Free Such Visitors by Angela Huth Page B

burst of speed. In a moment she was just behind Lola again: could hear her breathing and see dark shadows of sweat on the back of her tee-shirt.
    At the stream quite a crowd had gathered. Rose heard cheering and more laughter. They were hollow, echoing noises. Mocking. Sharp with relish for an unusual sight. Rose hated their beaming, blurred faces.
    Oh God, and now the stream. It looked so wide thismorning. Black water furred with melting ice and cracked sun. And suddenly, in an effortless leap, Lola was over it.
Racing up the bank the other side.
Increased cheers. Sickness in Rose’s chest. She splashed into the water, felt the ice burn her calves, the mud slip beneath her feet. But somehow, then, she regained
terra firma,
clutching at clumps of prickly grass as she scrambled after Lola up the bank. Another cheer.
    Upright again, her feet felt squelchy, soggy, heavy. It had been a foolish thing to do. It had lost her precious seconds.
    Lola was ten yards ahead.
    Lola had dry feet.
    Lola would be Gerald’s wife.
    They were only halfway through the race, and already it was the end for Rose. Sad and angry tears blew from her eyes. She let them prickle down her burning cheeks. Spurred herself on, on. Maybe there was still a chance. Just in case, she could not give up trying.
    Gerald’s next position was the corner of a ploughed field. Two-thirds of the race over. Both girls tiring. Pace much slowed by the heavy black mud. Clothes and bodies darkly splattered, feet badly clogged. As they passed close to Gerald – Rose by now only just behind Lola, having made a remarkable recovery since her setback at the stream – Gerald could hear the duet of their breathing, and smell their sweat in the clear air. Irreverently, he was reminded of their different smells in other conditions. Poor girls, poor girls. In the warmth of his fleece-lined jacket, Gerald felt his heart expand with a strength of compassion that was strange to him. Well, he would make it up to them. One his wife, the other his friend. It would be all right. It was only light-hearted fun, after all, wasn’t it?
    Gerald turned to hurry along a short cut to the five-barred gates. These, he had stipulated, must be jumped or vaulted. If Lola cleared hers as easily as she had cleared the stream, the winner was in no doubt. Poor Rose. Dearly beloved Lola. Gerald felt for the flask of brandy in his pocket. He took a swig as he hurried towards his vantage point. A toast to them both, really. A toast of love.
    * * *
    Lola was less happy in the open. The winter shadows of the woods had been protective. Now, the expanse of opalescent sky pressed intimidatingly upon her head. Two worries concerned her: she had been constantly in the lead. That, surely, was a bad omen. And a quarter of a mile ahead was the five-barred gate. Years ago no gate could have daunted her. She had always been a good vaulter. Now, she felt the energy required to heave herself over seeping from her body. It seemed a terrible obstacle.
    The sun, much stronger, was in her eyes. Her feet were heavy with mud from the plough. That had been a stupid idea of Gerald’s, the plough – guaranteed to slow them both up. Just behind her she could hear Rose’s heavy breath. They were running downhill, an easy field of cropped grass. At the bottom, the two gates were set side by side in the hedge. Lola was to take the right, Rose the left. They had decided that without telling Gerald. No doubt he was expecting to enjoy their confusion. Well, he would be disappointed.
    Lola saw a large crowd at the gates, heard the braying laughter and cheering from well-scarfed throats. Damn them. They were waiting for a fall, disaster. She hoped neither she nor Rose would reward them.
    After the gate, there was the short last lap up the steep hillside to the gibbet; and the final hundred yards down the sheer incline to the other side, to the winning post. So the race was nearly over. Lola was tired, but had