‘In that case you can definitely afford a Mother’s Help.’ Bridge refused to be deflected. ‘Like Mo says, you need one.’

‘Charlie already accuses me of being lazy.’ Petra’s apology smiled over her shoulder.

‘Bollocks to that!’ Bridge stood up in her stirrups. ‘Charlie’s never here; you say yourself that he treats the London flat like an Airbnb. You’re an amazing cook, you manage the household budget, keep that huge garden under control, look after all your neddies, plus a delinquent dog and God knows how many chickens and even find time to listen to your mother calling to discuss The Archers for hours on end – don’t deny it, you always fecking complain – and you’ve been hoodwinked into sitting on every charitable committee within a ten-mile radius.’

Mo backed her up: ‘and lending a sympathetic ear to friends near and far.’

‘Only because I nick your best stories for books,’ Petra joked, but Bridge could see she was buying into it.

‘How can you be expected to keep on top of it all whilst working flat out? You need help at home – you deserve help, you can’t live without help.’

Petra’s big brown eyes softened. ‘Are you asking me for a job, Bridge?’

‘Not me!’ Bridge prickled with offended pride. ‘I want you to give Carly Turner a job. Author’s assistant, groom, domestic goddess, PA, occasional healer.’

‘Oh, I like Carly. The house is ten times cleaner since she joined Janine’s team.’

‘So cut out the middleman!’ she said triumphantly.

‘Doesn’t do to cross Janine…’ Mo sucked in air through her teeth and tutted.

‘Rubbish,’ Bridge dismissed airily. ‘Carly’s been looking for something new for ages, Janine knows that. She does extra bits and bobs for you already, doesn’t she, Petra?’

‘Well, she’s holding the ponies for Flynn today.’

‘There you go!’

Mo chuckled. ‘You sure you don’t want to be a Girl Friday yourself, Bridge? We all know you’d love to hold something for Flynn.’

‘As long as she can still be Aleš’s girl Sundays through to Thursdays,’ Petra laughed.

Already crabby, Bridge snapped, ‘I’m my own fecking woman, thanks.’ She ignored the phone in her pocket sounding off with her husband’s custom message notification, a power drill that had once seemed funny, but now set her teeth on edge.

*

Carly’s day had got off to a bad start, lack of sleep and an unwanted guest conspiring to fray her temper. Last night, while she’d been bathing the kids, Ash had shouted upstairs that he was off out with Skully, the door banging before she could reply. He’d come back in the early hours, his dead weight crashing into bed beside her, sleeping through every alarm a few hours later, even the Green Day track on Carly’s phone that normally had him springing up as if under air attack.

Getting a fractious Ellis organised for his first day back at school, she’d found Skully asleep on their sofa, equally out for the count despite Pricey, the bull lurcher, clambering up to join him and Ellis prodding him with his ’Splorer Stick.