‘How many days were you hungover after that bottle of whisky we chugged?’ he asks, looking suitably impressed when I admit that it was two.

‘I’m pretty sure I’m still munted now,’ he admits. ‘This is what old age does to a man.’

‘Kit!’

We both wheel around to find Allie about to mount a large skewbald cob.

‘I’m taking the ride out now – we’re doing the longer route, so expect us back in about two hours or so.’

‘Got ya.’

Is it my imagination, or is Kit looking decidedly sheepish? And Allie is definitely a bit on edge today – perhaps they had a row. The two of us watch on in silence as the riders file out of the yard. I can still hear Tui whooping and laughing over in the outdoor school, and it reminds me again why I am here. I want to tell her the truth – and the same goes for Kit.

Maybe it makes more sense to tell him first, but I have no idea how to even begin. I was so gung-ho yesterday, but now that I am faced with him, being open and kind as he always is, I have been rendered mute by trepidation. What if he’s angry – or worse – disgusted?

I follow him across the yard to the barn on the pretext of helping him fill hay nets, trying my best to ignore the fact that my insides are churning.

‘Any big New Year plans for tonight?’ I ask, flushing as I notice the dark flash of his back and stomach that emerges from below his shirt when he pulls down a bale.

‘Nah.’ Kit doesn’t quite meet my eyes. ‘I was gonna hang out at Allie’s, but—’

‘Geeee-nie!’

Tui is calling for me.

‘In a minute, Tui – we’re busy,’ Kit shouts back.

‘Genie!’ she calls again, this time with more urgency.

‘I should go and see if she’s OK,’ I begin, but he stills me with a frown.

‘She’s fine,’ he says. ‘She’s got a surprise for you – that’s all.’

For a fleeting, gut-punching second, it occurs to me that the surprise could be Bonnie, but then Kit adds, ‘But you might want to change first.’

I look down at my shorts and vest top.

‘Why? Don’t tell me you two have rigged up a hot tub in the feed room or something?’

‘Chance would be a very fine thing,’ Kit replies wryly, finishing his first hay net and throwing it to the floor. ‘Nah, it’s more physical than that.’

‘Not more Frisbee golf?’ I groan jokingly. ‘I’m bloody awful at that game.’

‘I wouldn’t put myself through that again – let alone you,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Nah, guess again.’

‘Geee-nie!’

‘She sounds fed up,’ I point out to Kit, who steps from the barn into the yard and yells at Tui to ‘stop crowing like a rooster’.