On day two, I was studiously warming up for the under-tens’ showjumping competition when a bystander noisily opened a packet of crisps. Fox shot off sideways in fright, only to collide heavily with a rather exuberant Boris, who had also clocked the exciting packet and was determined to eat the contents. Hayley, who was up on his back, had pulled one of her reins to slow him down just as I yanked my own, and the two of us had collided in the air like skittles, our ears left ringing inside our hard hats as we struggled to regain control of our respective steeds.

From that moment onwards, we barely left each other’s side at Camp. Hayley has always been able to make me laugh, but she has also listened, supported, berated and been there to hold my hand – or my hair back – as required, just as I have been for her. She is the only person I have told about my lunch with David. Immediately, she suggested that she should come over today so we could talk it all through.

‘I’m so sorry!’ she says now, giving me a repentant smile as she closes my bedroom door behind her and hurries towards where I’m sitting to give me a one-armed hug.

‘The men came to remove the muck heap just as I was getting in the car, and I couldn’t risk leaving them to their own devices,’ she explains, pulling off her thick woolly hat with such vigour that strands of her hair stand up in the static.

Hayley is tall, lean and blonde, much like a sunflower, while I am petite, rounded and dark-haired, not unlike a blueberry.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ I wave away her apologies. ‘I bought a cake – do you want some?’

Hayley’s eyes widen in delight as she eyes the box on my bedside table.

‘Is that lemon drizzle?’ she asks, grinning as I confirm that it is. ‘Thank God for that – I’m bloody starving!’

Like Billy the burger-gobbler, Hayley is always hungry – a trait that I often tease her she inherited from Boris. But unlike her chubby first pony, my friend never seems to gain much weight. Then again, I never used to either – not until I stopped working at the yard. When you’re putting in twelve hours of manual labour a day, only really sitting down when you’re in the saddle, then you quickly burn off all and any calories you ingest – even those that originated in cake.

After I have cut her an enormous slice, Hayley tells me between mouthfuls that her younger brother Mike has quit his degree course for the third time in as many years.

‘Honestly, I don’t know why he doesn’t just get a job like I did.’