Pulse(36)

It had been one of my biggest fears and had been further ammunition for the voice in my head advising me not to eat anything at all.

And it didn’t help when everyone else tried to tell me what I should do. I already knew, and I didn’t like being lectured, especially by those who had no comprehension at all of my problem.

‘Can I get you anything else?’ Grant asked.

‘No, darling,’ I said. ‘Thank you. I’m fine.’

I watched the rest of the racing on the TV until the boys came home from school.

‘Hi, Mum,’ Oliver said, sweeping into the sitting room and dumping his bag on the floor. ‘What’s to eat?’

The twins were always hungry after a day of studying and that clearly overrode any concern for their concussed mother.

‘Have an apple,’ I said. ‘There are some in the fridge.’

Oliver turned his nose up. ‘Got any crisps?’

‘You finished them on Monday.’

I had meant to do an online food order but that was something else that had been sidelined by the bus.

‘Leave Mum alone,’ Grant said. ‘She’s meant to be resting.’

‘What for?’ Oliver asked. ‘Are you on nights again?’

‘No, darling,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘I’m just resting after banging my head.’

He nodded as if he’d just remembered.

How wonderful, I thought, to be fourteen. Not only did Oliver believe he was immortal but he also believed it of those he loved. He wasn’t worried that his mother had been almost killed by a bus, his concerns were more about his sexuality and whether the blonde girl in his class he fancied also fancied him, and what he’d do about it if she did.

Toby appeared dressed in his Gotherington Colts football kit.

‘Hi, Mum,’ he said. ‘I’m off for a team practice. We’ve, like, got a local derby on Saturday morning against Woodmancote.’

Woodmancote was a nearby village – huge rivals, not least because both teams’ members went to the same school.

‘Be careful,’ I said to his departing back.

‘Yeah,’ he said, as if he would.

Normal family life went on unchanged just as it had for years. It was me who was different, not everyone else – something that had taken me a long while to appreciate.

Grant went back to work early on Thursday morning and, as usual, the boys caught the bus to school from outside the village post office, leaving me alone in the house.

I’d promised Grant that I would take things easy all day but, there again, I’d never been that good at keeping my promises. I had already rested for the required twenty-four hours and now I felt absolutely fine, without so much as a minor headache.

I tidied the kitchen and put away the breakfast things. I stacked the dirty cups and bowls in the dishwasher and set it going. Next I went upstairs and made the beds and picked up the clothes that the boys had dumped on their bedroom floors. Then I vacuumed the carpets, tied back the curtains, plumped up the cushions on the sofa and straightened the magazines on the coffee table. I put on a wash load from the dirty-linen basket, and then I sorted my medications, yet again.

Finally, I sat down on a kitchen stool and looked at the digital clock on the cooker.

It read 9.40.

What shall I do now?

I tried to read an article on the internet about interior design but my mind wasn’t on it.

At five past ten I put my coat on and went to Cheltenham races.





14


This time I did park my Mini in the doctors’ assigned spaces in the jockeys’ car park. It was not so much that I didn’t want to have to cross the Evesham Road again, it was just that I expected to leave before the last race, before the traffic became too bad.

‘Hello, Dr Rankin,’ said a voice as I climbed out of the car. ‘Thanks for your help the other day.’

I turned to find Dave Leigh, the jockey who had broken his collarbone on Tuesday, his left arm now in a sling. He was parked right next to me and was still sitting in a BMW 3 Series with the driver’s window down.

‘Hi, Dave,’ I said. ‘How’s it going?’

‘OK, I suppose. But I’ll be off for at least four weeks. Damned nuisance.’

I decided not to say that, after such a crashing fall, he was lucky to be alive, let alone well enough to come racing only two days later, albeit this time as a spectator rather than a participant.

‘At least you can drive,’ I said.

‘Automatic,’ he said, smiling. ‘Only need one arm and one leg.’

‘Are you here just for the atmosphere?’ I asked.

‘Naah. The TV people have asked me to do a bit in the changing room about what it’s like just before a big race but, to be honest, I don’t know if I can do it. I’m totally gutted. I should be riding Card Reader in the Gold Cup tomorrow. Best horse I’ve ever been on. Has a really good chance.’

‘Who rides him now?’

‘Bloody Mike Sheraton,’ he said. ‘Switched from a no-hoper. Probably win on him too, and that will be the end of me riding him forever, in spite of all our past successes.’

‘Surely not.’

‘Surely will. No owner would jock off a Gold Cup winner.’

‘But won’t Mike Sheraton tell the owner to reinstate you?’