Will nodded.

'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l! But she's no more than a child herself.'

'Tell me about it. She's four months, apparently, which means in five months - '

'You could be a grandfather,' Marty finished off for him. He whistled. 'Boy, when I said it was time for you to think about growing up, Will, I didn't mean that grown-up. Does this herald a wedding? I can just see Maxine holding a Kalashnikov to the b.u.g.g.e.r's head.'

'No. There'll be no wedding. It was a one-off event. A mistake. Apparently the boy is going out with someone else.' Not meeting Marty's gaze, Will took a cautious sip of Brian's notoriously scalding-hot coffee, but still managed to burn his tongue. He was surprised how awkward he felt admitting that Suzie had had a one-night stand. Disappointed in himself, he said, 'The thing is, Suzie hasn't decided what she's going to do.'

They both fell silent. Then Marty said, 'Hypothetical question: what would you like her to do?'

'I don't think I have a right to think anything, do I?'

'Rubbish! As her father you have a gut reaction, the same as everyone else. Say it out loud. See how it sounds. Because I bet you've said it a thousand times in your head already.'

Pushing his half-eaten burger away, Will said, 'Okay, you're right, as ever. But my opinion counts for nothing, just remember that.'

'Get on with it.'

'Every ounce of my common sense screams out that an abortion would be best all round. But - '

Marty fixed him with a shrewd gaze.

'But I can't bear the thought of Suzie making a decision that might torment her for the rest of her life. Because once it's done, it's done. She has to live with that decision. And let's face it, we've all read or heard about women who never get over it. They feel haunted by the guilt.'

'What does Maxine say?'

Will explained Suzie's reason for not telling Maxine first. 'I guess she knows that her mother will overreact and she wants to feel more in control of any decision she makes. I can't say I blame her.'

'Poor kid.'

'My sentiments exactly.' He paused, then: 'Marty, think before you say anything, but do you suppose there's a chance that this is my fault? You know, the whole dysfunctional family bit.'

'What? Because you c.o.c.ked up, ergo Suzie and Gemma are destined to do the same?'

'Yes.'

'That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard you say. Suzie's made a mistake, that's all. A mistake generations of girls have made before and will continue to do for years to come. Didn't we both take our fair share of risks when we were Suzie's age?' He pointed to the remains of the burger Will had allowed to go cold and uneaten. 'Eat up, Will, or Brian will flay you alive with his spatula. And that really will be the end of the world for you.'

Will knew his friend was trying to help, but he couldn't shift the growing fear that somehow this was his fault. Had he been blinded by his arrogance? Had he been deluded into thinking he'd done a reasonable job, when all along he'd let his daughters down, hadn't prepared them sufficiently for the traps and pitfalls that lay ahead?

Chapter Nineteen.

After a run of bad days, Eileen was having a good one. The lethargy that had swamped her this last week had lifted and she was able to do more with the children. Carrie and Joel were now into their second week at school and the workload was considerably lighter. However, a new side to their lives had opened up. Now there was Carrie's homework to supervise. Last night's exercise had been to list five facts about each of the world's main religions. Thank goodness they had Harriet to turn to; she had shown Carrie how to find everything she needed on the computer. Both of the children were dab hands at playing games on the computer, which had belonged to their mother, but using it for homework purposes was new to them. In Felicity and Harriet's day the homework had been far more straightforward. Helping the girls to learn their times tables and spellings had been a lot less stressful and time-consuming. Not for the first time since their lives had been turned upside down, Eileen felt out of her depth. Thank goodness Joel only had reading homework to do each evening. That much she could manage.

But Joel troubled Eileen. He was having nightmares. Night after night they were woken by his piercing screams. Every time it was the same; they'd find him petrified, in tears and huddled at the end of his bed, his back against the wall, his hands covering his eyes. Try as they might, they couldn't get him to say what he was dreaming of. Eileen regretted now that the children's sessions with the grief counsellor had recently come to an end. If the nightmares continued, perhaps they ought to think about Joel seeing the woman again.

In a rare moment of peace and quiet, while the children were at school and Bob was walking the dog, Eileen listened to Harriet moving about upstairs. She was packing for her weekend away. Guiltily, Eileen wished she was going with her.

Less than five miles from home and Harriet could feel an explosion of relief rushing through her body. As she left the slip-road and joined the M6 southbound, she felt as giddy as Toad of Toad Hall when he first discovered the joys of the motor car. 'Hurrah for the open road!' She laughed out loud, wishing she had a pair of goggles to hand. p.o.o.p, p.o.o.p! A cap and a cape too. And gloves. p.o.o.p, p.o.o.p!For the sheer h.e.l.l of it, she honked the horn of her beloved Mini Cooper, which she'd bought brand new on her thirtieth birthday as a special treat, and sailed out into the middle lane. She felt no guilt that she was filled with this glorious sense of freedom. Two days of not having to answer questions like: Why are bananas called bananas and why do they turn brown? Why do cats meow and dogs bark? Why is the sky blue? Better still, there would be no hair to brush. No faces to wash. No teeth to check. No endless games of 'I Spy' to play. What bliss. And nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to ruin the next few days. She'd earned the break. It would also take her mind off the disappointment of not getting anywhere with her job-hunt. The agencies to whom she'd emailed her CV had all replied with more or less the same message: that there was nothing currently available but they would add her details to their records and get in touch when a suitable vacancy came their way. It was a cla.s.sic don't-hold-your-breath response. So yes, she had every right to enjoy herself at Erin's party tonight and then lie on the sofa tomorrow with a skip-sized tub of KFC between them while watching non-stop, back-to-back s.e.x and the City DVDs.

So stop making it sound as if you're justifying it! she told herself. Forty-eight hours of self-indulgent behaviour was her deserved reward.

But then she went and spoiled it by recalling the look on Carrie's and Joel's faces when she'd told them that a friend had invited her to stay for a couple of days.

'How will we get to school?' Carrie had demanded, an uncompromising jut to her chin.

'You won't be going to school. I'm away over the weekend. And anyway, even if I wasn't here for a school day, Grandma and Granddad would take you then bring you home in the afternoon.'

'But you can't go! You have to stay here with us! I don't want you to go.'

This had been from Joel and the squealed vehemence of his words had taken Harriet aback. They'd been upstairs sitting on the floor in Carrie's bedroom, reading the latest Harry Potter before bedtime. 'I'll only be gone two days,' she'd explained patiently.

'But you will come back?' Everything Joel said these days was peppered with buts.

'Don't be silly, Joel,' Carrie had said, 'of course she'll come back. Won't you, Harriet?'

While her niece's steely gaze elicited a suitably rea.s.suring reply - 'I'll be back before you've even missed me,' - Harriet had felt a twinge of irritation that her movements were being monitored so thoroughly. It was like being a teenager again and being grilled by Mum and Dad about what time she was expected home.

At breakfast this morning and during the journey to school, neither of the children had spoken to Harriet. She was surprised how hurt she felt.

But no matter. She refused to feel guilty. It wasn't as if she was going away for a fortnight's holiday. Two days off; was that so very bad? And she'd gone to great lengths to make sure that she'd covered all bases in her absence, reminding her mother that it was Friday and therefore sausage and chips night - the one meal Joel was guaranteed to eat - and that Carrie's weekend a.s.signment (when did the word 'homework' become defunct?) was to make a Muslim prayer mat and that everything she needed - coloured bits of paper, felt-tip pens and glue - was on the dining-room table. 'Why a prayer mat?' her father had asked, in an incredulous tone of voice that suggested the world had gone crazy. Harriet hadn't bothered to respond. She knew what her father meant: that breadth and ethnic diversity was all very well, but how about the basics? How about teaching the children to read and write good, honest, home-grown English? Just before she'd set off, she'd written a last-minute list for her parents: 1. Don't forget to buy Joel's favourite apple juice.

2. Also the muesli bars Carrie likes for breakfast - the ones with apricot, not raisins.

3. And remember to check their book bags for notes from school.

4. We're up to Chapter Nine of Harry Potter.

Enough! No more thoughts about Carrie and Joel. Or Mum and Dad. She was off the hook. She pressed down on the accelerator and swooped on towards Oxford and the life she'd left behind. p.o.o.p, p.o.o.p!

Harriet suspected she was drunk, but not quite as drunk as the bleary-eyed bore she was talking to. With all the interrupted nights she'd had lately because of Joel's nightmares, if she spent another second in this man's company she'd nod off, no trouble. She glanced desperately around, hoping for some polite reason to extract herself without appearing rude. Someone choking on a peanut would be perfect. But there was nothing doing. Everyone else was either helping themselves to the plates of food she had helped Erin put out earlier or tossing back drinks as though any minute someone would call, 'Time gentlemen, please'. She decided simply to walk away. He probably wouldn't notice she'd gone.

She went to look for Erin. She knew Erin was embarra.s.sed that only a handful of Harriet's friends had replied to the invitations and only two had bothered to turn up - Gary and Paula who used to live in the house next door. Holidays were blamed, which only served to remind Harriet of the gap that now existed between her and her friends, or those she'd thought were friends. They could holiday out of term-time, whereas she was doomed for the rest of eternity to spend her precious time off with other young families in damp seaside cottages building sandcastles and pretending she was having a ball. Or worse, driven insane by staying at one of those purpose-built places in the middle of nowhere where she'd be forced to swim, cycle and hit b.a.l.l.s from dawn to dusk. No more relaxing walking holidays in Tuscany or the Pyrenees for her. No more dreams of one day snorkelling in the turquoise waters of some faraway island.

Harriet suspected the real reason for her so-called friends not showing up was that she was still infectious, incubating a double whammy of those highly contagious germs of the recently bereaved and the out-of-work loser. 'n.o.body knows you when you're down and out,' as Eric Clapton put it so succinctly. Well, to h.e.l.l with them! If she'd become a pariah, it was their problem, not hers.

Erin was otherwise engaged when Harriet found her. Pressed against the combi boiler in the kitchen by a man who didn't look like a central-heating engineer, she waved Harriet away. Back into the crowded sitting room, Harriet pushed through the noisy mob of guests to help herself to another drink. Inspecting the bottles for something suitable for a girl h.e.l.lbent on a good time, she found the ideal tipple tucked in behind the vodka and Bacardi Breezers. A bottle of Baileys: it was her and Felicity's favourite drink from way back when. They only ever drank it when they'd drunk too much already. Dominic used to call it their devil's homebrew of sugared cream and Benylin.

'Trust me; you don't want to touch that.'

Harriet swivelled round. Observing her as she struggled to unscrew the lid of the Baileys was a man who looked like he was straight off the cover of GQ. He was dressed in a navy-blue linen suit with an open-necked shirt and looked suspiciously like he was exceeding the weight limit in charm. Definitely not her type. Probably a banker. Or something that rhymed with it.

'Wouldn't you prefer a proper drink?' he asked with a smile that revealed two rows of perfectly even, white teeth. He produced a bottle of wine from somewhere about his person and began filling a pair of gla.s.ses that he'd also conjured up. 'I never trust the booze at these parties,' he said. 'Always wise to bring one's own. Here, try this.'

She was right about the charm. 'A piece of advice for you,' she said, refusing to take the proffered gla.s.s and annoyed at his arrogance. 'Never part a girl from her drink of choice. She might turn nasty.'

He smiled again. 'And what const.i.tutes nasty in your book?' he drawled. 'A feisty little put-down learned at the Bridget Jones Finishing School?'

Oh, great! A smart aleck. Just what she needed. 'You know what, why don't we not do this? Parting, as they say, is such sweet sorrow, but I'm sure I'll get over it.'

She was about to turn and walk away when he said, 'Please, don't go. How about we start afresh?' He held out the gla.s.s for her again. 'I promise not to be such a git; it's just that these parties bring out the worst in me. You're the first girl I've spoken to since I arrived who's shown any intelligence. Please have a drink with me.'

What the h.e.l.l, she thought. Maybe she had overreacted. He seemed contrite enough. After finding somewhere quieter to talk, he said, 'So tell me all about yourself. What's your name and what do you do? My name's t.i.tus by the way, as in - '

'The hero of Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast?' she interrupted him. She was reminded of Dominic - it had been one of his favourite books as a teenager. 'Or perhaps your parents took their inspiration from the New Testament?'

He bowed. 'Your first guess was correct.'

'With a name like that I could almost feel sorry for you.' Beginning to relax, she pondered whether there was a chance he might turn out to be more than just a GQpretty boy. 'I'm Harriet, by the way.'

'Pleased to meet you, Harriet.'

To her amus.e.m.e.nt, he leaned in closer, rested his shoulder against the wall and crossed his legs at the ankle, displaying a cla.s.sic move from The Expert Flirter's Handbook : leave her in no doubt that she's the most fascinating girl in the room and that you're settling in for a long-haul conversation during which she will find you irresistible. 'So how do you fit in here?' she asked. 'How do you know Erin?'

'I met her through a friend. The last time I saw him he was in the kitchen with his tongue halfway down the host's throat. How about you?'

'I used to live in the flat downstairs.'

His gla.s.s hovered midway to his mouth. 'So you're the one whose sister snuffed - I mean died. Erin told me about it. What are you doing now?'

'I'm living in Cheshire looking after my sister's children.'

'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. That's rotten luck. And living in the north, too. How long for?'

'For ever.'

'No, seriously, when do you come back?'

She stiffened. 'I am being serious.' How dare this patronising man denigrate what she was now doing. 'Children aren't like dogs,' she said sharply. 'You can't abandon them on the roadside like a bag of unwanted puppies.'

'Yeah, but they're not even yours.' He uncrossed his ankles and stood up straight, shaking his head wearily. 'G.o.d, your life is so over. Because let's face it, when you're done with those kids, there'll be the aging parents to wash and feed.' He stepped away from her and drank long and deep from his wine. She sensed him flicking onto page ten of The Expert Flirter's Handbook: unless you are a fully trained baggage handler, there is absolutely no point in wasting vital time and energy on a woman who comes with this much heavy-duty baggage.

'You know what,' she said, 'I think my first impression of you was right on the b.u.t.ton. You're nothing but a shallow, gobby bloke who's just pushed me into mental meltdown.'

This time she did walk away, and not trusting herself to speak to anyone, not unless they were keen to have their head torn clean off, she kept on walking until she was standing in Erin's tiny spare bedroom, where she was spending the night. With enormous willpower - resisting the urge to slam it - she quietly closed the door behind her and leaned against it in the dark, giving herself time to calm down and steady her breathing. A stress-induced asthma attack was not what she needed right now. After several seconds of deep, slow breathing she realised she wasn't alone, and that what she could hear wasn't her lungs wheezing, but the unmistakable sound of two people mid-s.h.a.g.

'Out!' she screamed. 'Out of my room!' She switched on the light, pulled the duvet off the semi-naked couple and pushed them into the hall, throwing their shoes and clothes after them before slamming the door shut. She noticed the remains of a c.o.ke-fest on the bedside table and wondered what the h.e.l.l she was doing here. This was no longer her world. She had nothing in common with these people. They were more or less the same age as her, but she felt like an aged spinster aunt who'd accidentally gatecrashed a students' party. She'd actually had to stop herself from reprimanding Paula for knocking over a bowl of crisps, just as she would Carrie or Joel.

Harriet groaned and sank down onto the floor. Felicity had once told her that children made you grow up; that they made you act more responsibly and less selfishly. 'It must be a hormonal thing because it just happens,' she told Harriet. 'Once you've given birth you want the world to be a better place for your children, which means having to be a better person yourself.'

'Hormones be d.a.m.ned, Felicity!' she said out loud. 'It's nothing to do with them. It's something far more insidious.' She couldn't bring herself to say what it was, but after all the excitement of getting away, she knew she'd rather be back in Maple Drive than here. She'd much prefer to be sitting on the bedroom floor reading to Carrie and Joel - Carrie absently winding a lock of hair round a finger and Joel pressing against her, his small body fresh from the bath, warm and sweet-smelling.

She raked her hands through her hair and closed her eyes. But when it felt as if the room was spinning she snapped them open. She'd definitely had too much to drink. Coffee was needed. As she got to her feet, a m.u.f.fled trilling sound came from somewhere in the room. She hunted through the tangle of bedclothes on the floor and clicked open the phone. It was ten past one - who the h.e.l.l was calling her at this time of night?

At the sound of her father's voice, she froze. It was all too reminiscent of the night he'd called to say Felicity was dead. She sank onto the edge of the bed. Oh, G.o.d, what had happened now?

Chapter Twenty.

'Thank goodness you're there, Harriet. We're at our wits' end. We didn't know what else to do. If he carries on like this we'll have to call a doctor out. We can't do anything with him. He's cried so much he's made himself sick. Your mother's exhausted and with all the fuss at school we - '

'Dad, slow down!' Harriet's head was spinning. 'Tell me what's happened. And take it slowly.' Her heart was hammering painfully and the knot of panic that had started in her stomach had spread to her chest. But at least it didn't sound as if anyone had died.

'It's Joel,' her father said. 'Well, it's Carrie too. She's the one who started it.'

'You're still not making any sense, Dad.'

'We've discovered what's been causing Joel's nightmares. We had a phone call from the headmistress this afternoon; apparently Carrie's been telling everyone at school that her parents' death was more gruesome than it really was. She's told them things like ... oh, G.o.d, I can hardly think of it myself. No wonder Joel's been so terrified.'

'What exactly has she been saying?'

'That their heads were sliced off in the accident, that the police never found them and ... because of that, Felicity and Jeff, dripping in blood, are forced to wander the streets at night searching for them.'

A chill ran down Harriet's spine. 'Carrie said all that? But why?'

'I've no idea, but she's said a lot worse. Stuff about her being able to make her parents haunt anyone she doesn't like. She's scared some of the children so badly that their parents have complained to school.'

'To h.e.l.l with them. It's Joel I'm concerned about. Do you think he'll talk to me?'

'That's why I've called. He keeps asking for you. Perhaps if you speak to him, he might calm down and go back to bed. Will you do it, Harriet? You know, just talk him round so we can all get some sleep.'

'Of course, Dad. Put him on.'

'You'll have to hang on while I go upstairs; I'm on the phone in the kitchen.'

Waiting for her father to put Joel on the line, Harriet thought of the nights she'd found her nephew drenched in sweat, his damp hair sticking to his scalp, his eyes squeezed shut, and the duvet wrapped tightly around his body as though it would protect him. Knowing what they knew now, she could understand his terror. Her chest tightened and she coughed, instinctively trying to force oxygen into lungs that were threatening to close down. She fumbled for her inhaler at the bottom of her bag. With the mobile pressed against her ear, she could hear her father's voice and the racking, hiccupy sobs of Joel in the background.

'Harriet, are you still there?'

'Yes, Dad,' she wheezed. 'Put him on.'

There was a pause while her father told Joel to say h.e.l.lo. He didn't. But he had stopped crying.

'Joel, can you hear me? It's me, Harriet. Aren't you going to say h.e.l.lo?'

In the ensuing silence, she put her inhaler to her mouth, pressed down on the canister and breathed in sharply. It was always tempting to give herself two quick hits, one immediately after the other. But she knew better and instead imagined the chemicals rushing through the narrowing airways of her lungs, flushing them out like those pipes you see in a toilet-cleaner advert.