'Getting married at her age is ridiculous.'

'She's very happy, Mum. Isn't that all that matters?'

'It's so suburban. Nobody gets married any more.'

'You're married to Dad.'

'Don't be deliberately stupid, Josephine it's so unattractive. Is he after her money, do you think?'

'What money?'

'That ghastly bungalow's got to be worth a small fortune by now.'

'He's got his own house, Mum.'

'Well, I think it's very suspect, and I'm not sure your father and I can get away. We're so busy here, and just think of the expense. I've got a new commission; there are some beautiful panels in a local church, the one I showed you with the marvellous altar, and they've said I'm the only person they trust them with. They practically begged me. It was very touching.'

'It would only be for a few days, Mum.'

'I suppose we could stay with you, but as for Vincent agreeing to give her away, I've never heard of anything so silly in all my life. If anyone is going to give her away it should be me. Or your father, although he's bound to make a hash of it. No, I suppose it will have to be me. Tell her, would you?'

'Tell her what?'

'That I'll give her away.'

'I think that's up to her, Mum, don't you?'

'I might have known I could count on you to be completely hopeless, as usual.'

I'm counting to ten now.

'Are you still there, Josephine?'

I'm tempted to say no. I'm in the bath, please leave a message.

'Yes, Mum.'

'I'll get your father to talk to her.'

'Is his knee better?'

'He's absolutely fine he was just being dramatic. You know what he's like. The doctors have given him some tablets, and the stitches come out soon, I really don't know what all the fuss was about.'

Actually, Dad never makes a fuss about anything, not even falling off a ladder and gashing his knee, but never mind.

'My wrist is still total agony. In case you were wondering.'

Mum always invents a mystery ailment if anyone in the family has anything medical going on: when I was having Jack she had an appendix drama, and with Archie it was an invisible neck injury that required one of those plastic neck braces. Which she kept taking off when she thought nobody was looking.

'Oh dear.'

'I'm sure I've fractured it. I don't trust the doctors here, but I'm going to a nice man now who does herbal healing, and he says he can't believe how I've managed to cope with such pain. He's very expensive, of course, but worth it. I'll call you later in the week then, so you have time to talk some sense into her. Night, darling.'

Bloody hell.

I'll call Vin tomorrow and we can try to work out how to handle this; he's usually much better at dealing with Mum than I am, mainly because he tends to completely ignore her. But I'm determined she won't end up spoiling things for Gran. Perhaps her new herbalist could make up a special Don't Ruin Your Mother's Wedding potion: a bit of chamomile, maybe, with a spot of arsenic. Or perhaps she might not make it over in time; I wonder how much you'd have to pay Easy Jet to divert to somewhere unusual: Reykjavik maybe, or a disused airbase somewhere, with no telephones.

I'm locking the back door and having a last round of Hunt The PE Kit when Jack appears at the bottom of the stairs.

'I can't get back to sleep. I was asleep but then I woke up, and now I'm stuck.'

I walk him back upstairs, whispering so we don't wake Archie.

'Come on, let's snuggle you in. You'll be back to sleep in no time.'

'Is Dad in heaven, Mum?'

Oh God. I'm too tired for this now.

'Well, if there is a heaven then I'm sure he's there, sweetheart. And he knows how much you love him, and that's the important thing.'

'Absolutely definite?'

'Absolutely.'

'And he can always be in my heart, can't he, Mum?'

'Yes, love.'

'People you love are always in your heart, aren't they?'

'Yes, love, for ever and ever.'

'Yes. And I've got lots of love in my heart, haven't I? And my best things are Trevor, and you and Gran and Archie.'

Excellent: beaten to top place by a sodding dog.

'Into bed now.'

'And if we got our own dog, he could be in my heart too, couldn't he, Mum?'

'Nice try, love.'

He smiles.

'It would be so nice to have my very own dog. It would be my best thing ever.'

'And my worst.'

He giggles.

'I'm going to wish for it with all my heart, and then it'll come true.'

'Night, love.'

'I'm scared I'll have my bad dream. If I still can't get to sleep in ten minutes, can I come in your bed?'

'Twenty?'

'Fifteen?'

'OK.'

He grins.

Damn.

Chapter Two.

February

The Thin Blue Line

Monday morning isn't going very well so far, and it's only half-past eight.

'You're a big fat grumpypotamus.'

'Archie, get your socks on and stop being rude.'

'Well, he is. And so are you. And I don't want cheese for my packed lunch. I hate cheese. I really do.'

'Shoes and socks, Archie, and come on, Jack, or we'll be late for school.'

Jack sighs.

'Alicia has prawns in her sandwich sometimes. And she has pasta salad.'

Archie nods.

'And Tyrone has cheese dippers. Which is much better.'

'I thought you hated cheese.'

'Yes, but not dippers.'

'I'll be counting to ten soon, and the last person in the car is a squashed tomato.'

They both pretend to ignore this, but I know they'll do anything to avoid being the tomato, squashed or otherwise. Not that it involves anything special, although stickers might be good. I could do a whole set of them: I Eat Very Slowly, I'm Very Annoying in the Mornings they'd be a great alternative to the I'm a Good Helper stickers they get at school. I'd probably make a fortune.

'Shoes, Archie, come on. Four. Four and a half.'

Jack's racing for the front door now, closely followed by Archie, holding a shoe and hopping. Excellent.

I'm halfway to school when I realise I've forgotten to do the Project Knitting notes for Annabel Morgan. Bugger.

Archie's humming tunelessly, still clearly enjoying the fact that since I was the last person to reach the car I am now officially the squashed tomato.

'What are we having for tea, Mum? We could have tomato pasta.'

They both giggle.

'Very funny, Archie.'

'Or we could have sausages?'

'Maybe, if I get time to go to the butcher's.'

'Then we could have toad-in-the-holes.'

'Maybe.'

'Promise.'

'Archie, I said maybe. Let's just see, shall we?'

'No, let's just promise.'

Damn: if I try to back out of a solemn promise now he'll get agitated, and I'm not really up for another tearful march across the playground, especially given last week's Oscar-winning performance when I told him I was making chicken casserole for tea.

'All right, I promise.'

There's a round of applause from the back seat.