Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
The next morning, I’m crouched down, bandaging Byron’s legs for the match, when I feel the presence of someone behind me. I assume it’s Mateo and tense, pretending I don’t know he’s there, waiting for him to speak first.
‘Ash, hi.’
It’s not Mateo’s voice. It’s Basilio. I glance over my shoulder to make sure and then straighten, masking my disappointment with a polite smile.
‘Hi, Basilio.’
He looks extremely concerned, studying my face intently. ‘I hope you don’t mind me disturbing you. I only wanted to check that you were okay. I saw the news yesterday and I was… shocked. For someone to do such a thing. He is scum.’
I pat Byron’s neck as he snorts.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I say briskly.
‘If you need someone to talk to,’ he gestures to himself, ‘I’m here. I know it’s not the same, but I once had a horrible column written about me in a polo publication and I was devastated. I can’t even imagine how it feels.’
My eyes fall to my shoes as I shift my weight from one leg to the other.
‘But I don’t want you to think that no one here cares about you. So, if you want to talk about it, please don’t think that because I’m in DQ and you’re in Maycourt, we can’t.’
I look up at him, fixing a smile. ‘Thanks. How are you feeling about the match today?’
After the slog of getting through yesterday in one piece, I’m desperate to talk about anything other than this.
Jules messaged to say that if I needed today off, I could have it, but I wanted to keep busy.
I needed to. So I came to the stables this morning with my game face on and thankfully, aside from Jules checking in, no one else has mentioned it.
I’m hoping from the way I’ve thrown myself into things this morning, they know I’d rather pretend like nothing had happened.
A few pointed looks and whispers from the grooms on other teams this morning have been unavoidable and unsurprising – every article announcing Chris’s memoirs has mentioned me, reiterating that after losing my job from the fallout of the scandal, I now work at the Maycourt Polo yard.
As Mum told me on the phone yesterday, this is just another wave for me to ride out and I’ve already proven I can do it once. I can do it again.
‘I’m feeling confident,’ Basilio answers, reaching up to pat Byron. ‘What about Maycourt? I hope you’re planning on giving us a bit of a challenge out there today.’
‘No doubt about it.’
The corners of his lips twitch. ‘Should be an entertaining match, then.’
‘Certainly for our side.’
His smile breaks and he chuckles. ‘Don’t count on it, Ash.’
We’re interrupted by Mateo, who’s marching past on the hunt for something when he stops dead in his tracks on seeing us. His expression darkens as he comes over.
‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he says to me before glowering at Basilio. ‘Shouldn’t you be warming up with your own team?’
Basilio sighs tiredly. ‘Good morning to you, too, Mateo. How did you enjoy the party the other night? You seemed to be having a great time. I was sorry not to see you there, Ash.’
I frown at him. ‘What party?’
‘The night before last. It was organised by one of the sponsors of the tournament at a bar on the marina,’ Basilio explains, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. ‘You didn’t know about it? The Maycourt team were all there.’
‘It was the night you went to bed early,’ Mateo tells me. ‘You messaged to let me know you’d be going straight back to the hotel and the others persuaded me to go last minute.’
I don’t say anything, irrationally bothered that I didn’t know anything about it.
‘And we missed you yesterday on the yacht, Ash,’ Basilio adds, ‘but I appreciate you had other things on your mind.’ His eyes flicker across to Mateo. ‘I hope you didn’t have to go through it all alone.’
‘I think it’s time you go,’ Mateo says bluntly. ‘I would like to speak to Ash.’
Basilio nods. ‘Of course. See you on the field.’
Smiling gently at me, he strolls off. My jaw tensing, I avoid looking at Mateo, instead returning my attention to Byron and crouching down to finish bandaging his legs.
Mateo’s voice, soft and worried, comes floating above me. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ I respond coldly.
‘I haven’t seen you all morning.’
‘I’ve been working.’
‘I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.’
I finish securing the bandage and straighten, moving across to the other leg. ‘I don’t want to talk about it today.’
There’s a moment’s pause. ‘You should have let me come over,’ he says dismally.
‘You were busy.’
‘Ash,’ he says, coming round to join me on the other side of Byron, ‘would you stop doing that for a second so we can talk?’
‘There’s a lot to do, Mateo.’
‘You can take a moment,’ he presses.
With a reluctant sigh, I stand up to face him. His eyes search mine, his brow furrowed in concentration. I can tell he’s puzzled by the way I’m acting and that bothers me.
‘Talk to me,’ he says gently.
‘I’ve told you,’ I say, avoiding his eye contact by glancing around at the goings-on of the other grooms, ‘I’d rather not talk about it now. It happened, I’ve dealt with it, I’m moving on. No point in dwelling on it. And now definitely isn’t the time.’
‘I want to make sure you’re okay,’ he says, concern deepening the creases on his forehead. ‘You have no idea how worried I was yesterday. You wouldn’t let me see you, you turned off your phone—’
‘I was being inundated by messages from reporters asking me for comment, as well as friends and family who had read nasty things about me in the press. Of course I turned off my phone,’ I say bluntly.
‘You shouldn’t have been alone. You should have let me come over.’
Trying to keep my temper, I press my lips together and inhale deeply. ‘Stop saying it like that,’ I mutter.
‘What?’
I bring my eyes up to meet his, speaking in a low, sharp voice. ‘You keep saying that I wouldn’t let you come over. As though I was the one making the choices yesterday.’
He stares at me, baffled. ‘Ash, I said I’d come and you told me not to.’
‘You had a choice to leave the party and you chose not to.’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘I think I’m being clear, Mateo,’ I say sternly, my thoughts clear and concise having dwelled on them for the whole of yesterday and this morning. ‘You found out what had happened. You knew what the consequences would be. And instead of coming to me, you chose to stay at the party.’
‘I said I would come!’
‘After the party.’
‘I was already at the event; I couldn’t walk out straight away.’
‘Why not?’ I ask, lifting my chin.
He puts his hands on his hips. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Why not? Why couldn’t you walk out straight away? As soon as you heard, why weren’t you running off that yacht and coming to my hotel? Were there barriers stopping you? Guards?’
‘Guards?’ he splutters, bewildered. ‘Don’t be… Of course not! But it would have been… rude to the hosts. And the team. We were there together, you know it was an important event for everyone.’
‘It was important for your career, you mean.’
He looks me straight in the eye, swallowing. ‘Yes. It was important for my career. You know that. But that doesn’t mean—’
‘I know what it means, Mateo,’ I say wearily, walking away, wanting out of this conversation. Suddenly, I feel completely drained.
‘Ash, wait,’ he says, falling into step with me, keeping his voice low as we pass by others on the way to the stables.
‘If I’d known you’d feel upset by this, I would have left.
I was so worried about you. I wanted to see you, but from your messages, you made it clear you didn’t want to see me or anyone else.
I called you so many times. I wanted to come to the hotel to be with you. ’
‘Once you’d done enough schmoozing to secure a place on a team for Argentina.’
‘That’s not what I—’
‘You know what I find funny, Mateo?’ I say without looking at him, still marching onwards, the frustration and anger that’s been building recently starting to spill out of my mouth before I can decide whether or not it’s a good idea.
‘I find it funny that spending time with me is distracting for your work, but yachts and parties aren’t. ’
‘What are you talking about?’ he asks earnestly, looking completely thrown by my comment, which is equally confusing to me.
‘You know what, you need to go prepare for the match and so do I,’ I decide, as we reach the stables where Eduardo is directing other grooms and I stop to face Mateo head-on, my volume dipping. ‘Now isn’t the time for this.’
‘I’m still trying to understand what this is,’ he confesses.
‘I’m sorry if you think I wasn’t there for you yesterday, believe me, I tried to be.
But you also have to understand that polo isn’t just about how you play on the field.
I’ve told you before how important it is to attend these events to meet the right people. ’
‘Yes.’ I sigh crossly, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. ‘I know.’
‘So how can you be so angry at me?’ he asks, irritated now.
His obvious impatience and peevishness at the situation makes things worse. A fiery rush of resentment swells in my chest.
‘Because, Mateo,’ I begin in a low, sharp tone, ‘if things had been switched and it was you in the news and me on that yacht, guards wouldn’t have stopped me running to you.’
His lips parted, he finds himself unable to respond. Without waiting for him to gather his thoughts, I turn on my heel and march to Eduardo, asking him where he needs me next. Mateo doesn’t follow me and I don’t speak to him again before the match.
*
‘What the fuck is going on out there?’ Jules mutters as we walk the ponies round during their cool-down period in the sixth and final chukka.
It’s a good question and one I’ve been asking myself ever since the start of the Maycourt versus DQ match.
The team are all over the place; no one seems to be listening to each other and rather than being supportive, they’re snapping irritably at one another.
Even Eric has lost his cool today, and DQ has taken advantage of our mess, leading the game since it began.
We’re twelve-six down and it seems impossible that we’ll catch up now.
At the heart of this turbulent wreckage of teamplay is Mateo, who seems to be pissed off with absolutely everybody, whether they’re on his side or not.
He’s given away two penalties to DQ this match and the umpires are getting shirty at his combative attitude, and he’s gone wide on three attempts at goal by hitting the ball way too hard.
In the final moments of the match, as though in a last-ditch attempt not to let DQ streak any further ahead than they are, Mateo lumps himself in with our defence and goes to ride-off Basilio with ferocious energy and rage, like he’s been waiting for this all match.
My breath catches as I watch their ponies thunder down the field together, neither of them giving in.
Basilio goes for the pass, knocking the ball across to his teammate and almost coming out of his saddle thanks to the pressure from Mateo and only just managing to keep his balance, crying out for a foul.
Mateo yells something over his shoulder as he follows the ball, only to witness the DQ number two knock it through the goal.
We lose thirteen-six.