wouldn't be telling her of why it was in that state. It would just be her luck that the cubicle she chose would have a faulty lock, locking her inside with no way out… at least no way out that didn't involve crawling. She had no other feasible options, if she stood on the loo and tried to climb over the top, she wasn't tall enough to reach the top of the partitions on either side. In the style of a special forces commando, though without their elegance and precision, she'd crawled under the gap between the cubicles and left via the neighbouring one. It was a risky manoeuvre, especially when she realised that she'd forgot to check if there was anyone in the neighbouring cubicle. Luckily for her, there was not.

Allowing Joe and Sarah to continue their blazing argument, Clare quickly picking up the details regarding Orla, she accompanied Kathy out onto the balcony to see Michelle. The waiter not being present when she came back gave her some hope and that hope was soon a very vivid picture to both herself and Kathy.

Michelle was absolutely eating the face off of the waiter. They'd moved off of the chairs and she'd pinned him against the glass, covered inside by a curtain. Being so caught up in their kissing, they hadn't heard the commotion from inside and she jumped back with a such a start upon being seen, that had she been any closer to the balcony railing, she'd have gone over it.

"Having fun Michelle". Her Aunt Kathy smiled.

Poor Tom was red in the face. He'd heard tales of fearsome Irish women in the past and was concerned that he was about to be on the end of a verbal lashing from one of them. Good fortune brought him Kathy Maguire though. If it had been Mary Quinn, he would have been sent down into the crowds without a moment's hesitation. Showing exterior embarrassment, despite the inner feeling of joy from snogging Michelle, Tom retreated back to the bar, picking up on the argument inside. For the first time, without the Englishman's lips sending her body to a place where emotional control was lost, Michelle too was hearing the argument.

"What's going on?"

"Paul got injured and…". Clare started.

"Is he dead? Shit!"

"No he's not dead love". Kathy confirmed with a smile. "But I have a feeling Joe might be in a minute…".

"Orla's taken the ride in the race".

Michelle was the latest member of the family to have her eyes widen at the news and before she had a chance to question the validity, the course tannoy confirmed it. Orla McCool was now partnering Bogside Warrior in the Grand National. It came as little surprise to her that the argument inside was furious.

"I best go inside and calm things down". Kathy said to the girls.

It was good that she had, as Michelle needed to say something very important to Clare and already having the opportunity to do so, she seized it.

"Thank ye".

"For what?" Clare smiled, though knowing exactly what for.

"Ach come on!" Michelle laughed. "For telling Tom about how I felt. I didn't even know ye realised that I was actually… ye know… and not just bein' a mouth".

"I've been yer friend long enough to know Michelle. I'm happy for ye, so I am".

Michelle pulled her in for a hug out on the balcony, and the friends embraced. Whilst Michelle was sleeping earlier in the day, Clare walked over to the bar and quietly informed Tom of just how strongly Michelle was attracted to him. It was clear that the attraction was reciprocated and her visit to the loo, though genuine and ultimately one she wanted to forget, was her signal to him to go and talk to her about it. It was what a friend would do.

"I'm worried about Orla". Clare stated frankly to Michelle after they had pulled apart.

"Catch yourself on!". Michelle replied. "The most batshit race in the world and the most batshit person in the world… it's a match made in heaven, so it is".


Despite the strengths of her protests, Sarah was unable to stop her daughter. She was always concerned before any of Orla's races, but this was more than a three mile hack around a farmer's field. This was an elite track, with the toughest fences going and some of the greatest horses and jockeys out there. But Joe helped her to realise that Orla's place was amongst them and the inevitability that she would one day ride in the race had already dawned on Sarah's mind… she couldn't prevent it forever. So she reluctantly ceased the protests and stood in the parade ring with the rest of them ahead of the race. Michelle and Clare were both giddy with glee, Kathy being equally excitable too. Having only been reintegrated into the life of James and his friends over the past few weeks, she felt right at home stood with them.

One of the village girls was leading Bogside Warrior around, and they all, barring Joe, got their first chance to see the horse. He was a strong and muscular type, darker than 'The Wee English Fella' and sporting a glistening white face. Any worries about him getting worked up in the preparations were unfounded; he was strolling around like he owned the place. In fact, there was only one cooler customer around the whole course.

Orla.

She was in her element. Weighing out, the cameras were glued to her, millions of people around the world watching her every move.

Back at home at the Altnagelvin she was being watched by Erin and James, with Mary, Gerry and Deirdre crowded round the television too. Martin was watching back at the Mallon house, the Devlin house television getting a rare run out for sport as well and Uncle Colm settling in with baby Anna on his lap to watch at the Quinn house too. Mr Flanagan, not there to help his brother or watch his student, supported from home too as well as Sister Michael, who was already willing her on. Albeit that was because of the rather large bet she'd placed on the horse that morning…

The Grand National had a history with tales of courage and heroism, fairy tales and dreams that came true, and as Orla walked out with some of the other jockeys to their mounts, the crowd were beginning to dream for another. All the talk was about her. There were some of the best distance horses in the world lining up with some of the greatest riders to have ever graced the saddle, yet all the talk was about a sixteen year old from Derry who'd suddenly been vaulted into the race. The BBC were already waiting for her as she crossed into the middle, spotting her friends and family in the distance but unable to get there before the television crew got to her. It was to be Sue Barker again that would lead the news on the fairy tale.

"Now this is the girl we have been waiting for. Orla?"

"Ach hello Miss Barker, what's the craic?" Orla replied in her typically cheerful manner, masking the annoyance of being stopped before she could speak to her Granda.

If England believed itself prepared to challenge anything Ireland could muster from a racing perspective, Clare's cack attacks or Michelle's lust, then it had another thing coming when it came to Orla McCool. On national television, Sue was lost for words for a few seconds…

"I can tell you're very excited and I've been hearing that you actually part own the horse, is that right?"

"Aye that's right Sue, so it is. Me Granda got us the horse earlier in the week like and all our friends and family are involved ye know".

"And one of your co-owners is James Maguire, who was the young man who viewers at home will remember was attacked in Derry last month".

"Aye that's right… James is one of my best friends. He's me cousin Erin's boyfriend".

Back in Derry, Erin's colour turned to scarlet as Orla decided to reveal to her relationship with James to millions of people. Reading her diary and taking it to school to do a book report was small fry in comparison.

"And he's doin' a lot better. Love ye James!" She added.

"That's wonderful to hear!" Sue responded. "Now, we haven't got long, so tell us a bit about yourself".

"Right… well… my name's Orla McCool, I'm from Derry and I'm sixteen years old…".

"And how many races have you done since taking out your license?"

"Just the three Sue".

The world was stunned. She was about to ride in the Grand National, having only ridden in three races, even neglecting to leave out she'd only debuted earlier that month…

"Three?!"

"I have won two of them ye know and then I had a wee fall at Dundalk last Sunday but that was sooo cracker too!".

"I imagine you won't be wanting to repeat that fall today?"

"I won't be falling. I'll be winning!".

Orla's enthusiasm boiled over and in a defiant expression of her ambitions, she launched her whip into the air, finding itself a resting place a few feet away. Laughing, she went and picked it up, the camera following her the whole time.

"You'd best be careful… you'll be needing that!". The broadcaster joked to her.

"What this?" Orla held up the whip, Sue nodding. "Ach no Sue, I won't need to use it to win".

"Are you that confident of Bogside Warrior's chances".

"I am Sue… I am. Anyway, I best be off like".

Cutting off her interview midway through, the cameras watched as she hurried over to Frankie's spot in the parade ring. Joe, Sarah, Kathy, Michelle and Clare were all stood around him and Michelle gave the cameraman a cheeky wave from afar, which prompted him to turn back away from them. Prick…

"Ye nervous Orla?" Clare posed the first question.

"No! I'm buzzin! I've never been so excited!"

"Don't overdo it now Orla". Frankie warned. "Now, as far as the race goes… I'm not going to tell ye how to ride him. I think we both know ye don't need me to".

Frankie's point was half valid. Though she might have had only the three rides under her belt, he could trust Orla to get the best out the horse no matter what. The other half of his point, which he did not mention, was not wanting to put any additional pressure on her with a detailed set of instructions. He just wanted her to get round safely and enjoy herself. If they finished last, so be it.

"Come here love". Sarah demanded a hug from her daughter.

Orla followed that instruction and found her mother almost squeezing the life out of her, Sarah was holding on that tightly. Her worry for her daughter was evident, but seeing Orla decked out in their horse's colours, with a smile on her face, even Sarah couldn't deny she looked right at home. Pulling away from each other, Orla was soon swallowed up by her Granda Joe, with Kathy placing a hand on her shoulder as well.

"Take care Orla. Ye be a good girl out there ye hear?"

"Aye Granda, I will".

Michelle and Clare were soon round her too, but despite their own fears, they were laughing away with Orla. It was absurd and insane… the perfect mix for Orla.

"Kick some feckin' arse eh!" Michelle shouted at her.

"Don't fall! Whatever ye do, don't fall!" Clare did the fretting on her behalf.

"Ach it'll be grand. Don't you's all worry about me".

They would of course be worrying about her, though to Orla, it was unnecessary. She was going to be absolutely fine. She knew everyone was supporting her, whether they were at the track or not. Harriet, who couldn't attend due to other plans, was able to convince her parents to allow her to watch the race and now Orla was riding in it, her whole family was crowded around the television at the German ambassador's residence.

Frankie informed her that the time had come to mount up and Sarah gave her daughter once last hug before seeing her off. But before she could go, Orla was stopped by Paul limping his way over to them. It was abundantly clear that he was in no position to ride, the doctor taking the sensible decision in standing him down, with his laboured walk painful to watch. He had to speak to Orla though.

"Paul!" She shouted to him in delight, racing over to him.

Normally, she would dive on him and pull him in for a hug, but she recognised that wouldn't be the case this time and stood in front of him instead.

"Orla!" He replied just as delightfully. "Couldn't let ye go out without wishing ye good luck, could I?"

"Are ye alright?"

"Don't ye worry about me, I've had worse".

She would worry about him, because he was her friend, and they spent a lot of time together. Orla would definitely worry about him.

"Look…". He started. "… I know ye've got to get mounted up, but I have one last bit of advice for ye".

Wanting to hear it, she nodded.

"No matter what happens, don't look back. Look forwards… look to ye sides if ye must… but don't ever look back. Yer race is in front of ye here, not behind".

"Thank ye Paul".

She leant forward and gave him a peck on the cheek, before darting off to find Bogside Warrior. He limped his way over to the family, shaking off Frankie's concerns that he should be sat having a rest. There was no way he would be sat in the corner of the doctor's room, watching the race on the television. His place was out there with the family.

At the start, there was always a parade in front of the crowds and being the bottom weight, Orla lined up at the back. Unlike some of her previous experiences, the jockeys were all very kind to her at Aintree. When they'd found out a sixteen year old girl was going to be riding, they all found themselves with a duty of care to make sure she would be safe. A young rider, be it male or female, who was tackling the fences for the first time, would often charge off to the first and find themselves injured on the landing side. Some of the older jockeys were already passing on the knowledge of a few tricks to get her round safely and she listened to them intently. It was the right thing to do; after all, they were giving her the tips to go out and beat them.

Joe led the family back up to the box where they would be viewing the race. None of them questioned Tom when he came out to join them on the balcony, holding Michelle's hand without raising suspicion. They waited patiently as the course announcer ran through the list of runners and riders as they each made a pass of the stands. All of them received cheers after their names were read out, but the loudest cheer of all was reserved until last. The crowd were certainly jumping on the fairy tale bandwagon. Though the loudest cheer in the house belonged to Joe. There was a tear in his eye as Orla galloped away down to the official start, calmly leading Bogside Warrior around as the twenty eight runners waited for the starter to mount his rostrum. Even then, it wasn't a done deal that they would start on time, the National being famed for false starts.

The starter called them after a couple of minutes, and they began to line up in front of the tape. He wouldn't let them go if there were any noses on the tape, which at first there were. Orla kept Bogside Warrior slightly detached from the main bunch, sitting him in behind where there was room to manoeuvre on her flanks. Some of the other horses began to get fidgety and required a turn before having another go at the start, though Orla was as cool as anything behind them as they did. She sat thinking to herself. The refusals to eat massive meals, despite the pressure from Michelle, paid off. She made the weight, and she was sat at the start of only the fourth race in her career and it was the most prestigious one possible. For the next ten minutes or so, millions of eyes around the world would be tuned on twenty eight horses and their efforts to get round the thirty fences of the Grand National course.

The Thirty Green Monsters

And she was one of the twenty eight being watched…

Orla snapped out of her thinking, because as the final horse got into line on the outside, the starter let the tape go up.

The Grand National of 1996 began.


Sarah couldn't watch as the runners bolted off towards the first fence. She'd entertained how exciting it would be in the couple of days before the race, but now that Orla was riding in it, she was fighting her own fears too. It was only the comforting words of her father and Kathy's arm around her shoulders, that stopped her from breaking.

"She's settled at the back". Joe announced, watching through the binoculars. "Nice and sensible like, we've got nothing to fear love".

Daring to open her eyes, Sarah breathed a sigh of relief at her father's news. He stayed out on the balcony with the binoculars, whilst the rest of them went back inside to follow the race on the television, until they would ride back in front of the stands at the end of the first circuit.

At the Altnagelvin, Erin was clinging onto James for dear life, unable to watch in the same way Sarah was too. James's influence had calmed the rest of them though and the adults in the room watched with dreamy eyes as the runners approached the first fence. Going over the Melling Road, the field began to split out a little, and Orla was barely in the picture as they rose at the first…

Orla settled Bogside Warrior into a steady rhythm, ignoring the charging motions of those out in front as they began to clamber over fence number one. She'd never ridden the horse before, so it would take her time to bond with him and a pleasant, if incomplete, early understanding was the key to the success in her mind.

"OH MY… GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD". Orla shouted as she was high up in the air jumping the first fence.

A horse just in front of her, Bavard Dieu, had unseated its rider and they only just missed landing straight on top of the stricken jockey. But she'd made it over the first fence. She hadn't fallen and wasn't lying on the ground waiting for an ambulance. Orla McCool was riding in the Grand National and she was bloody enjoying it!

"THIS IS CRACKER!" She roared, to the bemusement of the couple of jockeys at the back who heard her.

Watching on from beneath the binoculars, Joe let out a breath of relief. He wasn't the only one either, everyone in the family who was watching let them out. Erin stopped clinging to James and sat up, though refused to allow his hand to escape her grasp and she took a glimpse at his smiling face. His confidence in Orla was astounding.

She was last but one as they approached the second fence, the pace still being a heavy one out in front. It was a shorter run up between the fences compared to the first, the fences along this stretch coming one after the other. Rising up over it, all of the horses in front of her were over safely, and Orla safely negotiated the second fence, Bogside Warrior just clipping the top of it without having any impact on the jump.

Two down, twenty eight to go.

Sarah forced herself to watch the jump at the second, slightly aided by the cameras only just keeping Orla in shot as she was so far back in the strung-out field. The horse that was behind her on the approach to the second, got away slightly quicker than her afterwards, relegating Orla to last, albeit still well in the race. Frankie and Paul were watching from down by the rails, stood on the hurdle's course that finished directly in front of the stands. They were listening to the course commentary and hearing her safely mentioned over the second fence was a relief.

"She's doing a great job!" Frankie hummed happily.

"Aye that she is… ye know Frankie, if she can keep him in touch…".

"He'll stay… aye we both know he'll stay".

Their belief in the horse's ability to last the distance was well founded. He'd won over four miles with plenty left in the tank before and the National was only around a half a mile longer than that.

He just had to jump.


The third fence was an open ditch, one of the few open ditches on the course. The open ditch was different to a normal fence, having a very shallow ditch on the take-off side which prevented a horse getting in too close. All of the jockeys would have to ask their mounts for a big leap and any recalcitrant horses would often refuse or even throw their riders over the fence at that point. The two early leaders were Sure Metal and Three Brownies, and they led the rest of them over the open ditch at the third. There were a few mistakes from the others, still travelling at a vicious pace, and none more so than previous winner Party Politics, who gave his jockey absolutely no chance when falling. And that wasn't the end of it. He was sat towards the back of the field and as she took off from last spot on a big stride, Orla was set for a collision with the now riderless horse.

"Oh shit…". Joe mumbled as he watched from afar.

For some Jockeys, probably quite a lot of the others in the race, it would be game over, but they were not Orla. Reacting to the danger, she managed to veer her mount slightly to the right, putting him out of the path of Party Politics. Despite the move no doubt saving her a fall, she'd conceded a couple of lengths on the rest of the field. Giving Bogside Warrior a gentle slap down the neck, she encouraged him forward and managed to catch up to the tail of the horse in front fairly quickly. The speed at the front only slowed slightly as the jockeys began to settle in for the rest of the circuit. The jockey of the horse in front looked round to see Orla still in there pitching, and as she drew up alongside, he took the opportunity to check in on her.

"Are you okay?" He was one of the English lads, his accent distinguishable over the sound of the hooves.

"Grand thanks!" She replied.

They didn't get any time for further conversation as the fourth fence presented itself and Orla regained her position from him over it. Bogside Warrior jumped the plain fence perfectly, fully clearing the obstacle without brushing through it like a lot of the others and without losing any speed in the air either. In the distance, she got her view of the first of the demons that awaited her at fence number six, but she had to get over fence five first, so her mind focused on that task. On the run between the fourth and fifth, which was slightly longer than the last couple of runs between fences, she positioned him slightly wider on the course, though not as wide as some of the horses further up. The racecourse commentator noted the move as he quickly scanned back through the field and there was a smile on Paul's face. He would have done the same.

"She's flyin!" Mary almost screeched in the Hospital room.

"She's got nerves of steel that girl". Deirdre concluded.

James and Erin shared a quick glance, and he gave her a kiss on the head. There were no words between them as they both returned to concentrating on the race, though there were no words required to describe how they were feeling. No matter what the outcome, four fences in and Orla was already doing them all incredibly proud.

"This beats making stickers doesn't it Aunt Kathy?" Michelle bumped shoulders with her Aunt from in front of the television in the function room.

"Aye! It does!" Kathy chuckled.

Orla made another place as one of the horse's in the field appeared to be slowing to a stop on the approach to fifth. She had one behind her on the inside, not that she'd looked back to check, though she did glance to her right to spot a horse on the outside that she was almost level with. Not focusing on it for long, she prepared Bogside Warrior for his jump at the fifth. There were no fallers in front of her and with a clear landing, she didn't ask him for much of an effort when it came to getting over.

It nearly proved fatal.

Making his first mistake, he seemed to tighten up and hit the fence, sending her up and nearly all of the way over his neck. Holding the reins firmly, she avoided being thrown to the turf and to his credit, the horse corrected himself to land safely.

Her family nearly all had heart attacks. Joe shivered through the binoculars at the juddering error and found himself breathing a huge sigh of relief once more when she stayed in the saddle. Erin nearly re-broke James's hand squeezing it when they saw Orla being jolted forwards, but he wasn't worried one bit. Orla was far too skilful to be launched to the turf from that position. Sarah required a steadying hand from Kathy to remain on her feet, her knees weakening at the error.

Fear was not the emotion instilled within Orla though. She was raging!

"Don't ye do that to me again boy, ye hear?!". She ranted at her mount.

She would have to hope Bogside Warrior took the information in, as the sixth fence was perhaps the hardest of them all.

Becher's Brook

Whenever the name was mentioned, jockeys and racegoers alike would shiver at the thought. The drop on the landing side of the fence was huge and the horses would be in the air for quite some time before making it to the other side. In many a National, a horse that had jumped the first five fences perfectly, would then come to grief at Becher's. Horses often perished at the fence too, making it a contentious issue, especially when animal rights activists got involved.

"Now boy, ye take it easy here". She whispered to her horse on the run between the fences.

When she'd walked the course with Paul the day before, he'd gone into detail about how to get over Becher's brook safely. Telling her to pick her line and not think about what anyone else was doing, he thought it better to get a little wider, though not too far, in order to make it over in one piece. Going down the inside was a fool's game in his opinion as the track began to curve left after the fence and from experience, he knew not to be on that side. When he'd ridden in the amateur's Grand National two years earlier, he'd been trapped on the inside and lost ground after the fence.

With Paul's words of wisdom fresh in her mind, Orla eyed up the fence and asked Bogside Warrior for a big leap.


What happened next surprised everyone who decided to keep an eye on Bogside Warrior towards the rear of the field. He took off a lot further away from the fence than any of the other horses, and at that distance away, he ran a high risk of going through the fence with his back legs and tipping up. But instead of doing that, the horse produced a masterful leap and landed running, moving them up a couple of places. Nobody had fallen, a surprise for the viewing public, and Orla suddenly found herself in amongst the other Jockeys, who were just as shocked as she was.

"Still here Orla!" One of them, who she didn't even know, treated her as if she'd been there for years.

"Aye!"

"Yer doing brilliant!" One of the others, an Irishman, shouted.

Back in the function room of their private box, hearts were in mouths when Orla rose at the fence, with its infamous reputation. When her and the horse soared over it however, there were cheers and smiles.

"Those boys are fuckin' shittin' it I reckon". Michelle commented.

"She's a superstar!" Kathy grinned.

They might have been elated but Orla's mother was not.

"I'm still so worried, I am". Sarah chewed on her nails as they watched on.

Becher's Brook began a run of famous fences on that side of the course. The next up was a very easy fence in theory, but one that was named after the most calamitous pile up in the history of the race. The Foinavon fence, named after the winner of the race and one of the only two horses to make it over safely on their first attempt back in 1967. This time around there were no dramatic falls and Orla cleared it safely back in the field. With one faller, two riders unseating their respective jockey's and one having already pulled up, she found herself in twentieth of the twenty four that were still going as they raced on towards the next famous fence.

The Canal Turn

The fence on the turn started the journey back to the stands, and immediately after jumping it, they would hit the ninety degree bend. A lot of races had ended prematurely at this fence in the past, with a jockey suddenly finding himself thrown out the side door by the sudden movement after landing. It was very hard on the first circuit to pick a route into the fence, as most of the field were usually still going, something Paul explained to her the day before. She would just have to angle Bogside Warrior in with the rest of the pack.

"Keep it steady… steady…". Paul spoke the instructions from back by the rails as if he were sat right next to her.

The talent she possessed was soon becoming clear to the professional jockeys. As they all piled over the fence, Orla began out wide, but instead of trying to cut right in down the inner, she followed the less travelled route slightly wider. Whilst most would lose ground opting with that route, Bogside Warrior cleared the fence cleverly, landing with significant momentum, already having done most of the work turning in the air. She stole a march on a couple of those in front that went down the inner, moving into eighteenth ahead of the last of the legendary fences on that part of the course.

Valentine's Brook.

Orla was certainly in love with the race as they galloped towards it, back up on the outside of the field having moved out after the turn. Like Becher's, there was a drop to a brook the other side, and though it wasn't quite as steep as that one, it still required a good jump. A good jump wasn't in doubt as Bogside Warrior once again skipped over the fence like it was barely there, only clipping the top of the birch with its hind legs.

"She's cruising". James mused loudly in his Hospital room. "Absolutely bloody cruising!"

"She's probably wailing her head off out there!" Gerry snorted, James chuckling with him.

Mary and Deirdre found it amusing too, though Erin still hadn't quite reached the stage where she could relax. They watched her closely over the tenth fence, a plain one which was negotiated with ease and on the run up to the eleventh, Orla moved up another place on the outside. The next two fences were the other two open ditches on the course and would once again require longer leaps to be able to reach the other side safely. She found herself sat directly in behind the favourite, Rough Quest, a very good position to be in at the stage of the race she was in. Though it wasn't on her mind, one third of the fences were already cleared successfully.

The reason for why it wasn't on her mind quickly became clear. Such thoughts would bring about complacency, and such complacency would have certainly cost her at the eleventh. Bogside Warrior squirmed in the air whilst taking off, and she lost her left hand from the reins briefly, throwing it out behind her in the manner of which the French jockeys would often jump. Paul explained their method to her one morning back at the stables at home and if there was one tip she'd learnt from Sister Michael over the years, it was to never trust anything the French did.

Sarah almost screamed as the horse belted the fence, fully expecting Orla to be thrown to the turf in a heap seconds later. Quite how she didn't fall was a mystery to them, but the explanation was far simpler. Whilst the horse did make it difficult for her, he didn't make it difficult for himself, straightening up without pecking his nose on the turf. Orla was quickly able to regather the reins, and despite losing a couple of places because of the error, the momentum was not completely dissolved.

"What did I tell ye boy?!" She verbally accosted her mount once more. "One more jump like that and I'm takin' ye to school Monday to listen to Jenny Joyce singing!"

That threat indicated Orla's potential as not only a jockey, but a horse whisperer, as Bogside Warrior picked up stoutly to regain the positions he'd lost before they got to the twelfth. Seeing as it was another open ditch, he got the chance to redeem himself to her and took it, soaring up so nicely that he went past the favourite on the outside. Not wanting to rush forward too soon though, she took a hard hold of him to ease him off, but not with giving him a pat down the neck to indicate her pleasure with his efforts. There was a long run to the thirteenth and she would then be in view from the Grandstand, where Joe beckoned the others out to the balcony to watch.

"She's travellin' well Joe". Michelle commented as they got out there.

"Aye she's doin us all proud. If my Marie could see this…".

Joe showed a rare moment of vulnerability as he choked up and without a word, Michelle led the others, sans Tom who remained inside, into wrapping him into a hug. Orla's grandmother would have been as equally scared as Sarah, yet Joe knew she'd be cheering the loudest of any of them. That was his Marie.

The next two fences went by fairly quickly for Orla. After the varying jumps at the open ditches, Bogside Warrior settled into a lovely rhythm again on the flat, bowling along handsomely in behind Rough Quest. She was slightly further out on the course than the favourite but was by no means making a mistake in doing so. Having spent nearly a circuit of the course with him, she'd understood how he liked to gallop and jump. The key to getting him to settle and travel smoothly was space. He needed the space to be able execute the right leap and letting him have a clear sight of what was in front of him on the flat enabled the horse to be calm and hold his position. Once Orla made a connection with a horse, it was going to take a lot to stop them. And the thirteenth and fourteenth fences of the Grand National failed to do so. As Rough Quest moved up in front of her between the fences, she followed, picking off a couple of horses that were hugging the inside rail. It would be an understatement to say the jockeys were alarmed to see her sitting comfortably in the pack after nearly a circuit.

"Going well Orla!" One of the Irish lads shouted.

"Still here?!" Another one couldn't believe it.

She didn't respond to them, trying to concentrate as she delved deeper into the race, but was pleased with herself that she'd earned their respect so quickly. None of them would be trying to force her out of the race, not with the world watching anyway, and they were looking out for her like an older brother would look out for his younger sister. It appeared they were all already aware that she would be a permanent fixture in the weighing rooms around the country in the years to come.

After the fourteenth, Bogside Warrior was disputing fourteenth place with one of the horses down his inside. She was about to pass right in front of her watching family and friends, and they were going to make sure she knew it.

"GO ON ORLA!"

Clare, Sarah, Kathy and Joe all shared the same shout, with only Michelle opting for something different to make herself heard. And she did just that.

"SHE'S GUNNA WIN MOTHERFUCKERSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

Not only did Orla hear her, the rest of the racecourse and most likely the whole of Merseyside, heard her roar. With the commentators only a couple of floors above them, the rest of the world who were watching also heard her, including her embarrassed mother. Back at the Altnagelvin, four sets of eyes flickered away from the race and to Deirdre, who was struggling to not be apoplectic with rage.

"I will be having words with her!" She seethed.

Mary simply chuckled at her comment, her eyes moving back to the race as Orla headed to the only two fences on the course that would be jumped once. They were both well-known too. First up was a fence that Joe and the rest of the family could get a good look at from their position.

The Chair.

The almighty fence didn't quite have the attrition rate of Becher's Brook or the Canal Turn, but many a race had been ended by the big ditch in front of the crowds. Orla stayed in her slightly wider position to take it, though she could have sat in the middle and been perfectly fine as there were no fallers from those who took it in front of her. Taking off from a distance, Bogside Warrior made it to the other side without a scratch, generating such height that not even his hind legs clipped the top of the birch. It was a rare feat for a horse to completely clear The Chair in that manner. One other pulled up before the thirteenth, but that still left twenty three of them heading to the sixteenth, which was the Water Jump. It wasn't a stiff fence like some of the others, but it harboured its own difficulty should a horse land short on the landing side and plant its feet in the water.

She was up and over the water without a problem, Bogside Warrior holding his fourteenth spot in the field after landing. The pace was somewhat steadier as they prepared to head out for second circuit, with Three Brownies, Sure Metal and the top weight Young Hustler controlling the front of the race. From their position on the rails, Frankie and Paul cheered her on as she went by, secretly glad that she didn't turn to look to them. It proved that she was concentrating on only herself, a lesson which Paul constantly drummed into her back home.

"Forgive me Lord…". Frankie rather dramatically stated. "… but she's certainly going to get round".

Paul snorted his amusement with Frankie's sentiment. His own hopes were better than that though, and he was ready to call on the almighty to not curse their chances. He could see that the horse he was supposed to be on at that moment was absolutely motoring on the outside and it was only a case of whether he could produce fourteen further jumps as he tired on the second circuit. Paul knew the horse well enough to know it was doable.

And as Orla headed out to face those fourteen green monsters, Paul dared to dream.