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looked more like a yokel than ever. Whoever christened it Buffoon had the right idea.
    â€œI hate you!” Tessa cried and thumped its belly.
    It gave a surprised snort and a sad look, and shifted away slightly.
    â€œYou make me sick!”
    Tessa cried and was ashamed. It was getting to be a habit. She hated this place and she hated home and she longed for the sin-bin which was too full of other sinners to take her in. There were other people like her out there – if only she could be with them!
    Jimmy’s lurcher Walter came trotting across the yard. Tessa opened the loosebox door and called him in. He came in his friendly way – he was only a year old. He cheered Tessa up. She stopped crying. She would have loved to have a dog but Maurice wouldn’t let her. Not even a cat. Too many hairs on the carpet. Walter covered her wet face with wetter licks, and actually made her laugh. Then Gilly looked over the door and bawled her out.
    â€œFor God’s sake, get the dog out of there! He’s not allowed in the boxes! You wait till Sarah comes back – I’m warning you, we’ve been easy on you, the way things are. But she won’t be – Mr Mucky Morrison’s daughter or not – you’ll get stick if you don’t mend your ways.”
    â€œI’m not his daughter!” But Tessa liked the name – Mucky Morrison. It suited him.
    â€œWhose daughter are you then, if it’s not a rude question?”
    â€œDeclan Blackthorn’s.”
    â€œAnd who’s he when he’s at home?”
    Tessa didn’t answer. What could she say? A feckless Irishman who fathered her when he was hardly out of school, who disappeared when needed?
    Gilly’s face softened a fraction. She couldn’t fathom Tessa, who went out of her way to be so obnoxious, but Gilly thought of her in the same way as she was used to considering a problem horse. There was a key to Tessa’s behaviour, somewhere. Problem horses were nearly always the fault of somebody , somewhere along the line. Gilly thought the same was true of Tessa. Having Mucky Morrison for a stepfather was a fairly obvious reason for her hate-everybody attitude, for starters. And who knew what had happened before that? Gilly knew that Tessa would never confide her troubles, even if she recognized them herself. Gilly didn’t mind playing her along, but Sarah was another matter.
    â€œYou’ll have to mind Sarah. Just a friendly warning.”
    â€œHuh!” grunted Tessa. “Why’s she any different?
    â€œYou’ll see. Meanwhile, get to work – your new horse could do with a bath. And then you can learn to groom – properly. I’ll show you. It’s hard work, to do it properly.”
    Buffoon was tied up in the yard by the drain. Gilly unreeled the hose.
    â€œHis mate can have a spruce-up too. Tie the pony up.”
    It was hot and Buffoon enjoyed the cold hose. His friend Lucky kicked and reared against his head-collar, but Gilly only laughed and smothered him with soap bubbles. He positively sparkled when she had finished, and Buffoon’s dusty coat was much improved.
    â€œHe can look his best, however modest his best might be,” Gilly said.
    She squirted a jet at Walter, who fled.
    â€œI bet I’ll be the mug that has to ride this one. Jimmy and Sarah won’t be seen dead on him. Unless you learn…”
    â€œI don’t want to!”
    One of the smart ones, perhaps… Tessa had her pride.
    When she got home that evening she had to listen to Maurice and Greevy gloating over a new horse, Crowsnest, bought that same day out of a flat-racing yard at Newmarket. It was a winning stayer, and Maurice had “snapped it up”, outbidding a well-known owner who also kept his horses with Raleigh. Raleigh was “over the moon” to get it in his yard. Greevy was assured of his job, however inadequate an assistant trainer he was turning out to be.