Jilly Cooper - Riders

The fact that Jake was so near, yet still hadn’t contacted Tory, was for Dino the final straw. He saw how Tory was being crucified. He was all for driving over to Gloucester and beating the hell out of Jake, but Fen managed to restrain him.

“You can’t make him come back if he doesn’t want to. Tory would hate that more than anything.”

Once back in England, when he wasn’t dodging the press, Jake made heroic efforts to get work, but found every door shut. There was no point in ringing Garfield Boyson, as he hadn’t kept his nose clean, but he rang all the other sponsors who’d been pursuing him before the Games. They all gave him an earful or hung up. He buried his pride and applied for jobs running riding schools or working as a stud groom. A few people saw him out of curiosity before rejecting him. No one wanted a fallen idol.

Horse and Hound had announced that the inquiry into his defection at the Olympic Games would be held at the BSJA headquarters in November. Jake was expected to turn up and defend himself. If he didn’t, the general consensus of opinion was that he’d be suspended for at least ten years, if not for life.

Jake could have handled all that if he and Helen had been happy. But, as the days passed, he began to realize the full extent of her neurosis and egoism. Even if he did get a job, her insecurity was such that she couldn’t bear him out of her sight for an instant.

Before the Games, all they had really talked about was their love for one another and The Situation. Like a prisoner of war, Helen had dreamed of escape; now, having escaped, she found she was living in some bleak gray Eastern European zone. By running off, she and Jake had deprived themselves of everything except each other. Claustrophobically thrown on their own resources, they found they had nothing in common.

Helen longed for her beautiful house and garden, her children, particularly Marcus, her checkbook, and her status as Rupert’s wife. Rupert blocked her application to see the children, so she would have to go to court and, as they had no money, that would mean applying for legal aid.

Horses had been Jake’s life. Deprived of them, he was like a junkie without a fix. He missed the Mill House, the children, Wolf, but most of all he found he missed Tory. And yet some strange pride stopped him getting in touch. He was convinced they were all managing perfectly without him. It would look as though he was slinking back only because he’d run out of money and couldn’t cope. He also realized the enormity of his crime towards her and towards his country and was too ashamed to show his face. Above all, he’d given Helen the handkerchief; he must stick by the rules.

He never blamed her once for forcing his hand, but he retreated inside himself. Knowing he was miserable, she became obsessively jealous of Tory, the good wife, who never made a fuss. Why the hell couldn’t Jake bitch about her occasionally? But Jake realized now that Tory had loved him for himself. Helen only loved the new, infinitely desirable image of herself which his love had created, and which must be preserved at all costs.

Feeling that the horse dealer who’d put them up shouldn’t be subjected to such a bombardment from the press, Helen and Jake moved into a bedsitter in Gloucester. But they were absolutely skint. The social security office came up with one reason after another why they shouldn’t give Jake any money. He sold his cuff links and some of Helen’s jewelry. Soon, the only thing left would be his silver medal. And all the time Fleet Street was tempting him, offering more than a quarter of a million pounds for their story.

Jake was accustomed to being poor. Helen was not. She tried to economize, but she was used to going to the hairdresser’s at least twice a week, and never having a run in her tights, and paying £15 for a pot of face cream. If she paid any less, she was convinced Jake would go off her. Having run away in Los Angeles with only summer clothes, she was desperate to buy winter ones, and thought wistfully of her furs in the wardrobe at Penscombe.

The last Monday in October began badly for Tory. She got up and took the children to school, only realizing when she got there and found the doors locked that it was half-term. Later, making her bed, she retrieved her hot water bottle from the bottom and, unscrewing it, found herself solemnly emptying it into her jersey drawer. In the middle of the morning Dino found her in floods of tears, turning out the contents of the vacuum cleaner in the sitting room, because she’d hoovered up a moth by mistake.

“The poor little thing was alive,” she sobbed, scrabbling frantically through the dust. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

Dino cleared up the mess, then sat her down.

“Angel, you’re very very tired. Fen and I have got to go up to London for this program.” (They were doing Billy Lloyd-Foxe on This Is Your Life that evening.) “We’re going to take the kids to get them out of your hair for twenty-four hours. They’ll enjoy seeing the inside of a studio. Hannah will be here to keep an eye on you. Sarah’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning, so you don’t have to worry about the horses. Tomorrow, when we get back, I am taking you to the doctor.”

“I’m all right,” protested Tory.

But the children’s wild delight at the prospect of a jaunt only depressed her more. They’re bored by me, she thought miserably. I’m no fun anymore.

“You do promise to look after her, don’t you?” said Fen to Hannah as they left.

After they’d gone, Tory tried to pull herself together and get down to making green tomato chutney. But as she was chopping the onions, she remembered it had been Jake’s favorite, and how he used to eat it neat out of the jar with a spoon, which made her cry again.

She started as the doorbell rang. Why did she still harbor some inside hope that it might be Jake? But it was her mother, in a new burgundy suit, looking very chic despite a burgundy face from the car heater.

“I’m not crying,” lied Tory, wiping her hands on her skirt.

“No, I can smell you’re not,” said Molly, backing off slightly. “We’re on our way to stay with some of Bernard’s dreary relations. I left him in the car.” As though he was a smelly old Labrador behind a grille, thought Tory.

“Doesn’t he want to come in?”

“No, we won’t be able to gossip.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Molly looked pointedly at her watch.

“I would have thought it was more like sherry time.”

As Tory poured her a glass, Molly said how pleased she was about Fen and Dino. Tory returned to chopping onions.

“Seems a nice chap,” Molly went on. “Very good-looking and very rich. You should have married someone like that in the first place. Now I want to have a serious talk with you.”

Tory gritted her teeth.

“What are you going to do about your future?” said Molly. “Fen and Dino won’t want to stay here forever with you and the children. They’ll need a place of their own — perhaps they’ll go back to America.”

Tory looked up in horror. “D’you think so?”

“I know so. Of course, they’re too nice to say anything, but you can’t hold them back forever.”

Tory said nothing, but chopped one piece of onion to pulp.

“And when are you going to divorce Jake? I mean, he’s deserted you, so you shouldn’t have any difficulty. His father did the same thing to his mother. Like father like son, I suppose.”

“Please, Mummy, don’t.” Tory’s voice broke. “I can’t bear it.”

“Can’t think why you mind so much,” said Molly. “You always knew he never loved you. Only married you for your money. What d’you expect?”

Tory looked down at the sink tidy. It was a disgusting mess of bacon rinds, spaghetti hoops, rusty Brillo pads, and old tea bags. Like me, she thought, I’m as useless as an old tea bag.