The funny thing is, I don’t actually remember the first time I saw Neil. I don’t remember our first conversation; I don’t even remember where we met. The events of those early few weeks seemed so inconsequential that they hold no memory, even now. I was somewhere close to my 14th birthday, whether it was just before, or just after, I can only take an approximation by what I was doing around the time.

In the early months after my 13th birthday, my aunty purchased an ex-racehorse that we renamed CJ. I’d been a horse fanatic since I could talk, so I’m told, but my parent’s finances would never have stretched so far. Luckily for me, my aunt, Marilyn, had been an avid equestrian from a young age, and since her husband’s death, she’d adopted a “you only live once” philosophy to life. We were close as I grew up, but when I hit my teens, we morphed into best friends, so when she bought CJ, she did so on the proviso that it would be a joint venture.

We didn’t have the space or facilities to have CJ on our own land, so we did what thousands of other equestrians do- we scoped out a few local livery farms to find CJ a place to call home. After visiting a couple of farms, we stumbled across the most perfect, idyllic, and welcoming livery, in the form of River Farm. It was situated about three or four miles from home in the suburb of a small non-descript, working-class town in the middle of England.

But, before we get down to the nitty-gritty, and the crux of this story, I think it’s probably important that you know a little bit about my early years on the planet.

In a nutshell, I had a fairly average upbringing- if there is such a thing. I lived at home with my two parents and younger brother in a 3-bedroom semi-detached house on the edge of a small town. We came from a long line of working-class families of Anglo-Irish ancestry. We were clothed, and fed, and we had a roof over our heads, but aside from an annual holiday, there weren’t many additional luxuries in our household. Both my parents had multiple jobs to make ends meet, but we didn’t live in squalor- we had the same things as most of our peers at the time. Nothing from our household really set us apart from other people in our working-class community.

I was fortunate in that I was naturally bright, so I quickly became a favourite of my teachers in both primary and secondary school, but this didn’t stop me from making friends. There was a group of us who would hang out on a regular basis, and our parents all knew each other well. We were all well-mannered, intelligent kids who had the ability to flit amongst the social groups. So, I’m not sure what group within the school social hierarchy we could be classed as; we weren’t ‘popular’, but we weren’t ‘unpopular’ either- just your average kids.

From an early age, I remember having set my heart on becoming a doctor. I had grown up, immersed in Holby City and Casualty and I remember my favourite book being a Complete Family Health Guide. Some of my earliest memories are of me flicking through that book and completely burying my face in the pictures of a caesarean section and a dog bite. Upon reflection, this was probably the only thing that ever set me apart from my closest friends- my love of science and the human body.

So, fast forward to my early teens. Marilyn and I had just bought CJ and we had arrived on River Farm, where my ‘family’ grew overnight.

The farm itself stood back from the road. A long, rubbly dirt track formed a narrow and bumpy driveway from the country lane to the front of the old white farmhouse. An overgrown hawthorn hedge lined the right-hand side of the driveway as you turned towards the farm, whilst on the left, a post and rail fence encircled a small field that was speckled with yellow buttercups throughout the summer months. To the side of the farmhouse, a green six-bar gate sat across the bridge that straddled a stream that ran through the farm ground. Hence, its name.

My first Summer on the farm was delightful, and it fills me with so much nostalgia when I reflect on my time down there. Shortly after my arrival, two new liveries also arrived on the farm, and by way of chance, they were people I knew from school. Cleo and I went to the same secondary school, whilst Rebekah had been at the same primary school as the both of us but had gone to a different secondary school. So, the Summer of 2003- my 13th year of existence- was spent hanging around the farm with my friends. Unfortunately, it was also when I started smoking- my only form of rebellion as a young teen. We used to sneak off the farm onto a neighbouring dirt track and smoke for hours on end, feeling the constant rush of nicotine flood our young brains as we chain-smoked through packet after packet of cigarettes. We spent most of the day together, from dawn to dusk, and our friendships grew tight. Between the hours galivanting with Cleo and Rebekah, I also enjoyed the time building a relationship with CJ.

As a retired ex-racehorse, CJ was far from the ideal type of horse that we should have looked for as first-time owners, but Marilyn and I had fallen in love with him. He defied his breeding and behaved more like a lazy old dog than the racing machine his pedigree suggested. He loved nothing more than resting his head on me as he fell to sleep in his stable or whickering over the door when he heard us calling him from up the driveway.

Towards the end of that Summer, we attempted our first show, and although we both were clueless about what to expect, we had enjoyed it regardless. In all fairness, it was an absolute abysmal attempt. CJ felt my nerves travelling down the reins to his mouth, and we just couldn’t get ourselves together. I couldn’t even get him over a single jump and I left the arena red-faced. However, despite all that, this is where 'showing bug' bit me, and unsurprisingly, showing horses played to my natural tendency for showing off and being the centre of attention.

As the Summer stretched out, I became more acquainted with the other liveries as our paths crossed more regularly. Rebekah, Cleo, and I were the only children on the farm, and although the adults seemed friendly, they were an old-fashioned bunch and didn’t care much for us kids. They all had their own little cliques, but despite that, everyone got on well. As there were in excess of 30 adults down at River Farm, I won’t bore you with the names, occupations, and personalities of every member, but just those that will form a key part of this story. Firstly, there was Geraldine. Geraldine owned the farm and is the primary reason why we ended up calling it our new home. She was a woman of formidable presence; loud, camp, and personable. She loved, though, would ever admit it, to gossip. She oozed the knowledge of a horse woman, although didn’t ride, but she had been through the circuit for many years with her daughter. Samantha was a young stable girl. She was just a couple of years older than me and had newly been taken on to work full time. Cerys was about 20 years old and had taken on the official role of head girl, but when there were only 2 full time members of staff down there, with hindsight, it seems like a fairly redundant title, but obviously, at the time, I was super impressed. Finally, we have Anne. Anne worked there on a Saturday. She was a livery with a full-time weekday job, but in order to reduce livery costs, she worked there on the Saturday to free up Samantha and Cerys. By which, I of course mean, that she ensured the legal working requirements of providing ‘rest days’ were met.

As Winter approached, I started to grow up. I began to understand that I would have to tone down my childish ways to be taken seriously. I would chip in on the weekends to ease the burden from Anne and Samantha by helping with the yard duties, and in doing so, I found I was being treated as one of the team. My enthusiasm for helping saw my popularity rise and soon the adults started to rely on me. I felt as though I had found my place, and I enjoyed being accepted by the people I admired.

As the first Winter passed, I started receiving invitations to travel to the winter show jumping to support Kelsey, Geraldine’s daughter, whilst she competed. It drove my ambition; I wanted to be just like Kelsey. So, when I started having lessons with Kelsey, I gave it my all.

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In a buzz of excitement, my 14th birthday arrived, and I became a proper teenager. Not just a little bit of a teenager, not just an introductory teenager, but an established one. I had looked forward to that day for months, telling anyone and everyone I encountered that it would be my birthday soon. My actual birthday fell on a school day, but despite this, I was able to spend the day celebrating. I carted gift bags throughout the school, filled to the brim with bath products and makeup from the body shop, and costume jewellery from Claire’s Accessories.

We weren’t much of a family for throwing birthday parties, so at the weekend we celebrated my birthday by going to the cinema to watch Stitch the Movie, followed by a Deep Pan Pizza. It was the way we liked to celebrate birthdays. The birthday person would pick the film and the meal, and the rest of the family would have to go along with it. We never got to spend much time together as a family, because my parents worked long hours and I enjoyed spending so much time with CJ, that I rarely wanted to be off the farm.

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By February 2004, I had put in a year of work with CJ, my friendships on the farm had blossomed, and I was ready for some experience at the summer shows. The 'show season' typically ran from March to September, but with the shadow of the previous attempt hanging over my head, I was eager to get more experience before reintroducing CJ into the mix. This is where I developed a friendship with Julie and Liam.

Julie and Liam were masters at their craft, and every show season, they would travel to shows with their Hunter, Gethro. At the beginning of March 2004, Julie and Liam asked me if I wanted to go to some shows with them. In return for my help with Gethro, they spilled the tricks of the trade and took me under their wing.

I got on well with Julie and Liam. They were both in their late thirties, down to earth, and swore like sailors. Julie had fiery red, shoulder-length hair and she was the type of person that could hold themselves in a confrontation. She was quick-witted with an extensive vocabulary of slurs, which I soon adopted when out of earshot of my parents. Liam was entirely the opposite of Julie. His floppy salt and pepper hair was voluminous and bounced like spaniel ears, perfectly matching his spaniel-type personality. He also had a colourful language, but he was far more laid back and easygoing than Julie.

They had been married for about ten years when I met them, and they seemed made for each other. They were not remotely affectionate to each other in public, but it was clear that they were a solid unit. They had a great sense of humour, often griping and bickering like schoolchildren. Those two became my people. They didn't treat me like a child. I spent more and more time with them as the weeks passed and would rush to complete my jobs in the evening so that I could help them.

I liked that they could rely on me. I enjoyed pleasing them and I found it even more flattering that they had taken a shine to me because they had been clear about their dislike of Cleo and Rebekah. My friendship with Julie and Liam grew, and I became more distant from the other girls at the farm. They were fun, and they were adults, and most importantly, they treated me like the person I wanted to be; a grown-up.

Anne lived a couple of doors down from Julie and Liam, and they had been friends for years before I arrived at the farm. Although Anne and I had shared the odd conversation and exchanged pleasantries, it wasn’t until I became friendly with Julie and Liam that she started to treat me like a friend too. She would regularly attend shows to support them, accompanied by her partner, Neil, who would tag along for the day out.

I can’t remember if I met Neil at a show, or if it was down at the farm after a show. I can’t remember if we ever introduced ourselves to each other. One minute he wasn’t there, the next minute he was, but how that instantaneous bridge was formed, escapes my memory. The only thing I do remember about my first impressions of Neil was that he smoked like a chimney.