‘I’d actually really love to come,’ I tell him, pausing to down the rest of my own beer. ‘But you must let me contribute some food and stuff.’

‘Just bring plenty of beer,’ Kit says. ‘Griff will get through a keg on his own.’

I excuse myself to pay a visit to the very clean public lavatories on the other side of the green, and when I return, Kit is tapping away on his mobile.

‘Bonnie,’ he says, by way of explanation. ‘Should I tell her you’re here after all?’

It is a fair question, and in any normal circumstances, it would make perfect sense for me to say yes – but this situation is very far from being anywhere close to ordinary. I wonder why Kit hasn’t already shipped me – why he wouldn’t have called Bonnie to tell her about me the very minute I was out of range.

‘Er, no – don’t worry,’ I blurt, scraping hurriedly through my unhelpfully empty brain in search of some words – any words. ‘Like you said, she’ll be back soon. I kind of wanted my visit to be a surprise.’

A surprise, I think bitterly, as if me turning up to confront my long-absent mother is something fun and exciting.

Kit still has his phone in his hand, his fingers poised to type.

‘If that’s what you want,’ he says, seemingly unfussed. I feel a rush of relief.

‘Is she having a nice time in England?’ I ask, feigning casual interest.

‘She didn’t really say,’ Kit replies. ‘Never has been a big one for texting. Truth is, Bon’s a bit old-fashioned. I don’t think she’d have a mobile phone at all if it wasn’t for Tui demanding one, and you should see her trying to use the yard computer – it’s like watching a baby seal trying to tap-dance.’

Despite my inner wariness, I chuckle at the ludicrous image.

I guess this explains why I could find no trace of Bonnie Moon on social media when I finally looked her up, and why Googling her name brought up no helpful results. The Koru Stables website, meanwhile, is rudimentary at best and looks as if it hasn’t been updated in years. It seems the woman who gave birth to me is a future-phobe, and actually, we have that trait in common. Growing up in the shadow of the famous Evangeline has made me wary of putting too much information about myself out into the ether, and I am very strict about who I follow and befriend. I am far more likely to lurk than ever comment or share, and the only posts I look at on Instagram are those relating to horses.

I’m just about to say something intelligent-sounding about the toxic effects of too much technology, when Kit’s phone lights up with a message.