‘Not tonight.’

He tilted his head. ‘Why not?’

‘I want you all to myself.’ She glanced at Luca’s retreating silhouette

‘Oliver says you are a boring smelly-pants!’

She thought Oliver had a point, but she knew better than to acknowledge her son’s imaginary friend. ‘Let’s get you something to eat.’

*

‘I’ve come to read Kes a bedtime story and give you a present!’ Ronnie told Pax brightly from the doorstep of Lester’s cottage, feeling as welcome as a Jehovah’s Witness, and uncomfortably duplicitous.

‘He’s had a story.’ Dressed in just a towelling gown, Pax had coated her hair in some sort of conditioner that made her look like a bird in an oil slick.

‘An embarrassment of riches, then.’ Ronnie wasn’t giving up easily, holding up a foxed copy of Beatrix Potter. ‘He told me earlier he’d never heard The Tale of Mrs Tiggy-Winkle.’

There was a gurgling of pipes from above. ‘I’m just topping up the bath. Hang on.’ Pax dashed upstairs to stop the tap. Nipping inside and closing the door to shut out the cold, Ronnie found herself standing right next to the big dresser in which Lester had told her he kept private correspondence.

She glared at it reluctantly. The letters.

Pax was back down before she’d even located the right cupboard. ‘Another night, maybe? He’s almost asleep.’ They could both hear Kes playing loudly with his toy car, making vrooming noises overhead. ‘All this is still so new. Best not overstimulate him.’

‘Of course. These are for you.’ She handed across a large plastic bag from the Bardswolds’ one remaining old-fashioned saddlery shop and knew, the moment Pax registered the horse head logo emblazoned on it with a frozen smile, that she had judged it wrong. ‘Just a few practical things to wear around the yard.’

Pax pulled out a pair of charcoal designer breeches, riding socks, thermal layers and gloves, then a padded gilet and short coat. ‘These are riding clothes, Mummy.’

‘Work clothes. They’re dual purpose.’

‘You can’t afford all this.’

‘You’d be amazed what Nectar points can buy these days.’

‘It’s terribly kind of you. At least you stopped short of the hat and boots.’

‘They’re still in the car. Call it an early birthday present.’

‘Thank you,’ Pax said, rigidly courteous.

‘While I’m here,’ Ronnie tried to sound airily casual, ‘Lester asked me to pick up a few things.’

‘Be my guest.’ Pax sat down on the bottom stair to make a fuss of Ronnie’s little heelers who had muscled inside too.

‘Don’t let your bath get cold.’

‘It’s fine.’ She looked up. ‘What things, exactly?’

‘I’ll make you a cup of tea while you’re in the bath, shall I?’

‘I don’t want a cup of tea.’ Pax cocked her head. ‘Is something bothering you, Mummy? Is this about what Kes told you?’

‘About what?’

‘His brother.’

Wrong-footed, Ronnie hesitated, unaccustomed to such directness. She’d forgotten how swiftly truth came out of the mouths of infants.

‘He says he told you about Oliver?’