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doesn’t know anything,” Tessa said.
    â€œAssistant trainers learn,” Maurice said heavily.
    Tessa guessed that Raleigh was not in a position to turn down Maurice’s suggestion. Maurice had six horses in training with him and two of them were very good ones. No trainer could bear to lose good horses – and Maurice, for sure, would take his horses away and send them to another trainer if Raleigh offended him. Putting up with Greevy would be the lesser of two evils. Poor Mr Raleigh! He was quite a nice man and clever with difficult owners like Maurice.
    â€œWe’ve also got to decide what to do with you, madam. You needn’t think you’re going to lie on your bed and listen to pop music all day.”
    â€œLike Greevy,” Tessa said.
    Greevy was thick and had no interests in life beyond music and fast cars. But at eighteen he had already lost his driving licence.
    â€œYou’re twelve. You’ve got to have an education, I suppose, but God knows who’ll take you on now. There must be a sin-bin somewhere where kids like you can be dumped. I’ll have to ask around.”
    A sin-bin… Tessa thought that sounded interesting. Her spirits rose a fraction.
    But at the thought of Greevy coming home in two days’ time they sank again. Running away was the only option left if no sin-bin was forthcoming, and where on earth was there to run to?

M aurice had no luck with his sin-bin. The nearest was forty miles away, with no vacancies. Because Maurice was so annoyed at this failure Tessa was pleased, although she had been quite optimistic about her future in a sin-bin.
    Perhaps getting the disgusting Greevy installed at Down Valley racing stables gave him ideas, for he said, “Good hard work might do you no harm. Burn off some of that temper. You won’t have to go to school again until next September and between now and then you might as well get your butt off a chair and do something for your keep. On a farm perhaps.”
    Tessa curled her lip. Who was going to employ a twelve-year-old tractor driver? There were no children’s jobs on farms any more, only high-tech stuff. He didn’t know anything about farming, in spite of owning half a dozen.
    Greevy was used to getting on under the wing of his rich father. He seemed to consider it his right. Maurice had bought his school a new playing field when Greevy once got into the sort of trouble that Tessa was kicked out for, and nothing more was said. Tessa had fantasized at times about Greevy being nice and their having good times together, and every time he came home she hopefully looked for signs of improvement in him, but each time her hopes were cruelly dashed.
    â€œJeez, you going to be underfoot all the time?” he remarked when he arrived home and heard of her “exclusion”.
    Tessa did not deign to reply.
    She supposed there was very little chance of Greevy improving with age. He was spoilt rotten by his father but – unlike his father – he was quite good-looking. Tall and dark and gangly, he might one day be elegant in an actorish sort of way. He could turn on charm if he wanted something, but it wasn’t the real thing. For now, he was really boring.
    Myra said, “His mother, Maurice’s first wife, died of cancer.”
    â€œA happy release,” Tessa said.
    â€œI wish you wouldn’t say things like that! She was a dancer. Really pretty. I’ve seen photos of her.”
    â€œMaybe he treated her better than he treats you. You shouldn’t stand for it, Ma. The way he talks to you.”
    â€œI don’t want for anything, do I?”
    Myra was hopeless, Tessa thought. Want for anything? Only affection, respect, kindness, a laugh or two… you name it. But Tessa didn’t follow it up.
    She could not bear the atmosphere in the house, the vapid, ugly spaces inhabited by people who were all miserable, stranded miles away from jolly Tescos and