Longshot полностью

‘The paint’s nearly finished.’ He held it up to show me and the jar slipped out of his hand, rolling the remains of its contents onto the earth. ‘Hey, sorry,’ he said. ‘But there wasn’t much left.’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ I picked up the jar which was slippery on the outside from dripped paint and, screwing its lid on, dropped it with the brush into a plastic bag before stowing it again in my pouch.

‘Can we get some more?’ Coconut asked.

‘Sure. No problem. Ready to go home?’

The boys, both pumped up by their achievement, ran and jumped all along the road to the Land Rover that we found round the next bend, and rode back in euphoric good spirits.

‘Terrific,’ Gareth told Tremayne, bursting into the family room after we’d dropped Coconut and returned to Shellerton. ‘Fantastic.’

Whether they wanted to or not, Tremayne, Mackie and Perkin received a minute-by-minute account of the whole day with the sole exception of the discussion about Angela Brickell. Tremayne listened with veiled approval, Mackie with active interest, Perkin with boredom.

‘It’s a real wilderness,’ Gareth said. ‘You can’t hear anything. And I took lashings of photos—’ He stopped, suddenly frowning. ‘Hold on a minute.’

He sped out of the room and came back with his blue knapsack, searching the contents worriedly.

‘My camera’s not here!’

‘The one I gave you for Christmas?’ Tremayne asked, not over-pleased.

‘Perhaps Coconut’s got it,’ Perkin suggested languidly.

‘Thanks.’ Gareth leaped to the telephone in hopes that were all too soon dashed. ‘He says he didn’t see it after lunchtime.’ He looked horrified. ‘We’ll have to go back at once.’

‘No, you certainly won’t,’ Tremayne said positively. ‘It sounds a long way and it’ll be getting dark soon.’

‘But it’s luminous paint,’ Gareth begged. ‘That’s the whole point, you can see it in the dark.’

‘No,’ said his father.

Gareth turned to me. ‘Can’t we go back?’

I shook my head. ‘Your father’s right. We could get lost in those woods at night, paint or no paint. You’ve only got to miss one mark and you’d be out there till morning.’

‘You wouldn’t get lost.’

‘I might,’ I said. ‘We’re not going.’

‘Did you drop it on the path back?’ Mackie asked sympathetically.

‘No...’ He thought about it. ‘I must have left it where we had lunch. I hung it on a branch to keep it from getting damp. I just forgot it.’

He was upset enough for me to say, ‘I’ll get it tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Will you?’ Disaster swung back to hope. ‘Oh, great.’

Tremayne said doubtfully, ‘Will you find one little camera hanging in all those square miles of nothing?’

‘Of course he will,’ Gareth told him confidently. ‘I told you, we left a trail. And oh!’ He thought of something. ‘Isn’t it lucky I dropped all the paint, because now you can see where the trail starts, because we didn’t paint any trees once we could see the road.’

‘Do explain,’ Mackie said.

Gareth explained.

‘Will you really find the trail?’ Mackie asked me, shaking her head.

‘As long as someone hasn’t parked on the patch of paint and taken it all away on their tyres.’

‘Oh, no,’ Gareth said, anguished.

‘Don’t worry,’ I told him. ‘I’ll find your camera if it’s still in the clearing.’

‘It is. I’m sure. I remember hanging it up.’

‘All right then,’ Tremayne said. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

‘Grub?’ Gareth asked hopefully. ‘Pizza?’

On Monday morning, first lot, I was back on Drifter.

‘He’s entered in a race at Worcester the day after tomorrow,’ Tremayne said, as we walked out to the yard at seven in the half-dawn. ‘Today’s his last training gallop before that, so don’t fall off again. The vet’s been here already this morning to test his blood.’

Tremayne’s vet took small blood samples of all the stable’s runners prior to their last training gallop before they raced, the resulting detailed analysis being able to reveal a whole host of things from a raised lymphocyte count to excreted enzymes due to muscle damage. If there were too many contra-indications in the blood the vet would advise Tremayne that the horse was unlikely to run well or win. Tremayne said the process saved the owners from wasting money on fruitless horsebox expenses and jockey fees and also saved himself a lot of inexplicable and worrying disappointments.

‘Are you going to Worcester yourself?’ I asked.

‘Probably. Might send Mackie. Why?’

‘Er... I wondered if I could go to see Drifter race.’

He turned his head to stare at me as if he couldn’t at once comprehend my interest, but then, understanding, said of course I could go if I wanted to.

‘Thanks.’

‘You can gallop Fringe this morning, second lot.’

‘Thanks again.’

‘And thanks to you for giving Gareth such a good day yesterday.’

‘I enjoyed it.’

We reached the yard and stood watching the last preparations as usual.

‘That’s a good camera,’ Tremayne said regretfully. ‘Stupid boy.’

‘I’ll get it back.’

‘Along his precious trail?’ He was doubtful.

‘Maybe. But I had a map and a compass with me yesterday. I know pretty well where we went.’