Incredible Floridas by Stephen Orr

Incredible Floridas by Stephen Orr

Author:Stephen Orr
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: book, FA, FIC045000, Fiction
ISBN: 9781743055397
Publisher: Wakefield Press
Published: 2018-01-24T00:00:00+00:00


1950

Sam asked Hal to wait outside the couplings. ‘Not a place for a boy,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘Language’s bit rich.’

Hal was left standing, waiting. The small pub promised ‘Portahouse how you like it!’ and, by the smell of it, plenty of beer. Men emerged wiping their mouths, hitching their pants, checking their stubs for a win or place. One of them said to him, ‘What, you lost, son?’

‘No.’

‘What’s yer name?’

‘Hal.’

He smiled. ‘You watch out for Hotspur, eh?’

Hal had no idea what he meant. It was probably a horse. Perhaps he was giving him a tip. Perhaps he should tell Sam.

He was left watching the concourse: the bookies with their big bags; the thousands of punters and their sweat-soaked hats; the cloud of smoke that never lifted; the calls (‘Come on, fellas, two minutes to close!’); and, distantly, the thump of hooves on the track.

The little pub had saloon doors, but one was hanging loose. He leaned against a wall and waited. Men emptied their beer dregs and threw their butts onto a pair of rubber plants in pots before heading for the bookies.

It all reminded Hal of his dad’s new painting. Mad Ernie’s Shop showed a fat storekeeper standing in front of a store in an outback town. A greyhound stood in the middle of the road sniffing a piece of newspaper that had probably had fish or lamb’s brains wrapped in it. He’d said to his dad, ‘Why’s he mad?’

‘That’s what you gotta work out.’

‘Did he kill someone?’

‘Perhaps.’

Hal waited, but there was no sign of Sam. He thought of heading home. It was a warm Saturday afternoon, and jackets had come off, revealing braces struggling against gravity. Bellies emerged from shirts—inners and outers, too—and the bits of pants that should’ve been under bums were closer to knees. Some of the men had binoculars. Some ate sandwiches from wax paper. He hated wax paper. It made sandwiches sweat.

Sam came out and gave him a bottle of Coke. ‘Come on, I got a bita business.’ He led, and Hal (who was tall for ten, nearly shoulder-height to most of the sagging men) followed him through the crowd, catching glimpses of sky through the chaos of race day, Cheltenham.

‘I just found out Dave Butler’s riding,’ Sam said.

‘You gonna bet on Hotspur?’ Hal asked.

Sam checked his form. ‘Which race?’

‘Dunno.’

‘How’d you get the name?’

‘A man told me. Said I better look out for him.’

Sam could remember something about Hotspur, and one of the King Henrys, Prince Hal, a battle. ‘That’s who yer dad name you after?’ he asked.

‘Who?’

‘Prince Hal.’

‘Who was he?’

‘Look it up.’

Sam led him to the saddling enclosure. There were a dozen horses. Some were saddled, and the jockeys were up, but others were jumping about, spooked. Sam said, ‘You gotta judge their mood.’

‘Who?’ Hal asked.

‘The horses. Like you—some mornings you just don’t feel like going to school. Horses are no different.’

Hal finished his Coke and put the bottle in the bin. The men had a smell. He knew it well. Hair oil, and cheap perfume (or whatever it was called).



Download



Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.