“Here we are.” Suze draws up at last in front of a tent with a sign reading HEEL TO TOE. I can hear “Sweet Home Alabama” being played on the sound system inside.

“What’s this?” I say blankly.

“We’re buying boots,” says Suze. “We’re at a proper county fair, so we need proper cowboy boots.” She sweeps me inside the tent and I inhale a solid smell of leather. In fact, I’m so overcome by the smell, it takes me a moment to register the spectacular sight before me.

“Oh my God,” I stutter at last.

“Isn’t it just…” Suze seems as overwhelmed as I am.

We’re standing arm in arm, staring upward in total awe like a pair of pilgrims at the holy shrine.

I mean, I’ve seen cowboy boots for sale, plenty of times. You know. A shelf here and there. But I’ve never seen anything like this. The racks reach the top of the tent. Each rack has about fifteen shelves, and each one is covered in boots. There are brown boots and black boots, pink ones and aquamarine ones. Some have rhinestones. Some have embroidery. Some have rhinestones and embroidery. Under a sign reading LUXURY BOOTS, there’s a white pair with inlaid python print, which cost five hundred dollars, and a pair made from pale-blue ostrich leather, which cost seven hundred. There’s even a black pair which are thigh high and marked Latest Fashion but they look a bit weird, to be honest.

It’s all so dazzling, neither of us can quite speak. Suze takes off her old brown cowboy boots, which she got in Covent Garden, and slips on a pair of pink and white boots from the rack. With her blue jeans and blond hair they look amazing.

“Or look at these.” I grab her a pale-tan pair with delicate rhinestones tracing a pattern up the sides.

“They’re beautiful.” Suze practically swoons in lust.

“Or these!” I’ve found a dramatic pair of black-and-dark-brown leather boots, which smell all rich and dark and saddley. “For winter?”

It’s like gorging on chocolates. Every pair is more alluring and delicious. For about twenty minutes I do nothing but chuck boots at Suze and watch as she models them. Her legs look endless and she keeps swishing her hair around and saying, “I wish I had Caramel here.”

(Caramel is her latest horse. And I have to say, I’m very glad she doesn’t have him here, if she’s thinking of riding in a rodeo.)

At last she’s narrowed it down to the tan boots with rhinestones and a black pair with amazing white embroidery. I bet she buys both.

“Hang on.” Her chin suddenly jerks up. “Bex, what about you? Why aren’t you trying any on?”

“Oh,” I say, caught out. “Actually, I don’t really feel like it.”

“Don’t feel like it?” Suze stares at me, puzzled. “What, trying on boots?”

“Yes. I suppose.”

“Not at all?”

“Well…no.” I gesture at the boots. “But you carry on.”

“I don’t want to carry on.” Suze seems a bit crestfallen. “I wanted to buy us both a pair of boots. You know, to make up. To be friends again. But if you don’t want to—”