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“Here we are, girls. Chin, chin.” Rex raises his glass and I am off again.
An hour later—give or take a couple of hours—I am not quite certain where I am. Although it is still daylight, a strange dark haze hangs over everything and I move as if in a dream. In fact, I am not moving. I am in a car. The countryside stops pelting past the window and reassembles itself in the shape of Branwell Riding Stables.
“Good,” I hear myself say, “I feel like a drink.”
“Capital girl,” says Rex who is driving. “A chip off the old block, eh Penners?”
“Absolutely,” says Penny. “Don’t do that, Rex. You’ll ladder my tights.”
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