Pink from the shower, she’d disappeared back into her Plotting Shed an hour earlier, telling Carly to help herself to coffee from the high-tech machine with the real espresso scoops while she was ‘throwing a quick proposal together. But don’t go before we have that chat!’ Her life, like her house, was impossibly glamorous.

‘Thought Ash didn’t like you playing with gee-gees?’ Flynn was clipping a hoof with his big pincers. The pony was relaxing now, leaning hard against Carly while her reassuring hand ran along his neck and withers, fingers raking in and out of his mane.

‘He’ll have to get used to it if he’s going to be farrier with you.’

‘No kidding?’ He looked up, eyes crinkled with amusement.

‘Straight up. Says he’ll talk to you.’ She wasn’t sure she believed it herself yet; she mustn’t overplay it.

‘What about his college course?’

‘Up for discussion.’ She scratched the pony’s forehead and rubbed behind his ears.

‘It’s not just about having arms like Popeye,’ he warned her.

‘I can see that.’

‘Hey, feel this.’ He lowered the pony’s leg back to the ground and offered her a bicep. ‘Nothing on Ash’s gym humps, granted, but there’s more skill in lifting a neddy’s leg than swinging at a punchbag. It’s not one night of fighting glory. Takes a lot of commitment, farriery.’

‘Ash isn’t afraid of that.’ New Year, new start Carly hoped. Fewer nights on the lash, fewer late-night poker sessions in Flynn’s cottage. She was banking on the two men both growing up if their livelihoods depended on each other. Flynn’s daughter was in the same class as Ellis. For all his swagger and flirtation, Carly knew him to be an old-fashioned soul and a hard grafter. Ash thought a lot of him and his family. She was determined to make this idea work. ‘You know Ash is a good man, Flynn. A good dad.’

‘With a good wife.’ He curled his rasp around the Shetland’s little hoof as perfectly as Janine shaped a nail.

As Carly watched him, fascinated by the process, her excitement built. She knew Ash could do this. She curled her fingers distractedly through the thick mane, then around the little furry flame ears, imagining hammer on anvil, regular income, horses.

‘How d’you bloody do that?’

She realised Flynn was looking up at her, equally fascinated as the Shetland leaned against her even more heavily, soporific, almost asleep. ‘That little bugger usually never lets up kicking out.’

‘Dunno. I just do.’

‘You’re definitely on the team.’

She waved the compliment away, secretly euphoric. She was going to stand up to Janine and the Turners and make this happen. Bridge’s New Year spell was going to come true for them all.

Her phone lit up with a message.

Regrettably, I can’t have babies or run away. I can, however, offer you weekend work and some midweek mornings if you’d like some? Call me. Ronnie.

She reread it.

‘Bloody hell, Ronnie Percy just offered me a job,’ she breathed, fireworks and fanfares in her head.