Liam picks up Wayne at 10pm, the only lit up house in the short, dark terrace on the edge of the sleepy town. Even with the light behind her, Wayne’s Mam, who opens the door in answer to his soft knock, is a handsome single woman, thinks Liam to himself. Even though everyone knows everyone else’s business in Portumna, and there had been every explanation on earth from a golfer tourist to the son of Finn Bheara himself, no-one really knows the truth of who Wayne’s father is.

Everybody likes Connie O’Connell, though, she was lovely in looks and friendly with everyone, and no-one has a bad word to say about her at all. Forgiven, it seems, and herself carries the shame of being an unmarried mother as if it was nothing.

“Are you okay, Con?” Liam asks Connie, returning her ever-ready smile.

With the hall light behind her he can see the shape of her through her thin t-shirt top, with a large opening for her long, shapely neck, so that it threatens to slip over her shoulders and drop to the floor, but for one broad shoulder holding one side up. Liam concentrates on keeping his eyes above her shoulders.

“Oh grand, I’m sure, Liam,” Connie replies with a nod, a ready smile on her face and a cheerful happy voice. “And is yourself?”

“Aye fair, Con, fair, not on me way out yet awhiles,” Liam grins and averts his eyes, thinking that even in shadow no-one can look at Connie for long without wanting to touch her, and no-one touches an O’Connell in Portumna without considering the dire consequences; there were a lot of O’Connells about and they were as thick as thieves. “Is himself ready, Con?”

“Sure, hasn’t he been ready since the minute he got home from work, shaved and showered he was and has been twitching and cluttering up the sitting room for three hours trying not to crease his trousers? He’s been faffing around, up and down to the jacks three times in the last hour alone, ye know how his nerves are. He hasn’t been near The Pale since he was a wee chiseler, and he’s only passing through in the dark so he is.”

“What’s he like up on the water, your boyo?”

“It’s fer you ta find out, Liam, oul lad, I haven’t a baldy notion,” she laughs as she turns and walks in a sashaying motion down the passage, calling over her one bare shoulder, “come in and take the weight off an’ I’ll see if he’s ready.”

Liam shakes his head as he starts to follow, unable to take his eyes away from being glued on her unbelievable buns wriggling mesmerisingly in her tight, pink yoga pants.

‘Bejeesus,’ he thinks, ‘I shoulda stayed in the car an’ got Bodger to knock but then Bodger may be Billy Whizz on his mobile but faced with a fine thing like Con, he’d make a complete haymes of it and... ‘

“Hey, Con, I got the other two wee weans in tha motor there, an’ yer know what they’ll like, be pushing all me buttons an’ the like.”

“Sure, I’ll round him up and send him out to yers.”

“Right, er, has he remembered to put on his best bib an’ tucker and his face mask? We’ve got Club Tickets yer see an’ they expects us done up to the nineties.”

“It’s his only suit, he got it for his graduation and I next expected to see it at his funeral or mine. I was swatted seeing himself togged up in it, he looks so dead-on I could weep like an eejit.”

Liam looks on until she opens a door deep in the house and disappears from view, before returning to his car parked in the road outside with the engine running and the lights blazing.

‘Tis a wonder who she still burns a candle for,’ Liam thinks. ‘She hasn’t been out with a fella for twenty years and no-one has the faintest who Wayne’s oul man is.’ Back in the car Liam finds that ‘Donkey’, otherwise known as Darragh Monaghan, the bricklayer in Liam’s construction crew, has dropped off in the front seat and is snoring like a steam train. In the back of the car Oisin ‘Bodger’ O’Dyer, the carpenter of the crew, is just nodding off and awakes with a start as the car door opens.

“Did yer both have ter get fluthered before I picked you up at O’Malley’s Bar?” Liam asks in frustration, more to the faeries than to mortal man.

“Sure, we was only going to have a quick one after work’” wheedles Oisin, blinking from brightness of the interior light, “but ever since the Donkey’s had his weans, the clown don’t get out too much and the black stuff was going down so well it was. So I rang me mot to pack me a bag and bring me suit for us to change into back in the jacks. An’ so Donk rang Ciara fer the same. She were not as full of gas as Roisin and she eat his head off when she dropped his bag around from their gaff.”

Just then, Oisin could see Wayne leave his mother’s house and walk towards the car, carrying a small overnight bag, and nudges Liam. “Gaffer, the ‘Duke’ himself is coming.”

Liam gets out to open the boot for Wayne. Everyone in the crew has a nickname and Wayne’s is ‘Duke’. Even in the dim light of the streetlight, he can see that the 19-year-old Wayne looks very smart in his suit.

“Jaysus, you’re looking sharp, Wayne me boyo, anyone would think yer want to make a good impression on yer first visit to England.”

“Well, Gaffer,” Wayne replies evenly, “you said you wanted us to wear smart suits because we’re able to roam anywhere at the racecourse with those tickets, and this us the only suit I’ve got. I bought the raincoat in the January sales.” Wayne smiles as he puts his overnight bag in the boot. “D’yer mind if I slip me coat and suit jacket off and leave them spread on the bags? I don’t want to crumple ‘em up too much.”

“Yes, no, that’s grand lad, plenty o’ room. You’re sitting in the back with Bodge, though, they’ve been lushing all night. Donk’s already away with the faeries and snoring like a peat furnace and Bodger won’t be far behind, so I need ya to keep talking to me, keep me awake doing the driving like, okay?”

“Aye, that’s grand.”

Once everyone’s strapped up, Liam drives off, heading on the R489 towards Roscrea and the N52 at Riverstown. After Roscrea they follow the R445, by which time only Liam and Wayne are awake.

“So,” asks Liam, “have you given your horses for the Super Heinz to Bodger for his spreadsheet?”

“Aye, I already worked them out and gave it to him yesterday, telling him I would place the bet online each way this evening and send him any changes, but I kept my selection and emailed him about 7, so he can keep track for our side bet. I gave Donk the 10 euros, he’s the banker, right?”

“Aye, he is. But, Wayne, each way on the ‘Super Heinz’? That’s 240 euros is it not?”

“Aye, but a couple of wins or even one win and three out of seven places will mean I’ll get more than me money back. I’ve been saving all year, like.”

“I was forgetting, this was your idea last year when Bodge was unable to go to the Cheltenham Festival because of Covid, and you just eighteen and not even able to place a bet! I’d never even heard o’ the ‘Super Heinz’ before you told us about it.”

“I googled horse racing and there was this article about it, how you could bet on every combination of win, place, doubles, trebles and accumulator in one single bet for 120 euros, that’s 1 euro on every bet in seven races. It’s the multiples that add up to winning thousands if you’re jammy. Once we all agreed to go together, I’ve been putting away 10 euros a week all year and planned doing it each way all along.”

Liam and Wayne keep up their conversation all the way to Dublin Port and the drive onto the ferry to Holyhead. There, they wake up the two sleepyheads.

“Are you going to be alright on the water, Duke?” asks Darragh, wiping the sleep from his eyes and hoping his own stomach was up to the mark after being as mouldy drunk as he was.

“Aye, grand, Donk,” grins Wayne, “glad to be smellin’ the ozone after two hours breathing in the manky air coming from you and Bodge!”

“The only reason Wayne kept me awake all the way here was because it was safer to talk and breathe with his mouth open, yer pair o’ shitehawks!” Liam shakes his head. “Come on, let’s get up to the decks, for some breakfast and, as for black stuff, it’s black coffees only for you two eejits.”

2. DUBLIN TO CHELTENHAM

The four colleagues cheerfully discuss their horse selections for the seven races of the day while on the ferry boat, the Super Heinz bets already made online earlier in the evening. Wayne was the only one who doubled his stake by making the bets each way.

Now that all four are relatively compos mentis, with both the qualified craftsmen gently taking the Micky out of labourer young Wayne.

“Houston Gate in the opening race? You do know that’s the clear odds-on favourite, Duke, ya eejit?” exclaims Darragh.

Regular gambler Oisin also chips in with, “You’re just the slave boyo in the construction team, Duke, you need to listen to the wise oul heads on Donk and me, we’ve bet on horses fer years.”

“And don’t both the bookies in Portumna send you Chrimbo cards in gratitude for paying for their weans’ education,” Wayne “Duke” O’Connell (plasterer’s mate, 19, single and living with his Ma with no girlfriend known to the others and painfully shy around strangers), somewhat wearily replies, “I know, of course the stallion’s the best feckin’ horse in the race, he won his last time out at Leopardstown on good to firm going, so why shouldn’t I chance me first throw o’ euros on the fecker?”

“But it was pure shite yesterday, Duke, remember?” points out Oisin. “Sure, didn’t it lash down good and proper all day on the buildin’ site an’ we all had to switch to working inside?”

All the close-knit mates in the construction team have nicknames and all use them religiously, except Liam, the foreman, who uses their real names unless particularly exasperated with the young men. He was pushing one and a half times the ages of Oisin “Bodger” O’Dyer (carpenter, 26, single with a live-in girlfriend, the lovely Roisin), and Darragh “Donkey” Monaghan (bricklayer, 28, married to childhood sweetheart Ciara with two babies, Saorise, 3 and Aidan 11 months old at home). Liam Flaherty, himself the foreman of a 10-strong construction crew, is mostly referred to as “Gaffer” (he’s 54, a widower with two children who’ve long flown the nest and talks about his three grandchildren ad nauseam when given the opportunity).

“Sure, it was a soft old day fer us in the west of Ireland, Bodge,” Wayne presses his point, “but over there in Cheltenham it was only spitting in the morning, with strong drying easterlies in the afternoon, so it’ll be good to firm with only a wee bit o’ juicy dew on the grass for the early racers to zip along on. Houston will be no problem, I’ve always wanted to say that. It’s a huge field that first race anyway, and even as favourite Houston Gate’ll come in at 5 to 2 or 2 to 1 at worst, which’ll double half me money and get the whole of me 1 euro each-way stake back plus 20% for the place. It’s only a smidgen, but it all rides in the next race in the accumulator.”

“Stop slagging Wayne, cos he’s right boyos,” Liam joins in with a chuckle, “That horse has to fall over if it’s not to win this race. I’ve got my win money on the very same stallion, form says he’s got the stamina for two miles and that’s time enough for his class to show. Wayne may be splashing out going each way on his Super Heinz bet, but even with a place, he’s still alive in the accumulator, while rest of us are out. And as fer taking the piss out of Wayne being the boyo of our team here, may I remind you pair o’ spanners how good a worker Wayne’s been since we lured him away from that gobshite Tooleys and he’s picking up the skills and the right way of working in, well, in no time at all. I trust him putting up shuttering for concreting from the technical drawings alone; doesn’t he mixes up your muck without your complaints, Oisin, and he’s willing to do filling jobs when there’s no plastering, like rubbing down and painting. He never complains and he plasters about as well as any qualified plasterer he’s worked with despite not having earned the full ticket. I keep telling him he should go to college part-time and take the tests for qualification.”

“Fair play, Duke,” Oisin slaps Wayne on the shoulder, “It was you that suggested we take this trip this year after mine was cancelled last year because of the Covid. Thanks a million from me and Donk. I mean, look at us, it’s four in the morning, we’re all knackered, but this is the best craic we’ve had in donkey’s!”

As the ferry approaches Holyhead at about 5 in the morning, the two journeymen pick up their holdalls and suit bags to go change out of yesterday’s work clothes they wore down the pub, in the ferry’s toilet.

Darragh comes back in 90 seconds, still dressed in his work clothes and spitting nails like his charged-up tack-gun.

“Feck! I go out on the lash once in a blue moon an’ me woman Ciara’s on’y gone and swapped me suit in the suit bag with the oul feckin’ suit that I got married in eight years ago, which is at least two sizes too small, an’ all the feckin’ underwear she’s packed are me mot’s oldest grey knickers and she’s the size o’ the bloody sugar plum fairy! Everyt’ing else she’s stuffed in the bag are work clothes or what I usually wear in the garden, no shoes, just me carpet slippers and no feckin’ socks!”

“That’ll teach you to go the bar straight after work, get banjaxed, leaving the missus alone to look after the weans all weekend ... and then you order your oul woman to pack for ye, ya daft bugger!” Liam laughs.

Wayne can’t quite wipe the smile off his face, until Oisin turns up in his sharp suit and hears about the trick Ciara played on Darragh.

“Ah, that’s pure gas, Donkey, me boyo,” Oisin laughs so hard, he’s bent over, “she’s quality your missus, absolutely pure class. I mean, how do you follow that?”

They all burst out laughing, while Darragh stands there like a clown that’s lost his favourite red nose.

“Fine, have yer fun, a great craic, not! I need to get to a store on the way and get a new suit, a shirt, a tie and new shoes, Gaffer.”

“And, don’t forget your underwear!” Wayne reminds him, which sets the three smilers laughing again.

In order to use the expensive tickets Darragh’s bought and paid for a year ago, and join the others in their day at the races, he needs a suit.

They park at a shopping mall in a market town close to Cheltenham shortly after 9 o’clock to get Darragh kitted out as quickly as possible off the peg, meaning they don’t get to the B&B digs in Cheltenham, where they will sleep tonight, until 10.

“We can leg it to the course or get a taxi,” Liam offers a choice after dumping his bag in the room he’ll share with Wayne. Darragh and Oisin say they are “still in bits after being hammered” and plumb for the latter, so Liam rings Cheltenham Taxis and they arrive at the racecourse by taxi before 11, in plenty of time to enjoy a leisurely lunch before the first race in a couple of hours.

Lunch comes in the form of burgers and chips all round, a couple of pints of ‘hair of the dog’ black stuff for the two craftsmen, while Liam sups one pint and a whiskey chaser, and Wayne makes room for a 330ml bottle of light lager. The two boys in their twenties naturally eye up all the ladies dressed up to the nineties in the club stand, while Wayne appears to fidget and clearly itches to get away.

“I want to take a gander at the horses before the first race,” he declares, rising from his seat.

“I’ll come with you, oul lad,” Liam says, downing his chaser and goes off with Wayne to the parade ground to check out their favourite runner.

Darragh complains that his new shoes, chosen in haste, are pinching his feet, so the other pair decide to stay and have another pint to quell their dehydration while viewing the more palatable fillies on parade in the bar.

Wayne is like a cat on a tin roof at the parade ring looking out for someone, Liam notices, but accepts that, as this is the shy youngster’s first time at such a large and crowded event, that it is only natural.

“There’s Houston Gate,” Liam points to a large deep chestnut horse, the beast’s head held high as if fully aware of his superiority to the herd of wannabes around him, “sure now, he looks just fine.”

But Wayne leaves Liam watching the favourite led on a walk around the parade ground and he moves around the outside of the ground in the direction of the coming horses, until stopping, apparently spotting someone he knows inside the arena and was probably looking for.

Then, rather self-consciously, Wayne calls out, “Hey, Dee Dee!”

The girl he was looking at, and appeared to be addressing at distance, was a cute, short young girl in slacks, boots and a padded jacket, her thick, dark brunette hair tied neatly in a pony tail high on the back of her head. She hears something and turns her blue eyes slightly towards the name calling, but the grey mare she’s leading is skittish, senses her slightest distraction and starts to play up. The girl concentrates on calming the horse and they continue to walk on past where Wayne is standing without seeing him.

Wayne rejoins Liam and they return to the restaurant to collect their wayward mates.

The race turns out to be an exciting middle distance hurdle over more than two miles, closely contested by the runners, with a couple of fallers, and the four friends are able to follow the excitement from the huge screens and witness the finish from the well-placed grandstand.

Liam and Wayne’s favourite chestnut stallion eases out majestically in front of the field in the last two furlongs and wins comfortably, still full of running.

“Nice one, ye jammy hoors!” exclaims Darragh to the boss of his crew and the young labourer. “But that was a cracking race.”

“You’re both ahead in the side bet,” Oisin confirms what they all know, looking at the spreadsheet on his mini tablet, “Donk picked up a place at a good price but I nixed it and got bollox all.”

“An’ you being the regular gambler?” Liam points out with a grin, recalling the conversation over their late breakfast.

“I do the gee-gees every week, an’ I expected better from my lame donkey, but I’ll catch ya buggers in the next race,” Oisin banters, “But before the second race, I’m going to check out my nag on the parade ring. I’m sure me last horse had a gammy leg, so he did.”

Wayne moves away from the other three at the parade ring concourse and once again tries to catch the very same girl’s attention. This time she’s leading around a chestnut mare that seems a lot smaller than all the other horses. Dee Dee looks neat and ... beautiful, thinks Wayne.

Wayne picks a quieter spot to stand, waiting for them to draw level, and this time the girl hears him call out her nickname, and appears shocked to recognise the boy so far from home.

“Wayne, whatcha doing here?” she asks, though a broad smile blossoms on her pretty face, her blue eyes flashing and the freckles across the bridge of her nose and upper cheeks darken in what seems like embarrassment.

“Watching you,” he grins, “is what I’m doin’ and it’s obvious from your smiles and the glow about yah that you love these horses.”

“And why wouldn’t I, Wayne? They’re lovely.” She beams at him, “And don’t you look lovely too in yer sharp suit, knotted tie an’ all?”

“It’s my graduation suit, Dee Dee, I, I er wore it for you at graduation and then you didn’t turn up.”

“I was gonna, but ... well, I was all dressed up to the nineties to go, an’ my oul dad here was teking me, but then, I’m so sorry, Wayne, I’m just not as brave as you.” A solitary tear rolls down one cheek. “I’ve got to go, Wayne, I’m holdin’ up the parade. Can you meet me over there in ten minutes, where we enter the parade ring. I’ll get the guard to let you in or I’ll come out.”

She points to a gate at the end of the parade ring.

“Sure, I’ll meet you there. It, it’s good to see you again, Dee Dee.”

“Yeah, me too, Wayne. See you in a few minutes.”

Wayne turns with a wave and walks in determined strides towards where he has been directed.

“Who’s the big fella, Deidre?” the short, stout middle-aged man, smartly-dressed in a tweed suit and jaunty trilby, asks her from the other side of the chestnut mare.

“That’s Wayne O’Connell, from school.”

“An O’Connell, huh?! Well, there’s trouble on legs for ya, they’re all hallions the O’Connells. He looks a big useful lad, though, was he one of those that bullied you at school?”

“No, Da, the bullies were scuts not worth bothering with. No, Wayne was an angel who stopped the dopes and got himself in trouble for me more than once and I ... well, I chickened out on Graduation Day and never really thanked him.”

“Well, thank him at the gate and then tell him to feck off, we don’t want anything to do with that family of gombeen travellers. Or would you like me to have a word with him?”

“No, Da,” her smile now faded in sadness, “but I don’t want to be rude to him. He was always nice to me, sweet even, an’ I doubt he’s here on his own. His oul dear’s single and she’s said to be a beave, you know.”

“Get away with ya! Anyone would think he was ya fella. You left school, what nearly two years ago? Have you been seeing him on the quiet since?”

“No, I’ve not seen him at all since.”

“The O’Connells are all dossers, my sweet girl, and too sour for the likes of us, just get shot of him and leave it at that!”

3. DEE DEE

Wayne hangs around at the gate leading to the parade ring for ten minutes, thinking that he was probably going to miss watching the next race with his friends.

“You alright, chief?” one of the two burly security guards on the gate asks after he’s been loitering around the area for two minutes.

“Er, sure,” Wayne replies, “I’m waiting for, er, a friend to come and have a brief chat. Hopefully it won’t be too long.”

“Well, bruv, if you haven’t got an official pass, your friend’s have to come out and meet with yah, okay?”

“Yes, no, fine, that’ll be okay.”

Wayne looks again at the race card for the coming race. He is still happy with his choice of Jackey’s Chancer in the race, a county hurdle of 2 miles and 1 furlong, with 25 runners. He finds himself amused, not for the first time, that even though the country had gone decimal years long before he was born, horse races are still proudly displayed in miles and furlongs. He isn’t even sure exactly how many furlongs there are in a mile, and he dare not ask Oisin or the Gaffer or he’d get a load of shite, especially from Oisin. He notes that Dee Dee’s chestnut mare Dawn Ride, the horse that she led out around the parade ground, is listed. He considers it a very a long shot maybe but not got any chance in this field.

Wayne turns the page to the third race due off in about 40 minutes’ time, a Novices hurdle of 3 miles with 18 runners. There, about three-quarters of the way down the page, his fat finger traces, is the Irish-trained filly, Sunarabia. And next to the horse’s name it reads that the jockey is scheduled to be one Deidre O’Shea, his Dee Dee. Well, not “his” exactly, but—

“Howya, Wayne,” a voice in front of him says loud enough to shake him from his reveries, “Are ya away with the faeries, now?”

There she stands in front of him, a tiny figure of a bare five foot two, fully a foot shorter than he, and perhaps only a third of his width, she was so slight of build. Her smile though isn’t slight or slim, it brightens up Wayne’s day, as she had done for over ten years.

“Well, there you are,” he grins, “and I was thinking you’d forgotten me all over again, Dee Dee.”

Her face falls, the smile replaced by a grimace, her lower lip bitten in an attempt to stop it quivering. “Look, Way—”

“Away wit’cha, Deedee, now, I was only acting the maggot with ya, I didn’t mean to make you scarlet now.”

She punches him in the shoulder, her mischievous smile instantly returns, “Got ya, you dufus! I knew you were going to say something like that, you’re so predictable.”

“I like to think I’m reliable rather than predictable. It sounds better.”

“I know, Wayne, reliable is sound. I wasn’t slagging you. I already apologised about graduation. You know how much I hated that school.”

“Well, you still punch like a little girl, so nothing’s changed in two years.”

“You seem bigger somehow,” she says, “though if ya can still get into the suit...”

“I do work hard for a living, you know?” Wayne protests, “It’s all muscle.”

“Of course you do. Did you not go to college at all?” she asks.

“No, I could’ve scraped into the National, but it wasn’t worth it, you know, my oul Mam, well she’ll never admit it but she’d be lonely if I went away.”

“I know, that’s why I went to the local school, never having known my mother, it was difficult to leave Dad on his own, you know?”

“I know, you said before, when we were at school. I could live without a Dad, it was all I ever knew but Mam?”

“We were a right pair of opposite bookends at school, weren’t we?”

“Aye, we were in a way. So, you didn’t go away to college?”

“I did, to be sure,” Deidre laughs, “my Dad, who insisted he couldn’t bear to part with me all those years as a wean, packed me off to Trinny as soon as he could cash in the scholarship euros and switch my gaff to Dublin before the next semester started. Then Covid hit us and I was home again in the spring term, working with the horses during the day and doing College online all evening.”

“So, no social life then for you?”

“What, in Portumna? No!”

“It’s not a bad place—”

“If you like fishing or boating or walking in the woods,” she interjects.

“I saw you in the woods, in the Forest Park.”

“When? You never said anything.”

“It was last year, early summer, you were riding with a fella, so I never said nothing.”

“Last summer?” Deidre pauses, thinking, “I ride in Portumna Forest Park a couple of times a week, usually in a group. I have a wee pony that I hack for pleasure and it’s not always fun riding in the woods on your own.”

“He was dark-haired, lanky.”

“Ah, Reginald, American, his Mom bought a cottage that they extended into a Macmansion. Mind you, it’s lovely views of the Shannon. They hold BBQs all the time outside lockdown. He was a stable lad for a while last year, didn’t last long, not used to hard work, not at all. I think he came out with me for a ride a couple of times, maybe thinking he could mitch off the chores, but they don’t do themselves, so he stopped coming out. Soon after he stopped coming into work so Dad let him go.” She smiles at him, “So, you still at Tooley’s?”

“Oh, when did you hear I was at Tooley’s?” Wayne asks with raised eyebrows.

“I think someone said you were labouring at Tooley’s but I thought maybe it was a summer job between school and college, then when you just said you didn’t go to college I wondered what you were doing. Anyway, what are you doing here? Is this your first trip out of Ireland?”

“Aye, I may be born and bred a culchie, but I’ve been planning this trip with three friends for a year.”

“Woohoo, I’m impressed. So, what work do you do when you’re not at the races on a working day?”

“I’m still labouring, not with Tooley’s, but with Callaghan Construction. They’re based in Nenagh, but we have a small crew of about ten of us working out of Portumna covering southern Galway and Clare, you know, extensions, barn conversions into cottages, you’d be surprised the amount of work foreign owners are prepared to pay for.”

“Not surprised, my Dad trains horses mostly for foreign owners. Anyway, if you enjoy the Forest Park byways, you could come with me, I could find a horse big enough he’d carry you, and possibly rustle up some boots and riding togs.”

“What? Me on a horse?” Wayne laughs, “that would be a sight to see!”

“Well?”

Wayne stops smiling and looks embarrassed, “Well, I s’pose I, well, it would be worth turning scarlet just to see you more. I, I missed not seeing you every school day.”

“Me too, Wayne, I,” she reaches out and touches both his hands with her hands, “I have to go, but I ... can I see you later? Here?”

“Before the next race?”

“No, I’m running in the next race, but the one after, I’ll be here, but ... can I?”

“Yes, I’ll see you here.”

Deidre turns and walks to the gate, only a dozen paces away.

Wayne turns away, smiling. He’s going to see his Dee Dee again and he may even go out riding with her. ‘My Mam won’t believe it!’ he thought.

As Deidre went though the gate she thought, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it’s great seeing Wayne again, but what do I tell Da?’

4. PLACES COUNT

Wayne walks slowly back to the spot in the Grandstand where they had stood to watch the first race. He is not in any hurry as he can hear the shouts of encouragement followed by the high-pitched cheers of the winners and deeper bass note groans of the losers.

“Where’ve you been, ya eejitt?” Darragh says as he spots their approaching workmate, “you’ve only gone and won a feckin’ race again, Duke! This time Jackey’s Chancer came in at a better price of 9/1, yah jammy chancer.”

“Well, did I not say all along, when we ran through our selections, that it was a grand horse I was banking on? And wasn’t I the only one out of the three of us that put money on it?”