camel-hair coat, and talking and talking, gesticulating, rings flashing, when Marius, clearly jangling with nerves, wanted to distance himself.
‘Look at Shade kissing Olivia on the mouth, bloody letch,’ said Joey. ‘Shade doesn’t rate “Awesome” Wells as a jockey,’ he went on. ‘According to Jase, he wanted Rogue Rogers to ride Stop Preston. Awesome is so thick, if Marius gives him instructions he forgets them by the time he’s up. But he rides bloody well.’
‘Must be hard for Marius,’ said Alban, circling downward-pointed fingers to indicate to Chris that he wanted to buy another round, ‘keeping all these ambitious owners happy. Rupert Campbell-Black can afford to tell them to eff off.’
The horses were down at the start, Shade’s orange and magenta colours rivalling the yellows, reds and rusts of the turning trees. Preston was tugging at his bit, bouncing on the spot, eyeballing the competition, thinking up new naughtiness.
Next moment the group round the television were joined by a bustling, self-important figure with a horizontal moustache.
‘Are they off yet?’
‘Not quite,’ said Chris. ‘Your usual, Major?’
Major Cunliffe had a gin and tonic and turned to Alban.
‘Our lady wives are still in the church.’
‘Going to be secateurs at dawn,’ said Alban gloomily.
The Major had backed Asbo Andy. ‘Can’t stand that chap Oakridge, damn rude whenever I ask him for a raffle prize.’
‘Ride on his wife’s the best prize he could offer,’ leered Chris. ‘She’s a cracker.’
At first Stop Preston planted himself at the start. Then he decided he didn’t like being left behind and tore after the others, pulling so hard he overtook everyone except Asbo Andy and Claudia Dearest, who suddenly ran out of petrol, despite her jockey beating the hell out of her. The pub was in uproar.
Overtaking both of them, Stop Preston looked round for companions, wondering whether to feel lonely.
‘Come on, Stop Preston,’ yelled Dora.
‘Come on, Asbo Andy,’ bellowed the Major.
‘Don’t give up, Preston. You can do it,’ screamed Etta, as Asbo Andy passed him again.
As if hearing her, Preston rallied and passed Asbo Andy once more to win by a head.
‘And we might see Marius Oakridge smile for a change,’ said the commentator.
‘That horse is exhausted,’ complained Joey, as a fallen-away Claudia Dearest limped in last. ‘I’ll murder Jase.’
Etta’s squeals of excitement had crescendoed as Stop Preston passed the post. Glancing down, to her horror she found she’d been clutching both Alban and the Major’s hands, which she dropped instantly.
‘So sorry,’ she blushed furiously, ‘I got carried away. Oh well done, Marius, hasn’t he got a lovely smile. My son-in-law Alan was backing Preston and said he’d put something on for me, but he’s probably forgotten.’
As her mobile rang, she jumped in terror. It was bound to be Carrie or Romy catching her gambling and drinking in the pub. She must talk slowly and carefully.
‘Hell-o.’
‘Darling, it’s Alan.’ Etta slumped with relief. ‘What a win! Nothing could stop Preston. I put twenty pounds on for you and got him at 10–1. That’s two hundred quid.’
‘Oh my goodness.’ Etta collapsed on the fox-mask stool. ‘Oh, thank you. Did you back him? We must share it.’
‘I put on much more,’ said Alan smugly. ‘Where are you?’
‘In the Fox,’ whispered Etta, looking around nervously.
‘Put me on to Chris.’
‘I’ll lynch Jase,’ said Joey, ‘I was going to back Preston.’
‘Hello, young man,’ said Chris, taking Etta’s mobile. ‘Certainly, no problem. You’re right, my son, she’s a lovely lady.’ Chris handed back the mobile, opened the till and peeled Etta off a stack of tenners.
‘I’m to pay you now, in case Alan forgets.’
‘You don’t have to,’ stammered a deeply embarrassed Etta.
‘You take it, Etta, while the goin’s good,’ urged Joey.
‘And count it,’ said Woody.
‘Well, it must be drinks on me.’ Etta turned to the Major. ‘What would you like, Major Cunliffe?’
The Major was gratified. ‘You know my name?’
‘Dora told me you do so much for the village.’
‘About the perving and the nosy parking,’ mumbled Dora.
‘I shouldn’t let a lady buy me drinks.’
‘Please help me celebrate.’
‘Well, I won’t get much done this afternoon, I’ll have another G and T.’
‘A gin and tonic,’ Etta told Chris, ‘and another whisky for Mr Travis-Lock,’ then when Alban demurred, ‘you haven’t got far to go. And you too, Joey and Woody.’
‘I’ve got some trees to cut back, so I’ll have a Coke or they’ll shout at me for taking too much off.’
‘Joey?’ asked Etta.
‘As I haven’t got to climb trees this afternoon, I’ll have a pint, thanks, Etta. You’re as