Silk Chaser

by Peter Klein

  At the home turn, I was happy I’d backed my saver. She was bowling along in front and Princess Upstart had got caught up behind a wall of horses. But a run came and she poked her nose through the gap and gamely gave chase. She plugged away all the way down the straight and I didn’t think she’d get there till her bobbing head just collared the other’s right on the post.

  ‘It’s close!’ said the race caller. ‘But give it to Princess Upstart by a whisker . . .’

  I walked down to the mounting yard and into a pensioners’ party. Daisy and the girls were shrieking and cackling like they’d been on the sherry. Henshaw was caught up in the middle of it and had given up trying to fend off congratulatory kisses from his adoring horde. Several racing reporters and photographers had cottoned on to it pretty quickly and were busy snapping away at Henshaw, encircled by Daisy and the others by the winner’s stall. A winner for Henshaw was always good press anyway, but who were these old ducks sharing the occasion?

  ‘He’s such a lovely boy, he is,’ said Daisy. She had a hand through Henshaw’s arm again and was already hijacking the interview. ‘Letting us into the horse like that. Me and the girls never miss his radio show, you know . . .’

  I sidled up and dug Henshaw good-naturedly in the ribs. Leant across and spoke softly into his ear so that only he could hear.

  ‘Such a lovely boy.’

  ‘You really are a bastard, Punter,’ he said.

  ‘Told you it was going to be fun racing a horse with you.’