Free Nothing to Lose by Christina Jones

greyhounds tore past. A blur of brindle and black and white. A gash of coloured jackets. A flurry of kicked-up sand. They were round the first bend in a nanosecond.
    ‘Who’s winning?’ Clara clutched Jasmine’s arm, all feigned disinterest forgotten. ‘Is it the orange one?’
    As the orange one was Mariner Queen, Jasmine pulled an agonised face. ‘God, I hope not! No – it’s the six dog – in the stripes.’ That was OK. One of Able Nelson’s less favoured runners. ‘With the two dog catching fast.’ Not so good. Bess Higgins’s second favourite.
    The volley of cheering from the punters seemed to act as a spur, and in a super-canine effort to catch the hare, the greyhounds accelerated into the home straight. Twenty-four elegantly muscled legs pumping like pistons, six sets of powerful shoulders bumping and barging, they belted after their quarry.
    ‘It’s the orange one!’ Clara screamed triumphantly. ‘He’s out in front! He’s going to win!’
    ‘He’s a she, and no, she isn’t. Battling Bertie’s going to take it!’
    Battling Bertie, coal black, and wearing the red jacket, literally threw himself across the finish line. The three judges, all Ampney Crucis worthies, gave a unanimous thumbs-up and Jasmine punched the air in triumph. Battling Bertie was one of Able Nelson’s least-fancied dogs. Hallelujah!
    ‘Bless them,’ Clara said. ‘How sweet! Look – they’re all still running after the rabbit!’
    ‘Hare – and of course they are. They don’t know they’re racing – and don’t look at me like that. No one’s ever bothered to explain it to them. They just think they’re having a good time. Now, make yourself useful – grab this.’ Jasmine thrust the bulging satchel into Clara’s hands. ‘When a winning punter gives me their ticket, I’ll check it off in the ledger and tell you how much to pay out. OK? Clara – OK?’
    ‘Jesus, Jas!’ Clara’s eyes were huge as she peered into the money bag. ‘Do you know how much cash you’ve got in here? Hundreds and hundreds of pounds – maybe thousands! And that’s just on one race! And there’s another twelve to go! My God! You’ll be a millionaire by the end of the week!’
    ‘I wish. At least half of this will have to go to the punters who backed Battling Bertie – and God knows what will happen in the next few races.’ Jasmine braced herself as the successful punters all converged from the stands, waving their tickets. ‘Ready for the onslaught?’
    For a frantic five minutes, she took winning tickets, checked them with the ledger entries, and instructed Clara how much money to pay out on each one. Roger and Allan, engaged in the same occupation, gave her conspiratorial grins across the holidaymaking heads. Jasmine felt a surge of blissful happiness. She’d done it! Her first race! She was a bookie – a real bookie – just like Benny had intended.
    ‘All going OK, pet?’ Peg powered her way through the crowds. ‘No probs?’
    ‘None. Clara’s been a star – and Mariner Queen didn’t win.’ Jasmine was still suffused in the afterglow of triumph. ‘And I’m going to do this for the rest of my life! I’ll be like Grandpa, still taking bets when I’m– ’ She stopped and looked at Peg’s face. ‘What’s up? It’s not Ewan, is it?’
    Clara, counting out fivers like she’d been born to it, paused momentarily at the mention of the name.
    ‘Much closer to home.’ Peg shrugged her padded shoulders. ‘Your bloody father.’
    ‘Dad? He’s here ?’
    ‘No, unfortunately. If he’d been here I’d have cheerfully removed his head from his bloody smarmy shoulders!’
    Jasmine blinked. ‘What’s he done this time?’
    ‘According to the latest kennel gossip, he,’ the Doris Day wig wobbled angrily, ‘and his bloody planning committee sodding cronies, have apparently filed a motion for the north-east corner of Ampney Crucis to be redeveloped into the Merry Orchard Shopping Plaza.’
    ‘Oh, wow!