On the way home, undiluted misery got the better of me. What were we doing here, I wondered with rising panic. Where were my friends? Where were Jess and Teresa? And once the boys had started school, what then? They'd make friends, but what about me? Well, then I'd meet all the lovely mums, I thought staunchly. Have coffee. Shop. That sort of thing, except - no, I was going to work! I wiped my damp forehead, confused. But if I couldn't find work, would I be happy having coffee? Perhaps I would. Perhaps I could join the PTA, be on a committee - a committeeeeee! I nearly drove into a hedge. Christ, that way madness lay, and speaking of madness, I came to a sudden halt in a country lane. Stared up at the signpost.

'Why have we stopped?' asked Ben, who was map-reading rather efficiently in the back, as he had done on the way over. 'It's straight on here'

'Yes, I know, it's just . . I licked my lips, then suddenly, onan impulse, reversed back a bit, swung the wheel left, and shot off down a tiny lane.

'No! No, Mum, this is totally, totally wrong! That road back there was the way to Granny's house. You should have just gone straight on' Ben turned around, gazing back at the junction.

'Are you sure? I thought this might be quicker. Oh well, never mind, I'm pretty sure we can get back to that road this way. This lane sort of loops' I was beadily scrutinising the signs at every junction now. 'We'll just go back through the villages, that's all, go the pretty route.'

'But this is miles out of our way and you're wrong, the road doesn't loop at all.' Ben frowned down at the map.

I breathed deeply and gripped the wheel, wishing he wasn't so flaming smart. He was supposed to be dyslexic, for G.o.d's sake. Why couldn't he behave like any other educationally challenged child, instead of navigating like a demon?

'So we'll be discerning tourists,' I said gaily. 'I wonder where this little road goes?'

'It goes to Bartwood actually,' he said sulkily. 'Followed by Hexham'

'Really?' I breathed. 'Hexham.' Oh G.o.d, I needed to say it. I rolled it around in my mouth, savouring it. And that lovely little Hex bit at the beginning which sounded so like ... Mmmm. Lovely. Yes, Charlie Fletcher territory. And I needed my fix. Needed to breathe again.

'D'you know, you're quite right' I feigned surprise. 'This is Bartwood, and if we go on just a little bit further, down here ...' There was a stony silence in the back as we cruised along. 'Here we are, in Hexham.'

I sat up and peered over the wheel excitedly. We purred slowly through a pretty village, complete with Dirty Duck pub, and a village green beside it. I glanced feverishly from left to right, scanning the names on the gates. Apple Tree House, Tudor Cottage, no...

'Why are we going so slowly?' demanded Ben.

'I'm hungry, can we get some sweets?' whined Max.

'We could, my love, although there doesn't appear to be a shop. There is a church though.'

'That's no good.'

'So Church Farm,' I muttered under my breath, 'must be somewhere down ... bingo.'

Right next to the church, of course. I slowed right down. Stared. It was a long, low, ancient-looking farmhouse, seventeenth century perhaps, whitewashed and beamed, and with what looked like a carefully tended garden at the back and a duck pond at the side. In front was the obligatory crunchy gravel drive, and surrounding the whole thing, a white picket fence. Comfortable, but not grand and imposing, and utterly, utterly, charming. I gave a groan of pleasure.

'Lovely,' I breathed, coming to a stop on the opposite side of the road. I gazed out of my window. 'Absolutely lovely.' 'What is?' asked Ben.

'This village,' I said brightly. 'Don't you think it's pretty?' Ben shrugged. Looked around. 'It's all right. Why have we stopped?'

'Oh, because I have to post a letter, darling.'

Handy. Very handy, I thought, spotting the red box across the road, and right by the picket fence. I wondered if he was here. It was amazing how good it felt to be close to himagain, how, just knowing that he spent time here, lived here, sent the blood racing round the old arteries, arteries which ten minutes ago, I could quite cheerfully have slashed. But not now. Now my heart was beating right down to my fingertips, banging away like a bongo drum. I felt alive again, I felt - oops! h.e.l.lo, the front door was opening. A young woman was coming out.

'Mu-mmmy!' from the back.

'Just a minute,' I hissed, ducking my head down. 'Shoes have come undone,' I mumbled from somewhere around the pedals.

I raised my head an inch, and peered. Yes, a young woman in a denim dress, clutching a purse, with long, blonde swinging hair was turning back to talk to someone in the doorway, who - s.h.i.t! It was him. He was here! I watched, frozen with guilt and fascination as he put an arm round her shoulder giving her a quick squeeze, before she turned and went down the drive to her car. I couldn't keep them both in view, and torn between looking at him or her, settled for him.

He was looking lovely, of course; brown and broad-shouldered, his dark hair tousled, in a navy blue T-shirt and chinos, one hand up supporting the door frame as he watched her get in the car. I couldn't see much of her now, and she had her back to me anyway, but I'd seen enough to know that she was slim, blonde, and attractive, with that long sheet of shiny hair. She started the engine, then stuck her head out.

'Do we need anything else?'

'You could get a few beers,' called Charlie. 'And we're running a bit short of milk.'

She nodded, then neatly reversed, and negotiated the gravel drive, turning in a circle, and driving towards me. I instantly shot my head down again.

'I thought you said you wanted to post a letter?' said Ben. 'Yes, yes I do. It's just these laces . .

'Mum, you've got espadrilles on. Where is this letter?'

I sat up and reached for my bag, realising Charlie was still in the doorway, and that now she'd gone, was looking rather curiously at our car. Probably wondering who on earth was sitting opposite his house in this empty village street for no apparent reason.

'Quick Ben, here.' I reached in my bag and shoved a letter in his hand. 'Run across and post it, quick.'

He stared. 'But it's already got a postmark. You need a new stamp, Mum'

'Never mind, never mind, just put it in.'

'This is an old gas bill, Mum. Addressed to you. This won't go anywhere'

'Just post it, Ben, post it!'

G.o.d, Charlie was really peering at us now, shading his eyes against the sun to see. I went hot. We had to have a reason for being here, in case he spotted the car later, knew I'd been lurking. He mustn't recognise me either, or think, Gosh, how odd, I used to see her in London, and now here she is, right outside my house.

'It's open too, Mum. This is just an old letter you've had in your bag. It won't get there.'

I took a deep breath. "Course it will. It's such a big bill they'll pay at the other end, they'll be so delighted to get the cheque.'

'But it's to you,' he insisted. 'Not to them.'

'JUST POST THE SODDING THING, BEN, OR I'LL SODDING WELL KILL YOU!'

There was a deathly hush. After a moment Ben slid out of the car. He walked across the road, posted the letter and silently, got back in again. We sped off down the road at speed, just as Charlie had started to take his first step, out of his porch, down the drive towards us.

There was a horrible silence. Even Max was stunned. 'Sorry, darling,' I croaked finally, wiping my brow which was dripping. 'Really sorry.'

'You swore at me,' he said in a small voice.

'Said sodding,' added Max importantly. 'Twice'

'I know, I know, but you know Ben, sometimes grown-ups do have to - well. Let off steam'

'And you deliberately posted an old letter just to give the postman more work,' he said coldly. 'I'm ashamed of you. You're corrupt'

He turned defiantly to stare out of the window. I groaned inwardly. Yes, well, I was ashamed of myself too. Thirty-two years old and stalking a man with two small children in the back of the car. Christ. And I'd sworn I wouldn't do it. Said never again, but oh G.o.d, it was so compulsive! He was so compulsive. And it gave me such a rush. Gave me a dream, a vision, albeit a totally inappropriate one and so out of reach. I mean, I'd even seen her now, his wife - and I knew, deep in my soul and without a shadow of a doubt, that it was his wife. Wasn't a friend, wasn't the nanny, I didn't need further and better particulars - but even that little blow to morale didn't stop me, didn't dampen my resolve. What was it about the man? And would it get worse? I wondered. Would I end up with a secret little room dedicated to him? A room that could only be accessed by pushing through a false bookcase or something, and which the police would find one day, after I'd boiled up bunnies and pushed his wife off the top of a multi-storey car park - a room they'd wander round, lips pursed, gazing at the gallery of photos of him I'd plastered all over the walls? 'Look at this, sir,' grimly, 'and this' A stony-faced sergeant showing his DI how I'd stuck a profile of me against one of Charlie, lips locked in a pa.s.sionate snog. And then a m.u.f.fled cry from below. Someone finding the trapdoor. And the headlines the next morning; MOTHER OF TWO ARRESTED FOR LOCKING MARRIED MAN IN CELLAR FOR TWO WEEKS.

Or even - quick rewind to where I hadn't gone quite so insane and was just prowling round villages posting old gas bills MOTHER OF TWO ARRESTED FOR BADGERING HAPPILY MARRIED MAN.

I swallowed. You see? Even that was enough. I'd read stories like that before. Read them with horror, thinking, how could anyone be that crazed, that inadequate? And now, was that me? Was I in the grip of an obsession?

I trembled a bit, then squared my frail old shoulders. Nah, I sniffed. h.e.l.l, we'd just got a bit lost, that was all. Just driven through his village, for G.o.d's sake! How was Ito know he'd be there?

I found the main road and headed back to Netherby, slowing down for some traffic lights. Lovely to see him though, I thought dreamily. And so delightfully unscheduled. Really, really, an unexpected pleasure.

'Lovely to see you,' I whispered as we stopped. An old boy on a bicycle beside me glanced in my open window, startled. He didn't wait for the green light and peddled off furiously, taking his life in his hands. In the rear-view mirror I saw the boys exchange horrified glances.

Ah well, I thought, letting out the clutch, and a huge sigh. Off to church now. How appropriate. Off to atone for my sins. I glanced at my watch. Yes, nearly four o'clock, so time to meet Lavinia. That was my penance.

Ten minutes later we arrived in the village, the boys still slumped sulkily in the back. As I drew up to the little Norman church, I thought how pretty it was. The square old tower nestled squatly amongst ancient, spreading yews, the churchyard was green and well tended, and all was surrounded by a low flint wall. This, of course, was where Ned and 1 were supposed to get married, had the Fellowes had their way. And the Fellowes had surely had their way in all other respects concerning this church; I should think every kneeler had their family crest embroidered on it, every vault held a member of the clan, every stained-gla.s.s window was donated by one or other of their tribe - probably featured one or two of them too. G.o.d didn't get much of a look in, in here.

I swivelled round in my seat and bestowed a conciliatory smile on my travelling companions.

'I've promised to pop in here for a moment and see Aunt Lavinia, OK? It's really ancient, this church, got dead knights under the floor and all sorts of things. We could look at the bell-tower, if you like? Might even be able to climb it.'

'I'm staying here,' said Ben, staring stonily out of the window.

'Me too,' added Max, but he looked a bit confused, as if he couldn't quite remember what we were arguing about and rather liked the sound of dead knights.

I sighed. 'OK, but won't you be a bit hot in here?'

No answer. I shrugged, then got out and went up the path to the main door.

I walked through the flagstone porch, feeling the smooth stones beaten hollow with age through my shoes, and on into the delicious, dark cool. I spotted Lavinia almost immediately. She was just ahead of me in the aisle, talking non-stop and stooping, with her back to me, collecting armfuls of greenery from a huge heap on the floor. Her voice echoed around the place, gushing, ingratiating.

'Oh, so pretty Mimsy - enchanting, in fact! I don't know how you do it. I get in a terrible dither and end up with short ones at the back and tall ones at the front. I'm all over the place.'

I knew immediately she was keen to be 'in' with whoever she was talking to. She scuttled ahead of me, up to the altar, carrying armfuls of flora and singing 'Bread of Heaven' in a breathy contralto. G.o.d was in His heaven and Lavinia was in her element. I followed her up. She wasn't aware of me behind, and anyway, her attention was firmly fixed on a pretty girl with short blonde hair, up at the altar, arranging flowers in vases. Limping around in the background was an old woman, straight out of Central Casting who, despite the heat, was wearing a huge, brown overcoat, and sloshing water from over-full vases as she ambled to and fro. Occasionally she stopped, clutched the vases and stared straight ahead, as if she might be on the verge of a diabetic coma.

'Sorry I'm late, Lavinia,' I called as I approached. 'And I can't stay long, I'm afraid. I've left the boys in the car.'

'Lucy, hi.' She turned around looking hot and overexcited. 'Oh, don't worry, this won't take a jiffy. Now, Lucy, this is Mimsy Compton-Burrell, a very dear friend of mine,' she beamed possessively. Then remembering her manners, she waved her hand dismissively. 'Oh, and this is Mrs Barlow.'

'h.e.l.lo.' I smiled at both of them. Mrs Barlow focused somewhere over my head. 1 wasn't convinced she was all there.

'Hi,' said Mimsy. 'Come to join the workers?'

'Well, I'm not sure I'll be able to do anything like that,' I said, gazing in awe at a truly beautiful and elaborate arrangement of lilies, white roses and greenery, all cl.u.s.tered together tastefully and held with a long raffia bow.

'Oh, don't worry,' Mimsy told me. 'Any help is much appreciated, and it really doesn't matter what you do. In fact, it's rather nice to have a contrast every week, isn't it, Lavinia?'

'Oh absolutely,' my sister-in-law fawned.

'Wild flowers surrounded by bulrushes?' I suggested.

'Perfect,' she grinned. 'Although I have to warn you, wild flowers may not last the week, so you may find you're up here on a daily basis replacing them'

'Ah,' I said hastily. 'In that case . .

'You'd better nick something more robust from Rose's garden. Red Hot Pokers will last a month. I once covered the church with them, but then the vicar told me - in rather fl.u.s.tered tones - that he thought they were too "suggestive". I felt like saying, "What, you mean, too much like throbbing members?" Imagine! All those old dears getting palpitations during his sermon. But seriously, anything goes, doesn't it, Mrs B?'

Mrs B looked confused. Then suddenly she shuffled up beside me. Found my ear. 'I'm a bit of a plonker,' she confided in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

'Oh!' I started. 'I'm sure you're not.'

'Just plonk them in any old how,' she growled. 'Stick a bit of greenery at the back, few pansies at the front, no one's the wiser. You'll be fine' She nudged me hard and gave a toothless smile.

'Ah. Right. Well, thanks for the tip.'

'And don't let Lavinia talk you into doing too much,' Mimsy muttered as Lavinia hurried off to the pile by the door again, shrieking, 'More gypsophila!' 'She'll organise the pants off you if you're not careful.'

'Oh, I'm well aware of that,' I muttered back, thinking how nice Mimsy was. She looked nice too, with her wide-apart, frank grey eyes, floppy blonde fringe and huge toothy smile. How the h.e.l.l did she get caught up in all this? I wondered.

'Just do the business once a month, and Lavinia will be happy,' she said out of the corner of her mouth. 'I promise you, it takes ten minutes if you're organised, but do not, if you've got any sense, put your name down for Sunday-school rota or agree to contribute to the Parish Magazine, like I did. Just Say No, as the Drugs Squad say.'

'G.o.d, poor you, can't you wriggle out?'

She grimaced. 'I'm in too deep now, and actually, I quite enjoy it. But it is a bit time-consuming''I can imagine'

'More ferns, too?' cried Lavinia musically, from down by the door.

'I rather thought I'd finished, Lavinia.' Mimsy raised her voice. 'What d' you think?' She turned the vase around to show her. 'Can I go now?' she grinned.

'Perfect.' Lavinia came scurrying back, clasping her hands sycophantically. 'Just perfect. Got the idea, Lucy?' she panted. 'Couple of large displays either side of the altar, a few little d.i.n.ky ones at the end of the pews, and then if you've got time,' she puffed out her chest, 'a nice big fronty one by the door. Frightfully welcoming. I'll put your name down for two weeks on Sunday, OK?'

'Fine,' I said meekly, 'only I must dash now, boys in hot car and all that. It was lovely to meet you by the way,' I said, turning to Mimsy. 'Perhaps I'll see you around,' I added hopefully, recognising a possible kindred spirit.

'Oh, but I will. I'll see you on Sat.u.r.day, up at the house, surely?'

'Really?'

'Yes, didn't Mummy tell you?' Lavinia turned to me with a frown.

'Tell me what?'

'She's having a big drinks thing for you, quite a bash. You know, to welcome you to the neighbourhood, introduce you to everyone.'

'For me!'

'Yes, so you can get to know people. Golly, half the county will be there! Such fun.'

'But I've made plans for this weekend. Teresa, a friend of mine and her son might be coming down and-'

'Well that's wonderful,' she purred, 'the more the merrier. Honestly Lucy, it couldn't matter less. Have a word, but I'm sure it'll be fine. I'm sure Mummy won't mind a bit.'