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

‘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.’

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.’

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?’

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

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.

‘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.

‘It’s Monday.’ I tried not to flinch as I peeled it off.

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

‘Actually,’ I said. ‘I’ve come over to ask you for help.’

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

His mates swayed gently around him like aquatic plants.

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

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

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

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.

‘He’s a soldier,’ I said, loudly. ‘Ex-soldier.’

One by one they turned round.

‘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.

‘A vet? You’re kidding us. Where is he?’

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