Tom grinned. 'You look great. And thank you for paying for my train ticket.'

‘Well, thank you for coming with me. I probably should have taken Jo, of course, but she said she wanted some time to herself.' Although Jo had been very convincing, Dora did actually suspect that she'd just wanted Dora to spend some time with someone her own age. 'A day out will do you good,' she had said, and had heaped much praise on Dora's dad for sending her the tickets, especially when they realised they included eating in a corporate tent.

They enjoyed their train journey. It was easy to spot fellow race-goers, although this wasn't a specially laid-on train.

There was a party of women in diaphanous summer frocks and hats, sharing bottles of champagne to get them in the mood. There was a foursome of businessmen, going to meet important shareholders, hoping to soften them up for more major investment. And there were couples who hadn't been to the races before, and, like Dora and Tom, were not sure what to expect.

They discovered all this quite easily. The women and the businessmen were in the same carriage and the couples were spotted as first Tom and then Dora went to the buffet car for coffee and a 'nose', as Tom put it. One of the things Dora discovered about Tom that she really appreciated was his fondness for people-watching. She loved it herself, but John had always got annoyed if he'd taken her out for a meal and she hadn't given him her undivided attention. Often Dora was more interested in the conversation going on behind her. Settling back into her seat for a bit of a rest, Dora realised that was another reason it was as well she and John had split up.

There was a bus waiting for the train that took them through the leafy streets of Cheltenham to the racecourse. By this time there was a feeling of camaraderie between the people who had all come by train and Dora and Tom had got used to being thought of as a couple. As long as we know we're not one, thought Dora, it's OK.

‘I've just thought of another dare for you,' said Tom as they walked through the ticket gate.

‘Already? Can't it be one dare a day? I've already agreed to put the bets on. Not that we can really afford it.'

‘I'm afraid I've decided that putting bets on here is just too easy for it to count as a dare. No, what you've got to do now is to get us a really good tip.'

‘Sorry?' Dora stared at him, not entirely convinced she understood.

‘You've got to find some grizzled old jockey and ask him if he's got any tips. It doesn't have to be a jockey, of course,a shiny-suited tipster would be fine, as long as you think you can trust him.'

‘Tom-'

‘Listen, Dora, we're at the races. It'll be much more fun watching if we've got a little interest in them, but as you said, we haven't got much money, which means we can't afford to waste it. You must find out which horse has got the best chance in which race.'

‘That's really tough.'

‘You know perfectly well I'd do it. You're jolly lucky I'm not asking you to find a sugar daddy to actually give you money to bet with.’

Dora gulped at the thought. 'OK, but let's have a good look round everywhere first and get our bearings. There are lots of retail opportunities too – we can look, even if we can't spend.’

Dora waited until they'd had a drink before she set off on her mission. Tom would wait for her somewhere back in the drinks tent. She left him quite happily reading the paper, a pint in front of him. She wasn't a great one for talking to strangers, unlike Karen who had once just asked a man for five pence to get a car park ticket without even offering him the pennies in return. Karen would have found it easy to find the right sort of man to give them a winning tip. Dora was much less confident and had been happy to trot along behind Karen while she did all the brave stuff.

However, now she was on her own with her challenge she did feel curiously elated. After all, she didn't absolutely have to do it, if she really didn't want to, but she found she did want to.

She went first to the Tote but she didn't think there were any real gamblers there. She wanted a dyed-in-the-wool professional, someone who earned his living from his wits, who knew how to pick a horse without sticking a pin in a list or because they liked the name. She went outside, to where the bookies called out the odds, did tick-tack over their heads and offered complicated bets there didn't seem a hope of winning. They were a colourful crowd. Dora spotted the businessmen from the train. They had a couple of anxious-looking men in pale grey suits and obviously new trilby hats with them. Dora guessed that they weren't English and this was their first time on a racecourse.

Dora didn't think she'd find her tipster here. There were too many people making too much noise. She went to look for the horses.

She had never been horsey as a child. They were too big and slippery to her mind, and her mother hadn't encouraged her. It was, after all, a very expensive hobby. However, she had always appreciated the animals from an aesthetic point of view.

The saddling enclosure was filling up with horses for the first race. It was too late for that race, Dora decided, partly because she wanted not just a tip for Tom's challenge, but a winning tip – for her own satisfaction.

She watched the horses being led round the ring, mostly by girls, but also by the occasional young man who seemed to be wearing clothes too old for him – the ubiquitous trilby and tweed jacket, or shiny suit.

She was admiring a dark bay horse being led by a girl who looked too slight for the job when she spotted a man on the opposite side of the ring. He was looking at the horses with a knowing eye and made notes on his racecard from time to time.

She edged round so she was standing near him. She wasn't certain yet that he was her man. She wanted to check him out a bit more first.

Fortunately for her dubious abilities as a spy, another man came up to her quarry and started talking to him. When he opened his mouth he revealed himself to be Irish. Dora knew it was probably a stereotype but she had always believed that the Irish could pick a good horse when they saw one, especially if they were at a racecourse.

She couldn't get much information from their conver sation because it seemed to be about someone they both knew who'd fallen off a horse and was now in plaster 'from his toes to his tush'.

Having decided to ask these two men what they thought of the next race, which horse was likely to finish and which would still be running by teatime, she just had to think up what to say. Eventually she took a deep breath, put on her bravest, most Karen-like smile and went up to them.

‘Good afternoon, I'm so sorry to bother you but I need your advice.’

Both men stopped talking and looked at her. She couldn't really tell what they thought of her but as they smiled politely and didn't run off in the opposite direction she valiantly ploughed on.

‘The thing is, I've a wager to carry out.'

‘Oh yes?' one of them asked.

‘My friend bet me I couldn't pick a winner for the next race – not this one, I know I'll be too late – and I really need some help.' Another Karen-like smile caused them to smile back with just the right hint of indulgence. Dora didn't care if she was patronised if they gave her the information she needed; after all, she didn't know one end of a horse from another, they had every right to talk down to her.

‘Well, my dear, were you hoping for a horse to win or an each-way bet?' said the man she had spotted first.

‘I'm sorry, you're going to think I'm awfully ignorant, but what's an each-way bet?'

‘It's a place – first, second or third. You have to put on twice the stake, but your chances are better,' said the other man.