Wayne’s Super Heinz

WAYNE’S SUPER HEINZ

Liam picks up Wayne at 10pm, the only lit up house in the short, dark terrace on the edge of the sleepy town. Even with the light behind her, Wayne’s Mam, who opens the door in answer to his soft knock, is a handsome single woman, thinks Liam to himself. Even though everyone knows everyone else’s business in Portumna, and there had been every explanation on earth from a golfer tourist to the son of Finn Bheara himself, no-one really knows the truth of who Wayne’s father is.

Everybody likes Connie O’Connell, though, she was lovely in looks and friendly with everyone, and no-one has a bad word to say about her at all. Forgiven, it seems, and herself carries the shame of being an unmarried mother as if it was nothing.

"Are you okay, Con?" Liam asks Connie, returning her ever-ready smile.

With the hall light behind her he can see the shape of her through her thin t-shirt top, with a large opening for her long, shapely neck, so that it threatens to slip over her shoulders and drop to the floor, but for one broad shoulder holding one side up. Liam concentrates on keeping his eyes above her shoulders.

"Oh grand, I’m sure, Liam," Connie replies with a nod, a ready smile on her face and a cheerful happy voice. "And is yourself?"

"Aye fair, Con, fair, not on me way out yet awhiles," Liam grins and averts his eyes, thinking that even in shadow no-one can look at Connie for long without wanting to touch her, and no-one touches an O’Connell in Portumna without considering the dire consequences; there were a lot of O’Connells about and they were as thick as thieves. "Is himself ready, Con?"

"Sure, hasn’t he been ready since the minute he got home from work, shaved and showered he was and has been twitching and cluttering up the sitting room for three hours trying not to crease his trousers? He’s been faffing around, up and down to the jacks three times in the last hour alone, ye know how his nerves are. He hasn’t been near The Pale since he was a wee chiseler, and he’s only passing through in the dark so he is."

"What’s he like up on the water, your boyo?"

"It’s fer you ta find out, Liam, oul lad, I haven’t a baldy notion," she laughs as she turns and walks in a sashaying motion down the passage, calling over her one bare shoulder, "come in and take the weight off an’ I’ll see if he’s ready."

Liam shakes his head as he starts to follow, unable to take his eyes away from being glued on her unbelievable buns wriggling mesmerisingly in her tight, pink yoga pants.

‘Bejeesus,’ he thinks, ‘I shoulda stayed in the car an’ got Bodger to knock but then Bodger may be Billy Whizz on his mobile but faced with a fine thing like Con, he’d make a complete haymes of it and....’

"Hey, Con, I got the other two wee weans in tha motor there, an’ yer know what they’ll like, be pushing all me buttons an’ the like."

"Sure, I’ll round him up and send him out to yers."

"Right, er, has he remembered to put on his best bib an’ tucker and his face mask? We’ve got Club Tickets yer see an’ they expects us done up to the nineties."

"It’s his only suit, he got it for his graduation and I next expected to see it at his funeral or mine. I was swatted seeing himself togged up in it, he looks so dead-on I could weep like an eejit."

Liam looks on until she opens a door deep in the house and disappears from view, before returning to his car parked in the road outside with the engine running and the lights blazing.

‘Tis a wonder who she still burns a candle for,’ Liam thinks. ‘She hasn’t been out with a fella for twenty years and no-one has the faintest who Wayne’s oul man is.’

Back in the car Liam finds that ‘Donkey’, otherwise known as Darragh Monaghan, the bricklayer in Liam’s construction crew, has dropped off in the front seat and is snoring like a steam train. In the back of the car Oisin ‘Bodger’ O’Dyer, the carpenter of the crew, is just nodding off and awakes with a start as the car door opens.

"Did yer both have ter get fluthered before I picked you up at O’Malley’s Bar?" Liam asks in frustration, more to the faeries than to mortal man.

"Sure, we was only going to have a quick one after work’" wheedles Oisin, blinking from the brightness of the interior light, "but ever since the Donkey’s had his weans, the clown don’t get out too much and the black stuff was going down so well it was. So I rang me mot to pack me a bag and bring me suit for us to change into back in the jacks. An’ so Donk rang Ciara fer the same. She were not as full of gas as Roisin and she eat his head off when she dropped his bag around from their gaff."

Just then, Oisin could see Wayne leave his mother’s house and walk towards the car, carrying a small overnight bag, and nudges Liam. "Gaffer, the ‘Duke’ himself is coming."

Liam gets out to open the boot for Wayne.

Everyone in the crew has a nickname and Wayne’s is ‘Duke’. Even in the dim light of the streetlight, he can see that the 19-year-old Wayne looks very smart in his suit.

"Jaysus, you’re looking sharp, Wayne me boyo, anyone would think yer want to make a good impression on yer first visit to England."

"Well, Gaffer," Wayne replies evenly, "you said you wanted us to wear smart suits because we’re able to roam anywhere at the racecourse with those Club tickets, and this us the only suit I’ve got. I bought the raincoat in the January sales so I did." Wayne smiles as he puts his overnight bag in the boot. "D’yer mind if I slip me coat and suit jacket off and leave them spread on the bags? I don’t want to crumple ’em up too much."

"Yes, no, that’s grand lad, plenty o’ room. You’re sitting in the back with Bodge, though, the buggers been lushing all night. Donk’s already away with the faeries and snoring like a peat furnace and Bodger won’t be far behind, so I need ya to keep talking to me, keep me awake doing the driving like, okay?"

"Aye, Gaffer, that’s grand."

Once everyone’s strapped up, Liam drives off, heading on the R489 towards Roscrea and the N52 at Riverstown. After Roscrea they follow the R445, by which time only Liam and Wayne are awake.

"So," asks Liam, "have you given your horses for the Super Heinz to Bodger for his spreadsheet?"

"Aye, I already worked them out and gave it to him yesterday, telling him I would place the bet online each way this evening and send him any changes, but I kept my selection and emailed him about 7, so he can keep track for our side bet. I gave Donk the 10 euros, he’s the banker, right?"

"Aye, he is. But, Wayne, each way on the ‘Super Heinz’? That’s 240 euros is it not?"

"Aye, but a couple of wins or even one win plus three out of seven places will mean I’ll get more than me money back. I’ve been saving all year fer this, like."

"I was forgetting, this was your idea last year when Bodge was unable to go to the Cheltenham Festival because of Covid, and you just eighteen and not even able to place a bet yet! I’d never even heard o’ the ‘Super Heinz’ before you told us about it."

"I googled horse racing and there was this article about it, how you could bet on every combination of win, place, doubles, trebles and accumulator in one single bet for 120 euros, that’s 1 euro on every combination of bet in seven races. It’s the multiples that add up to winning thousands if you’re jammy. Once we all agreed to go together, I’ve been putting away 10 euros a week all year and I planned doing it each way all along."

Liam and Wayne keep up their conversation all the way to Dublin Port and the drive onto the gently swaying ferry to Holyhead. Once aboard, they wake up the two drunken sleepyheads.

"Are you going to be alright on the water, Duke?" asks Darragh, wiping the sleep from his eyes and hoping that his own stomach was up to the mark after being as mouldy drunk as he was.

"Aye, grand, Donk," grins Wayne, "glad to be smellin’ the ozone after two hours breathing in the manky air coming out of both ends from you and Bodge!"

"The only reason Wayne kept me awake all the way here was because it was safer to talk and breathe with his mouth open, yer pair o’ shitehawks!" Liam shakes his head. "Come on, let’s get up to the decks, for some breakfast and, as for black stuff, it’s black coffees only for you two eejits."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

2. DUBLIN TO CHELTENHAM

The four colleagues cheerfully discuss their horse selections for the seven races of the day while on the ferry boat, the Super Heinz bets already made online earlier in the evening. Wayne was the only one of the four who doubled his stake by making the bets each way.

Now that all four are relatively compos mentis, with both the qualified builders’ craftsmen gently taking the Micky out of labourer Wayne.

"Houston Gate in the opening race? You do know that’s the clear odds-on favourite, Duke, ya eejit?" exclaims Darragh, loftily.

Regular gambler Oisin also chips in, pointing out, "You’re just the slave boyo in the construction team, Duke, you need to listen to the wise oul heads on Donk and me, we’ve bet on horses fer years."

"And don’t both the bookies in Portumna send you Chrimbo cards in gratitude for you paying for their weans’ education?" Wayne "Duke" O’Connell (plasterer’s mate, 19, single and still living with his Ma and with no girlfriend known to the others by being painfully shy around strangers), somewhat wearily replies, "I know, of course the stallion’s the best feckin’ horse in the race, he won his last time out at Leopardstown on good to firm going, so why shouldn’t I chance me first throw o’ euros on the fecker?"

"But it was pure shite yesterday, Duke, remember?" points out Oisin. "Sure, didn’t it lash down good and proper all day on the buildin’ site an’ we all had to switch to working inside before we drowned?"

All the close-knit mates in the construction team have nicknames and all use them religiously, except Liam, the foreman, who uses their real names unless particularly exasperated with the young men in his outfit. He was pushing one and a half times the ages of Oisin "Bodger" O’Dyer (carpenter, 26, single with a live-in girlfriend, the lovely Roisin), and Darragh ”Donkey" Monaghan (bricklayer, 28, married to childhood sweetheart Ciara with two babies, Saorise, 3 and Aidan 11 months old, at home). Liam Flaherty, himself the foreman of a 10-strong construction crew, is mostly referred to as "Gaffer" (he’s 54, a widower with two children who’ve long flown the nest and he talks about his three grandchildren ad nauseam when given the opportunity, or even when he’s not).

"Sure, it was a soft old day fer us in the west of Ireland, Bodge," Wayne presses his point, "but across the water over there in Cheltenham it was only spitting in the morning, with strong drying easterlies in the afternoon, so it’ll be good to firm with only a wee bit o’ juicy dew on the grass for the early racers to zip along on. Houston will be no problem. Ha! I’ve always wanted to say that. It’s a huge field that first race anyway, and even as favourite Houston Gate’ll come in at 5 to 2 or 2 to 1 at worst, which’ll double half me money and get the whole of me 1 euro each-way stake back plus 20% for the place. It’s only a smidgen, but it all rides in the next race in the accumulator."

"Stop slagging Wayne, cos he’s right boyos," Liam joins in with a chuckle, "That horse has to fall over if it’s not to win this race. I’ve got my win money on the very same stallion, form says he’s got the stamina for two miles and that’s plenty time enough for his class to show. Wayne may be splashing out going each way on his Super Heinz bet, but even with a place, he’s still alive in the accumulator, while rest of us are out. And as fer taking the piss out of Wayne being the boyo of our team here, may I remind you pair o’ spanners how good a worker Wayne’s been since we lured him away from that gobshite Tooleys and he’s picking up the skills and the right way of working in, well, in no time at all. I trust him putting up shuttering for concreting from the technical drawings alone; an’ doesn’t he mix up your muck without your complaints, Oisin, and he’s willing to do filling jobs when there’s no plastering, like rubbing down and painting. He never complains and he plasters about as well as any qualified plasterer he’s worked with despite not yet having earned the full ticket fer the job. I keep telling him he should go to college part-time and take the tests for qualification."

"Fair play, Duke," Oisin slaps Wayne on the shoulder, "It was you that suggested we take this trip this year after mine was cancelled last year because of the Covid. Thanks a million from me and Donk. I mean, look at us, it’s four in the morning, we’re all knackered, but this is the best craic we’ve had in donkey’s!"

As the ferry approaches Holyhead at about 5 in the morning, the two journeymen pick up their holdalls and suit bags to go change out of yesterday’s work clothes that they wore down the pub, in the ferry’s toilet.

Darragh comes back in 90 seconds, still dressed in his work clothes and spitting nails like his charged-up tack-gun.

"Feck! I go out on the lash once in a feckin’ blue moon an’ me woman Ciara’s on’y gone and swapped me suit in the suit bag with the oul feckin’ suit that I got married in eight years ago, which is at least two sizes too small, an’ all the feckin’ underwear she’s packed are me mot’s oldest grey knickers and she’s the size o’ the bloody sugar plum fairy! Everyt’ing else she’s stuffed in the bag are work clothes or what I usually wear in the garden, no shoes, just me carpet slippers and not even any feckin’ socks!"

"That’ll teach you to go the bar straight after work, get banjaxed, leaving the missus alone to look after the weans all weekend ... and then you order your oul woman to pack yer stuff for ye, ya daft bugger!" Liam laughs.

Wayne can’t quite wipe the smile off his face, until Oisin turns up in his sharp suit and hears about the trick Ciara played on Darragh.

"Ah, that’s pure gas, Donkey, me boyo," Oisin laughs so hard, he’s bent over, "she’s quality your missus, absolutely pure class. I mean, how do you follow that?"

They all burst out laughing, while Darragh stands there like a clown that’s lost his favourite red nose.

"Fine, have yer fun, a great craic, not! I need to get to a store on the way and get a new suit, a shirt, a tie and new shoes, Gaffer."

"And, don’t forget your underwear!" Wayne reminds him, which sets the three smilers off laughing again.

In order to use the expensive Club tickets Darragh’s bought and paid for a year ago, and join the others in their day at the races, he definitely needs a suit.

They park at a shopping mall in a market town close to Cheltenham shortly after 9 o’clock to get Darragh kitted out as quickly as possible off the peg, meaning they don’t get to the B&B digs in Cheltenham, where they will sleep tonight, until 10.

"We can leg it to the course or get a taxi," Liam offers a choice after dumping his bag in the room he’ll share with Wayne. Darragh and Oisin say they are "still in bits after being hammered" and plumb for the latter, so Liam rings Cheltenham Taxis and they arrive at the racecourse by taxi before 11, in plenty of time to enjoy a leisurely lunch before the first race in a couple of hours.

Lunch comes in the form of burgers and chips all round, a couple of pints of ‘hair of the dog’ black stuff for the two craftsmen, while Liam sups one pint and a whiskey chaser, and Wayne makes room for a 330ml bottle of light lager. The two boys in their twenties naturally eye up all the ladies dressed up to the nineties in the club stand, while Wayne appears to fidget and clearly itches to get away.

"I want to take a gander at the horses before the first race," he declares, rising from his seat.

"I’ll come with you, oul lad," Liam says, downing his chaser and goes off with Wayne to the parade ground to check out their favourite runner.

Darragh complains that his new shoes, chosen in haste, are pinching his feet, so the other pair decide to stay and have yet another pint to quell their dehydration while viewing the more palatable fillies on parade in the bar.

Wayne is like a cat on a tin roof at the parade ring looking out for someone, Liam notices, but accepts that, as this is the shy youngster’s first time at such a large and crowded event, that his nervous curiosity is only natural.

"There’s Houston Gate," Liam points to a large deep chestnut horse, the beast’s head held high as if fully aware of his superiority to the herd of hopeful wannabes around him, "sure now, he looks just fine."

But Wayne leaves Liam watching the favourite being led on a walk around the parade ground and he moves around the outside of the ground in the direction of the coming horses, until stopping, apparently spotting someone he knows inside the arena and was probably looking for.

Then, rather self-consciously, Wayne calls out, "Hey, Dee Dee!"

The girl he was looking at, and appeared to be addressing at distance, was a cute, short young girl in slacks, boots and a warm padded jacket, her thick, dark brunette hair tied neatly in a pony tail high on the back of her head. She hears something and turns her blue eyes slightly towards the name calling, but the grey mare she’s leading is skittish, senses her slightest distraction and starts to play up. The girl concentrates on calming the horse and they continue to walk on past where Wayne is standing without the girl seeing him.

Wayne rejoins Liam and they return to the restaurant to collect their wayward mates and urge them to the views from grandstand for which they paid a fortune for.

The race turns out to be an exciting middle distance hurdle over more than two miles, closely contested by the runners, with a couple of fallers, and the four friends are able to follow the excitement of the early part of the race from the huge screens and witness the finish in person from the well-positioned grandstand.

Liam and Wayne’s favourite chestnut stallion eases out majestically in front of the field in the last two furlongs and wins comfortably, still full of running.

"Nice one, ye jammy hoors!" exclaims Darragh to the boss of his crew and the young labourer. "But that was a cracking race was it not?"

"You’re both ahead in the side bet," Oisin confirms what they all know, looking at the spreadsheet on his mini tablet, "Donk picked up a place at a good price but I nixed it and got bollox all."

"An’ you being the regular gambler?" Liam points out with a grin, recalling the conversation over their late breakfast.

"I do the gee-gees every week, an’ I expected better from my lame donkey, but I’ll catch ya buggers in the next race," Oisin banters, "But before the second race, I’m going to check out my nag on the parade ring. I’m sure me last horse had a gammy leg, so he did."

Wayne moves away from the other three at the parade ring concourse and once again tries to catch the very same girl’s attention. This time she’s leading around a chestnut mare that seems a lot smaller than all the other horses. Dee Dee looks neat and ... beautiful, thinks Wayne.

Wayne picks a quieter spot to stand, waiting for them to draw level with him, and this time the girl hears him call out her nickname, and appears shocked to recognise the boy here, so far from home.

"Wayne, whatcha doing here?" she asks, though a broad smile blossoms on her pretty face, her blue eyes flashing and the freckles across the bridge of her nose and upper cheeks darken in what seems like embarrassment.

"Watching you," he grins, "is what I’m doin’ and it’s obvious from your smiles and the glow about yah that you love these horses."

"And why wouldn’t I, Wayne? They’re lovely." She beams at him, "And don’t you look lovely too in yer sharp suit, knotted tie an’ all?"

"It’s my graduation suit, Dee Dee, I, I er wore it for you at graduation and then you didn’t turn up."

"I was gonna, but ... well, I was all dressed up to the nineties to go, an’ my oul dad here was teking me, but then, I’m so sorry, Wayne, I’m just not as brave as you are." A solitary tear rolls down one cheek. "I’ve got to go, Wayne, I’m holdin’ up the parade. Can you meet me over there in ten minutes, where we enter the parade ring. I’ll get the guard to let you in or I’ll come out."

She points to a gate at the end of the parade ring.

"Sure, I’ll meet you there. It, it’s good to see you again, Dee Dee."

"Yeah, me too, Wayne. See you in a few minutes."

Wayne turns with a wave and walks in determined strides towards where he has been directed.

"Who’s the big fella, Deidre?" the short, stout middle-aged man, smartly-dressed in a tweed suit and jaunty trilby, asks her from the other side of the chestnut mare she’s leading.

"That’s Wayne O’Connell, from school."

"An O’Connell, huh?! Well, there’s trouble on legs for ya, they’re all hallions the O’Connells. He looks a big useful lad, though, was he one of those that bullied you at school?"

"No, Da, the bullies were scuts not worth bothering with. No, Wayne was an angel who stopped the dopes and got himself in trouble for me more than once and I ... well, I chickened out on Graduation Day and never really thanked him properly."

"Well, thank him at the gate and then tell him to feck off, we don’t want anything to do with that family of gombeen travellers. Or would you like me to have a quiet word with him?"

"No, Da," her smile now fading in sadness, "but I don’t want to be rude to him. He was always nice to me, sweet even, an’ I doubt he’s here on his own. His oul dear’s single and she’s said to be a beave, you know."

"Get away with ya! Anyone would think he was ya fella. You left school, what nearly two years ago? Have you been seeing him on the quiet since?"

"No, I’ve not seen him at all since."

"The O’Connells are all dossers, my sweet girl, and too sour for the likes of us, just get shot of him and leave it at that!"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

3. DEE DEE

Wayne hangs around at the gate leading to the parade ring for ten minutes, thinking that he was probably going to miss watching the next race with his friends.

"You alright, chief?" one of the two burly security guards on the gate asks after he’s been loitering around the area for two minutes.

"Er, sure," Wayne replies, "I’m waiting for, er, a friend to come and have a brief chat. Hopefully it won’t be too long."

"Well, bruv, if you haven’t got an official pass, your friend’s have to come out and meet with yah, okay?"

"Yes, no, fine, that’ll be okay."

Wayne looks again at the race card for the coming race. He is still happy with his choice of Jackey’s Chancer in the race, a county hurdle of 2 miles and 1 furlong, with 25 runners. He finds himself amused, not for the first time, that even though the country had gone decimal years long before he was born, horse races are still proudly displayed in miles and furlongs. He isn’t even sure exactly how many furlongs there are in a mile, and he dare not ask Oisin or the Gaffer or he’d get a load of shite, especially from Oisin. He notes that Dee Dee’s chestnut mare Dawn Ride, the horse that she led out around the parade ground, is listed. He considers it a very a long shot maybe but not got any chance in this field.

Wayne turns the page to the third race due off in about 40 minutes’ time, a Novices hurdle of 3 miles with 18 runners. There, about three-quarters of the way down the page, his fat finger traces, is the Irish-trained filly, Sunarabia. And next to the horse’s name it reads that the jockey is scheduled to be one Deidre O’Shea, his Dee Dee. Well, not "his" exactly, but—

"Howya, Wayne," a voice in front of him says loud enough to shake him from his reveries, "Are ya away with the faeries, now?"

There she stands in front of him, a tiny figure of a bare five foot two, fully a foot shorter than he, and perhaps only a third of his width, she was so slight of build. Her smile though isn’t slight or slim, it brightens up Wayne’s day, as she had done for over ten years.

"Well, there you are," he grins, "and I was thinking you’d forgotten me all over again, Dee Dee."

Her face falls, the smile replaced by a grimace, her lower lip bitten in an attempt to stop it quivering. "Look, Way—"

"Away wit’cha, Dee Dee, now, I was only acting the maggot with ya, I didn’t mean to make you scarlet now."

She punches him in the shoulder, her mischievous smile instantly returns, "Got ya, you dufus! I knew you were going to say something like that, you’re so predictable."

"I like to think I’m reliable rather than predictable. It sounds better."

"I know, Wayne, reliable is sound. I wasn’t slagging you. I already apologised about graduation. You know how much I hated that school."

"Well, you still punch like a little girl, so nothing’s changed in two years."

"You seem bigger somehow," she says, "though if ya can still get into the suit...."

"I do work hard for a living, you know?" Wayne protests, “It’s all muscle.”

"Of course you do. Did you not go to college at all?" she asks.

"No, I could’ve scraped into the National, but it wasn’t worth it, you know, my oul Mam, well she’ll never admit it but she’d be lonely if I went away."

"I know, that’s why I went to the local school, never having known my mother, it was difficult to leave Dad on his own, you know?"

"I know, you said before, when we were at school. I could live without a Dad, it was all I ever knew … but Mam?”

“We were a right pair of opposite bookends at school, weren’t we?”

“Aye, we were in a way. So, you didn’t go away to college?"

"Oh I did, to be sure," Deidre laughs, "my Dad, who insisted he couldn’t bear to part with me all those years as a wean, packed me off to Trinny as soon as he could cash in the scholarship euros and switch my gaff to Dublin before the next semester started. Then Covid hit us and I was home again in the spring term, working with the horses during the day and doing College online all evening."

"So, no social life then for you?"

"What, in Portumna? No!"

"It’s not a bad place—"

"If you like fishing or boating or walking in the woods,” she interjects.

"I saw you in the woods, in the Forest Park."

"When? You never said anything."

"It was last year, early summer, you were riding with a fella, so I never said nothing."

"Last summer?" Deidre pauses, thinking, "I ride in Portumna Forest Park a couple of times a week, usually in a group. I have a wee pony that I hack for pleasure and it’s not always fun riding in the woods on your own."

"He was dark-haired, lanky."

"Ah, Reginald, American, his Mom bought a cottage that they extended into a Macmansion. Mind you, it’s got lovely views of the Shannon. They hold BBQs all the time outside lockdown. He was a stable lad for a while last year, didn’t last long, not used to hard work, not at all. I think he came out with me for a ride a couple of times, maybe thinking he could mitch off the chores, but they don’t do themselves, so he stopped coming out. Soon after he even stopped coming into work so Dad let him go." She smiles at him, "So, you still at Tooley’s?"

"Oh, when did you hear I was at Tooley’s?" Wayne asks with raised eyebrows.

"I think someone said you were labouring at Tooley’s but I thought maybe it was a summer job between school and college, then when you just said you didn’t go to college I wondered what you were doing. Anyway, what are you doing here? Is this your first trip out of Ireland?”

“Aye, I may be born and bred a culchie, but I’ve been planning this trip with three friends for a year.”

“Woohoo, I’m impressed. So, what work do you do when you’re not at the races on a working day?"

"I’m still labouring, not with Tooley’s, but with Callaghan Construction? They’re based in Nenagh, but we have a small crew of about ten of us working out of Portumna covering southern Galway and Clare, you know, extensions, barn conversions into cottages, you’d be surprised the amount of work foreign owners are prepared to pay for."

"Not surprised, my Dad trains horses mostly for foreign owners. Anyway, if you enjoy the Forest Park byways, you could come riding with me, I could find a horse big enough he’d carry you, and possibly rustle up some boots and riding togs."

"What? Me on a horse?" Wayne laughs, "that would be a sight to see!"

"Well?"

Wayne stops smiling and looks embarrassed, "Well, I s’pose I, well, it would be worth turning scarlet every time just to see you more. I, I missed not seeing you every school day."

"Me too, Wayne, I," she reaches out and touches both his hands with her hands, "I have to go, but I ... can I see you later? Here?"

"Before the next race?"

"No, I’m running in the next race and don’t want any distractions, but the one after, I’ll be here, but ... can I?"

"Aye, I’ll see you here."

Deidre turns and walks back to the gate, only a dozen paces away.

Wayne turns away, smiling. He’s going to see his Dee Dee again and he may even go out riding with her soon. ‘My Mam won’t believe it!’ he thinks to himself.

As Deidre went though the gate she was also full of thoughts, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it’s great seeing Wayne again, really great … but what do I tell my Da?’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

4. PLACES COUNT

Wayne walks slowly back to the spot in the Grandstand where they had stood to watch the first race. He is not in any hurry as he can hear the shouts of encouragement followed by the high-pitched cheers of the winners and deeper bass note groans of the losers.

"Where’ve you been, ya eejitt?" Darragh says as he spots their approaching workmate, "you’ve only gone and won a feckin’ race again, Duke! This time Jackey’s Chancer came in at a better price of 9/1, yah jammy chancer."

"Well, did I not say all along, when we ran through our selections, that it was a grand horse I was banking on? And wasn’t I the only one out of the three of us that put money on it?"

"You were, oul lad," Liam laughs and slaps the well-built youngster on the shoulder, "Your runner won at a canter, so far ahead o’ the rest of the muppets that he only needed to walk over the line and still win by six lengths. I swear he wasn’t even blowin’ at the end! I don’t think the jockey had to use his whip at all! And none of the rest of us punters even got a sniff in the race. Tell him who’s in the lead in our wee side bet, Oisin."

"Aye, yah wee jammy scut, Duke," Oisin looks up from his mobile phone’s spreadsheet calculator, with a pretend scowl on his lips that doesn’t match his smiling eyes, "you’re running away with it at the minute, but we’ll catch you, because you’ve picked a right feckin’ donkey in the next race, Sunarabia is priced at 100/1, a rank outsider. It doesn’t have a prayer, oul lad, they might as well pack it in the dog tins saddle and all while it’s still warm."

"Ah, well, Bodge," Wayne smiles back, clearly enjoying the moment. "That’s why I did place my Super Heinz bet each way rather than on the nose. I know I staked another 120 euros but it left me free to pick up the odd outsider. Now, if Sunarabia gets any one of the top four places outside the winner, that 100/1 pays out 20/1 on my stake and I’ll make up all my original 240 euros stake in that one bet and anything I pick up from the next four races will all be pure profit."

"Bejesus!" Liam exclaims, slapping Wayne even harder on his solid broad shoulder, "the boyo’s a feckin’ genius, a bookie’s worse nightmare if I ever saw one. I fer one would love to see him teke ’em to the cleaners, even if I do have to give up my 10 euros in the pot!"

"I wonder if the Boy Wonder here’s been getting a bit o’ insider information from the horse’s gob, or should I say a filly’s sweet lips?” Darragh says slyly, “didn’t we see him bending the ear of that cute motty back at the parade ring?”

“Aye, that wee thing in her hot tight ski pants,” Oisin chips in, “We saw you sneaking off to talk with her. You were both leanin’ so close I thought yer’d be lobbin’ the gob any moment. So where do you know that sweet thing from?”

“I knew her from school,” admits Wayne, “She was in my class.”

“Sweethearts was yer?” Darragh enquires, nudging Wayne with his elbow. “Were you sitting next to one another at school, thigh to thigh and herself in her short, tight navy gym knickers? Go on, yah were, weren’t yah?"

“No! I’m not fuellin’ your feckin’ fantasies for yer next visit to the jacks, Donk!"

"Well, it was worth a try, fantasies all I’m likely to get from Ciara this weekend after her stunt with me oul clothes," Darragh laughs, "so c’mere an’ tell us all about her anyways."

"Not much to say, it was her best friend Aoife who always sat next to her, not me, yer feckin’ clowns. I usually sat near the front of the class while they were more towards the back.”

“Ahh, yer swot!” laughs Oisin, “Or was it because you were always getting into trouble?"

“Sure, you got me, Bodge, I was always getting into trouble, so the teachers always made me sit in the front where they could keep an eye on us. Not my fault at all though!”

"So, let me get this straight," Liam scratches the morning stubble on his chin, "she’s not your girlfriend, and you didn’t sit next to her in class, but you went all the way out of your way to organise this trip to Cheltenham exactly a year ago because YOU knew she was going to be here. Now, I know I’m right because you’re as scarlet as a pint of Smickwick’s Red you are."

"It’s nothing to be scundered about, Duke," Darragh chuckles, "tis a good thing you’ve a cute Colleen about yah, it’s only when she gets to be yer missus like me Ciara you need to worry!"

"Okay." Wayne sighs. "When Bodger’s trip with his muckers was called off with the Covid last year, I had also wished I could’ve gone, but no-one even asked me to join in, I don’t have a car, or even a driving licence and I don’t have any friends who are interested —”

"Yah don’t have any mates at all, Duke, just us cute boyos!" grins Oisin, slapping Wayne on the other shoulder to lessen the barb.

"You’re right, most of my school friends disappeared off to Uni. And Deidre’s not my girl, not really, but I did like her at school and sorta took on the role of protector when we were in our classes together."

"So you got into a few scraps?" asks Liam and, when Wayne nods, adds, "at least you must’ve won most of ’em, look at the size of yus."

"When I first noticed her, you know, I fancied her like, not like now, boy meets girl type fancy, but she was kinda sweet and shy, a little lost kitten, you know?" The others nodded, the younger ones harking back to their distant days of innocence, "We were in Third Class Primary and she was being bullied because she, well, she wasn’t too well looked after at home by her single parent Dad and she, okay, I’ll say it, she smelled. Don’t ever tell her that, though, she’d really hate me for telling yous."

"Was she a Traveller, then, Duke?" Liam chips in.

"Naw, she’s a Portumna girl, her father’s quite well off, he has a respected stud farm just to the north of the Forest Park, but they keep themselves to themselves. Deidre doesn’t have a mother, she died when Deidre was born. It was a fatal car accident and Dee Dee was cut out of her mother about five or six weeks earlier than expected. It was touch and go for her at first. Her father looked after her, still looks after her, but about the time she was 9 or 10 she started to work her early morning chores in the stables, mucking the horses out and stuff I guess. Her father, being on his own and busy working the stud himself, he sort of got behind in doing the washing and she came to school with her clothes smelling of horses and stable muck, you know?"

"So she got picked on by the bullies?" Liam asks, but it was more a statement than a question.

"Aye, and the girls were the worst of them, and those girls were all bigger than the boys at the time. I didn’t start outgrowing my age group until I was about 12 or 13. They pulled her hair and roughed her up, I sorta waded in and got a good hiding for my pains and picked up detention after school."

"Yah big softy, fighting with girls over a girl," grins Oisin, “If’n I’d known about it I’d have sold tickets!”

"Mind you," Darragh admits, "my niece is in Third or Fourth Class and says the girls at her school are right wee monsters!"

"After a week or so of these shenanigans, and me getting held back in detention twice, me Mam tugged my ear and wanted to know what was going on and I ’fessed up to Mam about Deidre’s personal hygiene. When I first started in Third Class, Mam had stopped walking me to school, but when she heard about Deidre, she started walking with me again, getting us there early, and starting her supermarket job a wee bit later. Together we grabbed Deidre as she walked in from the end of the road where she was dropped off by her Dad, and we rushed her round the corner, where Mam brushed her hair and braided it up carefully and even sprayed her clothes with air freshener, and gave her some deodorant, the sort of things a mother would do for her wean, something that Dee Dee’d never had. Dee Dee was delighted, she said she hadn’t ever had any kind o’ grooming before at all. I think a few days later Mam must’ve went to the Stud and spoke to Dee Dee’s father, because the next week she turned up in new school togs and did her stable work well before breakfast, so she came to school clean and neat and didn’t need my Mam to come to school any more.”

“Good on yer Mam, Wayne,” Lima smiles, “She’s something else, your oul Mam.”

“Aye, she is, Gaffer, she is. Dee Dee still got bullied, though, because a pattern had been set, and I still got into trouble fighting but I didn’t mind so much. When we went up to the Community School, the bullying didn’t continue as fierce, but I think it was because I took my troublesome reputation with me and I used to sit on the school wall with her after school until her father picked her up in his Range Rover, he was always so busy at the Stud that he was often up to half an hour late and I couldn’t leave her on her own. He never spoke to me, only scowled in my direction, pretty well every time. I think he took it personal when me Mam pointed out that he wasn’t looking after his wee girl properly, and I got the blame for it.”

“Poor oul lad, unrequited in love, are yah?” Liam grins rather inconsiderately.

“It’s cat sure enough, but I guess that’s my lot,” murmurs Wayne,

“Hey! Let’s get over to the parade ring before the next race,” Liam suggests, “I want to have gander at and maybe have a talk with your Dee Dee.”

“She won’t talk to us before this race, Gaffer,” Wayne says, “She’s riding Sunarabia in this Novice’s hurdle race and has already told me she doesn’t want any distraction. She’s also running in the last race. Her Dad hasn’t got a horse running the Gold Cup, so she won’t be leading a horse round until the fifth race, but said she’d meet me at the gate before the fourth race.”

“Let’s dooter over anyway, we’ve got 40 minutes until the race and we can fetch a beer on the way and bring another beer back then,” insists Darragh, “we’re here for the craic, are we not? And I promised myself I’d be flat out shit-bake by now.”

“Aye, let’s get the beers in and have a juke at your mot-or-not,” Oisin agrees, “but on the way I’m putting a each-wayer on Dee Dee’s ride, so we can all be flying it with yah.”

“Yup, the next four-pint round is on me,” Wayne offers, “Probably tempting fate, but I can see Dee Dee crossing that finishing line with a middle finger up for all those bullies who didn’t like the sweet smell of horses.”

Wayne pays for the drinks, with Liam at the bar helping to take the four drinks to their table.

"I’ll be back in a minute," Wayne says, taking his mobile phone out of his pocket and walks outside the bar.

"He’s phoning his Mam," explains Liam with a smile, "she worries about him, his first time away from home and off on a craic with us reprobates, it’s enough to worry any mother about her wean."

Outside, Wayne remembers what he looked up online the previous week and clicked on only the second stored number on his mobile phone. The first was his Mam’s number that he’d ring regular and the second was his Mam’s number with the first zero replaced by 00353, so he could speed dial from Cheltenham races without trying to remember the code. He is pleased that his phone is covered by one of the providers that allow roaming across the British Isles without additional roaming charges.

"Howya, darlin’," his Mam’s voice crackles over the speaker, "is the craic all it’s cracked up to be?"

"Aye, Mam," he laughs at her good humour, "are you home from work?"

"Yes, just considering having some cheese on toast, it’s not worth cooking a meal when you’re not here. What did you have for dinner?"

"Burger and chips for a 3 am breakfast on the ferry and burger and chips here at the racecourse. When we’re out on the lash tonight I expect we’ll have ... burger and chips again. Don’t worry, back to the usual meat and five veg on Sunday."

"What you mean, five veg, it’ll be taters, peas an’ broccoli with the roast on Sunday."

"Aye, but they taters be mashed, roasted and boiled, so it’s five different veggies!"

"Get away witcha, you love me spuds, so you do."

"So I do, Mam, so I do. Anyway, I had winners for the first two races."

"That’s grand."

"I know you don’t approve—"

"It’s your hard-earned money, Wayne, you spend it on what you want to spend it. Just don’t chase your losses and get into debt. So, any other news? What was the ferry trip like?"

"Fine, only Donkey and Bodger didn’t go home after work, they got half-cut and slept it off in the Gaffer’s car on the way to Dublin. Oh, Darragh’s missus sent a bag of old clothes to him after he told her to do his packing for him and we had to stop and get him a new suit, socks, pants and everything."

They both laugh.

"And what are you not telling me then, Wayne?"

Wayne had never found a way of getting anything past his Mam.

"Er, you remember the girl from school?"

"The cute dark-haired girl, who liked mucking out stables?"

"That’s the one, she’s er, she’s riding in the next race."

"And you knew a year ago, I guess, that she’d be riding at Cheltenham this time around?"

"She did race last year, when none of us went over to watch as you know. I just guessed that maybe this year...."

"Looks you had three long shots come in then, darlin’."

"Hopefully."

"Well, I liked her at the time and I guess you still like her too."

"I do, Mam, I do."

"Well, just be careful, Wayne, or a world of hurt could be coming your way."

Meanwhile, back in the bar his three friends are watching him through the window, as he smiles at his Mam’s replies during his telephone conversation.

"How in the name of the Holy Trinity are we going to tell him?" sighs Liam.

"Tell him what, Gaffer?" asks Oisin.

"Do yer not know?" Darragh looks surprised, "you know nothing goes on in Portumna that’s supposed to be a secret?"

"I know that, but I still don’t know this secret, so tell us."

"Both Wayne O’Connell and Donal O’Shea were sweet on the lovely Katie Kennedy that was," Liam says, shaking his head in disbelief of what he was about to tell them. "O’Shea’s father had the money, but Wayne had, well —”

"We’re talking about Wayne’s uncle right?" Oisin asks to be sure.

"Aye, Wayne’s uncle Wayne," continues Liam, "now, Wayne was a young man poor in riches, but he was a bold battler who would take on anyone with his fists in the the pub and take on the world with his strength of arm and determination and he had the charm to persuade even the hardest-nosed businessman to take him on and, they say, he was like catnip to the ladies. After establishing his construction business here from scratch, using nothing but hard graft and smart choices, he took his crews over to England, because 25 years ago there were new town centres, out-of-town malls and entertainment complexes springing up all over the place for silly money. He was doing well before he left and Katie could see a bright future in Wayne and she accepted his ring. Then she heard rumours from workers coming back home from England on visits and she took the ferry to seek him out, found him in bed with an English scrubber and threw his ring in his face, came home and within three months she married Donal."

"So that’s why Dee Dee’s oul man doesn’t like Duke," Oisin says, "because of an old rivalry between two fellas?"

"No, Oisin, sadly, it’s because while uncle Wayne was back home for young Wayne’s christening, he accidentally killed Katie O’Shea, Dee Dee’s mother."

"Oh, shite!" exclaims Oisin.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

5. GRANDSTAND FINISH

"Shite!" explodes Oisin, "So is Dee Dee uncle Wayne’s off—?”

"Naw," Liam uses his hands to calm them all down, keeping one eye on the door watching for Wayne’s return. "Wayne the uncle was proved innocent at the inquest hearing. The jury heard testimony that the christening was several days earlier and character witnesses swore that uncle Wayne never rests or throws a sickie, he always sobers up and finds work to fill his time and in fact he is usually in demand for his building expertise any time he comes home. That fateful morning he was on the road to a job in his truck and found there were temporary traffic lights in St Patrick’s Road at the junction where Abbey Road runs into Dominic’s, because half of Dominic’s Street was torn up looking for a mains water leak. As Wayne approached, the green light just turned in his favour. He went through the crossroads to Church road and, went through the traffic lights at 28 miles an hour the forensics estimated. There he hit Katie’s little Fiat, who came out of Dominic into Abbey Street, either jumping the lights or not even seeing them. The collision pushed her into the path of a cement lorry coming up from the Shannon Road where it had been concreting a new footpath down by the swimming area. Anyway, it was Wayne’s first time home in over two years and Katie and Donal’s wedding was over 18 months before. But there’s more."

Darragh knows the whole story and simply nods in agreement with Liam.

"What the feck? There’s more? Tell me!" Oisin begs.

"Well, the hottest fella in town had for a long while been Wayne O’Connell and two years before he was not only spoken for, engaged to Katie, but he was also working away from home across the water. And therefore, once Katie turned O’Shea down in favour of Wayne, in Wayne’s absence Donal O’Shea became the hottest thing since sliced soda bread and he attracted the attention of a number of unattached ladies, but way in front of them all was the young and very pretty Connie O’Connell—"

"Oh feck!" Oisin explodes. "Wayne’s Mam!"

"Shoosh! Hold it down, yah clown, Duke’ll hear yer!" Darragh thumps him on the upper arm.

"Excuse me fer talkin’ won’tcha?" Oisin pauses, "just how old was oul Connie, now, cos she’s what 35?"

"She was only 15 at the time, admittedly but," the sage Liam says, sucking in his teeth, "but she was built like a brick shitehouse and as fine a girl as you’ll ever see, and she had her eyes set on Donal. And Donal, now, well, he was only 23 himself and had been brought up right and proper, well prepared to wait as, rumour has it, that both Connie and Katie were unquestionably pure as rainwater."

"So, is our Duke, possibly a brother of the girl he’s courtin’ cos that would be—"

"Get away widger, Bodge, this is culchie country, County Galway, not the Turkish quarter of Marseilles, yah eejit," Darragh sighs, "time wise, the engagement of Katie and the courting of Connie was a few months before Wayne the uncle got caught with his pants down."

"Ah," Oisin nodded, "I get it, Katie Kennedy suddenly lost the hottest hunk in the town, so she went after the second hunk who she already knew had once had the hots for her?"

"Aye, oul lad," Darragh takes up the tale, "Katie went back to O’Shea and poor oul Connie was history. She took it hard, finished school early, and disappeared off to to stay with a Jackeen cousin and study at college before going onto Trinny a couple of years later."

"So, O’Shea dumped Connie, married Katie, and it was another eighteen months to two years before two separate baby showers started," Liam says, still looking out for Wayne’s return. "So, a quick run down for you Oisin: two years later Connie comes home well and truly up the duff. Which was a couple of months after Katie started showing with her pregnancy. Those two reacquainted with each other at the doctors’ surgery, becoming friends instead of rivals during their pregnancies. Then the Wayne that we know as ‘Duke’ popped out the chute, and the O’Sheas and Uncle Wayne meet up to wet the wean’s head without any ructions or blows between them. But, only five days later, ‘Wack!’ Katie’s little Fiat goes through a red traffic light and Wayne’s truck knocks Katie into the path of that cement mixer, the brown stuff hit the spinning thing and we are where we are today."

"And Uncle Wayne knew as soon as he saw the car that he’d hit Katie, she’d had that bright yellow Fiat from when the couple were engaged," Darragh says, "he pulled her out from the wreckage, knowing she had already passed, but he kept up CPR on her for 25 minutes until the ambulance arrived, just to keep the baby alive."

"Jenny mac!" Oisin says, blowing out his cheeks, "so O’Shea’s missus is killed by Wayne but needs to thank him for saving his only daughter?"

"Yay, a complete feck-up," Liam admits, "Brutal accident, fierce bad luck that was proven in the inquiry. The doctor at the inquest reckon she might’ve been distracted by a quare contraction or even trapped wind. Pregnant women aren’t the full shilling, that’s a fact ye’ll find out yourself one of these fine days."

"Look, he’s coming back," hisses Darragh as Wayne enters the door and heads to their table. His three friends bury their lips in their glasses to hide their guilty expressions. Oisin is the first to speak.

"Come on, Duke, drink up, yer bloody lightweight, yer a round behind," Oisin calls out to Wayne before pouring the balance of about a quarter pint down his throat.

"I’ve got a thirst on too, Bodge," as Wayne picks up his bottle of lager, "if we’re going out on the lash tonight I better switch to pints."

"Ah, you got the say so from your Oul Dear to get ossified this afternoon and tonight, then, did ya?" Darragh grins as he sets down his empty glass.

"Aye, it appears the lot of every woman in Ireland to keep a check on one fella or another, but I’m on a shorter leash than either of you two reprobates," Wayne grins, completely unaware that he’s been the subject of their discussion. "Let’s go look at the horses for Race 3 before we have another pint. But I’m staying in the background and watch, cos if Dee Dee catches me there I’ll be for it!"

Wayne does indeed watch from a distance, noticing Deidre immediately within the ring, in her largely purple and yellow silks, noting that her hair was buried completely under the enormous riding helmet, but imagines her dark hair would look outstanding against the silk. He can see how slight she looks against not just the horses, but the other jockeys too and is amazed at how she is able to compete with them.

Then he joins the other three in the grandstand to watch the race. It turns out an exciting finish as Sunarabia and another outsider in this Novice Hurdle race over three miles, Urban Turban, fight it out for third place.

Now that the four lads have bet something each way on Deidre’s mount, any rivalries over their Super Heinz choices made and placed yesterday are forgotten and all four are yelling like crazy for Sunarabia to win their little race within the race.

The favourite Greer and a well-backed grey named Ghost Bluster were well clear of the eighteen-horse field so first and second becomes a simple procession. Thus all eyes are either focussed on the next pair of horses battling it out pounding hoof by pounding hoof, or on the crazy antics of the four Irishmen urging on Sunarabia with calls like, "Come on, Sunarabia" or "Come on Dee Dee".

Until a wag nearby, in as clear as a bell cry heard above all the usual crowd noise, yells out, "C’m on, Dee Dee, ya wee Eireann beauty," which raises a cheer and a laugh from those the jolly Irish punters about him. As the laugh dies down, a punter declares, "That’s the only Irish-owned, Irish-trained horse in the top half of the field" and, before you know it, there were 20,000 punters in that grandstand yelling with all their hearts for Sunarabia or Dee-Dee and the race goes all the way to the wire.

And Wayne swears it was pure will power of the crowd, adding to the skill of his pixie rider and the love she had for the horse she had trained with and cared for, that carried Sunarabia over the line with a clear head in front to edge third place.

Wayne also swears that the cheer that went up for that precious third place was the loudest cheer of the afternoon so far.

The smiles from their proud countrymen, and those neutrals that love a good race, around them are honest and genuine as they made their way up the steps to move to the winners enclosure, the backs of each of the four of them heartily slapped in congratulations, with many calls of "Fair play, boyos" and the like.

Before they reach the exit, another cry goes up and is passed through the crowd to the four lads:

"Sunarabia finished in the placing at 125/1, yah jammy feckers!"

But it was all in grand good spirit.

At the Winners Enclosure, the winning horse and those placed in the race are dismounted and unsaddled, the jockeys collecting the saddle and make their way to the weighing room to check they still carry the required handicap weights.

Wayne waves at his heroine and she blesses him with a huge grin, her eyes sparkling in pleasure, but she can’t stop and talk. As she passes where Wayne watches, her father Donal O’Shea looms large behind her, and the exchange between the two young friends doesn’t escape O’Shea’s attention and he looks on Wayne with what he can only interpreted as pure hatred.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

6. FINISHING STRAIGHT

Wayne waits alone for Deidre at the parade ring gate well after the third race of the day, in which Deidre finished third, her first of two races today. His three friends have returned to the grandstand to watch the main event of the afternoon, the Cheltenham Gold Cup, a steeplechase over 3 miles and 2 furlongs. Wayne had earlier arranged to meet Deidre after she weighed in and changed after the race.

He spots her early as she approaches the gate. She has clearly changed out of her garish-coloured silks, freshly showered and dressed in smart but more muted coloured clothes, a woollen skirt around knee length, stockings or tights with short broad heels for walking comfort on grass and a quilted coat against the wind which still has some late-March winter chill in it, despite the brilliant sunshine.

He can see that Deidre is wearing a wide brimmed pale yellow straw hat on over her long dark, almost black, hair tied in a pony tail which swishes from side to side as she walks.

Soon, he sees her negotiate her way through the security checks on her side of the gate, showing her jockey pass which she would require to get back in, and emerges on Wayne’s side of the divide her eyes seeking him out.

She seems pleased to see him as her face breaks out into a beautiful smile as she approaches him. He walks towards her and meets her halfway.

They hug somewhat tentatively. Wayne with hesitation on his part, but as they release their hug, Deidre kisses him quickly on the cheek.

It is their first ever kiss and Wayne instantly colours up bright pink. Deidre notices, despite the tan that Wayne has acquired working outside even this early in the spring, his embarrassment so obvious. In response, she re-embraces him and looks him square in the eye.

“Your eyes are light grey-blue and smokey,” she says, “like an autumn mist.”

"And yours are as blue and sparkling as the Shannon on a grand day," he replies.

She focuses on one eye then the other for what seems to Wayne an age, stirring an agony of wants and despair all mixed up in feelings that he has suppressed for years, almost as long as they have known each other; he counts them in his head, fourteen years, if time included the last two years of physical and emotional separation.

As well as the deepening pink of his cheeks, he can feel the roots of his thick, slightly unruly hair bristle with the flush of oxygenated blood to his follicles and his body, muscle-hardened by two years of labour since leaving school, suddenly feels as weak as water.

"Wayne?" Deidre asks gently in a whisper that only he hears, as they continue to hold each other close, "you’re as scarlet as a fresh-boiled lobster. Does this mean that you have some ... remaining feelings for me? Cos if you have, well, you’ve never said anything before, have you, you bloody eejit?!"

"I, well, I spent all that time with you after school, awaiting your Dad … so sure, you must have known that I liked you more than a wee particle. We did have plans, once."

"Yes we did and I was too easily dissuaded from them, sorry. So, you do like me then, do you?"

"Of course, I followed you all the way to Cheltenham now, didn’t I?"

"You did," she states, then on her tip toes she presses her lips against his lips and tightens her grip on the poor man who is stiff as a board until he realises that this is unlike any ancient matriarch pressing her attentions on a poor defenceless wean, which would have been a vomit-fest. No, this is Dee Dee O’Shea kissing him and pressing her tongue against his unyielding lips insisting on being let in. And why would he resist except by reflex?

Wayne’s shoulders sag, as he relaxes, his arms lift and wrap around her, to embrace her in turn, and his lips part enough to allow her hot, wet inquisitive tongue to lick along his upper teeth before wheedling deeper, searching out his own tongue.

His eyes are closed as if he is entering a dream state. All his mind can do is register the thoughts that, ‘Dee Dee is kissing me. Me! She’s actually feckin’ kissing me, on the gob, on MY gob. Her grip is firm, her hard body pressed tight to me, yet her lips are soft, so soft.’

A groan passes between them, although neither of them is exactly sure who groaned, or was it both together?

Deidre’s tongue presses deeper and Wayne’s teeth close and nip the tip of her bold invader gently. They sigh together as Deidre reluctantly withdraws her tongue and lightly nips Wayne’s lower lip with her teeth before settling down on the balls of her feet and burrows her face in his deep broad chest. Now it is Deidre’s turn to go scarlet.

"I can’t believe that I’ve just eaten your face off, in front of all these people," she murmurs into Wayne’s deep chest, conscious that Wayne holds her close, gently rubbing her back, "I’ve wanted to do that for donkey’s years but ...."

"Hush, shush," Wayne says gently, imagining calming a child in need of comfort, his embarrassment gone, evaporated and replaced by a quiet calm of an acceptance of a change of state, a change for the better, much better. "Ma told me years ago that when I finally got to kiss you that I was to leave enough space between us for the Holy Spirit, until we married."

"Married, now is it?" Deidre mumbles into his chest.

"I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember but, as you so eloquently put it, I’ve been too much of an eejit to tell you how much before now."

"I always hoped you loved me, but couldn’t think why, I was the shortest, ugliest wee wean in the class, yet you took time to talk to me when no one else would, so I wasn’t lonely or picked on while waiting on my Da after school." She raises her head enough to look at Wayne’s face but still holds onto him, maintaining a cheek pressed against his chest. "I love you Wayne, I always have, always."

"I always had hopes you might. And as fer you being ugly, get away widge’yah, you dopey woman," Wayne smiles, "I just saw a few moments ago how you rode that horse, half a tonne of muscle and bone under you, and you coaxed him all the way in as his masterful mistress. It was a wonderful thing to see Dee Dee, I’m so impressed."

"Well, so’m I impressed," she says, wiggling the one eyebrow that was within his view, "judging by your reaction—"

"Oh! Ah! Sorry! About that, but, you know, it’s an automatic reaction in a full on cuddle situation. I hope ya not too freaked out."

"To be honest I’m not freaked out, not one bit," she grins at him, "I’m not complaining but does this reaction I’ve caused mean that we have to remain ... holding on to each other like this ... in close embrace, front to front, until maybe the sun goes down and it gets too dark for anyone to see?"

"No, I hope not, I mean, I’d love to but...."

"But as in but what?" she smiles up at him

"But, Dee Dee, darlin’, you have the last race at 5.10 and maybe other possible obligations to your Dad before then?"

"Da’s given me an hour and five minutes off, so I’ve no obligations at all to anyone else but us until I need to get ready to ride the last race."

"How’d you manage that? Your Oul Man hates me, doesn’t he?" Wayne’s voice strains in amazement.

"Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t, but Da loves me and knows that this meeting with you means something, actually everything, to me and he’s prepared to trust me and, it appears, trust you."

"A whole hour and five minutes," he looks at his watch over her shoulder, "is that from now or was it five minutes ago?"

"More like ten minutes ago, sorry."

"No need to be sorry, Dee Dee, you’re mine until half-past-four, so, what d’yer wanna do in that time?"

"Be with you. What were you going to do before I mucked up your plans?"

"Watch the races, enjoy the craic with my workmates, have a drink or two between races," Wayne says, "but now all I want to do is look at you."

"Well, that would be nice but I’d like to watch the races too. Tell us, what’d you pick for the Gold Cup?"

"Empire Striker, but it was a toss-up, I’m doing a Super Heinz each way and placed my bet online last night."

"Oh, shite, Wayne, Empire Striker’s a dud," Deidre says, "well, normally he’s a strong horse and another day he’d be a great pick, but he didn’t travel well and he looked completely off to me this morning. What was your second choice for the Gold Cup?"

"Dun Streak."

"He does look good today, better than Empire Striker. Each way? I guess he may still have a place chance, but as one of the favourites it won’t contribute much to your pot. How does this affect your Super Heinz?"

"Got two winners in the first two races and ... can’t remember my pick in the third," Wayne grins, "had some pushy pixie on the poor wee nag whipping him into finishing in one of the minor places."

Deidre punches him gently in the chest.

"Two winners and a place in the first three race? Jaysuus, that’s brilliant. What prices?"

"Well, I’ve definitely got me money back and Oisin, he’s the one with the calculator on his phone, reckons I’m 45 euros up, so I can’t lose now even if the rest all fall over and finish nowhere."

"Who’ve you got in the 17.10?"

"Ah, funny you should ask … it’s that pushy Dee Dee riding Deveroh."

Deidre squeals in delight, "Yes!” she says as she bangs her fist against his chest.

"Hey, this conversation has … well, er, all this serious talk has meant that we can move now," Wayne says, his face colouring up red again, "Let’s go catch the rest of the Gold Cup. Shall we?"

"Aye, Wayne, sweetheart.You can introduce me to your muckers."

***

They catch the finish of the race and sure enough, Empire Striker is pulled up, while Dun Streak goes on to give the winner a scare as it came in a close second. Wayne’s Super Heinz remains 45 euros up with 4 down and 3 races to go. Oisin has finally chalked up a winner but is still in last place in their little side bet; Darragh has a winner and one place; Liam two winners and Wayne still in the lead with two and one.

Deidre relaxes in the gentle banter with Wayne’s three friends and she thinks that they clearly respect Wayne as a worker and a person even though he is basically a labourer. Liam assures her that Wayne does have potential to be a skilled construction worker as he takes interest and care in everything he does and will do well if he takes the right college courses.

Meanwhile, Wayne’s friends are impressed by the diminutive beauty, with her pleasant outgoing personality and have already witnessed the control and empathy she has with her horses. And also very impressed with the genuine pleasure she displays by being with Wayne. And Wayne too has gone up in the estimation of his friends, the admiration that Deidre has for him as obvious as his devotion to her.

The fifth race is a hunters chase at 1610, a field of 21 runners over three miles and two furlongs. Wayne’s choice, Gold Standard hangs back in about fifth place, probably expecting to use his pace to outstrip the leading pack in the last quarter mile, but is balked on the rails and, by the time he gets around them to attack up the hill in the final furlongs, the five leading horses are too far ahead to catch. Liam’s horse gets a place so he ties with Wayne in their side bet for 40 euros.

Wayne doesn’t see the end of the race, other than on several of the big screens on view, as he walks Deidre back to the owner/trainer/jockey area. They kiss as they part.

“Don’t forget, Wayne,” she says, squeezing his broad shoulders, “Put something on Deveroh to win in the last race, even if it is only a tenner. I’ll be riding her hard all the way to the finish, for you.”

He has some Sterling banknotes and loose change on him, that he changed up from euros in the bank at home during the week and, knowing he was 45 euros up in the betting bag, so he approaches one of the course bookies with the intention of putting down 25 pounds each way on her horse. Then he thought about trusting Deidre, knowing she would ask later if he took up her tip, directly from the horse’s mouth, and, knowing he could never lie, he put the 50 pounds on to win and paid the tax up front.

Wayne feels emotionally flat in the time leading up to the sixth race. He’s with his fiends and they too, sense his quiet is because Deidre wasn’t by his side, so they keep the banter light and focuss their insults away from the obvious target.

After the race they go to the nearest bar, all drinking pints and Wayne paces his drinking to match theirs.

“I’ve put 50 quid on the nose in the last,” he admits after Liam gets the next round in between races.

“On your Dee Dee’s filly?” asks Liam as he sets down the tray.

“Aye, it’s currently 25 to 1,” Wayne nods, “If it comes in, that’s a five figure win bonus.”

“If Deveroh wins, you’ll get another bag of cash that’ll be halfway between five and six figures,” Oisin points out, “and if that’s Dee Dee’s tip, I’m havin’ some of that, so I will.”

“Aye, an’ me,” Darragh adds.

“Well, boyos,” Liam determines, “We’ll sup these up swift like and find an ‘Honest Pat’ and put our shirts on Dee Dee’s ride!”

There are only 12 runners for the short sixth race, a Mare’s Chase at 1650hrs over two miles and half-a-furlong. It’s a tight bunched field that approaches the finish and it was tricky picking out their chosen mounts at the run in, so they lustily shout out their own choices and are amazed that only Wayne’s horse, Globeshifta, finishes third and qualifying place, at 16/1 and is guaranteed a profit of 1190 euros on his Super Heinz.

Wayne now has two winners and two places in the six races, with one race remaining and Liam finding out his horse has scratched, the 40 euros are Wayne’s, none of the others can catch him. With a few jeers, that turn into cheers, Darragh, who has been holding the pot, hands the notes over to Wayne and tells him that for penance he pays for this next round.

“It’s my round next anyway,” Wayne points out.

“Oh no, yah bloody clown,” Darragh points out with a crooked grin, "That’s an extra round for winning, so it’s two rounds in a row fer yers.”

After a very swift round of pints, now all four are drinking the black stuff all round, the four amigos rush over to the Parade Ground again to check out Deveroh and to cheer on Deidre before she mounts her filly and makes her way to the start.

“There he is, isn’t that lovely filly a perfect sight for sore eyes?” Oisin says.

“Aye she is,” agrees Wayne, looking at his Dee Dee.

"Naw, yah goon," Oisin snaps back with a dig in Wayne’s ribs, "I’m talking about the chestnut mare that your Dee Dee’s ridin’. I’ve got me next holiday riding on her."

"Haven’t we all, boyo," Liam says, "my cash account is now as light as a feather, so I need a finish in the top three or my two grandkids miss out on both birthdays and Christmas this year … either that or I could put a down payment on a house for them so I could get back some peace and quiet at home!”

"C’mon over to the Grandstand and at least we’ll see the race in full," Darragh chips in.

At 1710 the 25 runners in the handicap hurdle are off over the nine hurdles on the course of just over two and a half miles. Wayne notices on one of the big screens that Deveroh starts out of the trap cleanly and settles in the pack about tenth. She clears the first three hurdles like a pro and the field starts to stretch out, with a leading pack of about five horses stretching away from the rest. Deveroh eases out of the following pack and begins to close the gap, so over hurdles four and five she jumps clear without any interference from other runners. Now, past halfway through the race, two-and-a-half minutes into it, there is a clear gap between the front six and the rest, with Deveroh starting to overtake the fifth and fourth place horses.

The four friends all have much riding on this last race and they start to verbally urge their horse on, jumping up and down as Deveroh clearly demonstrates she has the speed and stamina to take on the leading pack.

"Hey!" Yells out one punter with a Northern Irish accent, "Are yous the guys that was cheering on that Irish horse in the third race?"

"Aye," yells Liam back, "in this race it’s Deveroh, Irish owned, Irish bred, Irish trained, ridden by Dee Dee O’Shea, same stables, same rider, the jockey’s my man here’s better half. Look at her go, she’s only 19, this is only her second race, she’s cute as a button and she’s bossing that chestnut mare like a queen!"

The Irishman calls out to his friends gathered around him. The message spreads like wildfire across the seating and by the time Deveroh reaches the seventh hurdle she was in second place and the whole grandstand was yelling for Deveroh and Dee Dee!

A roar goes up as after the final hurdle Deveroh edges ahead of the lead horse and races towards the line, with the whole grandstand on its feet cheering on a rank outsider as if it had been the odds-on favourite all along.

Deveroh passes over the line with Deidre holding her whip hand aloft in triumph and twenty thousand hats are thrown in the air in the main stand, their cheers and whoops echoing over the course.

Wayne, Liam, Darragh and Oisin cling to one another, as they jump up and down, and tears are shed as their triumph sinks in.

"The best craic ever!" Liam announces. And they all repeat it, and that spreads through the grandstand too as every Irishman chants, "The best craic ever! The best craic ever!"

The announcement of the Race Winner, Deveroh, is announced over the tannoy at 25/1. Causing even more whoops.

"Eleven thousand, two hundred and twenty euros!" explodes Oisin, looking at his mobile phone.

"What’s that, Bodge?" Darragh asks.

"Duke’s Super Heinz, that’s his profit, over eleven thousand feckin’ euros!"

"And I’ve placed 50 pounds on the nose." Wayne admits.

"That’s fourteen hundred and fifty euros to add to the pot." Oisin calculates with his fingers flying over his phone keypad.

"I have two thousand euros on that horse a thousand each way, placed online." Liam confesses, "I’ve never done anything crazy like that before, it must’ve been the black stuff. And I thought that Wayne sounded so certain that Dee Dee’s horse would do so well, and what with the drink, I got carried away and put all of my holiday money on it."

"That’s thirty grand, Gaffer," Oisin calculates, "Jaysus, you’re feckin’ rich!"

"Come on, let’s do to the unsaddling and watch Dee Dee go into the weighing room," Wayne says, putting away his own mobile phone, "I want to congratulate her as soon as possible."

They make their way to the grandstand exit, again accompanied by plenty of back-slapping from the Irish contingent.

"Look, Wayne, before you go to meet Deidre, I think there’s something that you need to know that er, might effect the relationship between you, Dee Dee and especially her oul man."

"I know, her Dad hates me, he always has done since we were weans and learned that his daughter and me were friends, but we’ll get past that."

"It’s probably because he blames you for your uncle, especially as he shares the same name as you," Liam adds, "when she hears the truth about your uncle, Wayne, your Deidre may hate you too when she finds out."

"Oh, you mean about Uncle Wayne accidentally killing Dee Dee’s Ma?"

"Shiiiite! Yah know about that then, Wayne?"

"Aye, of course we know, Gaffer. We were at school together for donkey’s years, with access to the school library and the internet. Dee Dee even wrote essays on the subject and when we were about 15 or so we had a whole school lesson about bereavement and Dee Dee read out some great extracts from her essay. She got a gold star."

"But what about her father hating you?"

"Oh he hates me because he thinks I want to take her away from him, which of course I do want to in the long run. We sort of planned to be together in Dublin, you know? Her first year in dorms in Trinnys, with me labouring at home with Tooley’s, then in her second year I’d move to Dublin to join a construction firm with a year’s experience under me belt and we’d rent a flat with her Da’s help. But he persuaded her to miss our graduation, then I saw her out with another boy, a chinless rich fecker, and, although we were still texting each other as friends, neither of us being honest in expressing our feelings, hopes and fears … so our friendship sorta cooled, with each of us afraid to open up our hearts and I stayed on in Portumna this last year instead of joining her. Then I saw in the paper that she went to Cheltenham last year with her father during that window in the Covid lockdown and I knew she’d go back again this year because training horses was always her passion. So then I organised this trip."

"Phew!" Darragh puffs out his cheeks, "We were so worried about yah Duke that we had to elect the Gaffer to speak to you. So what happens now?"

"Well, I’ve enough in the kitty for a ring, a modest wedding and that vibration on my phone means she’s weighed in and getting changed and has replied to my text message."

Wayne fishes in his pocket for his mobile and checks the screen.

"Okay, Duke, yah daft oul romantic," Oisin asks, "what message did you text her and what has she replied?"

"I sent ‘Congrats. ❤️ U on way to bend knee. Please?’"

"And her response?" Liam asks.

Grinning, Wayne shows his phone, displaying "Yes!"

Wayne high-fives his friends, "This was the best craic ever!"

The end (or is that a new beginning?)