‘I’m telling you, Paul, Windtower can’t lose, trust me on this.’
‘Windtower? No, he’s got no form at that distance. He might go for a place if he’s lucky, but never a win, not with the quality of field that’s running in that race.’
‘Trust me, Paul, I’m telling you for a fact, a one hundred percent certain fact, that Windtower is going to win the 3.30 on Saturday. Guaranteed!’
‘You mean there’s a fix in?’
‘I’m not going to confirm a thing like that now, am I?’ Gerry put his arm about me in a friendly, conspiratorial manner. ‘But there again, I’m not going to deny it, either.’
Gerry was my friend, a reasonably successful jockey, never going to hit the big time, but always in work. He and his wife Maggie had been neighbours of ours; chats over the garden fence, drinks at Christmas, that
