The Races Begin

True to his word, Soppy arrived back in time to start the stop watch.   If she had been on her own, Brenda reckoned she would have made a mess of some of the timings.  Between each race, Soppy disappeared in the direction of the kennels.  Each time, however, he arrived on time to help her.

By the end of the third race, she noticed he seemed more excited than usual.   His pallor had gone.   In fact, his face was quite flushed and his pale blue eyes, normally downcast, were looking her straight in the face.  Obviously, something had gone right for him.  Brenda decided it would be useful if she could find out what it was.   Just as she was about to speak, the loudspeaker crackled into life and announced the results of the third race. Fairweather Friend had won with odds of 33:1.  She wondered if that was why he was so pleased.  After all, Fairweather Friend was a particular favourite of his.  She also noticed that, rather furtively, Soppy had crept round to one of the lesser known bookies and appeared to place a bet.   Still, she couldn't be sure about it.  She decided to see if she could find out more.

"God! I just wish I'd had a bet on Fairweather Friend."  She said.  "I could have done with a bob or two.   It would've helped get me on my feet again, after Ben's death."

Soppy stepped back a pace and looked at her closely:
"You need the cash?"  He sounded quite surprised.

"You bet I do! I can hardly make ends meet.  Why do you think I asked Redbourne for a job?"

"P'rhaps Mr Redbourne could 'elp 'e a bit more."

Brenda was unsure of the nature of Soppy's relationship with Redbourne.  So she just nodded and gave a wistful smile.

Brenda was nothing if not neat, the record of the evening's races was clear and written in beautifully rounded script.  She underlined the winners and their times with red ink.  She also noted the times of Redbourne's dogs.  Only two out of the six won that evening, another was second, the other three were unplaced.

Redbourne, Tracey and the others did not seem at all dismayed by the results.  They spent the greater part of the evening in the refreshment tent swigging second rate beer.  Tracey had her Babychams, beer made her feel sick.  Brenda did not understand how a girl, obviously from a good home, could not only work for Redbourne but also socialise with him. She guessed there was more to that relationship than she understood.

Soppy and Brenda had what was supposed to be a cup of tea from a stall next to the small wooden stand.  However, it looked and tasted like cold brown soup.  With increasing concern, Brenda noticed that Davey was none too steady on his feet.  He was driving her and several of the dogs back to Grange Farm.  The journey out had been hair-raising enough.  Davey took the sharp bends at high speed and twice they had skidded.  If he was half-cut, his driving could only be worse.

The last race ended and myriads of disappointed punters mooched their way to the exit. Rain had made the grass damp and Brenda's shoes were wet.  She was cold and miserable and wondered what on earth she had done to deserve ending up like this.  Though she said nothing, Soppy could see her misery.   He felt sorry for her.  However, Mrs Hannaford's words of warning sounded in his head, so instead of comforting her, he just patted her arm and gave her a smile of encouragement.

"I'll just go ahead and see the dogs are put into the van and shooting brake.   Don't want them getting too excited.  They'll be tired and wanting their evening meal." He paused.   "You be alright, Brenda?"

"Yes, Harry.  Thank you for asking.  I'll be alright.  I'll come and help you bed down the dogs, when we're back at the farm."

If only Brenda had known it, things were not going to be that simple.

The Halfway Track

The Halfway was a 'flapper' track. In other words it was not really governed by any rules. Although, on the surface, it seemed rather amateurish, it was well patronised. The toffs on their way back from Newton Abbott races or Haldon point to points would 'round off' their day by visiting the Halfway. The bookies followed the money and usually gathered there en masse.

Unlike the County Ground, the Halfway was a grass track. So it suited Redbourne's dogs just fine. The problem with grass though, is that some dogs can't get a grip on the slippery grass on the bends. They tumble and rocket themselves into the barriers. Several lost toes in the process. Others, more badly hurt, would damage themselves so severely that they were put down by the trainers. It was rumoured that the carcasses were fed to the hounds of the local hunt.

Redbourne had high hopes for the next Halfway meeting. Both Fairweather Friend and Midnight Boy were running as well as four other dogs. Two of the other dogs were no-hopers. The two others were novices and this would be a test of their abilities or lack of them.

Since Ben Ellacott's death, the supply of sodium amytal had almost run out. McBride had promised new supplies but so far none had materialised. Now, they depended on Soppy's instinctive knowledge of the animals; that and his ability to manipulate the dogs' diets.

Redbourne arrived early with Tracey. They had both been at Newton Abbott races with some of Tracey's relatives. Redbourne had won a fair amount of cash. Tracey's uncle knew several of the racehorse trainers and had been given some good tips. So it was with high spirits that he arrived at the Halfway.

Ted Steele drove one of the vans with Soppy in the back looking after three of the dogs. Charlie Davey drove a shooting brake with Brenda keeping an eye on the other three dogs.

Brenda disliked Davey. He was a dangerous, temperamental man. She sensed that he knew more than he said about Ben's death and she vowed that she would find out more. Not a word passed between them during the entire journey, even though it took well over an hour from Grange Farm. As soon as the vehicle stopped, Davey gave her orders:
"Get the brindle dog to the kennel maid. The dog's running in the first race."

Brenda opened the back of the brake. Two of the dogs were asleep. She took the brindle's leash and encouraged her out.

"You come straight back." Davey shouted at her.

Brenda had never been to the Halfway before. She looked round and caught sight of Soppy talking to Redbourne and Tracey. Redbourne beckoned her over:
"Hand the dog to Soppy, he'll deal with her."

"Charlie Davey is expecting me back ..."

"Then he can bloody wait, can't he? Remember who's boss, Brenda. I give the orders round here. Understand?" She nodded. "Good - now I want you to keep a clear and accurate record of all the dogs that run. I want to know where they finish and the time each race takes. Get it?" She nodded again. "You've brought the record book, I hope."

"Yes."

"Well get on with it." As she turned to go, he called after her. "You can go back for a break to Starmouth in about a fortnight. Till then, you just stay put at the farm."

"I thought you said ..."

"You're not paid to think, Bren, you're paid to do as you're told. I make the rules. Your rent is paid on your flat. You have full board and lodgings at the farm. So just shut up and don't complain." He turned to walk away, taking Tracey by the elbow. He said something in her ear which made her laugh and she turned round to look at Brenda.

Feeling completely mortified, Brenda blushed. No one had ever spoken to her like that before and the final knife in the wound was Tracey's amusement. She walked slowly back to the shooting brake. Davey was waiting for her, so she decided to get her word in first.

"I've been given my orders by Redbourne and ..."

"Mr Redbourne to you, Bren. Mr Redbourne. So," he paused, "what's he got you doing? Clearing up the dog shit!" He laughed.

As she reached for the book, he grabbed her wrist:
"You just behave yourself, Bren, or things might get a bit uncomfortable for you. So, you'd better be nice to me."

Pulling her arm away, she slammed the brake's door. Soppy had seen what had gone on between Davey and Brenda. He slipped away from the kennels and found her. Despite everything that Mrs Hannaford had said, he wasn't sure that Brenda was as bad as she had been painted.

"You'm goin to need a race card." He handed her one. "Write down all the dogs' names, then I'll start the stop watch when the race begins. I'll give you the time at the end. I gotta go back to the kennels but I promise I'll be back in time."

Brenda found herself grateful for the help and she smiled wanly at him. She took the card and, with the notebook perched on a wooden post, she began to write down the names for the first four races.

True to his word, he arrived stopwatch in hand, minutes before the first race.

"'Tis goin to be a busy night!" He exclaimed excitedly. Brenda felt her heart sink, wishing she had never got into in this dog racing business. How on earth Ben had been involved, she had no idea. If he had told her about dodgy dogs, she would have soon put him right. As it was, now she was alone and immersed in the business right up to her neck.