A split second later, Luca had her shoulders gripped in his hands. ‘Pax? You okay?’

For a moment, his hand was on her cheek, like a lover’s. She couldn’t stop looking at his mouth. Why was she looking at his mouth?

‘You okay?’

She looked up. His pupils were huge. Surely hers were the ones that should be dilated after a knock on the head? Then again, they probably were.

He was the one looking at her mouth now. ‘Pax, you know I think you’re the most—’

‘I’m fine,’ she said carefully. ‘Stop being creepy.’

Laurence backed her up from the cage behind her, snapping his jaws and making huffing and snarling noises as he paced from side to side, glaring at Luca through the wire, his spine arched up.

Pax let Luca help her up, noticing how quick he was to step away afterwards and hold open the door in the wall, her three-figure heartbeat in her throat as they walked back to the field in silence.

*

Having been unable to persuade Flavia and Zak to settle for their overdue afternoon naps, Bridge battled to finish Aleš’s VAT return amid sticky fingers, tearful tumbles and screaming bumps. The figures were still way out, HMRC’s online submission page warning her that it didn’t add up. Sod it, she’d balance it with a few made-up additions. This time it uploaded and she hurried upstairs to repaint her face with fifties eyeliner slicks and a bright pout.

She overdid it, rushing because she needed to get Flavia and Zak ready to go out too, one currently applying glittery green eyeshadow at her side, the other coasting around the bed with a heavy nappy drooping to his creased, pudgy knees.

Tired and fractious from playing with their cousins, Flavia and Zak didn’t want to go out again, mewling as she changed them from the jogger combos to corduroy and fleece newly bought from the overpriced boutique in Chipping Hampton, ashamed that she’d shopped especially: Bridge, the rebel, dressing her children in Hackett and Joules in her quest to have friends as rah as Petra’s.

She checked WhatsApp again and stared in shock at a message from Petra featuring a photograph of her evil Shetland pony looking like mini-me alongside the stud’s big white stallion. It was captioned: Ronnie has stolen my man! Let the bromance begin…

Competitive streak stoked, Bridge tapped: Hee! Cute! I’ll say hello when I’m having tea there with Pax this afternoon. *Mummy playdate alert*

Furious with herself – the asterisks were stooping low – she heard a wail and turned in time to see Flavia upend an entire pot of bronzing powder over her brother’s head.

Her phone buzzed again, a private message from Mo, another from Petra.

You okay, love? asked one; the other just said Chin up.

They might not always see past the painted face, but the Bags were straight onto humblebragging.

*

Kes was so besotted with Coll that when they brought the pony and his big scaredy-cat friend in from the field, he didn’t want to leave the Shetland’s side, glued to Ronnie and Luca too, firing questions about horses. Distractedly hurrying back and forth to Lester’s cottage, trying to bake something for her visitors without burning it, Pax didn’t realise at first that Ronnie had disappeared to make one of her long calls, leaving the Irishman to play babysitter as well as run the yard.