Bloodline

‘There are some buttons on the side,’ Jack said. ‘Click the menu button twice then use the down button on the brightness. Or do you need me to do it?’

‘I’m sure I’ll manage,’ I said. ‘I’ll come back after the next if I can’t.’

I went out to the parade ring keeping a careful watch for Toby Woodley. I really didn’t want to come face to face with him tonight. I wasn’t at all sure I could restrain myself from hitting him, and that surely wouldn’t have helped the situation.

I stood and watched the horses for the third race walking round and round, noting on my racecard the two of them that were wearing sheepskin nosebands on their bridles. Some trainers ran all their horses in sheepskin nosebands. They thought it made them easier to spot, which was true as long as everyone didn’t do it.

The last of the eight races was not until after nine o’clock and, by then, many of the crowd had made their way home, not least because the evening had cooled considerably.

As my commentary of the race echoed round the deserted grandstand I wondered if anyone at the course was actually listening to me, although I hoped that some at home might be, via their televisions.

‘Thanks, Mark,’ said a voice into my headphones as I switched off the microphone for the last time.

‘Pleasure, Gordon,’ I replied, pushing the right button. Gordon was another of the RacingTV producers. ‘See you at Warwick tomorrow?’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Derek will be back doing Warwick. I’m in the studio tomorrow, then I’ll be at Haydock Friday and Saturday. You?’

‘I’m presenting for Channel 4 on Saturday at Newmarket. Friday’s a rare day off for me.’

‘Have fun. Bye now.’ There was a click in my ears and the system went dead. It was time to go home.

I packed my binoculars, coloured pens, and racecards into my bag, went down to ground level, and followed the last remaining punters out past the parade ring in the direction of the car parks.

By that time of night, there was a definite chill in the air and I wished I’d brought my coat with me after all. But it was only a hundred and fifty yards or so to my car and I hurried along towards it.

I never got there.

Toby Woodley was in the car park standing beside a white van.

If I’d seen him sooner, I’d have made a detour to avoid him but, as it was, I came round the back of the van and there he was, only about six feet away. I stopped.

‘What the bloody hell do you want?’ I asked him.

He didn’t answer but rolled his head towards me. He was actually leaning against the side of the van with his head back against the metal.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

He didn’t reply.

I stepped forward towards him just as he slithered sideways down the side of the van, catching him just before he landed face down on the tarmac. Even in the relatively dim glow of the car park lighting, a bright red streak of blood was clearly visible on the van’s white panelling.

‘Help!’ I shouted as loudly as I could. ‘Help! Somebody call an ambulance.’

I turned Toby onto his back and looked into his face as I struggled to remove my telephone from my pocket. His eyes had an air of mild surprise in them. I thought he was trying to say something but it was just the sound of his rasping breath. There were flecks of bright scarlet blood in a froth in his mouth.

‘Help!’ I shouted again. ‘Get an ambulance.’

A man came running over towards me as I finally managed to extract my phone. ‘Call an ambulance,’ I said, tossing my phone to him.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ the man asked.

‘I think he’s been stabbed,’ I said. ‘There’s lots of blood.’

The man glanced at the side of the van and pushed 999 on my phone.

I looked back at Toby’s face. The air of surprise seemed to have gone. Now he was just staring, but his eyes didn’t see. The rasping breath was no more.

‘I think he’s dead,’ I said to the man. ‘He’s stopped breathing.’

‘Has he got a pulse?’

I tried to feel his wrist but the only beat I could detect was from my own heart thumping away.

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘Give him mouth to mouth,’ said the man. ‘The ambulance is on its way.’

Unsurprisingly, kissing Toby Woodley had not been on my planned agenda for the day but, nevertheless, I tilted back his head, put my lips over his, and breathed into him. There was no noticeable movement of his chest so I tilted his head back further and repeated the process.

‘Keep going,’ said the man. ‘I’ll do chest compressions.’

The man knelt down next to me and started pumping his hands up and down vigorously on Toby’s breastbone as I breathed into him.

We went on like that for a good five minutes.

‘Bloody hell,’ said the man, pausing for a moment. ‘This is hard work.’

‘Do you want to swap?’ I said.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Keep going as we are.’

‘Does he have a pulse now?’ I asked between breaths.

‘Just keep going,’ said the man, resuming his chest compressions.