‘He fancies her back,’ Gill huffed. ‘Brazen!’

‘Their foal’s going to be beautiful.’ Mo patted her hot cheeks.

‘I meant Ronnie, this time.’

The Bags’ collective jaws then dropped to see the Horsemaker touch his fingers to his wool-muffled lips and hold them up.

‘Is he blowing a kiss?’ Bridge whispered, angling round for a better view.

‘Saluting her with one, I think.’

‘He’s like a medieval knight,’ Mo sighed dreamily.

‘Now that,’ breathed Gill, watching them ride off, ‘is flirting.’

Walking back towards them, having caught the mare, Petra fanned her face. ‘What a nightmare! No need for ambulances, thank goodness, although you’re looking a bit Kill Bill there, Bridge.’

The other two women turned to her with a collective gasp.

‘God alive,’ Gill leant closer, ‘what broke your fall? Edward Scissorhands?’

Looking down, Bridge realised there was blood all over her yellow high viz. ‘Is it that bad?’

‘You might need a bit of extra make-up for your interview, love.’ Mo tried to sound reassuring.

Gill was less so. ‘You have an interview with a face like that?’

‘No make-up will cover that,’ Petra predicted.

Bridge felt her face, gashed lip swollen like a wasped plum now, great bramble slices on her nose, cheek and forehead. Hurriedly switching her mobile phone’s camera to selfie, she let out an anguished cry. Something from a horror film was staring back, skin lacerated with blood-jewelled strings of scratches, lower lip distorted into an obscene trout pout.

As they remounted and headed back along the track, desperation rose in Bridge. ‘There must be something I can do? Gill. You’re a vet. What can I use?’

‘A paper bag?’ Petra suggested.

‘Well, there’s fibrin sealants, I suppose – wound glue – which might close it all up neatly enough to put foundation on, but I wouldn’t advise it.’

‘I’ll take it!’

‘I can’t let you have any, it’s completely unethical.’

‘Sod that, I’m a fecking mate.’

‘The veterinary one has blue dye in it. Go to the minor injuries unit in Broadbourne.’

‘There’s no time. We waited four hours last time we were there and still got sent to Warwick Hospital. And that was just for a towel rail burn.’

‘Apparently, if you rub cocaine into wounds, it’s like ET’s finger,’ Petra said informatively. ‘Instant healing.’

‘No kidding? And where would I get cocaine round here – Great Compton Village Store?’

‘Surely a rock-and-roll woman like you has a stash?’

‘You need Lee Welch,’ Mo told Bridge.

‘Who?’ One ear was bleeding too, she realised. She was lacerated.

‘Skully, they call him. Can’t miss him. Covered in tattoos.’

‘Forgive me, Mo, but tattooing my face to hide this is way too extreme.’

‘He’s the local dealer; he’ll get you sorted.’

‘Bridge is not buying cocaine,’ Gill squawked. ‘I’m shocked at you, Mo.’

‘I was talking about the wound glue, love. A lot of the travelling crowd Skully mixes with won’t go to doctors. They call him the Medicine Cabinet on account of the fact he’s nicked that much from dispensaries he’s better stocked than Lloyds. My bet’s that wound stuff gets used by all the bare-knuckle boys.’