Jump. Part 71

Tommy tried to make herself even smaller. She was overwhelmed with longing. If only she were beautiful, like the other girls, jumping, swaying, their blonde hair swinging like the willows of Willowwood, showing off lovely legs in jeans or the shortest of minis.

She was used to melting into the background. Sometimes, out of kindness, girls dragged her on to the dance floor. Tommy was aware that tonight she looked particularly plain. She'd been up since five, ridden out four lots, driven to the races and back and bedded the horses down before coming here. She hadn't slept last night, worrying quite unnecessarily how Furious would perform. But the rain, which had been great for him, had frizzed up her hair more than usual. The heat in the room had turned her pink face red, and she'd forgotten a powder compact to tone it down.

When she got to the races, she'd found someone had pinched Rafiq's silks and Furious's cheek pieces, so she'd had to rush round begging replacements from travelling head lads and valets. She suspected Tresa had nicked them but she mustn't get paranoid. Oh G.o.d, they were all laughing and looking in her direction.

She supposed Rafiq was turning up because he'd hoped Amber would be here. Shy about going into clubs, he had asked Tommy to wait for him this evening. She drained her pina colada, then noticed the most beautiful man in the group, white-blond and Nordic, jumping down from the platform and fighting his way across the room.

'Tarmy Ruddock,' said the softest Southern voice.

Tommy started as the Adonis put two gla.s.ses of champagne down on the table and said, 'Budge up.'

Tommy budged.

'You are a legend.'

'Me?'

'You do Furious and Mrs Wilkinson, I've read about you in the Racing Post Racing Post. Even my grandfather wants to poach you.'

'Me?' squeaked Tommy.

Tommy couldn't believe anyone, despite squinting slightly, could be so good-looking.

'Furious was awesome for a change,' said Eddie dismissively. 'My grandpop would soon get rid of those mulish antics.'

'It's part of Furious's character, he had a deprived childhood.' As Tommy raised her gla.s.s to drink, her trumpet sleeve fell back to reveal a huge bruise.

'Jesus, your boyfriend do that?'

'No, Furious, he gets excited. I haven't got a boyfriend.'

'You have now,' said Eddie. 'Come and dance.'

'Oh look, Eddie's got her on the floor,' screamed Mich.e.l.le.

'Can't dance,' said Tresa, as Tommy bounced around like a bull terrier puppy.

'Doesn't get much practice,' sneered Mich.e.l.le.

Jamie Catswood was looking at his stopwatch. 'He's going super,' he told the others.

As Eddie drew Tommy against him, Tommy could feel the solid muscle beneath his blue denim shirt. As he laid his cheek against hers, he made a thumbs-up sign behind her head to the giggling table, followed by a drinking sign to tell them to fill up his and Tommy's gla.s.ses.

The Black Eyed Peas were electrifying the dancers.

'I've got a feeling tonight's going to be a good night,' whispered Eddie into a bemused Tommy's ear.

They were all convulsed with laughter when a shadow fell across the table. It was Rafiq. He was wearing, courtesy of h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo!, tight black jeans and a shirt the clear scarlet of runner bean flowers. His hair, newly cut and styled for the Channel 4 interview, was spiked upwards with product, showing off the flawless cheekbones and forehead usually hidden by flopping black curls. He looked arrogant and antagonistic not quite the ideal role model for young Muslims as he scowled across at Vakil.

'Here's the "Shere" Khan of h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo!,' mocked Josh.

'Rafiq, Rafiq. Great win!' called out Tresa. 'Come and join our game.'

'What game?' said Rafiq.

'It's called Snog-a-Trog,' brayed Jamie Catswood, with whom Rafiq had already had spats about the British Army's presence in Afghanistan.

'Snog-a-Trog,' shouted Mich.e.l.le over the din. 'You each pick the ugliest person in the room and then have a compet.i.tion to see how quickly you can snog them. Johnnie's about to get a black eye from Lotto Briggs and Mich.e.l.le goofed with a geek. It's your turn next, Vakil.'

'And Eddie's chosen Tommy,' said Tresa b.i.t.c.hily. 'He's doing good.'

'He what?' It was like a rifle shot. Rafiq swung round. There was Tommy, laughing and bouncing around on the dance floor.

'Eddie's got a dog on his telephone already,' giggled Jamie.

'Black Lab another dog won't make any difference.'

'Take that back,' hissed Rafiq, seizing Jamie's arm and raising his fist. 'Take it back.'

'All right, mate, calm down,' said Jamie, looking rather frightened. 'I was only pulling your leg.'

'What you mean "pull my leg"? You think I'm gay?'

'It's a figure of speech, d.i.c.khead,' said Josh. 'Means taking the p.i.s.s. For G.o.d's sake, cool it, Rafiq. Get him a drink, someone.'

Eddie's hand had moved downwards. Tommy had a big b.u.t.t for sure, but as she smiled up in wonder, he noticed she had very pretty white, even teeth for a Brit and a sweet pink mouth and such sweet breath it would be no hardship to kiss her.

But as he bent his head, a vice gripped the shoulder he'd dislocated last year and he howled in pain, as he was pulled off Tommy and punched in his own perfect American teeth, a blow which threw him across the room.

'Leave her alone, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

'Rafiq,' stammered Tommy, 'whatever's the matter? Eddie only asked me to dance and bought me a drink, he was being so lovely.'

'Lovely, my a.r.s.e,' snarled Rafiq, grabbing her bruised arm so she too shrieked in pain. 'We're going home.'

'He knew all about Furious.'

By this time Jamie and Josh had jumped down from the platform and closed round him, Jamie picking up Eddie and restraining him as he tried to take a pot at Rafiq.

'Cool it,' snapped Josh, 'you don't want to get stood down before Cheltenham.'

'Get out of here,' Rafiq snarled at Tommy, then as she reluctantly moved towards the door, 'go on, quickly. Wilkie's cast herself.'

The moment she'd gone, he turned on Josh and a swaying about-to-lunge Eddie.

'I'm not having her humiliated,' he spat. 'If any one of you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds breathes a word about snogging trogs, I keel you, I keel you.' Such was his mad dog frenzy, even Eddie backed off.

'It was a game, Rafiq,' called out Tresa, who'd also jumped down from the platform.

But Rafiq had vanished into a night as dark as himself.

'My G.o.d, there was murder or rather suicide bomb in his eyes,' said Dare.

'I'd commit suicide if I had a b.u.m as big as Tommy's,' Tresa said, giggling nervously as they climbed back up to the table.

'Well well well,' Josh shook his head, 'I thought Rafiq was hopelessly hooked on Amber.'

'Amber's well fit, I'd love to s.h.a.g her,' mumbled Eddie, grabbing a napkin to stem the blood pouring from his mouth.

'Tommy'd look better if you hid her face and that frizzy hair under a burka,' said Mich.e.l.le b.i.t.c.hily. 'Are you OK, Eddie?'

'It's your turn to choose a trog to snog, Vakil.' Jamie got out his stopwatch.

But everyone had lost their taste for the game, particularly Mich.e.l.le, when the geek with the mullet and the fiancee sidled up and asked for her telephone number.

117.

Tommy and Rafiq were silent on the way home. Brilliant stars glittered through the bare trees, gardens were lit with snowdrops. Rafiq was desperately a.n.a.lysing his feelings, his volcanic burst of rage ... Was he merely defending his dear friend whom above all things he didn't want hurt, or could it be jealousy, a lightning strike, sudden excruciating pain to see her smiling up at the effortlessly handsome Eddie?

'Is Wilkie OK?' muttered Tommy.

'She wasn't cast, I made it up. I am sorry, Tommy. We have another early start tomorrow. I kept you waiting, I don't want you to get too tired.'

Slowly Tommy's heartbeat grew slower.

Back at Throstledown, they found Furious and Wilkie flat out and snoring. Furious looked particularly sweet, his hooves curled round his nose. Chisolm, snuggled up against Wilkie's belly, opened a long yellow eye.

Rafiq looked at Tommy. It was as if he'd seen her for the first time, through newly polished spectacles. How dare those pigs call her a trog? He walked her upstairs to her room.

Outside she stammered, 'That was such a brilliant win.'

'I learn Furious could win the Gold Cup today,' said Rafiq softly, 'but tonight I learn something much more important. I have been barking up wrong treat.'

He took her round, anxious face in his hands, flattening the fuzzy hair, seeing how long and dark were her eyelashes and how bemused with love her eyes. Unable to stop himself, he dropped a kiss on her trembling lips, which tasted faintly of champagne.

Tommy shuddered then kissed him back, keeping her mouth shut then opening it timidly as her hands crept very slowly up his chest.

'Oh Tommy,' mumbled Rafiq and kissed her much harder. 'It is truth, I dragged you away because I was jealous.'

'Jealous,' squeaked Tommy in amazement.

'I want you to be just mine.'

Then he let her go and opened the door further.

'You need sleep,' he smoothed the purple shadows beneath her eyes, 'and we must take this very slowly because you are so precious to me. I cannot bear anything to go wrong.'

Afterwards, Rafiq couldn't sleep. He felt huge happiness and confusion. Sweet Tommy, how could he have wasted so many opportunities when they'd been alone together?

As he prostrated himself in prayer on the white fur rug Tommy had given him for Christmas, he thanked Allah first for Furious's amazing win and then for Tommy. Then he groaned. 'Oh G.o.d, when I begged for someone to love, I forget to tell you what colour and what faith.'

Reeling with ecstasy and shock, Tommy, once her door was shut, was brought down to earth by a message to ring her father whatever time she came in.

'Young Rafiq was in a fight at Electric Blue tonight,' were his first words.

'Jockeys are always having fights,' protested Tommy.

'Knocked out Rupert Campbell-Black's grandson's front tooth.'

'How d'you know this so fast?'

'We're watching him. His cousin Ibrahim is rumoured to be back in England. Find out what you can. If he says anything it's your duty to tell me.'

'I love him, Dad,' said Tommy.

In a corridor of the Marsden, Amber slumped against the wall, desperately pale beneath the fluorescent lights.

Her father, all wired up in bed, had just told her he'd got lung cancer but in his usual sweet way had belittled any horrors.

'Don't worry, darling, I'll lick it. G.o.d, I could murder a f.a.g or a drink now.' He had started laughing and coughing, then couldn't stop.

'Does it hurt terribly?'

'A bit just had a shot of morphine like Oliver Twist asking for morphine.' Billy laughed again, triggering more coughing. He reached for her hand. 'Darling oh s.h.i.t I know it's hard but please don't tell anyone. If the BBC find out they'd probably lay me off and I've got a few bills to pay. Your mother'll want to make it public.'

Amber said she thought she ought to tell her brothers, Christy and Junior, who were both abroad.

'Not yet,' Billy pleaded. 'How's Mrs Wilkinson?'

'Good. Entered for the Gold Cup. I'll try and win it for you.'

'That's great, darling.' Billy's eyes were drooping. 'Rupert's having trouble with Eddie Alderton, who's just like Rupe when he was young. Like Bambi and Bambi's father or grandfather. Rupert's never had a son that played up before. I'm so lucky to have you.' Billy's words were slurring. He was asleep.

Amber fled into the corridor, too stunned to cry. Twenty was too young to lose a father. She hadn't spoken to her mother since the appalling interview with Rogue. She could only imagine the meal Janey would make of 'my beloved Billy's battle with cancer'. It was Janey who'd leaked the quite untrue story about Amber having a walk-out with Dare Catswood, who Milly Walton was mad about anyway. But Janey would love a rich daughter she could b.u.m off.

I mustn't work myself up, thought Amber. She'd never felt more lonely in her life. If only she could call Rogue, but he'd be s.h.a.gging some slapper in Fairyhouse or Larkminster.

'It is, isn't it?' said a voice, as a woman in a fur coat sidled up. 'We thought it was, we're such fans. How's Wilkie?'

'She's fine,' stammered Amber.

'Could we possibly have your autograph?'

She handed Amber a little red diary, and as Amber scribbled her name, said, 'Thank you so much, we're such fans of your dear father too.'

'So am I,' mumbled Amber.