Jumping to Conclusions Read Online Free Page B

Pentax and Nikon. The noise was deafening, the commentator's strangled screams lost against a wall of sound. With a lump in his throat Charlie watched the run-in on the massive Star Vision screen.
    King Rupert, his jockey crouched low with exhaustion on his sweating neck, beat the still-weaving and completely unfashionable Satchwa by a short head.
    Shit.
    Kath Seaward kept walking; a tall, gaunt figure in a ground-trailing trench coat, a maroon beret rammed on to dyed black hair. Kath swore more, smoked more, drank more neat whisky, and loved her horses more passionately, than any trainer Charlie had ever ridden for. She was one pretty scary lady.
    'So?' She turned on him viperously. 'What went wrong?'
    'Dragon Slayer?' Charlie mumbled again, running his tongue across his crooked teeth. They were still there. It was some small consolation. 'He's not hurt?'
    'Decided he'd had enough after the first circuit. Jumped the Chair like a stag. Cleared the water jump and then buggered off back to the start like a lamb. The horse,' she glared at Charlie, 'managed to keep his brain between his ears, Somerset. Unlike you.'
    It was so near the truth that Charlie closed his eyes. One of them felt as though it wasn't going to open again.
    'So? Any explanations? Anything that might, just might, keep the racing press – not to mention the punters – from ripping me to bloody shreds?'
    'None. I lost it. He pecked on landing and –'
    'And you should have stayed in the fucking driving seat!' Kath lit a cigarette and blew a plume of ferocious smoke towards him. 'Jesus Christ! You had the bloody easy part! You've gone soft. You eat too much and drink too much – and you never wake up in your own bed!'
    'That's hardly fair. I've stayed off the booze and I've been really careful –'
    'Careful!' Kath spat the words round the filter tip. 'You need a proper regime, Somerset! You need to think and act like a bloody jockey – not a sodding playboy! Oh, fuck off out of my sight! Tell bloody Drew Fitzgerald he can keep your services in future! When I need a replacement jockey I'll engage a fucking professional!'
    Charlie, literally cap in hand, had stood alone and watched her go. He felt like crying. There was a sting of truth in Kath's invective. He did overeat and he drank too much and he'd tried really hard to give up smoking again ... But he'd always been lucky. He'd always managed to starve enough before important races to beat the weighing room scales. Maybe the excesses had taken their toll. Maybe it was time to give up ... He wiped a muddy glove across his face and groaned as it caught on his mouth.
    Sod it. He'd wanted this race so badly. The entire world was on the other side of the course congratulating the winner. King Rupert and Tony McCoy loomed large on the screen.
    'Thanks for nothing.' Tina Maloret stalked towards him, two spots of colour accentuating the cheekbones. 'Pity your bedroom performance isn't echoed on the racecourse. Maybe you should think of abandoning being a jockey and think about becoming a gigolo. Not,' the eyes, now level with his own, flashed with venom, 'that you're first past the post there either!'
    Charlie exhaled. There was nothing he could say. He understood her anger. Tina would calm down later. He knew he'd be able to charm her into giggling submission but Kath ... Kath was a different proposition. She'd trusted him and he'd let her down. He'd done his career no good at all. And Drew... Oh, God. What the hell was Drew going to say?
    'Tina –' he moved towards her. His lips felt like Mick Jagger's. 'It happens. The whole race is a gamble. At least Dragon Slayer wasn't hurt –'
    'If he had have been you wouldn't be standing there now!' The swansdown on her hat billowed like thunder clouds. 'Kath would have killed you and I'd have danced on the remains!'
    'So there's not a lot of point in asking if we're still on for later?'
    Her contemptuous laugh sliced through the stillness of the April afternoon. 'Jesus!