I switched off the television. What happened had hardly hit home, just to think just a few days ago we had all been together on the yard. Since then, my life had fallen into turmoil. The phone hadn’t stopped ringing with journalists wanting to hear ‘my side of the story’. I didn’t realise I’d had a story to tell, I’d found the poor girl, someone who had been my responsibility, killed by one of my staff. What more could I say?
Then came the emails and calls from owners. Initially, they were all very polite hoping I was coping, however, the text soon turned to the prospects of their horses. Of course, I could never, even with sponsorship own the massively expensive horses I rode. They were the property of rich people for whom three-day eventing or showjumping was either a nice hobby where they could spend time sipping Champagne in country houses or a good way to write off tax.
At least one owner had outwardly suggested that, with the poor publicity, they would be looking for a new rider to represent them and I was sure the others would follow. Of course, the final nail in the coffin was Grace.
How the hell could I speak with her, I’d tried to apologise, to say how sorry I was but she had coldly told me that she held me solely responsible for the death of her only child. How I would feel the pain she was going through and how she would make it her main objective to ruin me. I was ruined already, what had happened had torn my heart from me, but, as the post had arrived on Monday morning it was made abundantly clear that there was a lot worse in store for me. I couldn’t understand most of the legal language, but what was clear was that Grace was suing me for everything I owned, and although that wasn’t a great deal, she wanted it all. On top of that, she was rescinding my lease on the stables and farmhouse. As she was the owner of the premises, house and stables, she could throw me out and was just about to.
I grabbed the bottle of wine, spinning off the lid and throwing it where it landed with the others. My sponsorship, my horses, my stables, my home and my livelihood all gone. I wouldn’t even be able to teach lessons in a riding school after this, I’d read the reports in the papers and what people were saying about me.
I slugged down the wine which burnt my throat. I was heartbroken and ruined.
* * *
I circled another advert in the back of Horse and Hound. I could see my place here was going to be seriously limited. Hilary had gone to pieces; I’d read the letters which had been sent to her.
I would support her for as long as I could, but I needed to be ready to leap from the sinking ship, and her ship was taking in water fast.
I turned back to the magazine, a sole charge hunt groom in a Devon country house. Own cottage and use of a car. Nice, less work and a stately home. I could live with that.
16
Visiting Time
I was nervous before I even reached the prison, seeing the road signs for HMP Frankland made my stomach churn. I’d been driving for hours, travelling from Wiltshire to Durham and had to make the journey across to Cumbria afterwards to see Kate who was beside herself with fear.
I pulled up in the car park, once again checking the instructions I’d been provided before walking towards the entrance. It had taken almost a week to even find where Adam was, with Kate’s solicitor making a series of frustrating phone calls before finally finding he was on the other side of the country. I was making the journey myself as Adam had added me to his visitor list and not Kate. I thought back to the phone call when she had told me, her voice filled as much with hatred and anger as concern. ‘Why will he not see me?’
I stepped inside, checking again that I’d the visiting order and my identification.
“Yes?”
“I’m here to see Adam Bishop?”
The guard was efficient and polite, checking my paperwork and then searching the items I’d brought for Adam. Nothing exciting, a book, underwear and toiletries. He asked me to sit and wait, I knew I was early so sat staring at my feet as the room slowly filled up with other visitors.
“Your first time?”
I looked up; an older woman was standing in front of me. She gestured to the chair beside me, I nodded and she sat down.
“I could tell… You can always tell when it’s the first time. Maggie. My son’s in for burglary, stupid bugger.” She paused and I realised she was waiting for me to fill the gap.
“Amanda, here to visit my brother. He’s on remand…” I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘for murder’ so just went silent.
“Look, Mandy, it’s not so bad. I’m sure he’s coping, but you need to be strong for him. He won’t tell you how he’s feeling. Bloody men! But, if he is like mine, he’s just a frightened little boy, despite the bravado. It gets better as time goes on. Not for us, but they settle soon enough. It’s like a boy’s club for them, playing Xbox and watching TV, lazy sods. They soon forget about us on the outside.”
“I hope not…”
“Here, we are, time to go in.” Maggie reached down and squeezed my hand. “Come on girl, be strong for him now…”
* * *
Walking into the prison was intimidating, even though I
