His voice low, Will said, 'Put the CD down and tell me what's wrong.'

Marty frowned. 'Who said anything was wrong?'

'It's written all over your face. Is it work?'

'No.'

'What, then?'

They walked on. 'It's no big deal,' Marty said quietly. 'I've just come from a doctor's appointment. That's why I was late. Sorry I lied. And please, no jokes about lying, cheating lawyers.'

'Hey, never mind the apologies or quips. What's wrong with you?'

'I have a lump where us chaps would prefer not to have such things.'

'Oh, s.h.i.t!'

'No, we're not quite in that yet. But who knows.'

'So what did the doctors have to say?'

'He confirmed what I already knew: that I had a lump. He's now organising a visit to the specialist for some tests.'

'Are we talking cancer?'

'Too early to tell. That's what the tests are for.'

Will threw the remains of his burger in the nearest bin. 'It'll be fine,' he said. 'No worries. Absolutely no worries.'

'Now who sounds unfeasibly sure?'

Chapter Thirty-Eight.

She was not depressed, Eileen told herself firmly. Run down, maybe. Overwhelmingly fatigued, most certainly. Angry, yes. But depressed, no. She had pills to deal with that. It was Bob who was depressed. It should be him sitting here in this stuffy waiting room queuing to see the doctor. It was him who needed help. Not her.

She'd only agreed to come because of Dora. 'You're worrying me, Eileen,' Dora had said. 'You've told me yourself you're not sleeping properly and that you feel completely done in. Perhaps, you know, in view of everything you're going through, you need some stronger medication. Just to tide you over.'

Eileen didn't think stronger drugs were the answer. It was courage she needed. Courage to confront Bob and make him talk to her and to h.e.l.l with the consequences.

She reached for another magazine and flicked through the glossy pages, envying the young women their slim figures, their perfect faces and their come-hither eyes. She had been pretty once. Not eye-catchingly beautiful, as Dora had been, but attractive in an easy-going, homely kind of way. Attractive enough to catch Bob all those years ago, that much was true. But now she felt old and dowdy. She felt worn out most days, exhausted with the daily grind of just staying on top of things, of not letting the ME take control entirely. If she fully enjoyed a day it was always at the expense of another. She had to pace herself continuously. If she went shopping today, then tomorrow she would have to rest. If she didn't, she would end up paying the price and be forced to rest for two days. And there was always the worry that this was it, that she would never get better. Statistically, though, she knew that there was a good chance she would; she just needed to be patient.

More impossibly perfect bodies pa.s.sed before her eyes. She stopped turning the pages when she came to a piece about a grandmother of two having a make-over. Eileen stared hard at the before and after pictures. The transformation was more subtle than she might have expected, but it was a transformation all the same. There was a sparkle in the eye of the woman, a lifting of the corners of her mouth and chin. 'I did this for me,' the caption read beneath one of the photographs of the grandmother posing with her hands on her hips, shoulders back, head held high. 'Not for my husband, or my family. For me.'

Dora would strongly approve of this woman, Eileen thought. Dora who rarely left the house without full make-up, matching handbag and shoes, and a pashmina tossed casually around her shoulders. Wonderful Dora who, despite the heartbreak in her life, always came bouncing back. She was currently bursting with happiness over a new man she'd met through her Soiree Club. 'You have to meet this one,' Dora had gushed. 'He's just the sweetest man alive.'

'There have been sweet men before,' Eileen had pointed out cautiously.

'Ah, but this one is the real thing. And so very interesting. He used to run his own wine-importing business. He wants to take me to Barcelona for a long weekend.'

For the first time Eileen felt envious of her friend. What did she have to look forward to each week, other than a husband who hardly spoke to her these days? She and Bob could sit in the same room together, watch the television together, even share the same bed, yet all the time they were separated by a distance that was growing wider every day. If only he would share his grief with her.

But that was never going to happen. Not now he'd found someone else to do that with. Another woman.

A buzzer above the receptionist's hatch went off. Eileen looked at the blue disc in her hand, back at the flashing light and registered that it was her turn to go through to the doctor. She remained in her seat though, suddenly aware that she was on the brink of an important decision. The way she saw it, she had three options. She could go and sit in that doctor's dull, cramped room and pour out her problems and admit she was terrified her husband would leave her. Or she could simply lie and hold out her hand like a good little girl and accept those magic sweeties in the hope they would turn her head to cotton wool. Or, she could simply walk out of here and ... and do what, exactly?

She was still pondering this question outside in the cold November wind as she waited for Dora's car to appear round the corner. When it did, Dora said, 'You were quick. The surgery not busy today?'

'I didn't see the doctor. But I think I did see a c.h.i.n.k of light. And I need your help.'

Bob would give anything to leap in his car and drive down to Warwick and see how Jennifer was. But he couldn't. In half an hour, when he'd finished cleaning the gutters, he had to fetch the children home from school, and then later he had to get things ready for the firework display he was putting on for them. It had been Harriet's idea to have fireworks. 'You always used to put on a good show for us, Dad,' she'd said. He'd noticed how she'd winced as she said the word 'us', and felt the sting of it himself. When the girls had been small, he'd loved seeing the joyful delight in their faces as they'd written their names in the darkness with sparklers. One day he might be brave enough to unearth the collection of cine films he had from those days. But that day, if it ever came, was a long way off. The pain of seeing his darling daughter projected onto the blank wall of the dining room - moving, laughing and staring straight into the camera lens in that bold, challenging way she had - would bring him to his knees. A position from which he was terrified there would be no recovery.

Climbing down the ladder, he stood on the patio and looked at the mess he'd created. Slimy, rotting leaves lay scattered all around him. He began sweeping them up and loading them into the wheelbarrow to take down to the compost heap. When he'd been working all hours and driving a thousand miles a week, he'd longed for days like this, when he could do nothing but potter in the garden, treating every day as a weekend. He must have been mad. How could he ever have thought that this nothingness would suit him? Where was his ident.i.ty? Who the h.e.l.l was this half man he'd become, who spent his days wandering the wastelands of garden centres and DIY stores and doing the school run? Where in G.o.d's name had Bob Swift gone?

Jennifer would have the answer. She always seemed to be able to answer his questions. When he'd left her on Sat.u.r.day night he could have wept. She'd been close to tears herself and if she'd said the words 'don't go' he would have obeyed without a second thought. Instead, he'd made sure she had everything to hand, including his mobile number.

She had finally given in to common sense - and a rising temperature - on Friday evening and told him she was going home. 'You were right,' she said.

'In that case, I'll drive you home.'

'What will you tell your wife?'

'I'll think of something.'

'We are going to be sensible about this, aren't we?' she'd said when they were halfway through the journey and she'd woken from a deep sleep.

He'd kept his gaze on the road. 'I'm not sure that I can cope with being sensible any more,' he said.

'But your marriage? You mustn't do anything to wreck that.'

'Perhaps it's wrecked already.'

They didn't speak again until she was directing him to where she lived - a bungalow at the end of a pot-holed farm track. Its isolation worried him, despite her saying that the farmer on whose land she lived was only a phone call away.

She was exhausted from a severe coughing fit when they arrived, and after he'd settled her on the sofa, covered her with a throw and had figured out the central-heating system, he made her some tea then drove to the nearest shops and stocked up on essentials. He knew she wouldn't eat much, but he bought what he thought might tempt her. It was strange buying food for someone he hadn't known for long. Did she like mushroom soup? Did she prefer white or wholemeal bread? b.u.t.ter or margarine? But in all other ways, he felt he knew her so well.

After unpacking the shopping and filling a hot-water bottle, he insisted she went to bed. They both knew they were minutes away from saying goodbye and not knowing if they would ever see one another again. 'I'll ring you tomorrow morning,' he said. 'And don't worry about the Jennifer Rose. I'll arrange for her to be taken to the marina.' He sat on the bed and hugged her briefly. It was a wrench to let go.

Her last words to him were: 'Be kind to yourself, Bob. As kind as you've been to me.'

Harriet arrived home to find Joel and Carrie helping Eileen to b.u.t.ter some rolls. 'We're making hotdogs,' Joel told Harriet importantly. 'Granddad's in the garden setting up the fireworks.'

She put her bag down on the worktop. 'Anything I can do to help, Mum?'

'That's all right, love. We've got it all in hand. Carrie, a little less Flora; too much and the sausage will slide out. How was your day, dear? Oh, I nearly forgot, I've invited Will. I thought it was time we had him over for a drink. Dora said she'd pop in as well. We'll be quite a little party. Oh, and there's some post for you. It looks like estate agents' details.' She pointed to the microwave and the pile of mail on top of it.

Harriet wondered if she'd come home to the right house. Her mother was a different woman from the one she'd said goodbye to that morning. There was a sense of purpose about her that had been missing these last few weeks. Harriet hoped that by pulling out all the stops this evening, her mother wouldn't feel too shattered tomorrow.

She took her mail upstairs and while she exchanged her work clothes for something suitable for standing around in the freezing cold, she checked out the house details two agents had sent her. One house in particular caught her eye; a small end-of-terrace cottage overlooking the ca.n.a.l, on the outskirts of Kings Melford and on the Maywood road. It was at the top end of her budget, but on paper it looked promising. It had already been renovated and had a small extension added onto the side. It was too late now to make an appointment to view it, but it would be first on her list of jobs to do in the morning. She finished dressing, grabbing a scarf and her favourite old black beret, then went downstairs to see if there was anything she could do to help.

With Marty's news still fresh in his mind, Will wasn't in the mood for a party, even a low-key firework party. But he reasoned it would be better than mooching around on his own.

'Some things you never see coming,' Marty had said to him when they parted in the market. 'This is definitely one of them.'

'You will keep me posted, won't you?' Will had said. 'And if you fancy some company for any of the sessions with the consultant, you'll be in touch?'

'You'll be uppermost in my mind.'

Marty's stoicism really got to Will. If it had been him, he didn't think he'd behave so calmly. It seemed worse, too, that Marty was going through this alone, not having a wife or girlfriend to fuss over him. But then who the h.e.l.l would fuss over Will? When it came right down to it, apart from his mother, he had only Marty and Jarvis to count on. There were people in the trade whom he occasionally had a drink with, and even the odd couple from his married days who stayed in touch by Christmas card, but no one other than Ruby, Marty and Jarvis who he would want to call on if the chips were down. It was a depressing thought.

He'd been told not to bother knocking on the front door, but to go round to the back. It was there he found Bob lining up a row of rockets; with difficulty he was pushing the sticks into the ground. 'It's so cold; the ground's freezing,' he said.

'No buckets of sand, then?'

'Sorry, not that organised.'

Will looked around the garden, his gaze coming to rest on a children's sandpit on the patio. 'How about we move that to the middle of the lawn and stick the rockets in the sand?'

'Already thought of that. The sand's not deep enough.'

'Nothing else for it: we'll have to push them into the ground as best we can.'

They worked steadily together and had just finished the task, having only snapped one of the rocket sticks, when Carrie and Joel appeared, each carrying a can of beer. 'Harriet thought you would like these,' Carrie said.

'Or would you prefer something else?' Harriet said, following behind. 'A gla.s.s of wine maybe?'

'No, this is great,' Will said. Better than great, he thought, unable to take his eyes off Harriet. She looked totally irresistible in that beret. Cute. Sweet. Sa.s.sy. But most of all, incredibly s.e.xy. He popped open his beer and told himself to behave. Hitting on your host's daughter was not the done thing.

If there had been any doubt in his mind that he had imagined his attraction to Harriet, the matter was now settled. Now all he had to do was convince her that an older man in her life was just what she needed.

Chapter Thirty-Nine.

Maxine's greatest regret in divorcing Will was the effect it had had on her relationship with his mother. Ruby Hart was one of the nicest and most straightforward women Maxine knew and had always gone out of her way to make her ex daughter-in-law still feel a part of her family. Initially Maxine had been reluctant to accept any of Ruby's invitations to get together, convinced that they were made out of a sense of duty. She was, after all, the mother of Ruby's only grandchildren. But in time she came to realise that the invitations were as sincere as Ruby herself. 'Don't be a stranger,' she used to say. 'You know where I am if you fancy a cuppa and a chat.'

Today, while Steve was at home watching the rugby, she and Suzie and Gemma were taking Nana Ruby out for afternoon tea. Maxine turned into the estate and parked in front of the neat little bungalow. Give him his due, Maxine thought, as she walked up the path with the girls, Will did his best when it came to his mother; he always kept an eye on her as well as doing whatever odd jobs needed doing around the house. She knew this because Ruby was inordinately proud of her son and was never shy in singing his praises to Maxine. Maxine had long since realised that it wasn't an act of rubbing her nose in it, just an act of love. But as devoted to her only child as she was, Ruby had once told Maxine that she wasn't blinkered when it came to his faults. 'I'm not one of those silly mothers who thinks the sun shines out of their children's behinds. Far from it. But I do believe Will's a good son and an excellent father.'

Dressed to the nines in a smart knitted suit with a glittery brooch on the lapel, Ruby greeted them with hugs and kisses and her usual stream of compliments and keen-eyed observations: 'Maxine, what a stunning trouser suit, but how tired you look! You must be working too hard ... Gemma, how colourful your hair is! How I wish I could be as daring.' But the biggest whoop of pleasure was reserved for Suzie. 'Ooh, look at you, Suzie! You must have doubled in size since I last saw you. You look just like your mother did when she was pregnant - wonderfully voluptuous, just as nature intended! Now sit yourselves down while I finish switching handbags.'

Maxine recognised the handbag that Ruby was exchanging for her everyday one, and was touched; it was the bag she'd given Ruby for Christmas last year, the price of which would horrify the older woman if she ever knew. Maxine never begrudged a penny she spent on Ruby, not when she'd been such a loving grandmother to the girls.

'What do you think of this lipstick?' Ruby was saying to Gemma and Suzie, while puckering her lips. 'A bit too young for me, do you think?'

'No way, Nana,' Gemma said. 'It looks great on you.' The generosity of the comment gave Maxine a p.r.i.c.kle of envy. Gemma never said anything nice about her appearance. But then rarely could Maxine think of anything nice to say about her daughter's attire. Last night Gemma had spent an hour in the bathroom ruining her lovely blonde hair by applying garish pink streaks to it. And despite having asked her to dress appropriately this afternoon, Gemma had deliberately put on her worst clothes: an ill-fitting skirt that was so long it was practically dragging on the carpet and a raggedy old jacket that looked like something Che Guevara might have worn. Maxine just hoped the hotel where they were having tea wouldn't turn them away.

Will occasionally accused her of rampant sn.o.bbery, but was it so wrong to want better for, and of, her daughters? Was it so wrong to wish that Suzie's life didn't now revolve around ante-natal visits and maternity wear, and that her youngest daughter wasn't such a surly, ungrateful mess? In the coming months Gemma would be going for university interviews. What on earth would they think of her? What chance did she have of securing a place at a decent university? It was beyond Maxine how her daughters could be so wantonly careless with their lives. When she'd been their age she'd always striven to do her best and to be the best. What's more, if she'd been given the opportunity to go to university she would have grabbed it with both hands and made her parents proud of her. She hadn't cared at the time that her father wanted her to go straight into the business and forego her chance of studying, but just occasionally she had, over the years, experienced a tweak of regret that she'd missed out. As a teenager she had once harboured a dream of studying Art History and spending time travelling round Italy visiting galleries and museums. But it was not to be. Which was why she'd been so d.a.m.ned determined her girls wouldn't lose out.

Gemma had always loved coming to the Maywood Grange Hotel. Dad used to bring her and Suzie here when they were little. She didn't know at the time that he couldn't really afford it, but he'd always allowed them to have whatever they wanted. The waiters and waitresses would make a big fuss of them, explaining carefully what all the sandwiches contained and pouring out their tea, never minding if anything was ever spilt or knocked over. It was the first time she could remember feeling grown-up; she'd loved being treated as an adult.

Her mother could do with learning that. Gemma took a bite out of her scone and glanced across the table at her mother; she was boasting to Nana Ruby about the saleroom she'd recently bought and the building work she was having done. She doesn't care about anything but work, Gemma thought bitterly. Suzie and I don't mean anything to her. All because we haven't conformed to what she thinks is perfect daughter behaviour. Well, tough luck. If being perfect means turning out like her, then no thank you!

Gemma couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her mother happy. Even Steve was regularly getting his head bitten off these days. If Mum wasn't careful, she'd soon be looking for husband number three. Not that Gemma had any intention of sticking around to see that. She'd be long gone. Once she got to university, that would be it. After deciding to read Philosophy and Politics, she had applied to universities not on the strength of their courses but on distance; she wanted to be as far away from home as possible. Her first choice was Durham followed by Edinburgh and then Exeter, where Suzie had gone. She supposed that she probably would want to come home now and then, but only to see Dad. Oh, and Nana and Suzie. And the baby - her niece, or nephew. She turned this thought over and looked at Suzie, who was sitting next to her and spreading great dollops of jam and cream onto yet another scone - she really was eating for two!

Gemma had written to Marcel, telling him about her sister being pregnant, and how she was going to be an aunt next year - 'How totally weird is that?' she'd written. He'd replied almost straight away, inviting her to come to Paris for Christmas. She hadn't answered his letter yet, but she knew that there was no way her mother would let her go. But Christmas in Paris with Marcel would be just the coolest thing. She pictured the two of them walking through the Tuilerie Gardens eating hot chestnuts and then going to a bar and meeting up with Marcel's friends. But it would never happen. Mum would see to that.

While Mum was off paying the bill and Gemma was in the loo, Suzie watched her grandmother dig around inside her purse for a tip for their waitress. She did it every time, despite Mum telling her that she would see to it.

'So how are you, Suzie?' Nana Ruby said, slipping a two-pound coin underneath a saucer.

'I'm okay,' she said.

'Are you eating lots of spinach and broccoli? You must have plenty of iron.'

'I'm taking supplements.'

'Good. Now, I didn't like to say anything in front of your mother, but I've been knitting some baby clothes for you. You won't believe how many you'll get through and how quickly the baby will grow out of them. You know, I'm so excited about this for you. I can't believe I'm going to be a great-grandmother. My friends are all so envious.'

Suzie felt a rush of affection towards her grandmother. It was lovely to be with someone who wasn't telling her how awful her life was going to be. She was sick of her mother's comments and of the hurtful remarks her supposed friends from school and university were making, none of whom had shown the slightest effort to hide their shock. For a start they couldn't believe she was pregnant, but mostly they wanted to know why she hadn't done the sensible thing and gone through with the abortion. They were also all sickeningly desperate to know who the father was. Sinead had pressed her the hardest. 'Go on, Suzie,' she'd said on the phone, 'you can tell me. I won't tell anyone. Not even Richard. Was it someone here?'

'No,' she'd told her friend. 'It wasn't a student.' She would do anything to keep the truth from Sinead. And from Richard. She sometimes wondered if he'd put two and two together. If he had, he'd made no attempt to get in touch with her. She hoped he'd remain silent when the baby was born, that his conscience wouldn't get the better of him or that he'd become curious about the child.

Running her hand over her b.u.mp, she said, 'I wish Mum could be as pleased as you, Nana.'

Nana Ruby snapped her handbag shut. 'Not to worry; she has a lot on her mind at the moment. She works so hard.'

'You're always so fair, aren't you?'

'When you've lived as long as I have, you know there's usually more than one way of looking at a thing.'

'That's what I keep trying to tell Mum, but she doesn't listen. I told her I couldn't get rid of the baby and run the risk of thinking in years to come that today my child would have been starting school, or, today my child would have been learning to drive. I don't want a life of what might have been.'

'And what did your mother say?'

'She said I already had that to look forward to, and that I would forever ask myself what might have been if I hadn't got pregnant.'

Gran looked thoughtful. 'I wonder if your mother often asks herself a similar question?'

'What? If she hadn't had Gemma and me?'