Waiting for him to finish loudly counting the saddles for Luca in the tack room before he locked it, she read a few of the messages that had come through while her phone had a signal: her solicitor Helen confirming their next meeting; one of the pre-prep mums who didn’t realise Kes wouldn’t be returning this term; Lunch tomorrow? Bx from an unfamiliar mobile number that she swiped past with a brief heartbeat rush to find a more welcome one from livewire Bridge Mazur. I got this number from your parental data sheet. Hope okay? (Probably get fired before I officially start.) Grand to meet you earlier. Let me know when best to bring my friend and her boy over. Looking forward. :-]

She smiled, messaging straight back with a couple of dates, going outside to wave her phone around to try to send it on its way, then proudly listening to Kes counting past thirty inside, his voice schoolroom sing-song, Luca’s bouncy encouragement possessing the same effortless spontaneity she’d noticed in others from big Irish families.

Was she mad to want to move him to such a little school? she wondered. Mack was right that a school like his pre-prep had huge resources to give its pupils educational advantage. Self-doubt gripped her, the all too familiar comedown, a headache already knocking.

‘Me and Luca are best friends!’ Kes appeared beside her, hot breath pluming.

‘That’s nice.’ She watched the Irishman pull the door closed to lock it. In her hand, her phone let out an irritated buzz to tell her it had no signal and could not send.

It was only when she looked down to tick the Send Later? box that she realised she’d replied in error to Bay’s message, not Bridge’s. How awful if he’d received That would be lovely! Let’s make it soon! Tues/Weds? xx The unsent message was easy enough to delete. Harder was the pounding in her chest and the recklessness with which her mind imagined what might happen if she left it there. Catching Luca looking at her curiously, she pocketed the phone. ‘Thank you for everything today.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ They watched Kes charging off to say goodnight to Beck and Cruisoe.

‘I think you got out of teaching pony lessons.’

He said nothing, his eyes shifting away, a rare streak of colour in each cheek, the smile firmly in place.

Realising that was a mean, headachy dig, she reached out to pat his arm and wish him goodnight. His hand covered hers.

It’s funny how the most everyday moments sometimes had such significance, she thought a moment later, the unexpected heat of his hand catching her by surprise again. And she knew in that moment, with a capsizing heart-lurch, that their friendship mattered now. It was something she needed.

‘Goodnight.’ He set off unsmiling, and she knew he felt the same way.

Kes, stomping on cobbles as though they would pop like bubble wrap, big-stepped towards her. ‘Can Luca and Gronny eat supper with us?’