'Tea, please.'

'What's happened?'

'Nothing.'

'Okay.'

'I'm bored, that's all. I know I shouldn't be, but I am. I wanted the big wedding, I pretended I didn't, but I did, and now I'm bored. It's all so fucking boring. He's not right for me he's always off with his bloody mates. It's like nothing has changed.'

There's something else, I know there is. But she'll tell me when she's ready.

'It can't be that bad.'

'It is. God knows why I married him; I'm hopeless. What was I thinking?'

'Ellen, you're the opposite of hopeless.'

'And I'm really sorry I haven't been around much lately, over the fire, and everything.'

There's definitely something else going on here.

'I don't know what you mean.'

'I was good over Nick, though, wasn't I?'

'You were brilliant.'

'And that time you thought Jack had something hideous and we took him to the hospital at midnight and it turned out to be chickenpox I was good then, wasn't I? So two out of three isn't bad.'

'What do you mean, two out of three?'

'I haven't been there for you, about the baby, or the fire, not really. I'm too selfish. That's the problem.'

'Ellen, stop it. Tell me what's really bothering you.'

'I was jealous.'

'Jealous of a fire?'

'Things are always happening to you. Nothing happens to me. God, I'm so fucked, what am I going to do? It's not his fault, you know. He loves me, in his own low-maintenance kind of way. And if you say something crap like happiness comes from within I'll hit you.'

'Fair enough.'

'So?'

'Happiness comes from within.'

'Thanks, that's great.'

'It's down to you to make it happy; that's what you said to me, when Nick died.'

'Well, it was crap.'

'No, it wasn't.'

'Remember when we moved down here and you said how much you envied me, having a new start?'

'Yes.'

'Well, if that's what you want, chuck in the job and do something else. It's got to be worth a try.'

'I like the job. It's my life I don't like. I miss having a new man on the horizon, all the flirting and wondering what he'll look like with his clothes off. Same old same old.'

'Are we talking about Harry now?'

'Yes.'

'Ellen, you love him, you know you do.'

'Yes, but that's part of the problem. Christ, what are we going to do?'

'Muddle on, like we always do?'

'With our knitting?'

'Yes.'

'Great. No news from Daniel, I suppose?'

'No.'

'Wanker.'

'What else is the matter, Ellen?'

'Nothing. Just my life. You're definitely opening this cafe then? You don't want to run away with me and live in a vineyard in France or something? Set up a farm? We could have sheep and you could spin the wool. Keep the knitting thing going.'

'No, thanks. Sheep are very stupid, you know.'

'So are most of the people who work in television, darling, you know that. And your ice-cream parlour will probably have one or two dull moments.'

'I know. But I'll be able to have a cornet to cheer myself up.'

'God I need a drink.'

'Have one then. There's some of that vodka you left in the cupboard, I think.'

'No, you're all right.'

I think I may have just guessed what's put her into such a tailspin.

'Ellen, you're not pregnant, are you?'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'Oh my God, that's brilliant. Why didn't you say?'

'Because I'm bolting, that's why. It's all too real for me, and I'm terrified.' She starts to cry.

'Sweetheart, it'll be fine.'

'It might not be.'

'Then I'll be there and we'll get through it somehow, just like we get through everything else.'

'Promise?'

'I promise.'

She puts her cup down.

'Don't you ever feel trapped?'

'No, not trapped. Panicked sometimes. Actually, quite a lot of the time.'

'Panicked about what?'

'Money, keeping the kids safe, stuff like that. But nothing that makes me feel trapped.'

'That's because you're happy.'

'I suppose I am, yes.'

'So you think I should go back to Harry and muddle through?'

'When did I say that? No, I think you should be honest, and if it's not what you want then don't waste your time, or his. Life's too short.'

'How will I know?'

'I've got no idea.'

'Thanks, that's brilliant. We should get you a bloody column.'

'I didn't say I've got all the answers.'

'But you can help me knit a jumper while I'm trying to work it out for myself?'

'Something like that.'

'It's a start.'

'It's a bloody good start.'

'Pass the fairy cakes.'

'They're for the Harvest Festival.'

'Sorry?'

'At school, tomorrow. Come, if you like. Actually, please come it would really piss Annabel Morgan off if I swan in with Britain's Favourite Broadcaster.'

'Sure. I'll probably still be bolting then anyway.'

'Does Harry know where you are?'

'No.'

'Ring him.'

'No.'

'Ellen, ring him. He'll be worried. Or I'll ring him.'

'Christ, you're bossy.'

'Ring Harry, and I'll put the kettle on.'

I'm lying in bed listening to the sound of the waves; it's stormy tonight and my back is throbbing. Nothing serious, just niggling throbbing. God, I'm so looking forward to being able to knock back a couple of Panadol again, without worrying that the baby will have six legs due to a drug-abusing mother. Actually, even half an aspirin would be a treat. The midwife at the clinic said my blood pressure was up a bit this week so I've got to try to relax. Although it's easier said than bloody done. Right. Back to inventing new ice-cream flavours. So far I'm thinking bread-and-butter-pudding ice cream would be good, and I've got high hopes for chocolate and walnut.

'Mum.'

Jesus.

'Yes, Archie.'

'I'm starving hungry.'

'No, you're not.'

'And I need a drink.'

'Archie, please, it's sleep time. Go back to bed, and be quiet Aunty Ellen's here tonight.'

'Okay, but it's not fair, Mum. I'm really hungry.'

'Stop fussing, Archie.'

'Is Archie sleeping in your bed, Mum?'