He gave the sitting room a final checking over for dust and cobwebs, then opened a bottle of Merlot, which he fancied for himself, and made sure there was also a bottle of white and some beer in the fridge. He then decided the house felt a bit chilly, so he went out to the garage and set about making a fire with logs from the diseased apple tree he'd chopped down at the bottom of the garden. The previous owners had had lousy taste in decor, but thankfully they hadn't got rid of the fireplace in the sitting room. It was small but effective and he soon had a good blaze going. Washing his hands at the kitchen sink, he wondered what the Hedgehog wanted to discuss with him. What was so important that she couldn't have said it over the phone?

Harriet went downstairs after reading Joel his bedtime story. Her mother was in the kitchen emptying the children's lunchboxes of half-eaten apples and muesli bar wrappers and her father, yet again, was nowhere to be seen. Toby's basket next to the washing machine was empty. 'Dad out with Toby again?' she asked.

Eileen slammed the lid of the bin shut. 'Looks like it.'

Her tone was as stark as the overhead striplight that for years Harriet had wished her parents would get rid of. In its harsh brilliance, she could see how tired her mother looked, how pale and gaunt her face was.

'You look ready to drop, Mum,' Harriet said, going over to her and taking Carrie's lunchbox out of her hands. 'Let me finish that for you. You go and sit down.'

'I will later, when Carrie's finished watching Top of the Pops. I didn't mind sitting through it with you and Felicity, but I'm past it now.'

'I know what you mean. Even to my ears the music all sounds the same and the girls look like cheap hookers.'

'You don't suppose we should stop Carrie watching it, do you?'

Harriet shook her head. 'It's too late for that. Anyway, she says Jeff and Felicity used to let her stay up to watch it.'

Eileen sighed, alerting Harriet once again to the worry that perhaps her mother was overdoing things. She hadn't yet mentioned the trip to Ireland and she was suddenly concerned that she might have taken too much for granted. What if her mother's illness was getting progressively worse? What then? Would her father be able to look after Mum and babysit the children when required? The obvious answer was to hire a childminder, she told herself firmly, squashing flat the concern before it got out of hand. 'Are you all right, Mum?' she asked.

'I'm tired, that's all. Nothing to worry about.'

But Harriet was worried. After she'd said goodnight to Carrie and was crossing the road to see Will, she sensed it wasn't only her ME and Felicity's death that was bothering her mother. There was something else going on; something she'd missed. But what? She was no good at subtexts. It was another reason why she often preferred computers to people. You knew exactly where you stood with them.

While Will was in the kitchen fetching their drinks, Harriet took the opportunity to prowl round his sitting room. Other than the television and CD player, there was nothing modern in the room. Everything looked to be Victorian, but there again, being a compulsive minimalist with a liking for contemporary furniture, she wouldn't know the difference between Regency and Edwardian. But to her surprise, she liked what she saw. The battered leather chesterfield sofa and high-backed chair to one side of the fireplace looked homely and comfortable and the grandfather clock, with its rhythmic, resonant tick-tock, created an elegant but restful atmosphere. At the far end of the room, there was a writing desk with attractive barley-sugar twist legs and above it a pretty watercolour of cattle grazing beneath a setting sun. She was just about to pick up one of a pair of silver-framed photographs on the desk when Will came in with their drinks.

'Feel free,' he said, when she put it back guiltily. 'I'm totally biased, of course,' he went on, 'but I think they're beautiful.'

Harriet looked at the two little girls, dressed in what looked like their best party frocks. Their blonde hair was long and fine and Harriet had to admit they did indeed look beautiful. 'How old are they?'

'In the picture?'

'Yes.'

'Two and four.'

'And now?'

He set their wine gla.s.ses on the green-leather-topped desk and picked up the other photograph. 'This was taken of the three of us last Christmas. Suzie's nineteen and Gemma's seventeen.'

Harriet took the photograph from him. She studied it closely, paying particular attention to the taller of the two girls. She suddenly felt very stupid. The girl she'd thought was his girlfriend hadn't been anything of the sort.

'Something puzzling you?' he asked.

She returned the frame to its place on the desk. 'I don't know why, but I'd imagined your children were younger; early teens perhaps.'

'Ah, that will be on account of me looking so devilishly youthful for my age. Come and sit down. I'd recommend the armchair; the sofa has a mind of its own and can skewer the unwary with its armoury of wonky springs.'

Settling herself by the fire, Harriet's thoughts were still with the error she'd made about Will's eldest daughter. She was anxious that she might have said something to offend him. Oh well. If she had, it was another apology she owed him.

'How's Carrie?' he asked. 'No more breakouts, I trust?'

'Thankfully her attempt last week seems to have been a one-off.'

'Did you get to the bottom of why she did it?'

'She said she was bored.'

'And you believed her?'

Perched on the edge of her seat, Harriet bristled. Was he questioning her judgement? 'Why wouldn't we? She's a bright girl and probably isn't being stimulated enough.'

He opened his mouth to say something but then seemed to change his mind. He took a gulp of his wine and said, 'My mother once told me that becoming a parent provides you with the opportunity to make more mistakes than any other way she knew.'

'Are you saying I've made a mistake with Carrie?'

'Not at all. I'm suggesting, as I did before, that you shouldn't be so hard on yourself.'

Harriet didn't want to think about that day too much. Blaming herself for Carrie's behaviour now seemed slightly silly, an overreaction, but seeing as he'd brought up the subject, she said, 'You were very good to Carrie ... and me, which is why I'm here. I want you to know that we're all really grateful for what you did. I don't think I expressed myself very well at the time.'

He waved a hand at her words. 'You were upset. I quite understood. Anyway, your father's already thanked me.'

'He has? He never said anything. When did you speak with him?'

'We often pa.s.s the time of day when he's out walking Toby and I'm at the end of the garden wielding a pair of shears.'

This was news to Harriet. Not once had her father mentioned that he and Will were on speaking terms. 'Oh well,' she sighed, 'it just goes to prove what I've always suspected: n.o.body ever tells me anything. But the apology still stands; there was no excuse for what I said to you.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Remind me what you said.'

If she didn't know better, she'd say he was enjoying himself at her expense. 'I accused you of not knowing what you were talking about because your children don't live with you.'

'It's a reasonable enough accusation and one my ex-wife would be only too quick to agree with.'

'That's as maybe, but I had no right to suggest it. I'm sorry.' There. She'd done it. Mission accomplished. Apology made. Now she could relax, finish her wine and go home. She sat back in the chair, crossed one leg over the other and tapped the air with her foot.

'You don't like apologising, do you?' he said after a moment's silence.

Unnerved by his perceptive observation, she said, 'Does anyone?'

'Me, I love it. I've made a career out of saying sorry. I'm always blundering around and having to make amends for some faux pas or other. So, tell me how the new job's going. But before that, tell me how the h.e.l.l you can do what you do. What's a nice girl like you doing in the yawn-inducing world of computers?'

She rolled her eyes. 'And if I had a pound for every time I'd been asked that cra.s.s question, I'd be richer than Bill Gates.'

'Sorry to be so unoriginal.'

'Don't worry, I'm used to it. But first off, to be a really good a.n.a.lyst, you have to have a certain mindset. There's a theory that only a limited number of people are genetically predisposed to be programmers.'

'And you're one of them?'

'It would seem so. It's not a matter of intelligence as such, more a way of thinking.'

'Sounds a bit precious to me.'

She smiled. 'It can be, yes. Another commonly held view is that the computer industry is growing faster than any other.'

'It isn't?'

'No. For the simple reason that there aren't enough of the right brains out there. Sure, there's an abundance of bright young things of the useless variety, but highly skilled programmers are like gold dust.'

'So what's the fascination? They're just machines.'

'To you, maybe. But for someone like me, it's the perfect interaction. Computers don't answer back; they only give out what you put in. You tell it what to do and it does it, no questions asked.'

'In my limited experience that isn't always the case.'

'That's because you're not giving it the right instructions. The fault is yours. You see,' she shifted forward in her seat, 'what you have to remember is that a computer has no nuances, no intuition, and no initiative. A computer never doubts or questions itself. Computers are very literal and as a programmer you get used to taking things, and people, at face value.'

'So if a Johnny Quick Banana came along and tried out something subtle on you, like a compliment, you'd blow a fuse and flash up, "Sorry, can't compute!"'

Knowing that he was making fun of her, she said, 'Except there wouldn't be the apology.'

He smiled. 'Unless you were feeling particularly remorseful about something.'

'Are you trying to extract another apology out of me?'

'No. I think you've done splendidly in that department already. How about some music?'

'Depends what you're going to suggest.'

Going over to his CD collection, Will said, 'You can have whatever you like, so long as it isn't bubble-gum pop.'

'Do I look like that kind of girl?'

'No, but I was just making sure. How do you feel about R.E.M.?'

'Bring it on.'

'Hey, you mean you're old enough to appreciate quality music?'

'Now that I recognise as an insult. A patronising one at that.'

'Wrong! It was a compliment.'

Will put Reveal into the CD player and went back to the sofa. He decided that once you got the Hedgehog onto safe ground, once she was relaxed and had the foot-tapping down to a minimum, she was excellent company. Her enthusiasm for her work was charming. Yet it occurred to him, remembering how upset she'd been that day in the shop, that the way she treated Carrie and Joel was probably a reflection of the way she worked - she expected them to behave logically, like a computer would. And as any parent could tell her, kids just don't do that. Did he dare tell her this? No. He was enjoying himself too much to want to spoil a pleasant evening by antagonising her.

'I've got a confession to make,' she said, interrupting his thoughts, which had started to run along the lines that with her guard lowered she was really quite pretty; her cheekbones seemed less sharp and her eyes softer, less wary.

'A confession,' he repeated. 'That sounds ominous. What have you done?'

'It's part of another apology I think I owe you. You see, one of the reasons I snapped at you last week was because I'd taken something at face value and misinterpreted it. I thought your eldest daughter, Suzie, was your girlfriend and that it was her you were referring to when you said someone close to you was pregnant and considering an abortion.'

'You're kidding!'

'I'm afraid not.'

'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, I've done some s.h.i.tty things in my time, but chasing girls less than half my age is not one of them. You must have thought the absolute worst. You did, didn't you? You thought I was a randy old git who couldn't keep it in his trousers.'

'I did. And I'm very sorry.'

He let out his breath. 'Wow. I don't know what to say, other than to put you straight and tell you that I go for women with a few more miles on the clock than that. And just to make it absolutely clear, Suzie is definitely my daughter and she's definitely pregnant, but not by me.' He saw a look of surprise pa.s.s across Harriet's face.

'Your daughter's pregnant?' she repeated. 'But she's - '

'So young,' he finished for her. 'Yes. I'm all too aware of that.'

'And the abortion?'

'She changed her mind. She's not going through with it.'

'That's brave. And the boyfriend? Where does he fit in?'

'There is no boyfriend.'

'That really is brave.'

'You're telling me.' Then, hearing the change of track on the CD, he said, 'Listen to this. Isn't it the best?'

'What's it called? I'm not familiar with it.'

He pulled a face. 'I knew you were too good to be true. It's "I've Been High". Now close your eyes and breathe it in.'

Harriet watched Will close his eyes and tilt his head back against the sofa cushion. What a surprising man he was.

Chapter Thirty-Two.

The following Sunday Harriet took the children to see a house the estate agent had described as being ideally situated and extremely good value. It was within walking distance of Maple Drive, and sounded too good to be true.

It was. Harriet could see from Carrie's and Joel's faces when they pulled up outside the three-storey Victorian semi that they weren't impressed with the gloomy exterior and broken front-room window. Things got a lot worse when they rang the doorbell and were shown inside. There were about two dozen cats in residence, along with a whiskery old man in carpet slippers and a badly stained cardigan. The air was thick with rancid milk, cat hairs and poached fish. Within minutes Harriet made their excuses - 'Sorry, we were looking for something with a bigger garden' - and drove on to Maywood where they were meeting Miles for Sunday lunch at Casa Bellagio. 'Bring the children if you like,' he'd said. 'It'll give your mum and dad a rest.' Selfishly Harriet had wished it was she who was having the rest but quickly chided herself: Mum and Dad deserved some time to themselves. She was looking forward to lunch with Miles, but hoped Carrie and Joel would behave, and that the restaurant's lack of face-painting facilities, ball pits, tables of Lego and obstacle courses wouldn't lead them to run amok through boredom. Like most grandparents, Bob and Eileen took their grandchildren to mini theme parks to eat. Harriet had a theory about this: in the future there would be generations of adults who would be unable to sit for an entire meal without leaping up every five minutes to career about the place in a screaming frenzy.

'We're not going to live in that horrible house, are we?'

Harriet looked at Joel in the rear-view mirror. 'Not a hope. I wouldn't live in that dump if you paid me a million pounds.'