Keeping the Peace Read Online Free Page B

had difficulty not rolling her eyes.
    ‘What were they drinking?’ Jayne said.
    ‘House white.’
    ‘Fine. Go get them a complimentary bottle and apologise .’

     
    Pippa dragged her aching feet up the last remaining stairs to the flat and let herself in quietly. She wasn’t sure if Ollie was back yet from his bi-weekly Boys’ Night Out at the pub although it was long past midnight.
    Switching on the lights, she found her answer. The coffee table in the open plan living room was strewn with empty beer bottles and crisp packets; crumbs ground into the rug. Either Ollie had stayed home and drunk himself into a stupor or he’d had his mates round.
    Pippa resigned herself to clearing up the mess. Collecting up the bottles, she sympathised with her boyfriend. He had been under so much pressure lately. His agent hardly ever called nowadays and when she did, it so often ended up in disappointment. Just like that last audition almost a month ago when she’d gone down to Somerset. Ollie apparently hadn’t fitted the role of Brave Cop #4.
    She left the crumbs for the next morning’s hoovering, but hesitated when she turned towards the closed bedroom door. She was tired, but she couldn’t bear to be faced with alcohol-enforced snores that she could hear rattling through the door.
    Instead, she opened the lounge window and lit a cigarette, watching the plume of smoke mingle with the night’s damp air. She thought back to the beautiful dawn she had witnessed at Hazyvale House. With a sigh she looked out at the off-licence across the street. A cold drizzle fell, highlighted in the dirty yellow glow of a street lamp.
    Glancing at the dresser next to her, she looked disinterestedly at the small corner of a recycled Amazon Rainforest that was Dave Taylor’s personal paperwork. She’d brought everything back to London after her primary visit four weeks ago, but hadn’t got very far through it all. Reaching out, she flicked through the uppermost paperwork, reading adverts for car boot sales and couple of dog-eared Racing Post newspapers. An industrial-sized diary slipped off the pile and landed on Pippa’s already aching foot.
    ‘Ow!’ she cried, leaping precariously on one slim heel. She shushed herself, glancing across to the bedroom door as she tenderly massaged her toe. She picked up the offending book. As she did so, two sheets of paper slid out and, catching a draft, winged their way into the centre of the lounge. Pippa balanced her cigarette on the windowsill and went to pick them up. The names PEACE OFFERING and ASTOLAT boldly titled each page.
    ‘Hello. What’s this?’ She picked them up and returned to her smoking post. At first, she couldn’t quite understand Dave’s writing, but she gathered from the dates and bulleting that it was a stats list.
    PEACE OFFERING
    1963 – Ayala – 66/1
    1966 – Anglo – 50/1
    1967 – Foinavon – 100/1
    1971 – Specifiy – 28/1
    1980 – Ben Nevis – 40/1
    1985 – Last Suspect – 50/1
    1987 – Maori Venture – 28/1
    1989 – Little Polveir – 28/1
    1995 – Royal Athlete – 50/1
    2001 – Red Marauder – 33/1
    2007 – Silver Birch – 33/1
    2009 – Mon Mome – 100/1
    1995 – Royal Athlete – last win 1993
    2004 – Amberleigh House – last win 2002
    2007 – Silver Birch – last win 2004
    Almost half of winners in past 50 years have been 9-year-olds.
    Only 5 favourites in past 50 years have won.
     
    ‘Won what?’ Pippa turned the sheet over to see if there was more, but the other side was blank. Looking at the page with Astolat’s name on it, it was much the same except with different names and dates. It didn’t give any clues either. ‘Hmm. Oh, well.’
    With a shrug she added the papers to the rest and set about tidying it. The two horses were going to be sold the next day anyway. What small compensation she could muster from not being able to afford to keep the horses, she could perhaps invest in getting a better job.
     
     

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