“Tuck in behind us!" Hugo yelled as we pounded across the ground together. Tommy, to his credit, just about managed to do that, and Hugo, Shona, the other boy and I formed something of a wall for him to shelter behind as we galloped along.

"Barney won't kick, you can get right in close to me!” Shona shouted, which under different circumstances would have had the boy shrieking banter back, but all we heard was a breathless:

"OK."

He didn't have too long to hold on: just one more wall, which, unfortunately, he was committed to if he came with us and, as the four of us sailed over in unison, glancing quickly over our shoulders on landing, we saw Tommy's gray, knowing full well she was on her own without a competent rider, rise up like a stag. Tommy's legs were horizontal in mid-air — no reins, hands clutching braids — but fortunately he landed in the saddle, though with a heck of a bump, so that the mare bucked angrily. Heaven knows how he stayed on.

“Wow,” muttered Hugo, as thankfully his other friend, Lucas, who'd grown up hunting in Leicestershire, was safely over and ‘having a brilliant time, thanks’ when asked, his face a picture. Not so Tommy, who was positively green at the gills, but, recognizing immediately he was the underdog here, there was no way he was going to let it show.

We were almost at the first cover now, slowing down as we approached, and I saw Shona hang back to talk to the boy alone, ask him something. I knew what, because we would be standing here a while whilst hounds drew, but it didn't go well.

After a moment, she rode back to me. "Charming," she muttered, her face taut.

“Doesn't want to,” I said quietly.

"Couldn't have been more emphatic."

“Still, at least you've offered."

Hugo had also clocked the kindness and sensed, too, this wasn't the moment to offer his mate any advice. He came to a halt beside us with Lucas, giving Tommy no choice but to join us. Our horses, sweating and breathing heavily, snorted and tossed their heads, steam rising from their backs in the cold air. Everyone who'd made it this far — and there were one or two who hadn't — chatted and laughed and retold the walls; exhilarated, relieved, and high on the adrenalin of still being alive. All around, hip flasks were opened and offered and swigged on hard.

Tommy offered me his flask and I took a grateful slug. Then my face contorted.

"Gosh, it's strong!"

"Bourbon," he laughed. “Not your tipple?"

“Not sure I've ever had it. You're American?"

“Ten out of ten for observation."

I blushed, and then in my confusion said without thinking, “So have you done this before?"