‘Bare-knuckle fighting?’ Petra was agog. ‘Round here?’

‘There’s a lot of honour in it for gypsy families.’ Mo gave them all a wise look. ‘Big money too. Turners been doing it for years. Skully patches them up afterwards like a regular cosmetic surgeon.’

Gill was peering closely at Bridge’s face. ‘It looks worse than it is. That lip’s going to keep bleeding on and off when you talk or eat, but the rest will all scab over very quickly.’

‘What’s Skully’s number?’ Bridge demanded.

None of them had it.

‘Okay, we all know this job’s going to be high flying and cancelling isn’t an option,’ volunteered Petra. ‘So tell them you had a bad day doing voluntary work clearing brambles from landmines.’

‘In the Cotswolds?’

‘Canals, then.’

‘Or tell the interviewer the truth, maybe?’ Gill suggested.

Bridge couldn’t shake the mental image of herself rolling up at the school to meet Auriol ‘Battleaxe’ Bullock with blood splattered over her best white interview shirt, looking like she’d just been mugged by someone wielding a bike chain. If she cancelled this close to the interview, she’d never get a recall. Illogically, she now wanted this job more than life.

‘You know her, Mo,’ she mopped up more blood as it dropped on her tabard, ‘your kids go there. Will she buy into the heroic horse fall thing, d’you think?’

Mo pulled an apologetic face. ‘Mrs Bullock’s more of a cat person.’

‘You could say your cat did it?’ said Gill. ‘I’ve had colleagues look worse after a routine worming.’

‘Hang on! Mrs Bullock, you say?’ Petra had just sussed it. ‘My tennis club friend’s chair of Maggers’ PTA and says the woman’s totally batshit amazing. They all adore her, but Helen’s convinced the governors are in collusion with the LEA to close the place because it’s safeguarding chaos. The children love it there. It just needs legitimising. Bridge, you are magnificent. I might have guessed you’d seek something like this, a quirky challenge out of altruism rather than financial reward.’ Her dark, wide-set eyes looked genuinely enchanted.

‘Yeah, I’m woke like that.’ Bridge sat up taller.

‘What a super thing to want to do,’ agreed Gill.

‘That’s what I’ve been telling her.’ Mo looked pleased, pink face beaming.

Bridge wanted to cry. ‘Anyone have a paper bag?’

*

‘God, those women!’ Ronnie growled as she and Luca rode home. ‘If they can’t control their bloody horses they shouldn’t be allowed on bridleways. Petra’s a chum, but a very daft one. I’ll call her out about this later.’

‘It was Beck that overreacted.’ The eyes behind the smile were fixed. ‘He did the same thing in a warm-up arena once. Almost killed his rider too.’

‘That chestnut mare’s the one he escaped to before Christmas. Comes into season all through winter, apparently. Total menace.’

‘She’s violent, dominant, a natural running mate. She’s attracted to him.’

‘In the wild, maybe. As I keep reminding you, this is the Cotswolds.’

‘You’re saying being sex mad and cycling all year round isn’t normal here?’