‘I’m going to put five dollars on Xanadu, for a win,’ she said. ‘How about you, Seymour. What do you fancy?’

He looked down the list, replete with happiness, for the way she’d said that gave him the illusion that he came knowledgably and often to this fascinating place, and that the little form guide was no more difficult to decipher than a familiar bus time-table. He glanced suavely down the list: Charmaine Waltz, Jewel in the Crown, Black Satin…

‘They all sound like names for your clothes,’ he said. ‘Black Satin. Can I put some money on that?’

‘Black Satin’s fifty to one,’ Angie said. ‘A real roughie, and trust you to pick that, you dag. But it’s your dough. I’ll go and place our bets, only don’t go splurging more than fifty cents, and you can kiss that goodbye, too. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, pal.’

She came back with two little slips of stamped paper, and Seymour held his tightly, like a talisman, as Angie hurried him into a stand to watch the race. Black Satin, as though sensing his will vibrating from the crowd, flew around the outside and won by half a length. Any disappointment Angie might have felt at her own lost bet was not evident. She jumped up and down and thumped Seymour joyfully on the back, and when she collected his winnings, he counted the notes speechlessly. Never in his life had he owned so much money!

‘Don’t get carried away and lose all that on the next race,’ she warned him. ‘That was just a flash in the pan, beginner’s luck. We’ll go and look the next lot over really carefully, because there’s a chestnut I like, but I want to see if he looks as good now as I remember.’

Seymour could have hung over the rails gazing besottedly at the horses for the rest of the afternoon, but Angie pulled him on, laughing. ‘They’ll think you’re planning to nobble something,’ she said. ‘You’ll get arrested by the stewards and I won’t be able to bring you here any more. Warned off racetracks for life before you’re even in your teens, that’s what’ll happen to you. Look, there’s that chestnut I had in mind. He’s usually pretty smart on this track, though his last run was lousy. Maybe he just had an off day. He looks fighting fit now, don’t you reckon? What do you think I should do, bet on him for a place, or go all out for the favourite?’

Seymour leant on the rail next to her, not really understanding her chatter, but highly flattered that she didn’t think she had to explain things to him. Suddenly she bounced away, offering no explanation, and when he hurried after her, she was with a nuggety, dour-faced little man.