In a windowless police interview room, the female officer opposite Emma pushed a mobile phone out into the middle of the lacquered imitation wood table and pressed play. It was only the two of them in the room. Emma then heard her own voice on the loudspeaker. At first she heard the fairly sober account of a horse race. It didn't last.

“The race is leaving along like a chalk, like humming on the green. Ha-ha, wow. It is really humming here and there are horses between the horses, if you see what I mean. I’m not sure who’s winning yet - the crowd is kind of melting into one.”

At some point Emma convinced the commentator to get her a drink. She then locked him out of the booth. His subsequent banging at the door caused her druggy dissolution to devolve into a distressed paranoia and her babbling, which the crowd had hitherto ignored, became a frightening exhortation to evacuate - and the crowd, conditioned by modern habit obliged. First slowly, then unstoppably. People spilled over onto the race track, in some cases narrowly avoiding a clash with the horses. Some had managed to go out the front gates into the road.

The door being smashed down interrupted Emma’s singing and the recording came to an end. The officer swallowed what was nearly a smile, reached out and pocketed the phone. Emma, head bowed, had begun to sob, and the interview was paused to bring in a cup of tea. By the time it got to her it was already cold. She drank it anyway and slowly recollected herself.

When the officer felt Emma was ready she pressed on with her questioning.

“At the time of arrest you were clearly under the influence of something. And this is probably no surprise to you but your umbrella handle, the one you hollowed out and filled with spirits, the one you’ve been caught on CCTV bringing into the event, the one that was found in the booth with you after causing the crush, has now been confirmed by the lab to contain traces of LSD. So please - I would like to get your version of events that day.”

Emma profaned slightly, put the mug back on the table and began.

“Honestly, it’s the first time I’ve ever done anything like this. I don’t mean, like, ruining a whole event for everyone.” She smiled at herself in self-deprecation. “I mean, it was the first time I’ve ever done anything that posh, you know, wearing a dress, going to the races and all that. I remember just being taken away by it all. I met Renwick on a random night out at uni and he said he could get me free tickets. So I think his family owns it, or knows the jockeys or something. He hasn’t spoken to me since. Anyway, it was a parasol, not an umbrella, and yes I did sneak it in but the drugs definitely weren’t mine”.

Emma felt the eyes of the officer on her. They were large, wide eyes, slightly prized apart, like the eyes of a horse or the Gallagher brothers. She continued.

“We got in, me and Renwick, got a drink at the bar before the queues and met up with his friends already on the lawn by the track. More people crowded onto the lawns, the races began and in the middle of that all that’s we formed a circle all poured our drinks out into the glasses. I had the parasol. Renwick had his tipple inside a fake pair of binoculars. Another girl’s handbag had a secret compartment sewn into it which she popped and emptied like a cask. Everyone had their little trick. And it didn’t matter whose drink belonged to who, anyway, ‘cos we all finished off each other’s for a laugh. And I’m certain that’s what has done me in - someone else, or even everyone else there, had filled their own one with LSD. So it was all getting passed around, and that’s how the traces got into mine. And that’s when Renwick took me to the commentator booth. He said I’d won a raffle or something, to give guest commentary.”

The officer regarded her skeptically, swinging her long chestnut ponytail to and fro. “And when the other commentator left for the toilet, you locked yourself in and that’s when the trip started?”

“Correct, madam.”

“And you all drank like that, not just you but everyone sharing their drinks, but you are the only one who reacted in this way?”

“Yeah because I’d never took anything like that before.”

The officer moved forward in her chair and placed her elbows on the table. Emma saw the natural fibres glisten and ripple in her regulation fleece. There was something sinewy about that tight fit.

“Let me get this clear,” said the officer, looking serious, “are you implying in any way that someone spiked your drink?”

Emma's gaze snapped off from the fleece.

“No, of course not. Just that it was an honest mistake, is all.”

“How do you think people will react when the girl, who was quite plainly under the influence and single-handedly caused a near-fatal crush and cancellation of a beloved British institution, accuses everyone else at the event of being on drugs? Do you think they will believe you?”

Emma found it hard to move her lips. Instead stared at the female officer’s long and luxurious ponytail. It flapped about independently in pretty little orbs of motion.

“Let me tell you something else you might not be aware of. No other vessels from that day - smuggled or otherwise - have been found to contain any traces of drugs. At all. None except your parasol. When we watched back the CCTV, the only people we saw holding your parasol were you - and Renwick.”

Emma laughed at the coincidental mention of Renwick, because at that mention a jockey-sized version of him was riding the neck of the officer and striking violently at her shoulder with a leather crop.

“What’s so funny?” asked the officer, sternly.

Emma closed her eyes and shook out her head. Renwick must have jumped off.

“So,” said the officer, “if you are convinced drugs had anything to do with this, and not that your apocalyptic calls on commentary were down to just having too much to drink, then we will definitely have some questions for Renwick.”

Those bright blue horse eyes! She was the horse! With Renwick - they are horse and jockey. She must have seen herself on the CCTV? Renwick was riding her. That’s what he said. She was there. Emma looked over at the door in the room. People were trying to get in. A lot of people. Some of them were dying. It wasn’t Renwick's fault.

“I feel sick,” blurted out Emma.

“So does Renwick, and his family, Emma. What happened last week was a tragedy. A tragedy that wasn’t their fault. They told me they want a quiet end to this. They aren’t looking to be vindictive. In your position, I think it would behoove you to go along with it. Don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes I do. It's my fault."

Nausea overcame Emma. She reached for the empty cup of tea and moved as if to wretch into it, but stopped, admiring the galaxy of tea granules at the bottom. The galaxy of tea granules, liquid spectators of a porcelain island galaxy, of a barrow hippodrome.

She swirled the last of the tea water and watched it bunch up in every corner. Her mouth gaped in helpless realisation at something. She looked up at Officer Horse, who had crossed her hooves.

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Pub: 02 Feb 2025 22:32 UTC

Edit: 02 Feb 2025 22:33 UTC

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