There are places where the changing seasons are marked by migrating birds, or the ebb and flow of tides. Here, in our little town, it was the return of the tourists. At first, a tentative trickle, stepping off trains or out of cars in brightly coloured waterproof coats, clutching their guidebooks and National Trust membership; then, as the air warmed, and the season crept forwards, disgorged alongside the belch and hiss of their coaches, clogging up the high street, Americans, Japanese and packs of foreign schoolchildren were dotted around the perimeter of the castle.

In the winter months little stayed open. The wealthier shop owners took advantage of the long bleak months to disappear to holiday homes abroad, while the more determined hosted Christmas events, capitalizing on occasional carol concerts in the grounds, or festive craft fairs. But then as the temperatures slid higher, the castle car parks would become studded with vehicles, the local pubs chalk up an increase in requests for a ploughman's lunch and, within a few sunny Sundays, we had morphed again from being a sleepy market town into a traditional English tourist destination.

I walked up the hill, dodging this season's hovering early few as they clutched their neoprene bumbags and well-thumbed tourist guides, their cameras already poised to capture mementoes of the castle in spring. I smiled at a few, paused to take photographs of others with proffered cameras. Some locals complained about the tourist season -- the traffic jams, the overwhelmed public toilets, the demands for strange comestibles in The Buttered Bun cafe ("You don't do sushi? Not even hand roll?"). But I didn't I liked the breath of foreign air, the close-up glimpses of lives far removed from my own. I liked to hear the accents and work out where their owners came from, to study the clothes of people who had never seen a Next catalogue or bought a five-pack of knickers at Marks and Spencer's

"That's because it's today."

"Our outing. We're taking Nathan to see the horse racing."

"You look cheerful," Will said, as I dropped my bag in the hallway. He said it as if it were almost an affront.

"What is?"

Will and Nathan looked at each other. I almost laughed. I had been so relieved at the sight of the weather; once I saw the sun, I knew everything was going to be all right.

"Yup. Flat racing at --" I pulled my notepad from my pocket "- Longfield. If we leave now we can be there in time for the third race. And I have five pounds each way on Man Oh Man, so we'd better get a move on."

"Horse racing?"

"Horse racing."

Will studied me carefully, then reversed his chair and swerved so that he could better see his male carer. "This is a long-held desire of yours, is it, Nathan?"

In honour of the occasion I was wearing my blue quilted minidress, with the scarf with horse bits around the edge knotted at my neck, and a pair of leather riding boots.

"Yes. Nathan's never been."

I had primed him, of course. I had rung him on Friday and asked him which day I could borrow him for. The Traynors had agreed to pay his extra hours (Will's sister had left for Australia, and I think they wanted to be sure that someone "sensible" was going to accompany me) but I hadn't been sure until Sunday what it actually was we were going to do. This seemed the ideal start -- a nice day out, less than half an hour's drive away.

"Yiss," he said, and broke out a smile. "Yes, it is. Let's head for the gee-gees."

I gave Nathan a warning glare.

"Forty pounds? How do you work that out?"

"And what if I say I don't want to go?"

"My winnings. Five pounds each way at eight to one." I shrugged. "Man Oh Man's a sure thing."

Nathan clapped his hands on to his knees. "Sounds great. Nice day for it too," he said. "You want me to pack some lunch?"

"Nah," I said. "There's a nice restaurant. When my horse comes in, lunch is on me."

"Then you owe me forty pounds," I said.

"You've been racing often, then?" Will said.

I seemed to have got him off balance.

And then before he could say anything else, we had bundled him into his coat and I ran outside to reverse the car.

I had it all planned, you see. We would arrive at the racecourse on a beautiful sunny day. There would be burnished, stick-legged thoroughbreds, their jockeys in billowing bright silks, careening past. Perhaps a brass band or two. The stands would be full of cheering people, and we would find a space from which to wave our winning betting slips. Will's competitive streak would kick in and he would be unable to resist calculating the odds and making sure he won more than either Nathan or me. I had worked it all out. And then, when we had had enough of watching the horses, we would go to the well-reviewed racecourse restaurant and have a slap-up meal.

I should have listened to my father. "Want to know the true definition of the triumph of hope over experience?" he would say. "Plan a fun family day out."

It started with the car park. We drove there without incident, me now a little more confident that I wasn't going to tip Will over if I went faster than 15 mph. I had looked up the directions at the library, and kept up a cheerful banter almost the whole way there, commenting on the beautiful blue sky, the countryside, the lack of traffic. There were no queues to enter the racecourse, which was, admittedly, a little less grand than I had expected, and the car park was clearly marked.

But nobody had warned me it was on grass, and grass that had been driven over for much of a wet winter at that. We backed into a space (not hard, as it was only half full) and almost as soon as the ramp was down Nathan looked worried.

"It's too soft," he said. "He's going to sink."

I glanced over at the stands. "Surely, if we can get him on to that pathway we'll be okay?"

"Come on," I said. "We'll do it manually. I'm sure we can manage to get there between us."

"It weighs a ton, this chair," he said. "And that's forty feet away."

"Oh, come on. They must build these chairs to withstand a bit of soft ground."

"Don't worry," Will said, dryly. "It's only cashmere."

We tilted Will backwards. I took one handle and Nathan 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, Will's blanket had half slipped off him and had somehow got caught up in his wheels, leaving one corner torn and muddy.

I backed Will's chair down carefully and then watched as the wheels sank several inches into the mud.

Will said nothing. He looked uncomfortable, and had been silent for much of the half-hour drive. We stood beside him, fiddling with his controls. A breeze had picked up, and Will's cheeks grew pink.

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 chanting racehorse fans, threatening riots if Charlie's Darling didn't make it back in third, rioting stable-girls who needed penning in and keeping out. We looked at the turnstile, and then back at Will's chair, and then Nathan and I looked at each other.

Nathan stepped over to the ticket office and explained our plight to the woman inside. She tilted her head to look at Will, then pointed us towards the far end of the stand.

"The disabled entrance is over there," she said.

She said disabled like someone entering a diction contest. It was a good 200 yards away. By the time we finally made it over there the blue skies had disappeared abruptly, replaced by a sudden squall. Naturally, I hadn't brought an umbrella. I kept up a relentless, cheerful commentary about how funny this was and how ridiculous, and even to my ears I had begun to sound brittle and irritating.

We bought tickets for the stands, and then, almost faint with relief at finally having got there, I wheeled Will out to a sheltered area just to the side of the main stand. While Nathan sorted out Will's drink, I had some time to look at our fellow racegoers.

"Clark," said Will, finally. "Just chill out, okay? You're being exhausting."

Beside us, dotted along the stands and clutching polystyrene cups of coffee and hip flasks, were men in tweedy suits and women in smart padded coats. They looked a little more everyday, and their little badges were blue too. I suspected that many of them were trainers and grooms, or horsey people of some sort. Down at the front, by little whiteboards, stood the tic-tac men, their arms waving in some strange semaphore that I couldn't understand. They scribbled up new combinations of figures, and scrubbed them out again with the base of their sleeves.

It was actually quite pleasant at the base of the stands, despite the occasional spit of rain. Above us, on a glass-fronted balcony, men in suits proffered champagne glasses to women in wedding outfits. They looked warm and cosy, and I suspected that was the Premier Area, listed next to some stratospheric price on the board in the ticket kiosk. They wore little badges on red thread, marking them out as special. I wondered briefly if it was possible to colour our blue ones a different shade, but decided that being the only people with a wheelchair would probably make us a little conspicuous.

And then I jumped as around us the small crowd roared into life and the horses bolted from the starting gate. I stood and watched them go, suddenly transfixed, unable to suppress a flurry of excitement at the tails suddenly streaming out behind them, the frantic efforts of the brightly coloured men atop them, all jostling for position. When the winner crossed the finishing line it was almost impossible not to cheer.

And then, like some parody of a class system, around the parade ring stood a group of men in striped polo shirts, who clutched beer cans and who seemed to be on some kind of outing. Their shaved heads suggested some kind of military service. Periodically they would break out into song, or begin some noisy, physical altercation, ramming each other with blunt heads or wrapping their arms around each other's necks. As I passed to go to the loo, they catcalled me in my short skirt (I appeared to be the only person in the whole of the stands in a skirt) and I flipped them the finger behind my back. And then they lost interest as seven or eight horses began skirting around each other, eased into the stands with workmanlike skill, all preparing for the next race.

We watched the Sisterwood Cup, and then the Maiden Stakes, and Nathan won six pounds on a small each-way bet. Will declined to bet. He watched each race, but he was silent, his head retracted into the high collar of his jacket. I thought perhaps he had been indoors so long that it was bound to all feel a little weird for him, and I decided I was simply not going to acknowledge it.

"I think that's your race, the Hempworth Cup," Nathan said, glancing up at the screen. "Who did you say your money was on? Man Oh Man?" He grinned. "I never knew how much more fun betting is when you're actually watching the horses."

Will's voice filtered up towards us. "So how many races will it take to ensure we've fulfilled your long-held ambitions?"

"You know, I didn't tell you this, but I've never been racing before either," I told Nathan.

"You're kidding me."

"I've never even been on a horse. My mum is terrified of them. Wouldn't even take me to the stables."

"My sister's got two, just outside Christchurch. She treats them like babies. All her money goes on them." He shrugged. "And she isn't even going to eat them at the end of it."

"Don't be grumpy. They say you should try everything once," I said.

"You're the one always telling me to widen my horizons. You're loving it," I said. "And don't pretend otherwise."

"I think horse racing falls into the 'except incest and morris dancing' category."

"Go on, mate!" Nathan had got into it, despite himself. His fists were clenched, his eyes fixed on the blurred group of animals speeding around the far side of the track.

And then they were off. Man Oh Man was in purple silks with a yellow diamond. I watched him flatten out around the white rail, the horse's head extended, the jockey's legs pumping, arms flailing backwards and forwards up the horse's neck.

"Go on, Man Oh Man!" I yelled. "We've got a steak dinner riding on you!" I watched him vainly trying to make ground, his nostrils dilated, his ears back against his head. My own heart lurched into my mouth. And then, as they reached the final furlong, my yelling began to die away. "All right, a coffee," I said. "I'll settle for a coffee?"

Around me the stands had erupted into shouting and screaming. A girl was bouncing up and down two seats along from us, her voice hoarse with screeching. I found I was bouncing on my toes. And then I looked down and saw that Will's eyes were closed, a faint furrow separating his brows. I tore my attention from the track, and knelt down.

"Scotch," he said. "Large one."

I pushed Will's chair through the oblivious groups of people, deliberately bashing into heels when they failed to react to my second request.

I stared at him, and he lifted his eyes to mine. He looked utterly fed up.

"Are you okay, Will?" I said, moving close to him. "Do you need something?" I had to yell to make myself heard over the din.

Man Oh Man, that four-legged imposter, flashed past the finishing line a miserable sixth. There was another cheer, and the announcer's voice came over the tannoy: Ladies and gentlemen, an emphatic win there from Love Be A Lady, there in first place, followed by Winter Sun, and Barney Rubble two lengths behind in third place.

"Let's get some lunch," I said to Nathan.

We were just at the lift when I heard Will's voice. "So, Clark, does this mean you owe me forty pounds?"

The restaurant had been refurbished, the food now under the auspices of a television chef whose face appeared on posters around the racecourse. I had looked up the menu beforehand.

Out of the cold, and away from the crowds, he appeared to have cheered up a little. He had begun to look around him, instead of retreating back into his solitary world. My stomach began to rumble, already anticipating a good, hot lunch. Will's mother had given us eighty pounds as a "float". I had decided I would pay for my food myself, and show her the receipt, and as a result had no fears at all that I was going to order myself whatever I fancied on the menu -- retro roast duck, or otherwise.

"The signature dish is duck in orange sauce," I told the two men. "It's Seventies retro, apparently."

"When did you last go out for a meal, Will?" I said.

"Like your outfit," said Will.

"I'm more of a beer and takeaway man myself," Nathan said. "Happy to come today, though."

"You like going out to eat, Nathan?" I said.

He and Nathan looked at each other. "Not while I've been there," Nathan said.

"Strangely, I'm not overly fond of being spoon-fed in front of strangers."

"Then we'll get a table where we can face you away from the room," I said. I had anticipated this one. "And if there are any celebrities there, that will be your loss."

"Hello," I said, stepping up to the reception area. "I'd like a table for three, please." Please don't look at Will, I told the woman silently. Don't make him feel awkward. It's important that he enjoys this.

"Badge, please," she said.

We wheeled our way along the carpeted corridor. The restaurant ran along one side, behind a glass wall, and I could see there were plenty of free tables. My stomach began to rumble in anticipation.

"Because celebrities are thick on the ground at a muddy minor racecourse in March."

"You're not going to spoil this for me, Will Traynor," I said, as the lift doors opened. "The last time I ate out anywhere was a birthday party for four-year-olds at Hailsbury's only indoor bowling alley, and there wasn't a thing there that wasn't covered in batter. Including the children."

"Sorry?"

"Your Premier Area badge?"

I looked at her blankly.

"This restaurant is for Premier badge holders only."

I glanced behind me at Will and Nathan. They couldn't hear me, but stood, expectantly, waiting. Nathan was helping remove Will's coat.

She smiled. "Sorry," she said. "Only Premier badge holders. It does say so on all our promotional material."

"Um… I didn't know we couldn't eat anywhere we wanted. We have the blue badges."

I took a deep breath. "Okay. Are there any other restaurants?"

"I'm afraid the Weighing Room, our relaxed dining area, is being refurbished right now, but there are stalls along the stands where you can get something to eat." She saw my face fall, and added, "The Pig In A Poke is pretty good. You get a hog roast in a bun. They do apple sauce too."

"A stall."

"Yes."

I leant in towards her. "Please," I said. "We've come a long way, and my friend there isn't good in the cold. Is there any way at all that we could get a table in here? We just really need to get him into the warm. It's really important that he has a good day."

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm really sorry," she said. "It's more than my job's worth to override the rules. But there is a disabled seating area downstairs that you can shut the doors on. You can't see the course from there, but it's quite snug. It's got heaters and everything. You could eat in there."

Other diners had begun to turn in their seats, curious about the altercation by the door. I could see Will looking embarrassed now. He and Nathan had worked out something was going wrong.

Her smile glinted under the recessed lighting. "Madam, I have explained the situation to you. If we relaxed the rules for you, we'd have to do it for everyone."

I studied her name badge. "Sharon," I said. "You haven't even begun to fill your tables. Surely it would be better to have more people eating than leaving half these tables empty? Just because of some arcane class-based regulation in a rule book?"

"Then I'm afraid you should have bought a Premier Area badge."

I stared at her. I could feel the tension creeping upwards from my shins. I thought I might have gone completely rigid.

"But it makes no sense," I said. "It's a wet Monday lunchtime. You have empty tables. We want to buy a meal. A properly expensive meal, with napkins and everything. We don't want to eat pork rolls and sit in a cloakroom with no view, no matter how snug."

We stared at each other.

"The one that's all the way over the other side of the racecourse."

Will's voice broke in. "Louisa, let's go."

"Okay." I reached for my handbag, and began to rifle through, searching for my purse. "How much is a Premier Area badge?" Tissues, old bus tickets and one of Thomas's Hot Wheels toy cars flew out. I no longer cared. I was going to get Will his posh lunch in a restaurant. "Here. How much? Another ten? Twenty?" I thrust a fistful of notes at her.

"Yes."

She looked down at my hand. "I'm sorry, Madam, we don't sell badges here. This is a restaurant. You'll have to go back to the ticket office."

I felt my eyes suddenly brim with tears. "No," I said. "This is ridiculous. We've come all this way. You stay here and I'll go and get us all Premier Area badges. And then we will have our meal."

"Louisa, I'm not hungry."

"We'll be fine once we've eaten. We can watch the horses and everything. It will be fine."

Nathan stepped forward and laid a hand on my arm. "Louisa, I think Will really just wants to go home."

"So glad that you are so flexible. I'll certainly recommend you to everyone I know."

"Well, thank you," I said to her. "Thanks for being so fucking accommodating."

"Louisa!"

We were now the focus of the whole restaurant. The gaze of the diners swept over us and travelled past me to Will, where they clouded with faint pity or distaste. I felt that for him. I felt like an utter failure. I looked up at the woman, who did at least have the grace to look slightly embarrassed now that Will had actually spoken.

I grabbed my bag and thrust it under my arm.

"Clark --" Will's voice carried a warning.

When we reached the bottom concourse, Nathan murmured, "I think we should probably get something from one of these stalls, you know. It's been a few hours now since we ate anything." He glanced down at Will, so I knew who it was he was really referring to.

"You've forgotten your little car," she called, as I swept through the door that Nathan held open for me.

"Why, does that need a bloody badge too?" I said, and followed them into the lift.

We descended in silence. I spent most of the short lift journey trying to stop my hands from shaking with rage.

"Fine," I said, brightly. I took a little breath. "I love a bit of crackling. Let's go to the old hog roast."

We ordered three buns with pork, crackling and apple sauce, and sheltered under the striped awning while we ate them. I sat down on a small dustbin, so that I could be at the same level as Will, and helped him to manageable bites of meat, shredding it with my fingers where necessary. The two women who served behind the counter pretended not to look at us. I could see them monitoring Will out of the corners of their eyes, periodically muttering to each other when they thought we weren't looking. Poor man, I could practically hear them saying. What a terrible way to live. I gave them a hard stare, daring them to look at him like that. I tried not to think too hard about what Will must be feeling.

The rain had stopped, but the windswept course felt suddenly bleak, its brown and green surface littered with discarded betting slips, its horizon flat and empty. The car park had thinned out with the rain, and in the distance we could just hear the distorted sound of the tannoy as some other race thundered past.

"I think maybe we should head back," Nathan said, wiping his mouth. "I mean, it was nice and all, but best to miss the traffic, eh?"

"Fine," I said. I screwed up my paper napkin, and threw it into the bin. Will waved away the last third of his roll.

"Didn't he like it?" said the woman, as Nathan began to wheel him away across the grass.

But getting to the car and back up the ramp was easier said than done. In the few hours that we had spent at the racecourse, the arrivals and departures meant that the car park had turned into a sea of mud. Even with Nathan's impressive might, and my best shoulder, we couldn't get the chair even halfway across the grass to the car. His wheels skidded and whined, unable to get the purchase to make it up that last couple of inches. Mine and Nathan's feet slithered in the mud, which worked its way up the sides of our shoes.

"I don't know. Perhaps he would have liked it better if it hadn't come with a side order of rubberneck," I said, and chucked the remnants hard into the bin.

Will let out an audible sigh. He looked about as fed up as I had ever seen him.

"I could lift you into the front seat, Will, if I tilt it back a little. And then Louisa and I could see if we could get the chair in afterwards."

"It's not going to happen," said Will.

"I think we're going to need some help," Nathan said. "I can't even get the chair back on to the path. It's stuck."

I had refused to listen to him. I couldn't bear the idea that this was how our day was going to end.

Will's voice emerged through gritted teeth. "I am not ending today with a fireman's lift."

"Sorry, mate," Nathan said. "But Lou and I are not going to manage this alone. Here, Lou, you're prettier than I am. Go and collar a few extra pairs of arms, will you?"

I would not have believed so many people could turn down a cry for help when it involved a wheelchair stuck in mud, especially as the cry did come from a girl in a miniskirt and flashing her most endearing smile. I am not usually good with strangers, but desperation made me fearless. I walked from group to group of racegoers in the grandstand, asking if they could just spare me a few minutes' help. They looked at me and my clothes as if I were plotting some kind of trap.

Will closed his eyes, set his jaw and I ran towards the stands.

"It's for a man in a wheelchair," I said. "He's a bit stuck."

"We're just waiting on the next race," they said. Or, "Sorry." Or, "It'll have to wait till after the two thirty. We have a monkey on this one."

I even thought about collaring a jockey or two. But as I got close to the enclosure, I saw that they were even smaller than I was.

By the time I got to the parade ring I was incandescent with suppressed rage. I suspect I was snarling at people then, not smiling. And there, finally, joy of joys, were the lads in striped polo shirts. The back of their shirts referred to "Marky's Last Stand" and they clutched cans of Pilsner and Tennent's Extra. Their accents suggested they were from somewhere in the north-east, and I was pretty sure that they had not had any significant break from alcohol for the last twenty-four hours. They cheered as I approached, and I fought the urge to give them the finger again.

"Gissa smile, sweetheart. It's Marky's stag weekend," one slurred, slamming a ham-sized hand on to my shoulder.

"Hey up. Next race is up, Marky. You got money on this? I think I've got money on this."

"Ah'm sorry, ah'm not sure ah'm in any fit state to help youse, pet."

"Ah'll give you any help you need, pet." This was accompanied by a lascivious wink.

"He was injured. In Iraq. All we wanted to do was get him a nice day out. But nobody will help us." As I spoke the words, I felt my eyes welling up with tears.

"No, really. I need you to help my friend. Over in the car park."

His mates swayed gently around him like aquatic plants.

"You're joking. Monday already?" He reeled backwards. "Well, you should give him a kiss, like."

"He's a soldier," I said, loudly. "Ex-soldier."

"Actually," I said. "I've come over to ask you for help."

One by one they turned round.

They turned back towards the track, already losing interest. I looked over my shoulder at the car park, seeing the hunched figure of Will, Nathan pulling vainly at the handles of his chair. I pictured myself returning home to tell Will's parents that we had left Will's super-expensive chair in a car park. And then I saw the tattoo.

"It's Monday." I tried not to flinch as I peeled it off.

It seemed to take a minute or two for them to digest what I'd said. But then they looked at each other in amazement.

"A vet? You're kidding us. Where is he?"

"C'mon, lads. We're not having that." They swayed after me in a wayward trail. I could hear them exclaiming between themselves, muttering. "Bloody civvies… no idea what it's like…"

When we reached them, Nathan was standing by Will, whose head had sunk deep into the collar of his coat with cold, even as Nathan covered his shoulders with another blanket.

"These very nice gentlemen have offered to help us," I said.

Nathan was staring at the cans of lager. I had to admit that you'd have had to look quite hard to see a suit of armour in any of them.

"In the car park. I've asked lots of people, but they just don't want to help."

"Where do youse want to get him to?" said one.

Nathan motioned to our car. "Back in the car, ultimately. But to do that we need to get him over to the stand, and then reverse the car back to him."

The others stood around Will, nodding their hellos. One offered him a beer, apparently unable to grasp that Will could not pick it up.

I tried to smile, trawling my memory for names. "Rifles…" I said. "Eleventh rifles."

"You don't need to do that," said one, clapping Nathan on the back. "We can take him to your car, can't we, lads?"

They were howlingly drunk. Some of them could barely hang on to their cans of drink. One thrust his can of Tennent's into my hand.

"Don't you worry, pet. Anything for a fellow soldier, isn't that right, lads?"

"What regiment, pet?"

I saw Nathan's face and shook my head furiously at his quizzical expression. Will seemed unlikely to say anything. He just looked grim, and then, as the men clustered around his chair, and with a shout, hoisted it up between them, vaguely alarmed.

"We wouldn't leave you there, mate. We never leave a man down, do we?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know… that's a long way for you to carry him," I ventured. "And the chair's very heavy."

There was a chorus of agreement. They began to position themselves around Will's chair.

"It's a new regiment," I stuttered. "Top secret. Based in Iraq."

"I don't know the eleventh rifles," said another.

"That's the one," I said, and then changed the subject. "So -- which one of you is getting married?"

Their trainers slid in the mud, and I felt my heart lurch. Will's chair was hoisted several inches off the ground, like some kind of sedan. Nathan was running for Will's bag, unlocking the car ahead of us.

We had exchanged numbers by the time I finally got rid of Marky and his mates. They had a whip-round, offering us almost forty pounds towards Will's rehabilitation fund, and only stopped insisting when I told them we would be happiest if they would have a drink on us instead. I had to kiss each and every one of them. I was nearly dizzy with fumes by the time I had finished. I continued to wave at them as they disappeared back to the stand, and Nathan sounded the horn to get me into the car.

"The tall one dropped his entire beer down my right leg," said Will. "I smell like a brewery."

"Did those boys train over in Catterick?"

"They were helpful, weren't they?" I said, brightly, as I turned the ignition.

Will didn't say much of anything for the rest of the day. He bid Nathan goodbye when we dropped him home, and then grew silent as I negotiated the road up to the castle, which had thinned out now the temperature had dropped again, and finally I parked up outside the annexe.

I lowered Will's chair, got him inside, and made him a warm drink. I changed his shoes and trousers, put the beer-stained ones in the washing machine, and got the fire going so that he would warm up. I put the television on, and drew the curtains so that the room grew cosy around us -- perhaps cosier for the time spent out in the cold air. But it was only when I sat in the living room with him, sipping my tea, that I realized he wasn't talking -- not out of exhaustion, or because he wanted to watch the television. He just wasn't talking to me.

"I don't believe this," said Nathan, as I finally pulled out towards the main entrance. "Look. There's a whole disabled parking section right there, by the stand. And it's all on tarmac."

"Is… something the matter?" I said, when he failed to respond to my third comment about the local news.

"But you did."

"Oh, you're no different from the rest of them."

I stared at him. "I'm sorry," I said, finally. "I know today didn't turn out quite like I planned. But it was just meant to be a nice outing. I actually thought you'd enjoy it."

"What does that mean?"

I didn't add that he was being determinedly grumpy, that he had no idea what I had gone through just to get him to try to enjoy himself, that he hadn't even tried to have a good time. I didn't tell him that if he'd let me buy the stupid badges we might have had a nice lunch and all the other stuff might have been forgotten.

"If you'd bothered to ask me, Clark. If you'd bothered to consult me just once about this so-called fun outing of ours, I could have told you. I hate horses, and horse racing. Always have. But you didn't bother to ask me. You decided what you thought you'd like me to do, and you went ahead and did it. You did what everyone else did. You decided for me."

"I didn't mean to --"

I swallowed.

"You tell me, Clark."

"That's my point."

"What?"

"Well, you know everything else there is to know about me. You tell me."

He turned his chair away from me and, after a couple more minutes of silence, I realized I had been dismissed.

"What?"