‘He’s just the best, isn’t he?’ she said to Lester.

‘You’ve the making of a good eye.’

They stopped to have breakfast just after eight. Lester retreated into his cottage, his offer of toast declined. Carly’s stomach was too knotted with excitement to eat. Taking a mug of tea out to the fields to watch Spirit and take some photos, she found her phone had a bar of reception and called Nan Turner to check she was okay hanging onto the kids a bit longer, and then Ash, just awake, bear-like and not understanding why she wasn’t beside him.

‘What are you doing there?’ he demanded when she explained she was at the stud.

‘On-the-job training.’

‘It’s New Year’s bloody Day. What job? Nobody gets a job on New Year’s Day.’

‘Call it magic.’ She thought gratefully back to Bridge’s silly spell. ‘Ronnie said I could help out any time, remember?’

‘For free, maybe. It’ll go nowhere. We talked this through, Carl.’

‘No, you told me what you thought about it, Ash, and now I’m doing it anyway. I have a right to make up my own mind on stuff. Women can do that. Watch the news.’

‘Fuck, were you having some sort of feminist meeting with Mazur-ati last night or what?’ He laughed sleepily. ‘Where are the kids?’

‘Still at your mum’s. She’s happy for you to go around and collect them any time up to eleven. I’m only needed here another couple of hours, the old guy says.’

‘I’m going to the gym.’

‘Nobody goes to the gym on New Year’s Day,’ she repeated back.

‘Got a lot of beer to sweat off, bae.’ He rang off.

Carly growled. He never took anything she did seriously, apart from sex, and not always that. When they’d made love last night, uninhibited and clumsy, she’d glimpsed the man he’d once been, recalled the fearlessness she’d possessed to win him. Lying awake afterwards, her mind made up to come here today, she’d listened to his breathing change as another nightmare started to grip him and guessed he would react like this. He couldn’t see that horses were her peace and freedom, the place she went to escape, an armistice he couldn’t find. He wasn’t mad at her; he just didn’t get it.

Watching two deer shoot from field hedge to coppice, she yawned. She hadn’t slept much, but she didn’t resent the tiredness. It was the best night she could remember in months. Bridge made for addictive company. They’d finally peeled the talkative Belfast mum off the dance floor at close to two and walked her home, declining offers of yet more wine before the door closed. Both Carly and Ash had looked back as they crossed the lane, sharing the joy of seeing her through the window, dancing around her sitting room, pink-tipped ponytail swinging.

They’d made love as soon as they got home, house to themselves, not bothering to turn on the lights or draw the curtains, Ash putting music on his phone and telling her to strip. She’d been happy to oblige, trailing shoes and clothes from front door to bedroom, their laughter catching, still tipsy and not at all sleepy, although he’d pulled her down onto him before she’d got into her stride, and it was over too quickly for her to get much pleasure, his back looming in beside her and his breathing deepening to sleep the moment it was over, the old Ash slipping away.