‘I wouldn’t ask, if I were you. If it’s what you want to do, fine. Just make sure it don’t take away from the work.’

‘Okay.’

Roy rested his hand on my shoulder then, and the warmth of his touch felt good in that dappled light, that place where his parents couldn’t see us and stare.

‘But why not ask?’

‘’Cause if he sees you care about something he might take it away. Better to act as though you don’t care.’

I put my forehead against the dusty cotton of his shirt, the button pressing into my skin. ‘He can’t take away everything, Roy. You’re a grown man now. You can do what you please.’

‘I wish I could,’ he said, moving his hand from my arm down to my waist. ‘I need his help now. Haven’t got money of my own.’ His hand was travelling the curve of my hips to my buttocks, to the crevice between them.

‘You can have what you want in other ways.’

‘Like this?’

He lifted my skirt. His touch made me gasp, it was so cold between my legs. He tugged at my underclothes, pulling them to my knees. I fumbled with the buckle of his belt, the button and zipper of his heavy denim jeans. We were standing the whole time, his knees bent low, his hands on the stable post behind me. I was holding my skirt up with one hand, grasping his shoulder with the other. I watched his face contort, I was achingly full and still aware that it was not enough. Halfway through, as he gasped and thrust inside me, the horses appeared in the doorway of the stable. They did not flinch, but stood there watching me, silhouetted by the light, each fixing me with one wet, enormous eye.

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