There was a smattering of raindrops, but that was only an excuse for them to have a race. Sides heaving, the horses skidded to a halt at the paddock fence. “Me!” shouted Alonso, sliding off his pony, Bess. “Me won.” “I won,” corrected Dorrie automatically, patting Sampson’s sweaty neck. “And anyway you didn’t – it was a draw between you and Sarah.” Old Sampson, as usual, had chosen his own steady pace. There was a rush of grey-and-white and a chirrup of a meow, and Poppy jumped up onto the gatepost to have her chin scratched. “’Allo, ’allo, Poppee,” crooned Alonso, doing just that. “I wonder if your mum’s made some of those delicious conchas, Alonso,” said Sarah, slipping her bag off her shoulders. It was Friday afternoon and she was coming to stay the night at the point. “I hope so.” Dorrie opened the gate. “They’re my favourite.” Francesca, Alonso’s mother, had indeed made conchas, a kind of Chilean sweet roll. They sat gleaming and still warm on a rack on the kitchen table.
What do You think about The Ghost At The Point (2014)?
