Rosaline looks like a ghost, floating on air. She blends in with the stirring sky behind her and the only thing that sets her apart from the flat landscape is the cloud of mud that follows her like lightning. It takes her a while to find her natural gait, Vivian noted, but when she does, she looks like she's flying.
Rosaline was enjoying every bit of this. Her large, black eyes were glittering with something Vivian knew was akin to joy, and ever after she did two laps around the track and the jockey started to ease up, she bucked her head and scratched at the mud, begging to keep going. But the mud was dangerous to run on, especially after Rosaline had gained so much speed. Vivian started to worry that the mud might slip right out from under her, not to mention that the sky looked like it was going to open up at any moment. So after two laps, she gave the jockey the signal to stop.
At her signal, Thomas pressed down on the button of his stop watch and the ticking came to a stop. When he didn't announce it right away, Vivian glanced at him. His blinder cap made his eyes appear darker and grayer, like Dear Rosaline's coat and like the sky that was brewing above them.
"Time?"
"1 and 39," he said.
"That's good time," she said. It was better than she thought after the slow start, but Thomas looked completely unimpressed. Or, perhaps, that was just his natural expression. Vivian could never tell.
"The winner last year ran less than 1 and 15," he said. So, unimpressed it was.
Vivian remembered listening to last year's race over the radio. Her and Leo had both rooted for a white filly, Riverboat, to win. However, right before the races, the horse got a tumor on her spine that seemed to grow overnight. The winner ended up being a dapple red stallion named Sergeant, who had the reputation of being completely untamable. He would bite and injure other horses in the gate, and he broke the backs of three jockeys in one racing season. Because of his feral tendencies, everyone expected him to set incredible records. He won by a hair, and his time wasn't record breaking.
"In the first seven furlongs. After that, he ran one and 38 and a half," Vivian said. "In fact, I'm certain he would've lost to Riverboat had she not been out on an injury." She paused briefly, and she could feel Thomas looking at her. Although he gave away no emotion, Vivian could sense some kind of anxiousness radiating from him. He was nervous for the races. She was too, of course, but she tried not to show it. "It takes Rosaline a while to find her stride. We'll work on her confidence. But The Derby is over 12 furlongs long. There's plenty of time for her to get to her natural gait. She might've ran 1 and 11 had we given her another lap."
Thomas went silent, stuffing the stopwatch in his pocket, but the gold chain still dangled from his pocket. It must've been solid gold. She wondered how easy it would be to swipe it from his pocket when his back was turned. Not that she'd ever dare to steal from Thomas. She hasn't pick pocketed since she took the training job, and honestly, she didn't miss it.
"How is it you know so much about the races?" He asked. He was examining her, like he was trying to figure out if Vivian was really who she said she was.
"I listen to it every year on the radio. There's also the papers. Honestly, Mister Shelby, I don't live in a hole," she said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.
Thomas pursed his lips, and Vivian could've sworn that he was fighting off a smile. "Alright, Miss Carter." He nodded and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Suppose the pre-races..."
"What about them?" She blinked at him.
"They're half the length of Epsom. There's not much time for her to catch up, is there?"
Vivian nodded, considering it. The best thing she could think of was running her like this, working up her confidence. Rosaline was still young, only a year-and-a-half. She had the body and face of a mare, and Thomas had to remember that she was just a filly, and she was still finding her feet. Then there was the matter of the jockey...
"I have some ideas about that," Vivian said, and started to walk across the field, towards the track, where Kennedy had dismounted the horse. When he saw Vivian approaching, he lifted his goggles, revealing an imprint from where they protected his face from the mud. That small patch around his eyes was the only part of his face left clean. From the bottom of his boots to his helmet, he was completely covered in mud. He looked like he had just raced against fifty horses and came in last. But he was grinning with an excitement that was contagious, and instantly Vivian knew she liked him.
"What do you think?" She asked him, grabbing the horse's reigns so he could start unstrapping the saddle. The horse's breathing was steady and deep, not at all uncontrolled or frantic as you'd expect it to be after running a lap.
She looked up at the sky. The sky above them stirred and rumbled, threatening to spill buckets of rain any minute. She looked back over at the jockey.
Kennedy was short, about a head shorter than Vivian, just as jockeys were required to be, but he was lean with muscle from his years of riding, especially around his forearms and calves, and the veins of his arms were exposed when he pulled his gloves off his fingers.
"I think I've never seen a horse who loves to run as much as she does," he said with a soft chuckle. His voice was deep and raspy, despite his size. "But she's not very sure footed. It takes her a while to find a pace."
"I've noticed." Vivian nodded in agreement. "She hasn't gotten as much time to run as I'd like, but I'm confident she'll get better the more she runs." The grass shifted behind her, and she didn't even need to turn and look to know that Thomas was standing right over her right shoulder. She could smell the smoke and whiskey on him. She focused her attention back on Kennedy. "How often are you available?"
He lifted up his hands in a shrug and when he smacked them on his pants, a landslide of mud came tumbling down, revealing the tan fabric. "Any day, everyday, 'Cept Sundays. Rain or shine."
She turned to look at Thomas. "Is there anyway to arrange a trip here every morning until the pre-race?" She asked, even though it wasn't really an option. She needed to run Rosaline. It was the only way she was going to get better. She was sure of it.
Before Thomas could speak, Kennedy spoke up, "The pre race is in thirteen days. Don't you normally rest a horse for a week to prepare for the race?"
He had a skeptical look on his face, and a surge of self doubt swept through Vivian like water through fire. The jockey obviously had more experience than she did, and if he wanted to rest her, maybe it was what she was supposed to do. She looked over at Thomas instinctively, waiting for his opinion. After all, he obviously knew horses. He didn't speak as he lit a cigarette, but he did give her a slight, nearly-invisible nod, like he was confirming that he trusted her decision. Suddenly Vivian's self confidence came flooding back.
"I don't think resting is what is best in this case. My instinct says we should keep running her to work up her confidence," Vivian said. She watched the horse for a few moments, who dug her feet into the mud. If it weren't for her hold on the reigns, Vivian was certain that she'd have taken off by now. Vivian knew that running everyday for a couple weeks would be nothing to her. "We can rest her on the weekends. But I really do believe that consistently is going to be the key here."
With the skepticism still lingering in his eyes, Kennedy laughed good-heartedly. "Lady's got nerve. I love it." He outstretched his hand, and Vivian shook it, not phased by the small amount of mud it got on her wrist from his sleeve brushing against her skin. His grip was sure and strong. "It will be a pleasure working with you, Miss Carter."
"Thank you. You too." Vivian smiled. "Shall I see you tomorrow?"
"Absolutely."
"Great." Vivian looked at Thomas. "That won't be a problem, will it?" She asked him.
"Do I have a choice, Miss Carter?" He asked. He had a glint of humor in his eyes, and Vivian knew he was mocking her.
"Not really," she said.
"I didn't think so."
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"Do you think resting her would be a better choice?" Vivian asked after Thomas had secured the horse in the trailer, and Kennedy had driven off in his car. He had driven away from the city, in the opposite direction of where they were headed.
He opened the door for the woman, but she didn't get in right away. She wanted to know his opinion on the matter, before the unavoidable silence of the car ride.
"It was your decision to make, Miss Carter. Resting her would be the typical thing to do," Thomas said, and Vivian tried to read his vague answer. Did he think the typical thing was the right thing to do? She couldn't tell.
"But do you think it was the right decision?"
He shrugged dismissively and leaned the small of his back against the open doorway of the van. He honestly didn't seem to care. His cigarette was down to a tiny nub at this point and he threw the cigarette on the asphalt and extinguished it with his shiny shoes. "My opinion does not matter," he said after a moment of silence. "You are the trainer. Making these decisions is what we pay you for. And I'm obligated to trust them, however horrible they may seem."
"That doesn't mean you aren't allowed to have an opinion," Vivian said. "After all, you've won many races."
"None of them honest," he said. "Come on now."
"Wait just a second," she said, waving him away as he tried again to gesture her into the car. "The Peaky Blinders must've won fifty or so minor or major races." Of course they only won them when everyone bid against them and lost when everyone bit for them (but she wasn't about to overstep into that territory). "Not one of them was an honest win?"
When Thomas paused, looking at her with a look of warning, Vivian wished she could eat her words. "Your job isn't to ask questions. Your job is to train horses," he said in a tone that stopped Vivian from questioning him further. He sidestepped and she was about to slide into the van, when he added, "The past is the past, Miss Carter."
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By the time they arrived back in Birmingham and were pulling through the Docks, the sky had opened up and it began to pour. They had been lucky to leave when they had, otherwise they would have been caught in the storm. The rain fell like rocks against the hood and windshield, clanking noisily on all sides.
"Stay here," Thomas commanded as he pulled up to the barn, as close to the gate as he could get. He put the car into park and pushed open the door and opened up an umbrella in one swift motion. His body became a blurry silhouette through the rainy glass as he walked to the barn and slammed his fist against the door. Seconds later, it opened up, and Curly stepped out into the rain to help Thomas open the back trailer.
While Dear Rosaline didn't mind the mud, she obviously did not much enjoy the idea of getting soaked and cold, and was creating quite a struggle. Vivian could hear her hooves clanking noisily against the hard floor of the trailer, erratic and quick like she was trying to jump away from them. Then she must've slammed against the side because the entire caravan shook to one side and nearly tipped over.
Vivian considered searching for an extra umbrella, but after a glance over of the floor, she found nothing. Knowing that she'd have to leave the warm van eventually, she held her breath and leaped out. She was soaked in an instant, feeling the icy rain dampen her curls, trailing down the back of her neck and making her clothes stick to her skin. Her thin coat didn't provide much protection, and it was practically drowning in an instant. She gasped at the sudden change of temperature, and hurried around to the trailer, where Dear Rosaline coward in the corner, and Thomas had jumped in, trying to forcefully yank her out by the bridle.
"Don't force her. It'll only make her nervous!" She had to yell to be heard over the thundering rain, but Thomas seemed to have heard her because he put his hands up in surrender and stepped back. The horse watched him wary eyed.
"Curly, will you go get some sugar cubes ?" Vivian asked the man, who seemed unsure of what to do. He had just been standing by the door, a wary look in his eyes.
He nodded, and wordlessly retreated to the barn. He emerged a short time later with a fistful of sugar cubes that he protected from the rain in his gloved hands. He handed them over to her, and Vivian showed Dear Rosaline the sweet treats, waving them to make sure she saw them. Immediately, she loosened from her stiff, defensive position, and her eyes pinned on the sugar, her ears twitching. Like most horses, Rosaline had a sweet tooth, and it only took a bit of gentle coaxing for Vivian to get her out of the van and into the warmth of the barn, where Vivian was able to finally breathe a sigh of relief. Now all she had to do was wait in here for the storm to blow over, hopefully before she had to pick up Leo from school. Though she had a feeling she'd be trudging to the school and home through the freezing rain.
After Vivian brought Rosaline back to her stall to be fed and watered, she walked back out to see Thomas still standing next to the bench in the corner, dripping wet despite the fact that he had an umbrella. He had a couple of blankets in his hands, no doubt from the supply room as they had strands of straw and horse hairs that poked out from them.
Vivian peeled her thin coat from her arms and tossed it on the bench. The water soaked material hitting the wood echoed with a loud SLAP. She thanked him and took the blanket, though it was soaked in almost an instant as she pulled it tight against her body.
She shivered visibly and Thomas shook his head in disapproval and wrapped the other blanket over her shoulders.
"I told you to stay inside," he said.
Vivian couldn't help but laugh, though she was partially regretting getting herself so soaked. "It sounded like you needed a bit of help."
"I had it handled," he said.
Vivian smirked, and ignored his statement. "You're welcome."
Thomas scoffed in response. An indignant sound. "You're going to catch cold. That coat is thin as a rag."
"I'll be fine." Vivian made a waving gesture, but she was still clutching her own shivering arms and trying not to let her teeth chitter. It was warmer in the barn, but not much, and she made a note to make sure the horses all had blankets on them.
"Your lips are turning blue," he pointed out.
"It's their natural color," Vivian said jokingly.
Thomas shook his head, unconvinced, and silently grabbed his soaked, folded up black umbrella off the bench and shook it. Water droplets slid off of it and plopped to the floor, gathering in the cracks. He pulled the umbrella open on the wooden rod and clicked it in place.
"Don't you know opening umbrellas indoors brings bad luck?" She asked him, raising her eyebrows.
"I didn't peg you as the superstitious type, Miss Carter."
Vivian shrugged, and followed him as he pulled the door open to the barn, where the rain was still pouring outside. She took a step back to avoid the black splash of water hitting the roof. She wondered where he was suddenly off to, but she didn't care to ask.
"I'm not. But I heard you descended from Gypsies. Thought you might be," she said.
That seemed to give him a pause. He glanced at her and shook his head. This time, she was certain that there was at least some form of a smile on his face. It looked startling compared to his normal, stoic expression. Then, without another word, he walked outside to his car. His feet kicked up the water around him as he trudged through the puddles and he looked like a floating shadow being melted by the rain.
When he got into the car and shut the door, she could hear the low grumble of the caravan engine coming to life through the ocean outside like a snore behind a pillow, then the van kicked back slightly, before moving forward.
As he disappeared down the fog of the Docks, Vivian wondered how he could see through the rain, but he kept a steady speed. She couldn't help but think about the smile he had had at her gypsy comment. He was as emotionless as a stone, and she often forgot that he was a human behind all those walls. It's his eyes. They're cold, and calculated, with an emptiness inside of them - empty like the bottomless, beady eyes of the great white shark, Leo's favorite animal.
She remembered his brothers who had ambushed her on the Docks yesterday. From what she could tell, they were open and sociable; overwhelmingly so. Their eyes were clear, and they were smiling. Why was Thomas so cold, while his brothers weren't? What happened between birth and now that caused Thomas to become so withdrawn? There must've been a reason for it.
Vivian shook her head and looked over at the canal. The shit-brown water was becoming clearer as the rain washed it down, filling it up almost to the brim. The wind pushed all the trash downstream, to the south, where Vivian's house stood. All the city's trash seemed to end up there eventually, and she was no exception.
Eventually the wind picked up, and Vivian had to shut the barn doors, before she turned and looked at the clock that hung on the ceiling. 12:30. Which meant that she had a full hour-and-a-half before she had to pick up Leo, but she'd probably have to leave here soon to get there on time. She groaned, not looking forward to going back out in the freezing rain.
She wondered how much it would cost to get a taxi, but then she'd have to walk downtown to flag one down anyways. She mine as well buy a new umbrella with the money it would cost (her last one had gotten a hole in it from a strong burst of wind).
She tried to warm herself up by walking down the horse stalls, checking on the other horses, other than Rosaline. Curly had already taken her back to wash her off and get brushed. She checked on the leak, which seemed to be holding up against the rain, and then she walked back over to the bench and sat down, thinking about Rosaline and her training. Her bones were stirring with anticipation as she thought about the upcoming race. She wondered if the rain would let up by then, and if not, would they still race the horses in such weather. With all the mud on the track, it would be slippery and could result in severe injuries. Vivian pondered that as she squeezed the excess water from her dress and from her hair.
About twenty minutes after they were last opened, the barn doors flung wide of their hinges once again, and Vivian's head snapped over to them as they swung back and hit the wall. She felt her eyes widen in confusion as Thomas stepped in from the rain. He was dressed in a fresh pair of clothes, this time in a pair of grey trousers and a white cotton shirt without a coat, revealing the gun he had strapped to his waist. As he stepped inside, he tossed his opened umbrella to the side haphazardly. He clutched a metal kettle in one hand, and two mugs in the other. There was what looked like a lady's red, velvet coat tossed over his arm. She had to blink to make sure she wasn't dreaming.
Vivian didn't know what to say, and simply blinked at him as he tried to hand her the coat.
"Take it," he insisted, and suddenly Vivian seemed to unfreeze. "It's yours."
"I can't accept that," she said, shaking her head. Though it was tempting, especially when she noticed that it was fur lined.
"Pol won't miss it," he said. Though Vivian had no idea who this Pol was, she didn't care enough to ask. "She's worn it all of three times."
When she still refused to take it, he put the kettle and cups on the floor and outstretched the coat around her shoulders, his hand gently brushing her hair back with the motion, before he picked up a mug and started to fill it up with tea. Vivian sat, stunned, feeling the fur-lined jacket with her arms as she slowly threaded her arms through it. Her blouse was still soaked, but the fur created a waterproof barrier against it, and she felt like she had been wrapped in a huge, warm bear hug.
Vivian still hadn't spoken when Thomas placed a mug of tea in her hands. It was warm and steaming and she looked down at the liquid that was a dark, greenish yellow. Some kind of green tea, she guessed. She took a sip and the hot liquid seared her throat as she took a painful sip, but it warmed her insides and left her with a pleasant aftertaste. Green tea. She was right.
"Sugar?" Thomas said as he set the mug on the bench and poured himself a glass. "Or whiskey?" He added the last part a bit sarcastically, and he set the kettle on the floor and took a seat besides her, not saying anything else as Vivian tried to gather her wits.
"Do you have bad news? Is a horse ill?" Vivian asked after a moments of stunned silence. Well, stunned on her end. Thomas seemed perfectly content, sipping his tea, surrounded by only the soft muring of the horses.
He glanced at her like he hadn't heard her right. "Now why would you think that?"
"It's the only reason I can think of as to why you're being so kind to me," she said, honestly.
"There must be a reason?" He asked, taking another long drink of tea. His mug was almost empty and he bent down to grab the handle of the kettle to refill it.
"Yes," Vivian said, shaking her head. "People always have their selfish reasons, don't they?"
She had always wondered what his were, especially now with his sudden kindness. Sex, most likely.
When he didn't answer, Vivian stared down at her tea. Her stomach was churning, but she couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion that made her want to vomit.
"You know, sometimes I'll flip a coin," he said softly and if Vivian had been breathing too loudly, she was certain that she wouldn't have heard him.
Vivian looked over at him in confusion. A coin? "What?"
"To make decisions," he clarified, looking straight ahead of him, at nothing in particular, or maybe he was looking at everything, just taking in the space around him. "Sometimes, I'll flip a coin. Leave it up to chance. Occasionally I'll throw salt over my left shoulder, just before a race." He looked at her, his icy blue eyes piercing right through her.
"Why are you telling me this?" She asked.
"You had asked me if I'm superstitious."
Vivian noted that he was using this to distract from the last conversation, but she decided not to say anything about it. She looked away from his burning gaze, not sure what to say to that. She wasn't superstitious, either. Though her grandmother certainly was.
"My grandmother used to perform psychic readings. None of them were ever correct," Vivian said, remembering the old woman. She used to sit Vivian down when she was young, wave her hands around some crystal ball, and stare into it like the empty void had opened up to her. Sometimes Vivian was convinced her old hag of a grandmother could really see the future, until she spat out some fortune like you will be very happy, which was a pretty general prediction. "When I was a child, I used to put salt on the windows. I still do," she added. After Thomas confessed about his little superstitions, she felt like she needed to share her own. She did feel a little silly admitting it, but Thomas simply nodded, as if he completely understood.
"To keep the monsters at bay?" Thomas guessed, and he looked at her again, like he was gauging her reaction.
Vivian slowly nodded, not trusting her voice.
"I do that, too," he said, nodding again in understanding.
She took a long drink of tea between silent pauses. It was still hot, but not unbearably so, and it warmed her to the core and made the feeling come back to her fingers and toes.
"Does it work?" Vivian asked after a moment.
Thomas shrugged, as if that was an answer. Based on that, Vivian figured that sharing time was over. She looked up at the clock. 1:20. Then, she looked over towards the small window next to the door. Thankfully, it looked like the downpour had slowed to a light patter.
"I should probably get going," Vivian said. "Leo gets off at 2."
"Let me get Charlie to send a car," Thomas said, standing too.
Vivian shook her head. "No, thank you."
She stripped the fur coat from her shoulders, despite her body's resistance to the sudden chilly air. Her clothes were still damp against her skin, and she was greatly looking forward to changing into a pair of clothes. She placed the coat on the bench, and turned away without looking at him.
"I like to walk," she said, walking over to the barn doors. It wasn't a total lie. She did like to walk - when she was dry and it wasn't freezing cold outside. But she didn't want Thomas offering her more than he already has. "Thank you for the tea."
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Vivian stood at the entrance of the bedroom, where Leo slept soundly on the bed, his chest rising and falling beneath the covers, his hand curled around the edge of a pillow. He had gone to bed easily after a filling dinner of roast. She took him food shopping today after school, and felt a great sigh of relief watching the cupboards get stuffed for the first time since they moved here. They stocked up with at least a month's worth of meals, but she still had half of her two weeks earnings left over. They didn't have an ice box to keep the perishables, and she used the roast as an excuse to walk to Cecily's house. She lives in the city, about a block away from the school, in a red-brick lodging. She's not rich, but she lives comfortably - much more so than Vivian.
"Consider this an apology roast," Vivian had said when her friend opened the door.
Cecily had plenty of questions. First and foremost - how could she afford a roast with her budget? - but Vivian said she would explain later.
Vivian felt a touch lighter, knowing that Cecily and she had made up, but it was only a matter of time now before she started asking more questions. What if Leo shows up to school with a new coat? What if she comes to the house and notices the abnormally large amount of food they had stored? What would her excuse be, then? She couldn't tell her about her job with the Shelbys, especially after she had lectured Cecily about how dangerous they were. That would be hypocritical. Maybe some rich family hired her to clean their stables and be caretaker for their horses? A mysterious family will that was suddenly bestowed on her that she never knew about?
Vivian silently shook her head. She couldn't worry about that right now. Things were starting to come together, and if she wanted to keep it that way, she needed to focus on Rosaline and the upcoming races.
With a candle in hand, Vivian gently walked over to the dresser, avoiding the creaky floorboard, and pulled it open. She took out a coin from her stash of money, feeling the cold metal of it. She placed it on her pointer finger.
Heads, I rest the horse. Tails, I run her.
She used her thumb to toss it into the air, and it flipped several times, before it landed on her palm. She hovered the light of the candle over it, and the design of a woman in a long, flowing dress, and the three pronged staff glinted under the flickering light of the candle.
TAILS.
***
A note from the author;
HI AGAIN! Sorry for the really long chapter. I'm kind of iffy on this one. What do you think of it? Let me know if you think there's anything I should change.