Keeping the Peace (24 page)

‘We’ve still got to make the cut,’ Pippa said.

‘When’s he next going to race? I thought I might come along.’

A rush of warmth flooding through her body at the thought of Ollie taking an interest in Peace Offering crashed against the cold incoming tide of alarm that she’d already invited Tash to Peace Offering’s next start.

‘Next Saturday. But it’s down at Wincanton and I thought you’d be working,’ she went on quickly. ‘You usually work over the weekends.’

‘I’m sure we can sort something out. Where’s Wincanton?’

‘South of here. Near Glastonbury, I think,’ she said, vaguely recollecting her own search for the racecourse on a map. ‘Miles from London,’ she added.

She cringed in anticipation of his reply. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Ollie to come along. On the contrary, if this was an opportunity to revive their stagnant relationship she was ready to grasp it with both hands. But it would mean Ollie and Tash would be in each other’s company and that probably wouldn’t be as therapeutic.

‘But it can’t be far from where you are. We can make a weekend of it,’ Ollie said, not put out at all. ‘I’ll get to see our house in the country. Did I tell you Rich has also got a country pad down in Dorset?’

‘No-o-o,’ she replied, not entirely certain. When Ollie started talking about his co-star these days she had a habit of switching off.

‘That’s settled then. I’ll drive down for the weekend and we’ll go racing. Will Peace Offering be favourite?’

‘I don’t know. Probably not.’ She dabbled her spoon in the tub of potato salad with discomfort as she realised Ollie would get to meet Jack as well. ‘Are you sure you want to come, Ollie? I mean I don’t want to get your hopes up. Peace Offering might not win and this place is still pretty shabby.’

There was a brief pause before he answered.

‘Pippa, look,’ he began in a humble voice. ‘Maybe I was a bit unfair to you on Boxing Day. I was nervous about going to Rich’s party and when you left, I might have panicked a little. I didn’t necessarily think about it from your point of view.’

Pippa smiled in concession. She missed this part of Ollie’s nature. Maybe their relationship wasn’t doomed just yet.

‘I’m sorry too,’ she said. ‘You’ll love Hazyvale. And Peace Offering’s a gorgeous horse. You’ll love him too.’ She couldn’t help the enthusiasm creeping back into her voice. Optimistic thoughts of the pair of them laughing and having fun at the races and the opportunity to reveal the charm of Hazyvale to Ollie was too much to resist.

All was not lost, after all.

Jack walked into the office the next morning as Pippa put the telephone receiver back in its cradle.

‘That was Emmie,’ she told him. ‘She’s calling in sick.’

Jack’s mouth twisted in dissatisfaction.

‘Black Russian-sick?’

‘No. Bad tummy she said.’

‘Damn, I wanted to give Asian Dancer a schooling session today and she’s just about the only person who can control her,’ he muttered. He scraped his hair away from his forehead with a sigh. ‘Is she hung over from the drinks last night?’

Pippa shook her head and motioned to the three crates stacked against the wall which the off-licence had refused to refund her for last night.

‘No. She didn’t come. Only about five people stayed on. It probably would’ve been a more popular party if I’d been handing out nooses rather than beers.’

Jack didn’t look surprised.

‘I told you not to expect much.’

‘No, but there are bad parties and then there are sad parties. Last night was a sad party.’

He gave a resigned sigh.

‘Did Emmie say if she would be back tomorrow?’

‘She didn’t know, but she said she’d try. Even if she is fibbing and she really is Black Russian-sick, maybe a day away from here would be good for her,’ Pippa said. Emmie had sounded uneasy over the phone, but she knew from past experience that even the most genuine absence excuses left the convalescent feeling guilty.

Jack didn’t say anything. He just stood, looking nonplussed at the three crates of beer lining the wall. Pippa’s thoughts strayed to the restaurant scene she had witnessed last night. How much lower could things get for Jack to find out his girlfriend was more than likely having an affair with his jockey? As much as she’d like to know the truth behind it all, she didn’t dare mention it to him.

‘Well, we can’t leave these here.’ He bent down and picked up the first crate, making it seem as light as if the bottles were empty.

‘I’ll help you,’ Pippa said, sympathy getting the better of her. She pushed her chair back and went to assist.

‘You don’t have to. I can do it –’ Jack paused as raised voices from out in the yard drifted through the window. He and Pippa looked out to see Billy and another lad arguing outside Black Russian’s empty stable. Finn was jogging across to break it up.

‘He’d no right to take that head collar without asking!’ Billy fumed when the Irishman asked what the matter was. ‘It’s still Black Russian’s tack even if he’s not using it no more!’

Jack turned away from the window, the crate now appearing much heavier as his shoulders drooped.

‘I thought maybe Virtuoso’s win might be enough to lift their spirits,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t seem to be working though.’ He set off towards the kitchenette with a shake of his head.

Pippa readied herself to pick up one of the other crates, mindful of bending her knees, especially when wearing heels.

Jack reappeared in the doorway, still holding the crate. The expression on his face made Pippa pause.

‘I decorated the splash-back tiles behind the sink,’ she said sheepishly. The patterned tiles which she’d created in Hazyvale’s kitchen had turned out so well she hadn’t been able to resist doing the same with the bland kitchenette at work. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘What?’ Jack glanced distractedly behind him. ‘No, that’s fine. I was just thinking…’

‘Yes?’ Pippa prompted when he didn’t continue.

‘You suggested having a proper staff party with a DJ would make them forget they were at work. Maybe it’s still worth a go.’

Pippa grinned.

‘It’d take some of the monotony out of their present lives,’ she encouraged.

‘Maybe a good shake-up will snap everyone out of this bloody awful gloom we’re all stuck in,’ he added.

‘And it’d get the beers drunk.’

The gleam in Jack’s eyes, which Pippa was tempted to say almost looked like excitement, reflected in her own.

‘Do you think you could still organise it?’ he asked. ‘Where would we have it? Do you think we should hire the church hall or something in Helensvale?’

‘No need. We’ve got the hay barn right here. Just a bit of rearranging and we’ll have our very own disco. Leave it to me!’ she beamed.

Ten minutes later, Pippa wasn’t feeling quite so confident. She riffled through the Yellow Pages, but couldn’t find any DJ or disco companies in Helensvale. Mind you, it was such a small community that The Plough and its Thursday karaoke evenings was probably sufficient for the residents’ musical needs. She pulled out the heavier Yellow Pages for Bristol.

After her fourth attempt had laughed at her openly for wanting to hire a discotheque at short notice over New Year, Pippa stilled her drumming fingers on the open page for a rethink. She wasn’t envisaging flashing strobe lights and glitter balls, but a DJ with a decent sound system was a must. For the briefest of moments she yearned for London, with its superfluous productivity and immediate availability of everything from kebab shops to pirated porn videos (neither of which she was particularly keen on).

Her thoughts turned to Tash, for what reason she wasn’t entirely sure since she didn’t see how her best friend would remind of her of kebabs and porn. She slammed the Yellow Pages shut and reached for the phone. Of course!

‘Oh, boy,’ Tash answered the phone in a wry drawl. ‘A phone call mid-morning from work. You don’t have another Open Day which you’ve forgotten about, have you?’

Pippa laughed.

‘Merry Christmas, Tash. How are you?’

‘I’ve got a hangover from hell and I feel like a blue whale with jaundice. Next time somebody suggests playing Ring of Fire, take my advice, sweets. Say
no
. It’s a bad bad drinking game.’

‘Oh, Tash, feeling a bit green? What are we going to do with you?’ Pippa giggled.

‘Send me home with some hangover pills would be my recommendation, but I doubt whether that’d pass muster. How are you and your scrumptious boss?’

‘Well, now that you mention it, not so great. You know I told you we lost one of our best horses on Boxing Day?’

‘Yeah, sorry to hear about that. The public have gone right for Jack’s jugular on that one.’

‘Tell me about it,’ she agreed. Despite filtering calls and emails, anti-racing activists had still found ways of kicking Jack when he was down. ‘Everyone’s really low here so Jack and I have decided that having a proper Christmas – or probably New Year’s – party would be good to give them a boost. The only problem is, I can’t find a DJ who’s willing to do it at such short notice.’ Pippa wound the telephone cord around her finger. ‘And I remember you saying Aladdin did a bit of DJ-ing on the sidelines…’ She left Tash to fill in the blanks.

‘How short a notice are we talking here?’

‘About a week?’

She heard Tash sigh with relief.

‘Thank God for that. I thought it was going to be another twenty-four hour jobby. Aladdin can’t do it though I’m afraid. He’s up in Yorkshire for two weeks.’

‘Oh.’ Pippa couldn’t help the despair in her tone.

‘But he’s got connections, sweets, don’t panic. And I’m sure some of them can be found near you. Leave it with me.’

Pippa closed her eyes and thanked God for creating Tash and allowing her to be her friend.

‘I owe you again.’

‘Hmm, maybe. I don’t know. The last time you owed me, Aladdin was good enough to repay in kind.’

Pippa snorted.

‘Say no more. I don’t want to hear about your indiscretions.’

‘
Y
ou off your fuckin’ ’ead, yeah?’ DJ John the Boptist looked at Pippa incredulously beneath the rakish tilt of his New York Yankees gangster cap.

Feeling uncertain, Pippa stood in the doorway to the hay barn, the late afternoon sunshine casting long shadows into its dusty interior.

‘Um, I don’t think so,’ she said in a hesitant voice.

‘You fink I’m gonna set up my decks in ’ere with all this straw around?’

‘Hay,’ she corrected.

‘Whatever. It would be a major fuckin’ fire ’azard, is what I’m saying. Now, my gear is safe an’ all that, yeah, but the wirin’ can get bare ’ot.’ He took off his cap and smoothed his dark shaven head before reapplying it at a more acute angle.

‘We’d clear a space obviously, so you wouldn’t have any hay where you set up your – your decks,’ Pippa tried to placate him.

Dread seeped through her as he shook his head.

‘No way, man. Too dangerous. I ain’t taking no chances.’

Pippa’s dread began to turn into panic.

‘No, please don’t say that. You can’t cancel on us now. The party’s going to start in three hours!’

John the Boptist shrugged.

‘Forget it. If I knew this was gonna be some sorta barn dance, I woulda said no right off, like.’ He walked away, the chafing of his low-slung jeans grating in Pippa’s ears as she watched on, helpless.

‘Wait!’ she cried. ‘Don’t go!’ She ran after him, her heels plugging into the soft ground outside the barn.

He stopped and gave her an impatient look.

‘Maybe we could have it outside,’ Pippa suggested. ‘I’m sure we could find some extension cords somewhere.’

‘And if it rains? Only ’alf my decks are insured. I could do with the gig and all that, but I ain’t gonna risk my decks.’

Pippa looked up at the sky, a weak buttery blue punctuated by the odd fluff ball of cloud.

‘It might not rain.’

‘Sorry, mate. You find a proper venue and I’ll be ’appy to jam for you.’

He began walking away again and Pippa felt her panic flood down to her feet. She’d persuaded nearly the entire Aspen Valley staff to attend with the promise of some music. She’d even found a store in Helensvale that would supply some coloured lights to set the scene. Some of the staff had actually brightened at the idea of having a proper party.

How could she let them down at this late hour? It would turn into the same disaster as the original Christmas drinks do had been last week only with fifty people more.

John the Boptist shuffled round the corner into the car park and out of sight. A few moments later his van roared into life, accompanied by a loud backfire. A startled neigh from a horse nearby responded, followed by a muffled stream of expletives from its handler.

Pippa glanced, distracted, towards the sound coming from the next building along. She gasped and sprinted in the direction of the car park.

‘WAIT! STOP!’ she yelled.

The van jerked to a halt as it made a cumbersome three-point-turn. The window was wound down and John the Boptist leaned his head out.

Pippa panted to a stop beside the vehicle.

‘The indoor school – we can have it there! We can move the jumps and clear it out. We could probably even squeeze you onto the platform bit at the end.’

‘No straw?’

‘Not even a blade.’

The DJ gave her a mirthless smile.

‘Definitely no blades. That’s why I got outta London.’

Pippa leaned her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Her New Year’s resolution to give up smoking hadn’t begun paying dividends just yet. She grinned.

‘Thank you,’ she breathed.

Pippa accepted her third cup of punch from Randy, the acting barman behind the precarious-looking table laden with refreshments, and made her way in the semi-darkness round the edge of the indoor school. She perched on the top pole of one of the jumps which had been pushed to the sides and watched, with satisfaction, the lads and lasses of Aspen Valley dancing and chatting, the coloured lights flickering off their animated faces. The atmosphere was so different from the week before, any reservations she might have harboured had evaporated with the warmth of the party.