‘Look, I’m freezing here and I’m going to be late. Where’s your pink blouse?’

‘Under the bed,’ Suzy mumbled through a mouthful of

golden syrup. ‘On the left – the clothes side, not the shoes …’

Suzy’s bedroom made Maddy’s clutter look pristine. Ignoring conventional furniture, Suzy kept her entire life beneath her bed. Maddy fished around with trepidation, and eventually emerged triumphant with a handful of pink lace.

Suzy had descended on Milton St John in general, and Maddy in particular, the previous May. Maddy, at that time still smarting from Peter’s rejection, had welcomed her younger sister with motherly delight. It hadn’t taken long to discover that Suzy didn’t need mothering. Suzy, Mr and Mrs Beckett’s menopausal mistake, had been given her head and it showed.

Maddy, planned for, cosseted and protected, had still been in ankle socks at twelve. Suzy had been fierce and fearless, Maddy timid and unsure. A late developer, Maddy reckoned she’d gone through puberty at about nineteen. And then there was the question of a career …

Suzy had always known she would be a jockey. This was not a childish dream engendered by pony clubs and gymkhanas, but an obsession with horse racing bordering on the unhealthy. At the age of seven, Suzy could work out odds, read form, and pick winners. Maddy, struggling with A-levels, had been highly in awe of this talent. She was even more in awe of the fact that Suzy knew at primary school exactly what she was going to do with her life. Maddy had a vague notion of going to university if her results were good enough, but after that she didn’t have a clue.

There had been loudly voiced reservations from her parents about this wild child of their middle-age pursuing such an unladylike vocation – especially as Maddy had been something of a disappointment – but Suzy had taken no notice. As soon as Maddy moved to Milton St John, she wrote begging letters to every trainer. As Maddy was well known in the village, there had been some speculation about Suzy’s ability to achieve riding weight, and Maddy had been forced to admit that Suzy took after the bone-thin side of the family. So far, it had worked out very well. It was like having a whole second wardrobe.

Maddy hurried across the hall to her bedroom. As it was too late to have a bath, and there would only be half an inch of hot water at this time of the evening anyway, she squirted herself liberally with Body Mist. Deciding to make the most of the basque and stockings, she pulled her black skirt over the top of them, and struggled into the pink blouse.

The result was less disappointing than she’d expected. Peter was hardly likely to fall panting at her feet – not that she wanted him to, of course – but neither would he recoil in horror. With make-up on, she squinted into the mirror. She might even pass as glamorous …