Citizen. Charlie Brooks

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СКАЧАТЬ contact. He didn’t particularly like the way Tipper sounded.

      ‘Well, Guvnor, I’m wondering why it is that I’m good enough to ride all the best horses in their work, but not on the racecourse, like. Why don’t you give me any rides on the all-weather?’

      ‘I do. I’ve given you quite a few rides, haven’t I?’

      ‘Just one or two early on, and then since December nothing.’

      ‘You’ve ridden a few. And I do have to think of the owners, actually. Some of them are difficult, when it comes to younger jockeys.’

      Tipper knew it was bullshit. Owners rarely interfered in the choice of a jockey, and they usually rather liked it when a useful claimer was up, because it meant their horse carried a lighter weight.

      ‘So tell me an owner who’s objected to me,’ Tipper challenged.

      ‘Err. Well you know, none specifically. But racing is a team game Tipper. You have to fit in with everyone. My wife for example. You haven’t gone out of your way to get on with her, have you? And she talks a lot to the owners. Yes, she has quite a lot of influence with them in a funny way.’

      Tipper didn’t know what to say. He’d been totally professional with Sinclair’s wife. And she’d been weird with him. But he couldn’t tell Sinclair that. How the hell could he? No, he would do himself no favours going down that route.

      ‘I thought I got on fine with your wife, Guvnor,’ Tipper protested.

      ‘That doesn’t seem to be the way she sees it. Says you’re not very respectful. You know trainers’ wives are very important in this business, Tipper. I can think of countless top jockeys who wouldn’t have made it if they hadn’t looked after business in the yard as well as being able to ride. Take Wally Perks, for instance. He’d never have made it if he hadn’t had the support of Cunningham’s wife. See?’

      Tipper couldn’t believe Sinclair was putting up Wally Perks as a role model. Everyone in Newmarket knew he was shagging Slip Cunningham’s wife. Surely Sinclair must know that too.

      ‘Well I suppose I get on better with horses than humans, Guvnor. Isn’t that what matters?’

      ‘Well it’s easy for you to say that. How do you think I’d get on if I took that attitude? Wouldn’t have many horses for me to train or you to ride, would I? Grow up Tipper. If you want to get better rides then I suggest that you get along with Mrs Sinclair.’

      With that Sinclair gave his hack a kick in the ribs and he trotted off before Tipper could reply.

      Tipper wasn’t one to make a big entrance. So he was pleased to see there was only Johnny the Fish, Shelley and Sam in the bar at the Partridge.

      ‘Okay lads?’ Tipper nodded.

      ‘Ah, young Tipper,’ Johnny beamed. ‘We were wondering where you’d got to. Drink?’

      ‘Jesus, Johnny I’d love one, but I’m struggling with my weight.’

      ‘Have a little scotch. That won’t put any weight on you.’

      Tipper thought for a second and blew some air through his teeth.

      ‘Go on then.’

      ‘Scotch for our friend Tipper, Shelley.’

      Shelley didn’t bother to try and engage Tipper with eye contact. Sam neither. She didn’t much like the way Sam was smiling at her since their little chat. He wasn’t cute.

      ‘Thanks. Jesus, I feel like I could do with a drink,’ Tipper confessed.

      Sam could see that Tipper was looking a bit edgy, so he moved towards the table in the corner under the television and beckoned Tipper towards it.

      Apart from the fire crackling away behind them, all was peaceful in the bar. But it sure as hell wasn’t in Tipper’s head.

      ‘So what’s on your mind, my man?’ Sam coaxed.

      ‘Jesus, I’m not sure Sam. I’m just not sure. But I think Sinclair’s wife fancies me.’

      Sam burst into laughter.

      Tipper took no notice and told about his conversations with Sinclair and Mrs Sinclair coming down off the gallops. A sly lecherous smile crept across Sam’s face as he listened.

      ‘Now Tipper, are you sure you’ve got this straight. She gave you the come-on, and the husband said go?’

      ‘I swear, Sam. I just thought Mrs Sinclair was being a bit over-friendly. I’ve never had a bad word out of her over anything else.’

      Sam was still chuckling.

      ‘This is deadly! I’ve seen that woman and I wouldn’t mind a spin on her myself. She’d win a little race somewhere.’

      ‘She’s not my type,’ whispered Tipper desperately.

      ‘Maybe not. But what must be done, must be done.’

      ‘Jesus, Sam, me and her? Are you off your fockin’ head or what?’

      ‘No. Think about it. All you’ve bloody done for the last few weeks is fockin’ whinge about not getting any rides. Well now we know why, don’t we? You told me before she wore the trousers. So now you’ve got to pull them down, son.’

      ‘Ah no.’

      Sam thought he’d said something very funny. His shoulders were shaking as he took a fresh mouthful of Guinness. Tipper stared forlornly into his scotch.

      ‘Look I’m not joking,’ Sam went on when he’d swallowed. ‘It’s got to be done. And anyway, you’re not exactly doing a lot of riding elsewhere. Now there’s something else I need you to do for me.’

      ‘Sure Sam, ask away.’ Tipper was only too happy to change the subject.

      ‘Well, boy. You know this Covey Club, where the lads get together for a bit of a craic. Well I think you should join it. I know you’ve got your doubts but quite a few of the top work riders are in it. You never know. They could put a good word in with their guvnors; maybe get you a few spare rides.’

      Tipper had already given the club some thought. He shook his head.

      ‘No way, Sam. Don’t you remember what Delaney told us?’

      ‘Jesus Tipper. These guys are work riders. Not gamblers. It’s fine. Look you need to meet a few more people to get on.’

      ‘So where do you think the information goes then?’

      Sam paused. This wasn’t going to plan. He hadn’t thought that Tipper would be bothered at all. Then he thought of Shelley pulling her T-shirt off and unbuttoning his shirt.

      ‘Look Tipper,’ he snapped. ‘I’ve fockin well given up a lot for you, I left a good job at home. I’m sitting on some stud farm in Newmarket to help you out. At least I might get to back the odd winner if you just join the Covey Club. All СКАЧАТЬ