"No, I had things to do, sadly. Work, mostly. But I might come another time," he told me eagerly, clearly so keen for this to work. My heart wrenched at his continual sweetness in the face of my eternal bitterness. Hopefully it didn't show, the bitterness. I loved Hugo too much to let him feel wretched on account of my pain, but the colossal effort this required was exhausting — no doubt for him, too. I felt for both of us, although a bit of me was aware that this was very good for us: learning coping mechanisms. Being more like my friend Josie — heavens, we might be going on skiing holidays soon, whizzing down slopes together. Not that I could ski. Or perhaps not, I thought, as Christina waved, from the back door.

“So annoying!" she called. "Wish I could come."

“She's allergic," Hugo explained.

"Oh." I raised my voice to reach her. "Gosh, poor you! Rotten luck!" I realized I was inadvertently imitating her cut-glass accent, which is a habit of mine, no doubt in an effort to ingratiate myself with whoever I'm talking to. I can go from chav to duchess in moments.

"I did have one, actually, as a child," she called. “Daddy had to sell it. Brought me out in hives."

“Ah!" I called back. It was quite hard, communicating at this distance, and I didn't trust myself to say more. Might bring out rotten luck again.

Nevertheless, she hovered on the doorstep. “Must be lovely to be riding down here again?" she asked tentatively, as if worried that might be wrong.

My heart lurched for her a bit. She tried so hard with me.

"It was heaven!" I assured her with a grin, meeting her, hopefully more than halfway. She broke into a delighted smile and, content, went inside.

“Did you get Peter's text?" Hugo asked me, as I ran up my stirrups.

"No? What text?" I whipped out my phone, spinning round to face him.

"He sent it to both of us. Just to say he might be coming down."

"Oh — how lovely!" I gazed at my screen in rapture and there it was. Addressed to both of us — very rare, as if we were married — and my heart stupidly gave a palsied leap. It was short and to the point:

“Might pop down”

“I’ve said, great,” Hugo told me.

"Oh yes. Definitely." I pocketed my phone. ‘Great’ wouldn't begin to cover it, though, and I knew I'd go to effusive lengths later composing an enthusiastic response.