Pulse(75)

I turned and stared at him. ‘That’s no way to speak to a lady.’

He didn’t reply. He didn’t even look at me.

As Dave Leigh had said, Mike Sheraton was not a nice person. All the medical staff had their favourites among the jockeys but he wasn’t on anyone’s list.

I checked his RIMANI entry on the computer. Adrian had not stood him down from riding.

‘Let me have a look at that knee before you cover it,’ I said to the nurse.

She had done a fine job. There was a tidy row of four small knotted stitches across the front of Sheraton’s right knee. I studied the wound closely as the owner of the leg concentrated only on the televised finale of the race.

Simple suturing alone did not warrant a Red Entry and was hence not a reason to prevent someone from riding, but this injury was over a joint.

As the nurse applied the dressing, I filled out some paperwork and handed a sheet of paper to Mike Sheraton.

‘What’s this?’ he demanded angrily.

‘Notification of Red Entry form,’ I said. ‘You must have seen one before.’

It gave the details of the injury and the reasons for the Red Entry.

‘I know what it is,’ he said loudly, ‘but why are you giving it to me? This is nothing more than a scratch.’

‘It’s a laceration that required four stitches, and it’s over a joint. If you bend the knee too much you will split it open again. Hence I’ve made a Red Entry on the computer. You will need to give the form to a racecourse doctor and get clearance before you can ride again, and that won’t be today.’

‘I’m not accepting that,’ he said, throwing the paper down angrily onto the bed.

He may have been furious, but I remained unmoved.

‘You will,’ I said. ‘You’ll not be cleared to ride again without it – or would you rather I reported you to the stewards?’

He knew he had no choice. If he refused to accept the form, the stewards could impose a much longer suspension from riding than the Red Entry would warrant, plus a fine on top. He scowled at me but he picked up the form and took it out with him into the changing room.

I could be just as nasty as him if I wanted to.

‘You OK, Ellie?’ I asked with a smile, turning towards my lady jockey who was currently sitting up on the physio’s couch with her injured leg straight out in front of her. ‘An ambulance has been ordered to take you to Cheltenham General for an X-ray.’

‘I can’t believe this,’ she said gloomily. ‘I’m meant to be my sister’s bridesmaid on Saturday.’

‘You might still be able to,’ I said. ‘The hospital may just ensure the ends of the bone are aligned properly and put your foot in a walking cast. Your weight is mostly taken by the tibia, the other bone in your lower leg. Is the bridesmaid’s dress long?’

‘Yes,’ she said, suddenly more cheerful.

‘Well, there you are, then,’ I said. ‘Wear a high heel on your good leg and no one will ever know, although dancing might be a problem.’

Or else she might need surgery to have a metal plate put in, I thought silently. Only the X-ray would determine that.

The third occupant of a bed was Dick McGee, lying back with his arms behind his head. I looked at him.

‘So, Dick,’ I said, ‘Dr Kings tells me you believe you’re fit enough to ride in the next race.’

‘I certainly am,’ he replied. ‘Watch.’

He stood up quickly and started repeatedly touching his toes next to the bed before I had a chance to prevent him. He certainly looked all right. Was I being overcautious in believing that he needed a scan?

‘It only hurts a bit,’ he said. ‘I can easily ride through that.’

I didn’t believe him for a second. I could see the pain etched plainly in his face.

‘Stop it,’ I said to him urgently. ‘Just forty minutes ago you couldn’t feel your legs. Don’t you remember how frightening that was?’

He suddenly stopped the exercises and looked at me.

‘Do you want to go back there?’ I said. ‘I think it’s best to have a scan to check that everything really is all right and your back is stable. You obviously gave it quite a hefty clout. Is one ride now worth a lifetime in a wheelchair?’ I stared at him and raised my eyebrows. ‘Please lie down flat again for me.’

He immediately lay back down on the bed like a scolded schoolboy.

Adrian Kings and Jack Otley walked into the medical room together.

‘No fallers, thank God,’ Adrian said, dumping his doctor’s bag on the floor. ‘How are things here?’

‘Jason Conway has gone to Cheltenham General for a brain scan. I’ve spoken to the hospital. I’ve also ordered an ambulance for Ellie Lowe and Dick McGee.’ I looked at Dick, who made no objection. ‘And I gave Mike Sheraton a Red Entry on RIMANI. I told him he couldn’t ride again today.’

Adrian looked surprised. ‘Did his injury warrant that?’

‘I had a good look at it,’ I said, ‘and in my opinion it did. He has a deep laceration over a joint and I consider that, if he flexes his knee to its full range, the stitches will probably rupture.’

‘I agree with Dr Rankin,’ said the nurse. ‘Nasty cut.’