You win some

The County Stand at York Racecourse, The Ebor Meeting on a beautiful August day.

            ‘It can’t get much better than this,’ Bill said, squeezing his wife’s hand as he led her past the champagne pavilion. He stopped to survey the lawn for a table, and she glanced behind at Kev, Jackie, George, and Sue. Sue waved, knocking her huge Peacock Fascinator.

            He tugged Jen’s arm. ‘Look, there’s a free one for six.’ She stumbled as he set his path, like a pilot coming into land, nose down the runway. Those new suit trousers, already looking a bit baggy, flapped around his legs; the legs she’d loved for twenty-five years; supporting the man who was her rock. He was puffing and panting when she reached him, sweat dripping off his forehead straight onto that expensive new shirt.

            ‘Come here, let me sort you before the others arrive,’ she said, whipping out tissues. She patted his brow, urging him to sit down and stop fiddling with his wallet.

            ‘Want to get us a couple of bottles of bubbly. Start the day off right. Celebrate our Golden Wedding,’ he said, trying to kiss her as she straightened his tie. He waved the bank card around and, for a moment, she had a vision that someone would pluck it from his stubby fingers, run off with it, and ruin the day. The thought made her feel sick. Bill had been looking forward to today. Kev appeared, like a burly minder with his mountain of belly hanging over that massive leather belt.

            ‘Kev, Kev, just the man. Take this,’ said Bill, pushing the card into his shirt. ‘Two bottles of champers and six glasses. My treat.’

            ‘If you insist, mate. Thanks,’ he said, giving Bill an affectionate tap before disappearing to the bar.

            Bill and George busied themselves with the serious business of race cards, pens, and betting slips. Jen studied the deepening colour on Bill’s head and reached for the sun cream.

Over in the distance, she could see the course, shining lusciously in the sunshine. Nearer, racegoers, milled around the bookies, heads upturned, checking starting prices, hoping for a win. The clip-clop of hooves caught her attention, and her heart lurched at the magnificent animals awaiting their compact, powerful jockeys. She shivered, recalling the screens around that poor horse at the last meeting. They couldn’t all be winners.

            ‘I fancy Flying North for the first race,’ said George. ‘It’s got good form, due for a win.’

            ‘I expect you’ll be flying south soon,’ said Jackie, peering at Jen over those purple glasses, trying to pull her dress over ample thighs.

            Jen looked across at Bill, too immersed in the racing page to have heard. ‘We’ve not planned anything. Just letting it settle in,’ she said, grateful to see Kev returning.

            He shared out the first bottle. ‘A toast, to my old mucker……’ A wink for Jen. ‘……And his lovely missis, who deserve every penny of their recent good fortune. Pleased for you pal, seriously,’ he said, clapping Bill on the back.

            ‘How much was it, again, the win?’ asked Jackie, sidling up to Bill in a way that made Jen want to knock that little box hat off her over-coloured hair.

            ‘Enough to pay for today and take us all out for a meal later,’ he said, beetroot face beaming as he caught Jen’s worried look. ‘And some,’ he whispered, nuzzling her ear, before she pushed him away. ‘Well, I’m with George. I’ll stick a hundred quid on Flying North for us all, and, if it comes in first we’ll share the winnings? To thank you all for coming.’

            Jen caught the wide-eyed expressions from Sue and Jackie and fanned the heat off her face, as Bill shoved five twenty-pound notes into George’s palm.

            The girls decided to stay at the table. There was a viewing screen at the side, and Sue produced a Tupperware box of sausage rolls. Bill heaved his frame out of the chair, rested his hand on Kev’s shoulder, and toddled off with his mates to find a viewing spot.

            ‘Did you make these? They’re delicious, Sue,’ said Jackie, crumbs of flaky pastry falling into that unforgiving cleavage.

            Jen watched as Jackie’s scarlet nails poked around to find every last bit, all the time trying to fight off the image of someone else rummaging amongst that flesh, what ten years or so ago now? It’s long gone, Jen, and he promised. She wondered how Jackie might feel now, had things turned out differently.

            ‘Don’t be so daft. Course I didn’t. They’re from the village bakery. George loves their pies,’ Sue said. Her hat sat on George’s chair, like an extra guest. ‘Oh, look, they’re getting the horses ready to start.’

            Jackie topped up everyone’s glass, and they turned to watch the screen. ‘That’s Flying North in the bright yellow,’ she said.

            Jen’s thoughts turned to Bill’s mustard trousers. It had taken all her negotiating skills to persuade him that they were too loud for today, plus they’d show every speck of dirt. Those weren’t the real reasons, but she couldn’t bear to see more sadness in those glassy pale eyes.

            ‘They’re off,’ Jackie shouted, whipping off her hat. Flying North stormed it from the start, winning by two lengths, and the men soon returned, George and Kev flanking Bill, who looked happy and more like his old self than Jen had seen in weeks.

            ‘Yes!’ shouted Kev, as he performed a celebratory dance.

            Bill sank into the seat next to Jen. ‘Give me a minute, lads,’ he said. ‘I’ll replenish those empty bottles.’

            He was a proud man, started as an apprentice with British Telecom almost forty years ago, and worked his way up into management. Retirement was on the horizon, but after recent events, that prospect no longer occupied his thoughts. He chuckled seeing the empty upturned bottles in the champagne bucket. It looked like the women had done plenty of celebrating already. Jen, his Jen, with that Cleopatra hair, looked as though her crown was the only one left. She was, and always would be, his queen. The one who stood by him at all times, and the one who had encouraged him to splurge some winnings on today. He’d not always been the best husband, but here they were, still going strong, twenty-five years in. He caught her eye as she turned, smiley creases telling him that everything was fine.

            ‘Pass that card over, Bill. I’ll go and fetch us another couple of bottles,’ she said, smoothing down his comb-over.

            ‘Hey, it’s my turn,’ said Kev, ‘and I fancy a pint.’

            Bill flashed his card. ‘Take this, both of you. Get what everyone wants. My treat day,’ he said, throwing Jen a few air kisses. He watched them stroll together across the lawn, Kev touching and admiring her hat; Jen play-pushing his hairy arm. She described him as a big, teddy bear, so innocent and trusting. He worshipped Jackie and Bill.

            George, reading glasses slipping down that hawk nose, recommended Fisher’s tale, and with Sue in tow for company, took Bill’s betting money in search of favourable odds.

            Bill shuffled in his seat, conscious of Jackie’s lips, and eyes giving a hint of that Come to bed look which had briefly captured him all those years ago.

            ‘Alone once more,’ she drawled, edging nearer. ‘You always were a generous man. With everything.’ Her eyes tore at his, demanding of a reaction, some indication that there was still a glimmer of attraction on his part.

            Her hand was on his knee, steadying its bounce. He felt coolness seep into his skin. His breath came in short spurts as he reached for a sausage roll, praying for someone to return. ‘Sorry, Jackie. Sorry,’ he murmured, shaking his head.

            Her chair scraped the grass, her rings clinked on the metal table, and he breathed a sigh of relief as tears of remorse pricked.

            ‘You’re a good man, Bill. I always knew, underneath. Good luck to you and Jen with the win.’

            He smiled, but the pinch in her expression spoke volumes. Pastry stuck to his palate. He couldn’t have been happier to see Kev and Jen, with the drinks.

            Two hours later they were enjoying a singsong with the band. George plonked a tray of meat pies on the table, and Bill felt like a King. He swiped hold of Jen’s new hat. ‘On Ilkley Moor,’ he shouted, standing to grab the attention of the surrounding tables. The band obliged and he led the singing, regardless of how hot and wet his head was feeling, and how aware he was of Jen’s voice, and hands, urging him to sit back down. This was his moment. He noticed a flash of relief in Jen’s eyes when he finally took a bow, sat, and squeezed her arm.

            ‘You, daft old devil,’ she said, snatching back her hat.

            ‘Right, last race, last chance to win, said Bill, squeezing her knee.

            ‘It might be for some of us, not for you two though,’ said Jackie, hiding her face behind the race card.

            Bill felt Jen’s stare, saw the emotion in her eyes, and kissed her full on the lips, placing a finger over their ruby redness. ‘Soon,’ he said.

            ‘Looking for Gold, that’s my choice,’ said George, circling the name with his pen. ‘Bill and Jen’s Golden Wedding, and we’re having a Golden day. That’ll do me.’

            Jen shared out the last of the fizz, and they settled back to watch the race on the screen, Bill glancing down at his tired, swollen feet, pouring over the edge of his new shoes. Looking for Gold came up trumps, and Kev was dispatched for the final bottle of champagne. ‘Make it a good one,’ Bill shouted. ‘I’ve an announcement to make.’

            Bill and Jen huddled close. ‘You sure?’ she said, her eyes flickering over his, desperate to give him an opportunity to change his mind.

            The too-familiar awareness of a catch of something in his throat caused him to cough and turn away, allowing him to give his eyes a quick wipe, painfully aware of the anxiety in her voice. ‘Yes. I’m sure.’

            She stroked his face with her fingertips, drawing a heart from his forehead, over his cheeks, onto his chin. Their sign. God, how she loved him. What a great life they’d had, despite that little blip. He told her that he should have bought a sports car instead, just like George did.

            The crowds were starting to disperse, and Bill scanned the abundance of food containers, newspapers, racecards, plastic glasses, and betting slips, forming mini hills in the slight breeze. Jen wasn’t keen on his idea at first, but she’d come around. He looked at the faces of his friends, full of anticipation and joy as they chatted, flutes in their hands, ink on their fingers, warmth on their brows. Whatever did they think he was going to announce? Another expected grandchild? A house. A holiday with the winnings?  The tables nearby were empty. The band members were packing away their instruments. The chatter stopped. Jen took his hand and nodded, pulling in her lips, and giving a smile of encouragement.

            He tapped the empty bottle on the table. ‘Friends. Jen and I received two unexpected Golden Wedding presents. The first was an enormous lottery win, which I can reveal now….’ He looked to secure Jen’s agreement again. ‘…..Which I can reveal now, was…’ He noted, with delight, the four open mouths. ‘…Eight million pounds!’

            Jen and Bill held hands for a moment, filling the course with their beaming faces as the band members’ and bar staff’s faces shot up, searching for the source of whoops and squeals. Kev and George were in danger of shaking Bill’s arm off, and Jen recoiled at the intensity of perfume, and aftershave so close to her nose. It felt like an age until the friends took their seats again, perhaps realising, by Bill’s seated thumb twirling, that there was more to come.

            Jen saw by the strain on his face, and the twitch of that vein at the side of his brow that he was unable to announce the next bit. ‘I’ll tell them,’ she said, rubbing her fingers along the back of his neck. They were waiting, unsure what to expect if their guarded smiles were anything to go by.

            ‘What is it?’ asked Jackie, with a look that made Jen finally draw a line through the past.

            ‘The thing is……the thing is,’ she said, feeling her heart pound, hearing Bill’s breathing stutter. ‘Bill’s seriously ill. Terminal.’ It felt like everything on the course closed down. All of the punters disappeared, the racehorses in their boxes, vanished down the motorway. All that remained was a tumbleweed breeze, turning the scorching day into an uncomfortable evening, hurtling onward to darkness.

            Jackie and Sue cried black, mascara tears. Jackie wailed, receiving a hug from Sue, who glanced, for a second, at Jen, mouth open, face stricken with shock.

            Kev retrieved a pack of cigarettes and walked off, leaving a trail of smoke behind, returning only a minute later, face like a ghost as he placed an arm around Bill, leaving Jackie in Sue’s embrace.

            George looked like he’d turned to stone, face towards the ground, moving only as Jen spoke. ‘We got the news last week. Same day as……..well, you know.’ She was in a vacuum. ‘We’ve no use for all that money. Some for the kids. Enough. But…’ Her body wouldn’t move. Her mouth would close down if she didn’t finish. ‘…..Bill…..and I…..want to give you a million pounds each.’