After several minutes’ thought, Laurel dialled again, this time her aunt Terri’s number. Without Terri to run to, teenage Laurel might have crumbled entirely. No-nonsense, plain-speaking Aunt Terri had helped her rediscover her backbone and encouraged her to look to her future. She’d never once asked if she’d left a bad situation in Middledip. Maybe she thought Laurel had just been pining for her mum … or maybe she’d just known that her niece had needed peace more than anything else.

‘Hello, duck,’ came Terri’s voice. ‘How’s life back in Middledip?’

They chatted for a while about clearing the studio and whether they’d see each other at Christmas. ‘I could come over to Peterborough one day before that,’ Laurel offered. ‘Bring Daisy.’

Terri answered guardedly. ‘That sounds fun. We’ll have to sort out a time.’ But then she said she had to rush for an optician’s appointment and ended the call without saying when.

Laurel grinned as she started up the car. That was Aunt Terri, always rushing somewhere, getting involved in something.

The track up to Gabe’s place was ankle-deep in mud after days of snow and rain. ‘I’m glad you told me to borrow your mum’s wellies,’ Laurel said to Daisy, squelching along in the olive-green boots. ‘This guy, Gabe, I think he’s the one who used to drive a pony and trap through the village.’

‘Mum says so.’ Daisy clutched Laurel’s sleeve as her feet almost skidded from beneath her. ‘He’s still got the little black pony, Snobby. He’s so old he just eats or sleeps, except for when Gabe puts him on a leading rein and walks him like a big dog.’

They reached the paddock and, sure enough, there was a portly pony, whiskery and grizzled, long windswept mane across his eyes. They leaned on the gate and Snobby turned his head to inspect them, then turned away.

Daisy gurgled with laughter. ‘He won’t come over unless you look as if you’ve got something for him.’

‘If that’s the same pony, he must be ancient.’ Laurel craned further over the gate to see. Then she jumped back as a taller, leaner pony, the pale dappled grey of shadows on snow, materialised from behind the hedge and blew down her nose at them.

‘Whoa.’ Daisy held her palm out for the ghostly grey to nuzzle. ‘Where’d you come from? Has Gabe bought you to keep Snobby company?’

Laurel stroked the velvety nose. ‘He doesn’t look any more interested in her than he is in us.’

When they turned away, the grey whickered after them. Snobby glanced up with an equine smirk as if to say, ‘I could tell from here they weren’t packing carrots.’