‘I will,’ Ronnie said and smiled, turning away. ‘I’m just showing Luca up to his – oh.’ He’d swung out of the gate and was loping across the arrivals yard. Under the first archway, he paused and waited.

‘Tell him I don’t need him,’ muttered Pax. ‘He’s shattered.’

‘So are you.’ Ronnie wondered at the endurance marathon going on between them. ‘I don’t think you have a choice.’

As she drove away, glancing in her rear-view mirror, Ronnie saw them trudging up towards the turnouts together with head collars, and sent up a little prayer that her daughter made peace as usual, quashing the worry that Pax was in the sort of frenetic, angry mindset that made her more likely to start a stampede or push a new manager in a water trough.

At the bottom of the driveway, a mud-caked Land Rover was turning in, its lights flashing hello. Gritting her teeth, Ronnie barred its way with her car.

The window buzzed down, a plume of aftershave rushing out. Bay had changed into casual clothes, hair wet from the shower. He glowed with good health, winter suntan – and bad intentions. ‘Thought I’d check how it’s all going, lend a hand if you need one.’

‘It’s fine. Now be a good boy and bugger off.’

‘Come on, Ron. I’m being neighbourly. Is Pax still here? She’s not answering her phone.’ When Ronnie gave no more than a withering look, he leaned out of his car window further, voice conspiratorial. ‘Is it true she’s given Och Aye the Noo his marching orders?’

‘None of your bloody business.’ Surely Lester hadn’t said anything? Even delirious with pain, he was usually the soul of discretion.

‘I’ll come back tomorrow, shall I?’

‘Go home, Bay.’

He gave her a mock hangdog look, but he did as she asked, reversing around and shooting off again with a wave from the open window.

*

‘Kochanie, I am not sure I can hold this position.’

‘Just – oooh, grrrgh – try a bit – ahhh – longer.’

‘I have a little back pain and cramp.’

‘Nothing to what – eaughh – I’m feeling, Aleš. Oh, Jaysus, that’s good! How about if I do…’

‘Zajebisty!’

‘… this?’

‘Oh, yes. Zajebisty! Oh yes. Oh yes.’

They were up against the front door, rattling it on its hinges, the ultimate knee-trembler. Bridge’s ankles were on Aleš’s huge shoulders, his shins wedged against the old wood-planking, forehead against the lintel, one big hand supporting her buttocks while the other was splayed across the little peep-window, knuckles in her shoulder blade. Both were secretly getting off like wildfire on the fact dog walkers, motorists and cyclists were passing just a foot or two away from their pounding, sweaty coupling. That and the fact it was the coolest spot in the room with the log burner at full blast, and they appreciated the draught they’d complained about all winter, no longer muffled with upholstered sausages and thick drapes, but whistling around two finely balanced, semi-naked bodies.