The fact she had her own horse deepened the bond, as she told Carly, ‘You can have a sit on my wee woolly man any time. I was just like you, loved the creatures since I was a kid, but there’s not many grew up on my street ever sat on more than a donkey on the beach.’

Which made it all the more embarrassing to drift off halfway through Bridge telling her all about Craic, only hearing as far as the bit where she’d bought him unpapered and unhandled, fresh off the boat from Ireland for slightly less than it cost to have her hair extensions redone every three months.

Instead, she dreamed about the colt at Compton Bagot stud, Spirit, gold and black like a Versace piece, his white blaze and stockings flashing as he galloped away over the ridge above the Comptons, past the windmill there, disappearing forever.

She awoke with a jerk to find herself covered with a thick red big-knit blanket that smelled comfortingly of woodsmoke, a purring cat on her feet.

‘Happy New Year!’ From the opposite sofa, Bridge raised her glass and a well-shaped eyebrow, prettily slitted with two shaven tramlines. ‘I’m so glad you snore.’

‘Shit, did I miss it? Ash will go ape.’

‘Don’t be daft, you silly cow. It’s not even ten. You look done in. Little one teething?’

It was such a relief to be with someone who got it. Turner women rarely shared parenting horrors, at least not with Carly, the closed order around delinquent teens and tantruming toddlers as defensive as owners of dangerous dogs – and they had those on the estate, too.

‘You need food, queen. There’s nothing of you. No wonder you’re knackered. Say, do you fancy nachos and dip? The really lazy sort full of E numbers that comes in a fecking jar. I don’t do trendy fermented food unless you count Greek yoghurt that’s gone off.’

‘Me neither.’ She grinned as Bridge sauntered into the kitchen, fielding a call on her mobile. Her hostess catcalled with delight, obviously a close family member, her accent thickening.

Carly checked her own phone. Ash hadn’t replied to her text. She sent him another to say she was still girl-talking.

The rock anthem soundtrack and whoops had racked up so much next door that the floor was vibrating, and she shuddered to imagine the state of the swishy-haired students and their Sellotaped fancy dress, especially with Skully in the room. She trusted Ash to just admire the view while he concentrated on getting slowly drunk. Very, very drunk. Not that he betrayed it for a minute. Only Carly recognised the glint of anaesthesia finally clouding the pain, the soporific, seductive Ash she’d learned to live with because the brave soldier had left a part of his soul on the battlefield.

‘Sorry about that.’ Bridge returned with a tray of jars and foil snack bags and more wine. ‘My sister getting the hour difference wrong. She’s in Hollywood – works in the film industry.’