5. GRANDSTAND FINISH

"Shite!" explodes Oisin, "So is Dee Dee uncle Wayne’s off—?”

"Naw," Liam uses his hands to calm them all down, keeping one eye on the door watching for Wayne’s return. "Wayne the uncle was proved innocent at the inquest hearing. The jury heard testimony that the christening was several days earlier and character witnesses swore that uncle Wayne never rests or throws a sickie, he always sobers up and finds work to fill his time and in fact he is usually in demand for his building expertise any time he comes home. That fateful morning he was on the road to a job in his truck and found there were temporary traffic lights in St Patrick’s Road at the junction where Abbey Road runs into Dominic’s, because half of Dominic’s Street was torn up looking for a mains water leak. As Wayne approached, the green light just turned in his favour. He went through the crossroads to Church road and, went through the traffic lights at 28 miles an hour the forensics estimated. There he hit Katie’s little Fiat, who came out of Dominic into Abbey Street, either jumping the lights or not even seeing them. The collision pushed her into the path of a cement lorry coming up from the Shannon Road where it had been concreting a new footpath down by the swimming area. Anyway, it was Wayne’s first time home in over two years and Katie and Donal’s wedding was over 18 months before. But there’s more."

Darragh knows the whole story and simply nods in agreement with Liam.

"What the feck? There’s more? Tell me!" Oisin begs.

"Well, the hottest fella in town had for a long while been Wayne O’Connell and two years before he was not only spoken for, engaged to Katie, but he was also working away from home across the water. And therefore, once Katie turned O’Shea down in favour of Wayne, in Wayne’s absence Donal O’Shea became the hottest thing since sliced soda bread and he attracted the attention of a number of unattached ladies, but way in front of them all was the young and very pretty Connie O’Connell—"

"Oh feck!" Oisin explodes. "Wayne’s Mam!"

"Shoosh! Hold it down, yah clown, Duke’ll hear yer!" Darragh thumps him on the upper arm.

"Excuse me fer talkin’ won’tcha?" Oisin pauses, "just how old was oul Connie, now, cos she’s what 35?"

"She was only 15 at the time, admittedly but," the sage Liam says, sucking in his teeth, "but she was built like a brick shitehouse and as fine a girl as you’ll ever see, and she had her eyes set on Donal. And Donal, now, well, he was only 23 himself and had been brought up right and proper, well prepared to wait as, rumour has it, that both Connie and Katie were unquestionably pure as rainwater."

"So, is our Duke, possibly a brother of the girl he’s courtin’ cos that would be—"

"Get away widger, Bodge, this is culchie country, County Galway, not the Turkish quarter of Marseilles, yah eejit," Darragh sighs, "time wise, the engagement of Katie and the courting of Connie was a few months before Wayne the uncle got caught with his pants down."

"Ah," Oisin nodded, "I get it, Katie Kennedy suddenly lost the hottest hunk in the town, so she went after the second hunk who she already knew had once had the hots for her?"

"Aye, oul lad," Darragh takes up the tale, "Katie went back to O’Shea and poor oul Connie was history. She took it hard, finished school early, and disappeared off to to stay with a Jackeen cousin and study at college before going onto Trinny a couple of years later."

"So, O’Shea dumped Connie, married Katie, and it was another eighteen months to two years before two separate baby showers started," Liam says, still looking out for Wayne’s return. "So, a quick run down for you Oisin: two years later Connie comes home well and truly up the duff. Which was a couple of months after Katie started showing with her pregnancy. Those two reacquainted with each other at the doctors’ surgery, becoming friends instead of rivals during their pregnancies. Then the Wayne that we know as ‘Duke’ popped out the chute, and the O’Sheas and Uncle Wayne meet up to wet the wean’s head without any ructions or blows between them. But, only five days later, ‘Wack!’ Katie’s little Fiat goes through a red traffic light and Wayne’s truck knocks Katie into the path of that cement mixer, the brown stuff hit the spinning thing and we are where we are today."

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"And Uncle Wayne knew as soon as he saw the car that he’d hit Katie, she’d had that bright yellow Fiat from when the couple were engaged," Darragh says, "he pulled her out from the wreckage, knowing she had already passed, but he kept up CPR on her for 25 minutes until the ambulance arrived, just to keep the baby alive."

"Jenny mac!" Oisin says, blowing out his cheeks, "so O’Shea’s missus is killed by Wayne but needs to thank him for saving his only daughter?"

"Yay, a complete feck-up," Liam admits, "Brutal accident, fierce bad luck that was proven in the inquiry. The doctor at the inquest reckon she might’ve been distracted by a quare contraction or even trapped wind. Pregnant women aren’t the full shilling, that’s a fact ye’ll find out yourself one of these fine days."

"Look, he’s coming back," hisses Darragh as Wayne enters the door and heads to their table. His three friends bury their lips in their glasses to hide their guilty expressions. Oisin is the first to speak.

"Come on, Duke, drink up, yer bloody lightweight, yer a round behind," Oisin calls out to Wayne before pouring the balance of about a quarter pint down his throat.

"I’ve got a thirst on too, Bodge," as Wayne picks up his bottle of lager, "if we’re going out on the lash tonight I better switch to pints."

"Ah, you got the say so from your Oul Dear to get ossified this afternoon and tonight, then, did ya?" Darragh grins as he sets down his empty glass.

"Aye, it appears the lot of every woman in Ireland to keep a check on one fella or another, but I’m on a shorter leash than either of you two reprobates," Wayne grins, completely unaware that he’s been the subject of their discussion. "Let’s go look at the horses for Race 3 before we have another pint. But I’m staying in the background and watch, cos if Dee Dee catches me there I’ll be for it!"

Wayne does indeed watch from a distance, noticing Deidre immediately within the ring, in her largely purple and yellow silks, noting that her hair was buried completely under the enormous riding helmet, but imagines her dark hair would look outstanding against the silk. He can see how slight she looks against not just the horses, but the other jockeys too and is amazed at how she is able to compete with them.

Then he joins the other three in the grandstand to watch the race. It turns out an exciting finish as Sunarabia and another outsider in this Novice Hurdle race over three miles, Urban Turban, fight it out for third place.

Now that the four lads have bet something each way on Deidre’s mount, any rivalries over their Super Heinz choices made and placed yesterday are forgotten and all four are yelling like crazy for Sunarabia to win their little race within the race.

The favourite Greer and a well-backed grey named Ghost Bluster were well clear of the eighteen-horse field so first and second becomes a simple procession. Thus all eyes are either focussed on the next pair of horses battling it out pounding hoof by pounding hoof, or on the crazy antics of the four Irishmen urging on Sunarabia with calls like, "Come on, Sunarabia" or "Come on Dee Dee".

Until a wag nearby, in as clear as a bell cry heard above all the usual crowd noise, yells out, "C’m on, Dee Dee, ya wee Eireann beauty," which raises a cheer and a laugh from those the jolly Irish punters about him. As the laugh dies down, a punter declares, "That’s the only Irish-owned, Irish-trained horse in the top half of the field" and, before you know it, there were 20,000 punters in that grandstand yelling with all their hearts for Sunarabia or Dee-Dee and the race goes all the way to the wire.

And Wayne swears it was pure will power of the crowd, adding to the skill of his pixie rider and the love she had for the horse she had trained with and cared for, that carried Sunarabia over the line with a clear head in front to edge third place.

Wayne also swears that the cheer that went up for that precious third place was the loudest cheer of the afternoon so far.

The smiles from their proud countrymen, and those neutrals that love a good race, around them are honest and genuine as they made their way up the steps to move to the winners enclosure, the backs of each of the four of them heartily slapped in congratulations, with many calls of "Fair play, boyos" and the like.

Before they reach the exit, another cry goes up and is passed through the crowd to the four lads:

"Sunarabia finished in the placing at 125/1, yah jammy feckers!"

But it was all in grand good spirit.

At the Winners Enclosure, the winning horse and those placed in the race are dismounted and unsaddled, the jockeys collecting the saddle and make their way to the weighing room to check they still carry the required handicap weights.

Wayne waves at his heroine and she blesses him with a huge grin, her eyes sparkling in pleasure, but she can’t stop and talk. As she passes where Wayne watches, her father Donal O’Shea looms large behind her, and the exchange between the two young friends doesn’t escape O’Shea’s attention and he looks on Wayne with what he can only interpreted as pure hatred.