‘No,’ Suzy shook her head. ‘She’s selling up … Selling the yard. The virus has knackered her this season. Owners are pulling out because there’s no prize money. Oh, Mad!’ She turned her woebegone face to Maddy. ‘It’s so sad. Kimberley’s lovely. She doesn’t deserve this.’

‘No, poppet, she doesn’t.’ Maddy smiled at her sister in admiration. The hard and streetwise Suzy was hurting for Kimberley. ‘When did you hear? Did Kimberley tell you this morning?’

Suzy shook her head. ‘Nah. I haven’t seen her today. It’s all round John’s yard, though. Holy hell, Mad. It’s her whole life. Jason and Olly told me that she’d gone bust and she didn’t want to say anything until after The Derby.’

‘Maybe it’s not true, then.’ Maddy didn’t hold out a lot of hope. Stable gossip was usually horribly accurate. The grapevine knew what was going on long before it happened. ‘And even if it is, the lads and the jockeys should be OK, love. There are lots of yards. Drew is looking for a flat jockey for next season and –’

‘Oh, I know they’ll get fixed up.’ Suzy scrubbed her eyes with her bunched fingers. ‘I’m just upset about Kimberley. I mean, where will she go? It’s her home, Mad.’

‘I know. I know.’ Maddy cradled Suzy again. ‘Look, I’ve been meaning to take her hat back for ages. I’ll pop in this afternoon, shall I? Kimberley and I are good friends. I’ll see what I can do to help.’

‘Don’t tell her I said,’ Suzy sniffed, anxious to retain her street cred. ‘Just see if she tells you.’

‘Yes, of course.’

Maddy had been going to ease her stomach and head and back with a hot bath and a dose of Anadin. She stood up. She really couldn’t face the bicycle again. She’d have to take the car. Poor, poor Kimberley.

She knocked on the heavy door with trepidation. It was ajar, and immediately Kimberley’s pack of mongrels streamed yapping towards it, jamming wet noses through the gap.

‘Who is it?’ Kimberley’s voice echoed down the stone-flagged passage. ‘I’m in the kitchen. If you don’t like dogs come around the back, otherwise just push your way through the little blighters.’

Maddy pushed, with a dozen pairs of excited feet scrabbling at her leggings. At least Kimberley didn’t sound suicidal. ‘It’s me, Maddy,’ she called. ‘I’ve returned the hat.’

Kimberley was by the Aga, simmering entrails for the dogs. She looked over her shoulder and smiled broadly. ‘Won’t keep you a jiff, Maddy. And you needn’t have bothered with the hat. I won’t wear it, and you did look a treat in it.’ She straightened up. ‘Ta, anyway. Have you got time for a cuppa?’