She kept staring at her shoes.

'I love you. Doesn't that mean anything? Twelve years together?' He dipped his head, trying to see her face. 'Suzanna?'

She lifted her face to his, her eyes steady, and not regretful enough. She shook her head. 'It's not enough, Neil.'

He looked back at her, evidently hearing the certainty in her voice and seeing something final in her expression, and dropped her hands. 'Then nothing's going to be enough for you, Suzanna.' His words were bitter, spat out in the realisation that this really was it. That she had meant what she said. 'Real life is never going to be enough. What you're after is a fairy story. And it's going to make you very unhappy.'

He got up and wrenched open the door. 'And you know what? When you realise it, don't come running to me because I've had enough. Okay? I've really had enough.'

She had hurt him enough so she didn't say it. That she would rather take that risk than live with what she already knew, had finally realised, would be a lifetime of disappointment.

Twenty-Six.

Suzanna lay on the bed she had slept in as a child, as the sounds that had echoed through her childhood resonated through the wall. She could hear her mother's dog whining, claws scrabbling on the flagstone floor downstairs, its flurry of staccato yelps proclaiming some unseen outrage. She absorbed the muffled sound of Rosemary's television, turned up as she watched the morning news. The FTSE up four points, grey with scattered showers, she noted, smiling wryly at the inability of plaster and lath to offer any resistance to the evidence of Rosemary's faded hearing. Outside, on the front drive, she could hear her father talking to one of the men, discussing some problem with a grain chute. Sounds that, until now, had only ever told her she was alien in this environment. For the first time, Suzanna was comforted by them.

She had arrived late two evenings previously, having packed her belongings while Neil was at work. Despite his words, he had hoped, she knew, that she would change her mind while he was gone. That what she said had been perhaps an unhappy side-effect of grief. But she knew. And she thought, in his heart of hearts that he probably knew too, that the grief had delayed the decision, clouded her certainty that it had to be taken.

Vivi had met her at the door, had listened without saying a word when Suzanna announced tearfully (she had thought she would leave the cottage without a second glance, had been surprised by how emotional she felt at packing her clothes) why she was there. Surprisingly Vivi hadn't pleaded with her to give it another go, or told her what a wonderful man Neil was even when Neil turned up, as she'd known he probably would, drunk and incoherent later that night. Vivi had made him coffee and let him rant, ramble and sob. She had told him, Vivi said afterwards, that she was so sorry, that not only was he welcome to stay in the cottage, but that he would be part of their family for as long as he wanted. Then she had driven him home.

'I'm sorry to have put you through that,' Suzanna had said.

'Nothing to be sorry for,' replied Vivi, and made her a cup of tea.

It was as if she had been static for years, Suzanna thought, gazing at the rosebuds on the wallpaper, noting the corner by her wardrobe where she had, as an adolescent, scribbled in pen her hatred of her parents. Now, as if unleashed by her actions, things were moving rapidly, as if time itself had decided she had too much to make up.

There was a knock at the door. 'Yup?' Suzanna pushed herself upright, and saw, with shock, that it was nearly a quarter to ten.

'Come on, lazybones. Time to shake a leg.' Lucy's blonde head peered in, a tentative smile on her face.

'Hey, you.' Suzanna sat up, rubbing her eyes. 'Sorry. Didn't know you were coming so early.'

'Early? It doesn't take long for you to revert to your old habits.' She moved forward and hugged her sister. 'You okay?'

'I feel like apologising to everyone for not being a wreck.'

That was the worst thing, how easy it had been to go. She felt guilty, of course, for having been the cause of his unhappiness, and the sadness of having to break a habit, but none of the crushing sense of loss she had anticipated. She had briefly wondered whether it meant some kind of emotional disability on her part. 'Twelve years, and so little wailing and gnashing of teeth. Do you think I'm odd?'

'Nope, just honest. It means it's the right thing,' Lucy said, pragmatically.

'I keep waiting to feel something something else, I mean.'

'Perhaps you will. But there's no point in looking for it, trying to make yourself feel something you don't.' She sat down on Suzanna's bed, and rifled through her bag. 'It was time to move on.' She held an envelope aloft. 'Talking of which, I've got your tickets here.'

'Already?'

'No time like the present. I think you should just go, Suze. We can sort out the shop. I don't think it's fair on Neil if he has to see you around everywhere. It's a small town, after all, and it's never been short on gossip.'

Suzanna took the tickets and stared at the date. 'But that's not even ten days away. When we talked, I thought you meant next month. Maybe even a couple of months.'

'So what's there to stay for?'

Suzanna bit her lip. 'How am I going to pay you back? I won't even have time to sell off the stock.'

'Ben will help. He thinks you should go too.'

'Probably glad to have me out of the house. I think he's been rather put out at having me home again.'

'Don't be ridiculous.' Lucy grinned at her sister. 'Love the thought of you backpacking,' she said. 'Hilarious. I'm almost tempted to come too. Just to witness it.'

'I wish you would. I feel quite nervous, to be honest.'

'Australia's not the end of the world.' They giggled. 'Okay, it is the end of the world. But it's not you know third world. Dig-your-own loos.'

'Have you spoken to your friend? Is she still happy to put me up for a few days?'

'Sure. She'll show you round Melbourne. Get you started. She's looking forward to meeting you.'

Suzanna tried to picture herself in foreign vistas, her life, for the first time, a blank, waiting to be populated by new people, new experiences. The kind of thing Lucy had urged her to do years ago. It felt terrifying. 'I haven't done anything on my own. Not for years. Neil organised everything.'

'Neil infantilised you.'

'That's a bit strong.'

'Yeah. It probably is. But he did let you behave a bit like a spoilt child. Don't get arsy with me for saying it,' she added quickly, 'not while we're having our sisterly bonding session.'

'Is that what this is?'

'Yup. About fifteen years later than it should have been. Come on, show me where your bags are and I'll start sorting your things for you.' Lucy unzipped the big black holdall with determined speed. 'Bloody hell!' she said. 'How many pairs of high-heeled shoes do you own, Imelda?' She zipped the bag shut again and hauled it to the other side of the room. 'You won't need any of those. Get Dad to put them in the attic. Where are your clothes?'

Suzanna pulled up her knees under the duvet and hugged them, thinking of the infinite possibilities before her. And the ones she had missed. She was trying to fight the sensation of being rushed, that she should sit still for a while and take stock. But her sister was right. She had caused enough harm to Neil already. It was the least she could do.

'Are you getting up today, you fat lodger?'

Suzanna rested her face on her knees, watching Lucy's blonde head bob up and down as her sister sorted through her clothes clothes that looked suddenly, as if they didn't belong to her. 'I told Mum there wasn't anyone else,' she said eventually.

Lucy stopped, a pair of socks balled in her hand. She put them into a pile on her left. When she looked up, her face was a careful blank. 'I can't say I'm surprised.'

'He was the first.'

'I didn't mean that. I just thought it was going to take something pretty radical to shake you out of your safety-net.'

'You think that's what it was?' Suzanna realised she felt vaguely defensive about her marriage. It had lasted a lot longer, survived a few more slings and arrows than many.

'Not just that.'

Suzanna stared at her sister. 'It wasn't just a casual fling.'

'Is it over?'

Suzanna hesitated. 'Yes,' she said eventually.

'You don't sound very sure.'

'There was a time when . . . when I thought it might be right . . . but things have changed. And, anyway, I should be by myself for a while. Sort myself out. Something Neil said made me think a bit.'

'You told Neil about him?'

'God, no. I've hurt him enough. You're the only one who knows. Do you think I'm awful? I know you liked Neil.'

'Doesn't mean I ever thought you two were right for each other.'

'Ever?'

Lucy shook her head.

Suzanna felt relieved yet a little betrayed by her sister's apparent certainty. Then again, even if Lucy had said anything, she reasoned, she would have taken no notice she had taken little heed of her family's opinions for years.

'Neil's a simple soul,' Lucy said. 'Just a nice, straightforward chap.'

'And I'm a complicated old cow.'

'He needs some nice Home Counties gel to lead a nice simple life with.'

'Like you.'

Is that really what you think? Lucy's eyes asked, and Suzanna discovered that she didn't know because she had never looked hard enough.

Lucy paused, as if judging her words carefully. 'If it makes you feel any better, Suze, one day I'll probably drop my own little bombshell on Mum and Dad. Just because my life looks simple to you it doesn't mean I am.'

It had been said light-heartedly, but Suzanna, gazing at the young woman opposite, thought of her sister's furious ambition, her determined privacy, her lack of boyfriends. And, as the germ of a notion grew, of how blind, how self-obsessed she had been.

She slid out of bed, crouched beside her and ruffled her sister's short blonde hair. 'Well,' she said, 'when you do, my prodigal sister, just make sure I'm around to enjoy it.'

She found her father by the Philmore barns. She had walked the long route, up the bridleway and past the Rowney wood, carrying the basket Vivi had made up, which she had offered to run to them in her car. It was okay, Suzanna had said, she fancied the walk. And she had walked meditatively, ignoring the fine rain, conscious of the glowing swell of autumnal colours on the land around her.

She heard it before she saw it, the grind and bump of the bulldozer, the creaking and crashing of timbers, and had to shut her eyes for a second: such sounds didn't always mean disaster. Once her breath had been restored to her, she had walked on, closer to the house. And then, coming upon the scene of activity, stood at the edge of what had once been a yard and watched as the bulldozer crashed against the rotten wood, bringing down, amid those still standing, the semi-derelict buildings that had been there for centuries, which even the most fervently antiquarian listings officer at the council had admitted were no longer worth saving.

Her father and brother were at the other side, motioning to the men in the bulldozers, her father breaking off occasionally to talk to two others, one of whom appeared to be in charge of the skips.

By the time she had arrived, two buildings were already down, their metamorphosis from shelter to sculpture almost dismayingly swift. On the ground, with the blackened timbers sticking up like a final obscene protest, she observed that for such large structures they had produced a surprisingly small amount of rubble.

Ben had seen her. He pointed to his father, a question, and she nodded, watching as he walked over to interrupt the older man's conversation. Ben and he walked in the same way, with the same stiff-legged gait, shoulders hunched forward as if permanently ready to do battle. Her father, tilting his ear towards his son, ended his conversation and, following his son's hand, gestured towards her. She stood still, not wanting to have to make polite conversation. Finally, perhaps sensing her reticence, he came across to her, dressed in a thin cotton shirt that she remembered from her youth, oblivious, as he seemingly always had been, to the elements.

'Lunch,' she said, handing over the basket. And then, as he was about to thank her, she added, 'Got a minute?' He indicated the one remaining barn, and passed Ben's sandwiches to him on the way.

They had not seen each other in the twenty-four hours she had been in the house. He had been out with the demolition team, and she had spent much of her time in her room, a good portion of it asleep. He motioned towards an old fertiliser sack, and she rested carefully against it, as he hauled one over for himself.

There was an expectant pause. She didn't bring up the circumstances of her birth, or her leaving Neil, although she knew Vivi would have discussed both with him. As far as Suzanna knew, Vivi had never kept a secret from her father.

'Looks strange, without the middle barns.'

He glanced up to the holes in the roof. 'I suppose it does.'

'When do you start work on the new houses?'

'It'll be a while. We'll have to level the ground first, put in new drainage, that sort of thing. Those still standing will have to have most of the timber replaced.' He offered her a sandwich, and she shook her head. 'It's a shame,' he said. 'We'd originally thought we could convert the lot. But there are times when you have to accept that you're just going to have to start from scratch.'

They sat side by side, her father breaking off from his sandwich to drink from a flask of tea. She found herself staring at his hands. She remembered Neil telling her that when his own father had died, he had realised, with shock, that he would never see his hands again. So familiar, so mundane, yet so shockingly gone.

She glanced down at her own. She didn't need to see a picture to know that they were her mother's.

She placed them between her knees, and looked out to where the men had stopped for lunch. Then, finally, she turned to her father. 'I wanted to ask you something.' Her palms pressed against each other, her skin surprisingly cool. 'I wanted to ask if you'd mind if I took a little of my share of the estate money now.'

She saw from the way he looked at her that he hadn't known what was coming. That what he had perhaps expected was somehow worse. His eyes were both questioning and relieved, checking that this was what she wanted. She understood that, in asking, she had told him what she now found acceptable.

'You need it now?'

She nodded. 'Ben will do good things with the estate. It . . . it's in his blood.'

There was a brief silence as the words descended between them. Wordlessly, he took a chequebook from his back pocket, and scribbled a figure, then handed it to her.

Suzanna stared at the cheque. 'That's too much.'

'It's your right.' He paused. 'It's what we spent putting Lucy and Ben through university.'

He had finished his sandwich. He screwed up the greaseproof paper it had been wrapped in, and put it back into the basket.

'You might as well know,' she said, 'that I'm going to go abroad with it. Spread my wings.'

She was conscious of his silence, of the silences with which he had spoken to her all her life. 'Lucy's got me a ticket. I'm going to Australia. I'll be staying with a friend of hers for a while, just till I find my feet.'

Her father shifted position.

'I haven't done much with my life, Dad.'

'You're just like her,' he said.

She felt herself boil up. 'I'm not a bolter, Dad. I'm just trying to do what's right for everyone.'

He shook his head, and she realised that the look on his face had not been of condemnation. 'I didn't mean that,' he said, slowly. 'You . . . need to strike out. Find your own way of doing things.' He nodded, as if reassuring himself. 'You sure that money will be enough?'