When Saffron stepped into her first AA meeting, she knew she didn't have a choice. Her meagre earnings from various advertisements were all being spent on alcohol, and she was beginning to lose jobs. She was becoming known for being unreliable, turning up hungover or, worse, drunk.

At first, she would just drink at night. Like everybody else, she told herself. She was young, in her twenties, and that's what they did at night. When she hit thirty, she tried telling herself the same thing, while the drinking progressed and her career stopped rising to the heights that all the press had predicted.

By her early thirties, she stopped being the next big thing, started being a has-been. It was her agent who brought her into AA, and she was sober from her very first meeting, knowing there wasn't another choice.

Ninety in ninety. Ninety meetings in ninety days. For the first time since arriving in America, she felt she had a home, had a fellowship of people who truly understood her, who listened without judgement, supported her with what felt like, extraordinarily enough, unconditional love.

She vowed, back then, never to drink again. She did exactly what she was told to do: don't drink; get a sponsor; work the steps. She thought she was fine. Recovered? Perhaps. Others described themselves as recovering alcoholics, a process that never stopped. They talked, Saffron included, of having a progressive disease, one that didn't go away or get better, one that would inevitably lead to death if they gave in to it. alcoholics, a process that never stopped. They talked, Saffron included, of having a progressive disease, one that didn't go away or get better, one that would inevitably lead to death if they gave in to it.

'I'm Saffron and I'm a grateful recovering alcoholic,' she got used to saying. Yet at some time over the last few months, she stopped thinking of herself as recovering and started thinking of herself as recovered. Which is when the problems started.

And now, just like those days of old, Saffron finds herself wishing the evening was over so she could drink in peace. Wishing she could escape to run down to that lovely cosy pub and settle in a corner, drinking herself into oblivion.

She misses Pearce. Misses him so very much. She misses her life the simplicity of it all. And as lovely as it should be, here in the country with the friends who have known her for ever, she'd rather be somewhere else.

She'd rather be drinking.

They get to bed by midnight. Saffron kisses everyone goodnight, distracted as she plans her return to the kitchen for a drink. She goes upstairs and listens to the sounds of the house, waiting for absolute quiet, waiting until she can sneak downstairs in secrecy and drink the bottle of wine she surreptitiously hid behind the cleaning stuff under the kitchen sink.

Every time she hears a footstep, a door creak, a toilet flushing, she wants to scream with irritation, cast a spell to send everyone into a dreamless sleep.

Eventually, at one o'clock, she is certain the house is quiet. She pads out and downstairs to the kitchen, opening the cupboard door under the kitchen sink, reaching towards the back.

'Fuck!' she hisses as a bottle of bleach falls over, the crash shockingly loud in the stillness.

'What are you doing?' Saffron jumps as Olivia stands in the doorway, rubbing the back of her neck with a cold, wet flannel.

'I'm...' Saffron, so good at excuses, has nothing to say, nothing to explain why she is rooting around under the sink at one o'clock in the morning. She shuts the cupboard door quickly, but Olivia moves her out of the way and sinks down herself, reaching behind the bleach and Fairy Liquid to pull the wine bottle out.

She shakes her head, disappointed, resigned, and uncorks the bottle, both of them watching in silence as the wine glugs its way slowly down the plughole.

'Why?' Olivia turns to look at Saffron, who is torn between wanting to either slap Olivia or burst into tears.

'Why do you think?' she snaps, anger getting the better of her. 'Because I needed a drink, for God's sake. I'm an alcoholic, aren't I? Isn't that what we do?' She snorts derisively. 'Why? What a stupid bloody question. Why not not?'

'Saffron!' Olivia is shocked, upset, her voice rising. 'I'm trying to help you. We're all trying to help you. Do you think any of us would be here if it weren't for you? We've all bent over backwards trying to make you better, keeping the press away from you, keeping you away from alcohol. How are we supposed to help you if you're not willing to help yourself?'

'But don't you see?' Saffron hisses. 'I'm not willing to help myself. That's exactly the problem. I wish I was.

I'm praying for the willingness to help myself, but it isn't there. All I want to do is drink.'

'Sssh!' Olivia is suddenly distracted. 'What's that?'

'What?'

'Listen. That... Oh my God, is that groaning?'

Saffron stops in her tracks and both of them move towards the door, listening to the unmistakable sound of a couple making love.

'Is that Paul and Anna?' Olivia is confused, the sound coming from somewhere else.

Saffron starts to laugh and, for a minute, her urge to drink recedes. 'No!' she whispers. 'It's Holly and Will.'

'No!' Olivia starts to smile.

'I know.' Saffron rolls her eyes. 'Could you believe the electricity between them over dinner?'

'Wow. Do you think she's sleeping with him? Already?'

'Oh God, I can't listen.' Saffron covers her ears as they hear a soft moan, a louder, distinctly male, groan.

Olivia giggles. 'I feel like I'm back at university. Jesus. I haven't listened to noises like that in years.'

Saffron nods. 'Come on. Let's go back in the kitchen. I feel like a voyeur.'

They walk back and Saffron sits down at the table, sinking her head on her arms as Olivia fills the kettle then turns to look at her. 'I don't suppose a cup of tea is enough to stop you wanting to drink?'

'Hardly. But it's better than nothing. Oh God, Olive,' Saffron looks up at Olivia pleadingly, 'what am I going to do?'

'Oh darling.' Olivia reaches down and puts her arms around her, hugging her tight. 'We'll help you. Just don't drink. Not today.'

'I know,' Saffron whispers. 'Just for today. A day at a time.'

'Anyway,' Olivia says, smiling, 'the pubs are all closed and that wine was the last of the bottles we bought. You couldn't drink right now even if you wanted to.'

And I want to, Saffron thinks. Still. I want to.

Holly lies snuggled up against Will, his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders as he lies on his back, snoring gently.

She turns her head to look at him, wanting to trace his profile with her fingers, but she doesn't, too scared she'll wake him. What she wants to do is exactly what she's doing right now drinking him in, watching him breathing, marvelling at the feeling of wanting to snuggle up with someone, wanting to stroke her fingers over his chest, rest her fist gently in his clavicle, cover his shoulders with kisses.

She knew, from the second he kissed her, that something more would happen. She had wanted to have sex, wanted to make love, but she found that she couldn't go further than foreplay, couldn't allow penetration, even though it seemed to be the one thing she wanted more than anything else.

It was a bridge she wasn't prepared to cross, not yet. But oh how lovely the rest of it was. How lovely kissing was.

With Marcus, she always tried very hard not to kiss him, would close her eyes as he was thrusting into her, and lose herself in a fantasy, knowing that should she open her eyes and see Marcus's face looming above her, any pleasure there was would disappear in a flash.

She and Will may not have had sex, but she made him come, came herself oh how she came... And after she came, Will lay there and cuddled her, and he talked. And talked. And talked.

She was stunned. Was so used to that perfunctory kiss, rolling over to her side of the bed for a Marcus-free dream, she had forgotten that people did this, that they cuddled up and talked softly.

This is intimacy. This is what she has missed.

Perhaps tomorrow they will be able to make love, she thinks. Perhaps tomorrow she will not feel guilty. Perhaps tomorrow she will trust him enough, trust herself enough. For tonight this is all she needs. She plans on getting out of bed in a minute, going back to her own room; but before she knows it, she has fallen into a peaceful sleep.

At five in the morning, Holly wakes up. She swims into consciousness, aware that she is squeezed up against Will in the middle of the bed. She can feel his body the length of hers, and she lies for a minute trying to get used to the sensation.

She and Marcus never touched in their sleep. How odd, then, that unconsciously she would allow Will to get so close. Holly slips out of bed and pads down the hallway to her own room, grateful that the children haven't woken, haven't found her with Will how stupid, she shakes her head. Not worth the risk, even though it was an accident, even though she never meant to fall asleep in his arms.

Holly lies in bed replaying every second of the night before. From that first kiss to the stolen hand-holding under the table, to lying naked with this man she has desired more than she has ever desired anyone.

She lies in bed smiling, and when Daisy wakes up and climbs into bed with her 'for a snuggle', she strokes Daisy's face and gazes into her eyes with love. How lucky I am, she thinks, to have my children, to have all these people I love right here with me. And lying in her bed, with Daisy's arms wrapped around her neck, Holly feels, for the first time in years, entirely and unreservedly happy.

Chapter Twenty-six.

'I'm exhausted,' Olivia announces over breakfast. 'We've all been working like dogs, and I haven't seen anything of the area. Would it be awful if we took the afternoon off?'

'I think that is a great idea,' Anna says. 'God knows you all deserve it. I am going to stay, I think. We are so close to finishing those bloody floors. I will help Paul, but you could go into Gloucester, do some shopping. And Holly, if you want to leave those yummy children with me, I would love to babysit.'

'You would?' Holly's face lights up. 'That would be amazing!'

'So you'll come?' Olivia turns to her. 'And Saff? Will?' They all nod.

'I wouldn't mind seeing what the shops are like.' Saffron gets up and pours herself some more coffee. 'I feel a bit of a spending spree coming on.'

'You won't find many designer labels in Gloucester.' Paul laughs.

'She doesn't need any with me here.' Anna pouts. 'Seriously, Saff, if ever you need anything you know you just have to ask me.'

'I do know that, and thank you, darling. I will. I just want to get presents for friends back home.'

'Home as in LA?' Holly asks.

Saffron nods.

'Friends as in Pearce?' she asks again. Saffron shrugs.

'I would like to get something for Pearce. Not that I even know if I'll see him any more.'

'Have you been in touch?' Olivia says gently.

'He's been texting me, but it's obviously not the same as talking to him every day.'

'What is he like?' Anna ventures curiously, the question all of them have been dying to ask but none of them wanting to bring him up. None of them wanting to appear too uncool, too impressed, too keen.

So Saffron tells them. She tells them first about most of the actors in Hollywood. She tells them of people who have struggled from humble beginnings, who have then made it big, have not known how to deal with the sudden fame and fortune.

She tells them of young starlets, featured in every gossip magazine, every week, who get swept up in the Hollywood party life of drink, drugs and sex with a small coterie of wealthy playboys who seem to shuffle the women among them. She talks of how these same starlets are desperate to stay famous, yet none seem to know how to treat people nicely, to be kind, gracious, warm. None of them seem to remember that if you are not nice to people on the way up, these same people will not treat you well on the way down, for there is always a way down.

She tells them of huge Hollywood names leading secret double lives. Some involving substance abuse; most involving affairs with partners of the same sex, signing secret contracts with naive young actors and actresses to date them, and sometimes marry them, while carrying on the front for years as they sleep their way through the grips and handlers on the sets of their movies.

She tells them of how lost she felt when she first got there. That she thought she was a good judge of people, knew how people worked, trusted that when someone said something was black, it was black.

But she learnt that in Los Angeles nothing and no one is quite what they seem. She learnt that she would be called back to audition again and again, promised a part, told she was the perfect fit, that they had wanted her and only her, were thrilled she would be in the movie, only to open Variety Variety a few days later and find Drew Barrymore had the part. No one ever bothered to tell her; they had clearly been lying through their teeth, which came as naturally to them as waking up in the morning. a few days later and find Drew Barrymore had the part. No one ever bothered to tell her; they had clearly been lying through their teeth, which came as naturally to them as waking up in the morning.

She learnt never to get excited about a movie until the contracts arrived at her agent's office and were signed. She learnt not to trust anyone, not the actress friends she thought she had, who would have dropped her friendship in a second for a part, and not the good-looking producers and directors, who subtly oh so subtly offered to make her huge if she would just do something for them them.

She tells them that integrity is something she has found to be in short supply and that when she went to that first AA meeting, it wasn't just that it stopped her from drinking, saved her life, it was that for the first time in LA she found real real people. People who may have been in the same business as she was, but were living honestly, had the humility to know they were no better nor worse than anyone else they met, were able to say what they meant and to do so lovingly and kindly. people. People who may have been in the same business as she was, but were living honestly, had the humility to know they were no better nor worse than anyone else they met, were able to say what they meant and to do so lovingly and kindly.

Not everyone, she says. AA meetings are filled with wannabe actors and actresses who have heard that this is the place to get work, the place to make contacts, to see and be seen. But you quickly learn who is real and who is not; and the wannabes, the fake alcoholics, are quietly left alone by the members who need this programme.

She tells them about Pearce. About how honest he is in the meetings and how brave she thinks he is when everyone knows him, anyone could go to the press.

'But it's Alcoholics Anonymous Anonymous,' Anna says. 'Who would go to the press?'

'It happens,' Saffron says. 'There are breaches all the time.'

She tells them that one of the traditions is not to gossip, and yet she has lost count of the times she has overheard members gossiping about others, even gossiping about Pearce.

She tells them that he is a kind man, that he genuinely thinks of others, treats others as he himself wants to be treated. The money he makes the millions from his movies he describes as a blessing. He gives a huge proportion away each year to charities he supports, but quietly, often anonymously.

She describes him as funny. Gentle. Sweet. She says he is the wisest man she has ever known, with a sensitivity and perceptiveness that is almost female, and yet he is also the most male man she has ever known.

She says that, above all else, she considers him her best friend. That whatever he is doing or wherever he may be in the world, he has always been there for her when she needs him.

And finally there is his marriage. A business arrangement, Saffron explains. He has too much to lose if he leaves. They have been waiting for the right time.

'Wouldn't now be the right time?' Paul ventures.

'One would think so, right?' Saffron snorts to hide her fear. Because, of course, that is exactly what she thinks and has always thought, what a secret part of her has often fantasized about: if their relationship were to come out in the press, what reason could there possibly be for him to stay?

'Who wants to play Monopoly?' Anna pulls Daisy's hat off as they all stomp inside after their nature walk, Oliver swinging a plastic bag half full with feathers, stones and pebbles they found down by the creek.

'So much for you helping me,' Paul says, coming into the kitchen and smiling as he watches Anna crouch down to help Daisy off with her coat. So lovely to see her with children, so clear that she is one of those women whose maternal instinct is just so entirely natural. What a horrible irony it is that she is not able to have her own children.

Paul doesn't realize that it is easier to be the perfect mother with children who are not your own. That children you have temporarily do not push your buttons in the way your own children do. That when those children aren't actually yours, you are not exhausted or stressed or distracted when you are with them.

Holly is a good mother, but she rarely does what Anna is doing with the children this afternoon. She rarely gets down on her hands and knees and plays with them. That is Frauke's job, she tries to tell herself. Surely. She is around for her children all the time, but rarely this past year, struggling with the depths of her unhappiness, has she been truly present.

Everyone agrees that Holly is a wonderful mother, but Holly carries around a burden of guilt because this past year she has not been the mother she could be nor the mother she once was.

In withdrawing from life, and from her marriage, she has also, she realizes now, withdrawn from her children at a time when they needed her most. She has realized this since being here. She is already feeling lighter, happier, having nothing to worry about other than the mindless jobs of painting or sanding or tiling, her children delighted to be working away with her, by her side.

And lucky Daisy and Oliver have Anna today, who is present in every way. Who has decided she has nothing else to do except play with Daisy and Oliver. If Daisy wants to make beds out of twigs she has found, Anna will help her. If Oliver wants to crack open a geode he thinks he has found, she will help him. She will not run up to her computer to check her emails every few minutes. Nor will she shush them while she's on the phone. She will not stick them in front of the television while she makes supper, to get some peace and quiet, nor will she shout at them to stop fighting.

Because they don't fight. They have a grown-up's undivided attention. Why on earth would they fight?

Holly and Will, Olivia and Saffron are standing at the edge of the pedestrian section in town, cobbled streets beckoning invitingly. Will needs to find new headphones for his iPod, and Saffron wants to look at the touristy shops on the other side.

'Let's split up,' Saffron suggests, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. 'Holly, why don't you go with Will, and Olivia can come with me?'

'Great!' Will says. 'Let's meet back here in an hour.'