Read Online The Runners by Fiachra Sheridan - Free Book Online Page A

giving you money for a bet.’
    ‘Pretend it’s for a Mint Crisp then.’
    Jay begrudgingly handed over the ten pence. Bobby took out a fresh docket. He started writing out the bet. He always heard voices in his head when he was writing out a bet.
    Do the bet. Back another horse. Put the money back in your pocket
.
    ‘Last few loading at Catterick,’
came across the tannoy.
    He wrote the bet out again.
    £3 win Jack the Lad 2.15 Catterick
.
    ‘That’s three thirty please.’
    He made the Sign of the Cross in the palm of his hand with his index finger. He could feel his heart racing.
    ‘Jack the Lad has drifted in the market betting. They’re off at Catterick at 2.16.’
    Bobby walked back to Jay.
    ‘If the horse wins, don’t get excited or they might think we put the bet on for ourselves.’
    ‘OK, why has it drifted?’
    ‘It’s not fancied on the track, so the odds drift. It doesn’t make a difference really, just means I win more money.’
    They both stared intently at the small television in the corner of the bookies. Two old men were dragging on their smokes, directly under the TV. They had to stand close to see the screen. One of them shouted, ‘Go on number two.’
    Some old men backed numbers without even looking at the form. Bobby looked up at the board. Number two. Red Mist. 33–1. The commentary for the race was crackly.
    Red Mist leads by about four lengths. Two furlongsto go. The pack are chasing him down. Red Mist still holding on by four lengths
.
    Bobby felt a knot grow in his stomach, as his heart started to beat a bit faster. He should have backed Red Mist. It was a red jersey he was looking for, a red pen he wrote the bet with, and Red Mist was 33–1. He had three pounds. That would have been ninety-nine pounds winnings. He started to feel sick.
    A furlong to go. Red Mist still leads. Clockwork Orange is closing, so is Jack the Lad. Pat Eddery is closing with every stride on Jack the Lad
.
    Eddery was his dad’s favourite jockey, when he won him a bet. He was a bastard, bollix and any other insulting term he could think of when he lost a race.
    One hundred yards to go. They’re neck and neck. Fifty yards to go. It’s too close to call. A photo finish between Jack the Lad, Red Mist and Clockwork Orange
.
    ‘Do you think you won?’
    ‘I think Jack the Lad got up on the line. It’s hard to tell. Eddery is a genius, as my da would say.’
    This one is gone to the judges. Very close. Its looks to me as if the outsider, Red Mist, has pulled off a surprise, with Willie Carson on board
.
    The old smoker under the television got a big hug from his friend.
    ‘Willie Carson is a genius. We’ll have a few pints on him tonight.’
    They both lit up another cigarette and looked like the most contented couple in the world.
    Result in from Catterick. First, number two, Red Mist. Second, number seven, Jack the Lad. Third, number four, Clockwork Orange. The SPs. 33–1, 9–2 and 7–4 favourite
.
    The SP stood for Starting Price. Bobby thought it should have been FP, for finishing price. He felt sicker than he had ever felt doing a bet. He normally put fifty pence on. That was his limit. If he lost, he left the bookies. If he won, he put another fifty pence on. He always limited his losses. Bobby scrunched up the docket and threw it on the floor. Jay pretended he was the commentator on the race.
    ‘First, number two, Red Mist, second number seven…’
    ‘Piss off.’
    They walked out of the bookies in silence.
    ‘I’m going down to my mam to get a red apple.’
    ‘Ha, ha.’
    ‘Or a lovely orange.’
    ‘I’m going home.’
    His heart was racing, and he still had the sick feeling in his stomach. He could hear voices in his head telling him he should have done this or he should have done that. Why didn’t he back Red Mist? He would have over a hundred pounds inhis pocket if he had. When he got home, he sat on his bed staring at Croke Park, swearing he would never gamble again, but deep down