Not only is the physical Cup awarded to the winner the biggest in the season—measuring three feet four inches and almost twenty kilos—but historically, and statistically, the winner of the Chatham Cup has gone on to win the England’s Cup, in the years it’s held.
The Foxleigh Flyers have achieved it only once. This year I intend to do it again, which would make it the first time since my father passed away.
I tap her on the knee and point at a shock of color on the horizon. “Look over there. Can you see the flags of Gloucester Park?”
Craning her neck, she squints until her eyes land on what I’m talking about, and they brighten immediately. “Oh my God, it's huge.”
“They really go all out, as the first tournament of the season. But the ground is much bigger than Foxleigh,” I say, watching her fingers fidget with the hem of her jumper. “Nervous?”
She nods slowly, like it’s something she shouldn’t admit. “A bit...but excited too.”
Reaching over, I take her hand, brushing my thumb against the warm ruby in her ring. “You’re going to love it. I promise.”
The flags loom—claret and turquoise flapping in the wind—bearing the Gloucester Park coat of arms, while orange Veuve Clicquot banners—the main sponsor—are positioned outside three champagne tents, and multiple stands.
We make our final descent by flying over the main park. The sight from this altitude is breathtaking. Eight smaller fields are already in play, it’s a beautiful day, and the crowds are turning out in force.
“There must be twenty thousand people.” Ruby gasps, except we all hear it through our headsets.
“Twenty thousand, one hundred and thirty,” Billy says, correcting her. “One of the biggest crowds in the calendar. The biggest one-day tournament, anyway.”
So far this season, the crowds we’ve played in front of have been two to four thousand max, so it’s no wonder her eyes are wide.
“How is your family getting here?”
“They’ll drive,” I reply. “Lando and Holiday were invited to stay with the duke and duchess last night. Everyone else will come up today. I suspect there were a few negotiations with Max on whether he could bring his growing number of pets.”
The tiny crease between her brows—which I’ve learned only presents when she’s anxious—disappears, and a smile breaks across her face. Just like I always do when I make her smile, I feel I’ve done something good.
The helicopter lowers to join the rest belonging to teams who’ve already arrived. Sixteen teams in total will play today, in a single-elimination-style tournament condensed into thirteen high-energy matches. Because the Foxleigh Flyers made the finals last year, we get a bye and start today’s tournament in the semi-finals. Playing only two matches creates a huge advantage.
“Hey, boss,” Billy’s voice comes through the headset, and he’s shaking his phone at me like he just got a message through.“We’ve got the Grasshoppers up first. Wildcats dropped out because they had an injured player.”
“Is that good?” Ruby asks.
I shrug. “Wildcats are strong. We lost to them in the finals last year, but I think we’re better this year. We can beat the Grasshoppers. Two of the players are coming back from injury.”
There’s a golf buggy waiting, which whisks us around the back of the park and through to the stables, avoiding the main grounds swarming with socialites, aristocrats, figures from the horse world, locals, and press snapping pictures. Cameras flash, and champagne flows.
Charlie and Annabel—the head grooms for today—greet us at the stables, and the eight of us walk along our allotted stable block, checking each horse like we do every morning. Where sometimes they’re still a bit sleepy, they know something’s happening today.
Coats polished, mane and tail braided with ribbons in the Foxleigh colors, their chest and legs covered in protective padding, and they’re pacing their stables ready to be let free.
My chest swells with pride. They look outstanding.
Once we’ve completed inspections, the six of us, along with all the grooms, make the final decisions on our game plan.
“Calamity’s in good shape, boss,” Annabel tells me. “She was frisky on the warm-ups this morning, might be good to save her for the final match.”
“Thanks.” I nod, pondering the order of the day, and turn to the team. “What do you think?”
“I want Violet in the first chukka. She always does better later in the day once she’s had a match under her belt. If I can get her going, she’ll do well for us in the final.”
I grin at Billy, taking stock in his certainty that we’ll make the final. “No problem.”
“What about Maverick?”
I nod at Ruby. “I’m taking him for the first chukka.”
