Janey read his thoughts. “Let’s have a drink.”

He followed her into the kitchen, which looked amazingly tidy. Janey got down two glasses and, instead of reaching for the vodka for herself, got a carton of orange juice out of the fridge. Filling the glasses, she handed one to him.

“Aren’t you drinking vodka?”

“Nope. I’ve got something to celebrate.”

“You’ve sold the book in America?”

“Nope, I’m coming off the booze for a few months.” She chinked her glass against his. There was no mistaking the sparkle in her eyes. Billy couldn’t bear to look at her anymore. He went to the dresser and started flipping through his pile of mail.

“Seven and a half months, in fact,” said Janey.

“What?”

“That’s the time I’m giving up booze for.”

“Whatever for?” said Billy wearily.

“I’m going to have a baby.”

Billy dropped the pile of letters.

“Your baby,” said she softly. “Our baby.”

“How d’you know?” he muttered. There had been so many false alarms.

“James Benson confirmed it today.”

“Is he sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Billy turned incredulously.

Then she ran to him, flinging her arms round him, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Oh, Christ,” he said, “how wonderful. Oh Christ, how wonderful. Where can I hug you that I won’t hurt it?”

“Anywhere you like. It’s only six weeks old.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Benson?”

“I didn’t want you to get too excited. I told myself if I could manage to keep my trap shut until I’d had the test, it’d be all right. It’s like you not drinking until all the bills are paid off.”

“They are now. Lisbon wiped out the lot. Oh, angel, I’m so happy.”

“Are you sure?” she said in an uncertain voice. “You don’t f-feel,” she stumbled over the word, “I’ve done it to trap you into staying with me?”

She took his face in her hands and found it was wet with tears.

“I was so miserable about the low sperm count,” he muttered. “I felt such a shit not being able to give you a baby. Oh, darling, I’m so happy. It’s the best news I’ve ever had. Can we ring my mother and tell her? She’ll be beside herself.”

“D’you think?” asked Janey doubtfully. “She hasn’t paid the subscription to my fan club for a long time.”

“ ’Course she will.”

“Oh, and I told Helen,” said Janey. “She rang this afternoon, and I was so excited I had to tell someone.”

“Was she pleased?”

“Ish. You know Helen,” she said, “ ‘It’ll be a real positive experience for you, Janey. After all, you’re still just at prime child-bearing age.’ The silly cow.”

Billy grinned. “I still can’t take it in. God, it’s wonderful.”

The telephone went. Billy leapt on it.

“Hi. Guess what? Oh, you know,” he said, sounding a little deflated. “Helen must have told you. Isn’t it? I haven’t come down to earth yet.”

“Rupert is terribly pleased,” said Billy as he put down the receiver. “He wanted to bring a magnum of Krug over, but I said it’d be wasted on us, so he suggested some extra strong grass that Guy had sold him.”

Janey giggled. “No, that’s all behind us. We’re responsible parents-to-be now. Let’s go and have a fuck instead.”

Fen and Sarah arrived at Wembley just before midnight on Sunday. Fen was utterly shattered. She hadn’t eaten or slept properly for weeks. Jake could only help so much, as though by remote control. She’d had a bad fall from Hardy and her back still ached. The very thought of jumping the four horses all week, in big classes that went on late into the evening, filled her with exhaustion.

Next morning, on her way to declare, she looked through the red curtains and saw Billy walking the course for a novice class. He was wearing old green cords and a tweed coat and laughing at some crack of Rupert’s. He looked so happy and carefree and so much younger. Her heart twisted with longing. I’m not cured, she thought in panic. In the secretary’s tent she found Humpty and Griselda, who both turned their backs on her. Oh, God, how long was this stupid pantomine going on?

Early in the evening, when she was least expecting it, she bumped into Billy. He was very friendly, but shifty somehow, not meeting her eyes and firing questions about Jake and the yard, asking after Laurel twice and congratulating her in a hearty, most unBillyish way. He seemed almost in a hurry to get away from her, which left her far more uneasy and depressed than the other riders shunning her.

She wandered down to the stables. Macaulay’s top door was shut to stop his adoring public feeding him and tugging souvenir hairs out of his mane. She slid into the box and shut the doors quickly behind her. Macaulay whickered with pleasure but didn’t get up, so she sat down on the straw beside him, stroking his mane, still crinkly from the afternoon plaits.

There were two classes that evening — a fancy dress pair relay and then the Sunday Times Cup, worth £10,000. She hadn’t entered the relay because she was scared no one would want to be her partner. Outside, she heard shrieks of laughter. Standing up, she peered through the crack in the box and saw Billy and Rupert teetering past wearing fishnet stockings, three-inch heels, and coats and skirts with coconuts heaving in their twin-sets. Rupert, immaculate in a blond wig, was Mrs. Thatcher; Billy, wearing a mop on his head, was Shirley Williams. Then they were gone, and next door she could hear Sarah getting Hardy ready for the Sunday Times Cup. Fen sighed and sat down beside Macaulay again. She was just nodding off when she heard hoofs clattering outside, and an excited voice saying: “Guess what? Gossip, gossip, gossip.” It was Dizzy.

“What?” said Sarah, coming to the door.

“Where’s Fen?” asked Dizzy.

“In the lorry, I think. I haven’t seen her for some time. Come on, out with it.”

“Janey Lloyd-Foxe is pregnant.”

Fen’s hand tightened convulsively on Macaulay’s mane.

“Jesus,” said Sarah. “When did you find out?”

“Well Count Guy, Billy, Rupert, and Driff were all declaring. And Count Guy was ribbing Billy, saying he’d heard some très interessant rumors, and Billy went all scarlet and pleased and admitted Janey was having a baby. Count Guy was tickled pink, of course. He didn’t like Billy being separated from Janey, in case he started running after Lavinia again. Anyway, they were busy congratulating each other when bloody Driffield said, “Who’s the father? Kevin Coley?” The next minute Billy let him have one on the jaw — wham — sending Driff flying across the tent. Then Billy jumped on Driff with his hands round Driff’s neck, howling, ‘Take it back, you effing bastard,’ and other pleasantries.”

“Golly,” said Sarah.

“Rupert and Count Guy dragged Billy off and Driffield said he’d get Billy suspended. ‘No, you won’t,’ said Rupert. ‘There’s nothing in the BSJA rules about eliminating a competitor before an event, only during.’ ”

Both grooms started to giggle.

“Anyway,” Dizzy went on, “Malise made Driffield apologize. Driff said it was only a joke and Billy, Rupert, and Guy turned on their booted heels and stalked out undeclared, and had to come back five minutes later when Driffield had gone. So it looks as though Driff, not your poor boss, is going to be the next candidate for Coventry.”

“Christ,” said Sarah, “Fen’ll go bananas when she hears. He must be mad about Janey to punch Driff. I’m glad someone has at last; he’s such a poisonous little toad.”

“I thought Billy couldn’t have kids,” said Dizzy. “Do you think it is Kev’s?”

Like a sleepwalker, Fen came out of Macaulay’s box.

“Fen,” gasped Dizzy, backing into the patiently waiting Arcturus. “We didn’t realize you were there.”

“Obviously not,” said Fen, “or you wouldn’t keep Rupert’s horse hanging round in the cold. All you bloody well do all day is gossip.”

Not even bothering to close Macaulay’s door, she walked unsteadily away from them. “Billy’s going to have a baby,” she muttered over and over again through trembling lips. She had no idea where she went, but she ended up in the lorry, locking the door behind her.

A few minutes later she heard pounding on the door.

“Fen, it’s Sarah. They’re walking the course.”

“I don’t care,” sobbed Fen. “Leave me alone.”

“Please — I’m sorry about your overhearing everything, but Hardy’s all ready and I know you wanted to jump him in this class.”

“Go away, for Christ’s sake.”

“Let me in. I want to look after you.”

Fen didn’t answer. She lay on her bed, sobbing convulsively, shuddering like a palsied dog. She couldn’t cope anymore. There was no future, nothing, nothing. The light had gone out at the end of the tunnel; both ends were blocked up; there was no hope. “Oh, Billy, oh, Billy,” she groaned.

Then she heard someone fiddling with the door handle, then voices, then more fiddling and the door was forced open and the inside of the living area was flooded with light.

“Go away,” Fen screamed. “I can’t take it. I simply can’t take it.”

Then she saw a man’s figure framed in the doorway.

“Billy,” she croaked, in an insane moment of hope. “Oh, Billy.”

“Afraid not, sweetheart,” drawled a voice. “You’ll just have to put up with second best.”

It was Dino Ferranti.

Fen slumped back on the bed. “Leave me fucking alone.”

“You can’t fuck alone. It’s a physical impossibility,” said Dino, sitting down on the bed and drawing her close to him. “There, honey, hush, hush.” He stroked her hair, damp with tears, feeling her drenched shirt and jersey against him, horrified by the fragility of her body.