‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We’ll do it manually. I’m sure we can manage to get there between us.’
We tilted Derek backwards. I took one handle and Damion took the other and we dragged the chair towards the path. It was slow progress, not least because I had to keep stopping because my arms hurt and my pristine boots grew thick with dirt. When we finally made it to the pathway, Derek’s blanket had half slipped off him and had somehow got caught up in his wheels, leaving one corner torn and muddy.
‘Don’t worry,’ Derek said, dryly. ‘It’s only cashmere.’
I ignored him. ‘Right. We’ve made it. Now for the fun bit.’
Ah yes. The fun bit. Who thought it would be a good idea for racecourses to have turnstiles? It was hardly as if they needed crowd control, surely? It’s not as if there were crowds of ch
