Nothing to Lose (48 page)

There was then a brief interlude of stirringly suitable dog music – Peg had managed to fish out an obscure copy of Doris singing ‘How Much is That Doggy in the Window?’ to fit in with this, and the crowd were raucously joining in on the chorus.

The greyhounds then appeared, one at a time, each led out, not by a regular handler in a kennel coat, but by a very pretty Frobisher promotions girl in shorts and boots and a skin-tight T-shirt. As the weather was so bitter, they got an extra cheer for sheer guts, and almost as much camera coverage as Brittany.

Jasmine had already chalked up the names, and pressed up against Seb on the pallets to watch as each one appeared: Foxy Flo, Clyde the Spider, Luton Lennox, Cair Paravel, Emily’s Gem, and Ruby Slippers.

‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’ Jasmine craned her neck. ‘And I’m sure we’ve had at least one of them running here before. Cair Paravel sounds familiar.’

‘I’m surprised you can remember with all the dogs that you write up each week.’

‘You always remember the strangers. We get the same dogs so often. I’m sure there was something about Cair Paravel . . . something Ewan told me. Oh, well – it’ll come back. God, I wouldn’t want to be their owners. They must be dying with nerves.’

Gilbert had started naming the owners and trainers. Jasmine, who tried to listen to the information on Cair Paravel’s connections, was interrupted by Bunny.

‘Jasmine! Guess what? We got the dog what wears clothes in this one!’

Jasmine watched him as he scampered back to the responsibilities of the hare, and wondered if someone had inadvertently upped his medication. Still, there was no time to dwell on it as the crowds, waving tens and twenties above their heads, had surged forward again, and were pressing against the joint, twelve deep. Jasmine, working faster than she ever had before, was still finding it difficult to keep up, and even with Seb and Muriel employed in tandem, she was sure she was losing bets to the Ladbroke’s six-strong team.

The prices were changing all the time, but Ruby Slippers, the winner of the Walthamstow heat, was definitely favourite. The other five dogs were much of a muchness, and Jasmine, one eye constantly on the other boards, rubbed and chalked like fury.

They were going behind the traps now and the cold night air seemed to crackle and fizz with tension. Peg, the wig slightly askew, was in the centre of the course on the new illuminated presentation podium with Brittany and several television reporters, and Jasmine smiled. This was her dream: hers and Benny’s. They were so lucky. So few people had dreams that really came true. Tomorrow she’d go to the graveyard and tell Benny every bit about it. Tonight, though, she was pretty sure he knew.

‘All in!’ Gilbert yelled. ‘All bets done! Ladies and gentlemen – it’s the Frobisher Platinum Greyhound Trophy!’

The screams seemed to rise and linger. Jasmine felt the hairs prickle on the back of her neck. Bunny released the hare, which to Jasmine’s eye, looked a little more bulky than usual as it zoomed past in a blur, then the traps sprang back and the greyhounds streaked out.

Sebastian found her hand in the folds of the waxed jacket and clung on to her fingers. ‘This is un-bloody-believable.’

She squeezed his fingers back, unable to speak.

The action was fast and furious as, with nothing to choose between them, the greyhounds sliced through the solid wall of sound. Neck and neck, they hurtled up the straight, with possibly the striped jacket of Ruby Slippers fractionally in the lead. The crowds were screaming with no words. Every name had merged into every other name, and as the sand Hew under the chasing feet, it looked as if the dogs were simply skimming the ground.

The colours collided, the blue jacket was a whisker ahead, then the black, then the orange and the red. No, the stripes were taking it on the far side. Ruby Slippers had the advantage. One stride. Two. Then the black jacket was up alongside again, stride for stride, leaning against each other coming round the final bend. There was still nothing in it. The crowds were manic in their encouragement.

‘Ruby Slippers,’ Jasmine muttered through clenched teeth, still holding Seb’s hand. ‘It’s going to be the six dog!’

‘No it isn’t – look at the black jacket!’

Almost in slow motion, the stripy jacket and the black jacket clashed and collided, as the long powerful legs punched at the ground. The four dog was a nostril ahead now. And gaining . . .

The stadium exploded as the dogs streaked over the winning line.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Gilbert’s voice, cracking slightly, broke through the mayhem. ‘The winner of the Frobisher Platinum Trophy is dog number four! Cair Paravel!’

Fireworks, like huge bottles of shaken champagne, were gushing in silver brilliance across the sky, the Tannoy was playing ‘Congratulations’ at a deadly level, and the noise from the crowd was indescribable.

‘Christ,’ Seb said, as the hordes started to descend towards the bookies’ pitches. ‘Can we afford to pay them out?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Jasmine was buzzing. ‘I took most money on Ruby Slippers and Luton Lennox. This is quite a result for us. Let’s hope we get ’em paid out in time to watch the presentation.’

They did, just. The media were pushing themselves forward, as Brittany, minus her hat, said her piece. Everyone stopped dancing for long enough to applaud and cheer. Jasmine, with most of the other stadium stalwarts on the edge of the throng, and still holding Sebastian’s hand, wondered just why Ewan was on the podium. He was whispering something to Brittany, making her laugh delightedly, and then they both grinned down at the exceptionally pretty girl in the short blue woollen dress who was climbing on to the podium to receive the massive Platinum Trophy and the even more massive cheque.

‘Look at those shoes!’ Clara, who had joined them, groaned greedily. ‘Manolo Blahniks! They must have cost the earth.’

‘She’ll be able to afford a lot more now,’ Seb said. ‘After all – Jesus! It’s April!’

‘April who?’ Jasmine squinted towards the podium. ‘Christ! She’s the waitress from the New Year’s Eve party!’

‘It gives me the greatest pleasure in the world,’ Brittany was saying, draping a sash over a bouncing Cair Paravel, ‘to present this, the first Frobisher Platinum Trophy, to Cair Paravel – and his owners and trainers – April Padgett and Jix Bellamy.’

‘Not what it says on the race card,’ Gorf muttered. ‘Says he’s owned by Beatrice-Eugenie someone or other and trained by some Hungarian bloke.’

‘Beatrice-Eugenie?’ Seb was frowning. ‘Beatrice-Eugenie? God Almighty! What a scam! Clever buggers – oh, and no one deserves this more. They fooled me, and what’s more they’ve fooled everyone else. God, my parents will crucify them when they get back to Bixford.’

‘What the hell is going on?’ Jasmine asked. ‘Is this illegal or something?’

As Jix joined April on the podium and they all shook hands and kissed everyone, Sebastian sketched the outline of the story for Jasmine’s benefit. She beamed with delight. What a fairy tale! The press would have a field day bonanza with this one.

‘. . . And,’ Brittany was saying, ‘we at Frobisher’s are so delighted with the resounding success tonight that we’re pleased to announce that the Frobisher Platinum Trophy will be held here, as an annual event, on Valentine’s Day, for at least the next five years!’

More whoops and screams and cheers from the crowd. Jasmine clapped her hands with total joy. The Benny Clegg Stadium was well and truly established.

The party in Peg’s office was still pumping. Sebastian had introduced Jasmine to April and Jix, who were far more than just joint owners if the way they couldn’t keep their hands off one another was anything to go by. Cair Paravel was sitting proudly in a corner, still wearing his sash, gnawing on a T-bone steak and grinning.

Ewan and Brittany gave everyone some very garbled accounts of Cair Paravel having been snatched and rescued just in time – none of which made sense to Jasmine – and Peg had removed her wig for the first time in living memory and was dancing with Rod Frobisher to ‘I’ll See You in My Dreams’.

Jasmine, remembering now that Cair Paravel had been the dog who chased the headscarf, had hugged April and Jix and said that no one would ever believe their story.

‘Mum and Dad certainly won’t,’ Seb said. ‘They’ll have purple fits when you go back to Bixford.’

‘We’re not going back,’ Jix said happily. ‘We’ve rented a cottage up on the cliff top and we’re staying here in Ampney Crucis and being a family. With Mum and Bee and Cairey, of course.’

‘And with the winnings money,’ April’s eyes were huge, ‘I’m going to be able to stay at home and be a proper mum to Bee and everything.’

Seb grinned hugely at Jix. ‘Amazing. I’m so happy for you. And, of course, if you’re looking for a job, then Jasmine will be able to find you something here, I’m sure. I’ll give you the best references in the world.’

It was all very emotional. Clara had taken April to one side and they were enthusing about shoes, Brittany was shaking everyone’s hands, and the piles of empty champagne bottles were growing by the minute. Jasmine, who had been trying to piece things together, and getting more and more confused, was simply delighted that everyone was happy.

‘So,’ Seb was saying to Jix, ‘it was April’s ex who had Cair Paravel nicked, was it? So it must have been him who informed me about her subletting and having a dog and baby in the flat . . . Bastard.’

Jix shook his head. ‘No, that was me, I’m afraid. I’ve explained it to April now. It was a mad thing to do, and I’m desperately sorry to have caused April such grief: I felt terrible once I’d done it. I shouldn’t have interfered. I never have before – but I was off my head over how Noah was destroying her and how she wouldn’t do anything about it. So I thought if you were informed, you would turn nasty and throw her out, and I could come to her rescue . . .’

‘And it all backfired because I believed her story!’ Seb grinned. ‘Actually, I didn’t, but there was no way I’d ever have chucked her out on the streets. Sorry, mate. Still, things always have a way of working out, and you must love her very much.’

‘More than anything in the world,’ Jix said. ‘April has forgiven me and now we’re all away from Bixford, we can see each other the whole time, can’t we? Life is going to be just so cool.’

Jasmine, still beaming, drifted away to talk to Roger and Allan, who had obviously made massive profits too, and were talking of taking on extra writers-up. By the time she’d returned to the main bunch of party goers, Sebastian had gone. So had Brittany.

Instantly deflated, Jasmine was swamped with tiredness. She’d known he’d go, of course, but she’d expected him to say goodbye. Maybe he’d thought it was less painful like this – just to slip away. Less painful for him, maybe – totally devastating for her. Bloody men, they were all the same. Selfish . . .

As the party looked like frolicking on into the small hours, Jasmine made her goodbyes, and stepped out into the icy night. Celebrations were still roaring in the stadium and, skirting the revelry, Jasmine headed for the cliff path.

The beach hut was her salvation. Everything that had rocked her life – Benny’s death, her parents’ separation, Andrew’s treachery – all of it had seemed less painful here. She had a feeling that loving and losing Sebastian might just take a bit more than a jumble of furniture and a fridge full of beer. She climbed wearily on to the veranda.

‘What kept you?’ Sebastian emerged from the canvas chair in the darkness. ‘I’m freezing.’

Jasmine, delighted to see him, but knowing that this was goodbye, unlocked the door. ‘I thought you and Brittany had already gone.’

‘Brittany has. I haven’t.’

‘Yet.’ She switched on the lights and lit the heater. The night was raspingly cold.

Sebastian leaned against the chiffonier. ‘I need a job.’

Peeling off her waxed jacket, Jasmine sighed. ‘You’ve got a job, Seb. With Frobisher’s.’

‘I’ve just resigned. It seems to be getting a habit.’ He smiled at her. ‘So, I’m now homeless and jobless. Any chance of a beer?’

Jasmine reached into the fridge and dragged out two bottles of Old Ampney. Her hands shook as she flipped off the tops. ‘You mean you’re not going? You’re staying? Here?’

‘Yes. Yes. Yes. Thanks.’ Seb took the beer and raised the bottle. ‘Oh, and happy Valentine’s Day.’ He handed her a white box. ‘Actually, they might be a bit squashed.’ Jasmine opened the lid. The box contained three heart-shaped doughnuts. Each one had a word scrawled in scarlet icing. Together they read ‘Seb Loves Jas’.

‘There wasn’t room for the full names, but I do, you see.’ He looked anxiously at her. ‘Love you. So much. I just wasn’t sure . . . Oh, wow!’

With a gurgle of delight, Jasmine threw herself into his arms. He kissed her with a passionate urgency that equalled her own. The Old Ampney spilled across them both.

‘Don’t worry,’ Seb muttered, ‘we can lick it off later . . .’

Later, much later, curled naked in his arms beneath the poppies and daises, Jasmine growled with sheer contentment. ‘It’s going to be a bit cramped living in here.’

‘It’s going to be bliss.’ Seb kissed her gently. ‘And, anyway, I can’t move out yet; you’ve only counted a tenth of my freckles . . . Now where are you going?’

Jasmine had scrambled out of bed and padded to the window. ‘I knew it! It sounds different! Look, Seb – it’s snowing. ’

He stood behind her, circling her with his arms, and they watched the snow, black flakes against the dark sky, turning white as they fell, dissolving into the sea.

‘Perfect timing,’ Sebastian whispered. ‘Now I know I’ve come home.’

Jasmine twisted away from him and dived back into bed. ‘Quick – it’s freezing! Leave the curtains open so we can watch the snow. What are you laughing at?’

‘Nothing.’ Sebastian snuggled up beside her again. ‘I was just wondering if I should telephone my mother and tell her that I’ve just spent the last three hours, and will be spending the rest of my life, making love to Benny Clegg – the Punters’ Friend . . .’