Sitting on the underground on his way up to North London, Matthew looked at the other people in the carriage. It was early evening, just after work, so the train was full, not just with tired men holding computer cases and newspapers, but tired women with computer cases too and handbags and supermarket shopping bags. Some of the women were young, and reminded Matthew of Ruth, young women with considered haircuts and business suits and the air, which none of the men had, of having thought a" or possibly had to think a" about much more all day than simply the things at work they had to react to. They made him remember, unhappily, the way Ruth had kept all the strands of their life together, persistently rounding up stray aspects in a manner that, particularly when they were first together, made him marvel.

Blaise, at the desk behind him at work, said that personally he had marvelled himself to a standstill about modern women.

aTheyare too much for me,a head said by way of commiseration over Matthewas break-up. aGirls now, I mean. Now-girlsa.

He was giving up girls for a while, he said, and concentrating on getting his pilotas licence. He said if Matthew wanted flying lessons too he was sure he could arrange it. Flying made you feel in charge of things and, at the same time, free of demands, and people, and the business of never quite living up to othersa expectations.

aIam not even living up to my own expectations at the moment,a Matthew said.

Blaise didnat take his eyes off the screen in front of him.

aLower them, then,a he said.

Matthew got out of his seat now, on the underground, and gestured towards it at a pale woman, carrying a huge professional camera case and an enormous lever-arch file clasped against her chest.

She hardly glanced at him.

aThank youa"a An elderly black woman beside her, in a felt hat and horn-rimmed spectacles, turned to look at her.

aI shouldnat think he heard thata.

The pale woman, balancing case and file with difficulty on her lap, said nothing.

Thereas not many young men with the manners nowa"a aItas all right,a Matthew said. aItas OKa.

aSo why discourage the few decent ones weave got?a An ugly colour began to spread patchily up the pale womanas neck.

Matthew bent down.

aShe did say thank you. I heard hera.

The black woman regarded him impassively. aShe should have looked at you. She should have smiled. Why shouldnat you be as tired as she is?a aIam nota"a aSome woman,a the black woman said loudly, ais a lucky woman to have you. Some woman is lucky to have such a gentlemana.

Matthew looked away. His neck felt as miserably inflamed as the pale womanas looked. A fat man strap-hanging a foot away caught his eye and winked. Matthew made a face and briefly closed his eyes.

The train pulled into Moorgate Station and stopped. The black woman, crucifix swinging at her neck as she moved, rose to her feet and made for the door.

As she passed Matthew, she said distinctly, aYou tell that lady of yours sheas a lucky womana.

There was faint tittering round him and sweat was sliding in an unmistakable trickle down between his shoulder blades. He looked at the pale woman for a glance, at least, of commiseration, but she was staring rigidly at the floor.

Edie had said to meet her after rehearsals. She had described where to find her, saying he would recognise the rehearsal hall in Clerkenwell because it had a yellow poster outside advertising Pilates in Pregnancy classes. Shead said that they could go for a drink together, possibly even have supper. Shead sounded so pleased to hear him, so relieved and gratified that head rung, that he wondered what had happened to propel him into her personal spotlight. It was the place, after all, usually occupied by Ben, who took it, as he seemed to take most things, entirely for granted. It was also the place, Matthew realised, that he had scarcely spared a thought for, over the last couple of years, because he hadnat needed to. He rather wished he didnat need to now.

The rehearsal hall was, Edie said, about ten minutes from the underground station, and he should aim for the spire of St Jamesas Church. Matthew thought, gazing skywards from the Farringdon Road, that that was exactly the kind of directions his mother had always given, instructing you to look out for a memorable, preferably romantic landmark that was not actually visible until you were standing almost beside it because she hadnat taken the surroundings into consideration. When they were small, Matthew remembered, Edie would often point out of the window and ask them what they could see and they would say, tepidly, oh the grass and the shed and the back of the house where the Great Dane lived and she would say no, no, no, beyond that, through that a" couldnat they see oceans and castles and deserts with camels? Edie would have no trouble, Matthew thought, standing in the Farringdon Road and seeing St Jamesas, Clerkenwell, far away to the north beyond the Clerkenwell Road. And perhaps, by the same token, Edie would have no trouble in seeing through the miserable thickets Matthew had got himself tangled up in, and out beyond to something altogether brighter and more hopeful. Something that would stop him feeling he had spent the last two years circling round in a huge wild loop that had merely ended in a rather lesser place than he had been in before he started.

She was waiting for him outside the hall, leaning against the Pilates poster with her arms folded, and her sunglasses on.

He bent to kiss her cheek.

aAm I late?a Edie put both arms round his neck and pulled him down towards her.

aNo. We finished early. We did a lot of the joy of living today and it wore everyone out, being joyfula.

Matthew said, his face against his motheras, aI didnat think Ibsen was joyfula.

aNorway wasnat. Norway was dire, in Ibsenas day. Work was a curse and a punishment for sina.

aJollya"a Edie let Matthew go. She looked up at him. aYou donat look good at alla.

aNoa.

aMatt?a she said. aMatthew?a She took his hand. aWhatas happened?a He glanced down the street. aLetas find a puba. aAre you ill?a aNo,a he said, anothing like thata. He moved back towards the pavement, pulling her. aIall tell you,a he said, feeling the loosening sensation of relief flowing into his chest, into his head. aIall tell you everythinga.

Russell went to the preview of a new American play at the Royal Court Theatre, left at the interval and made his way home on a number 19 bus. He had asked Edie to come to the theatre with him, but she had a late rehearsal, she said, and some other commitment that she was vague about but not particularly mysterious, and certainly not mysterious in a way that might cause Russell disquiet. There had been disquieting moments in the past, to be sure, moments when Edie seemed suddenly over-alert about an actor she was playing opposite or, once at least, a father on the parent-teacher association panel at one of the childrenas schools, panels that Edie made vociferous and energetic contributions to. And, if he was honest, Russell had had lunches, and some afternoons, and even a weekend once, when he had been reminded of how powerfully attractive a new personality, a new face and body, can be to even the most faithful of eyes. It wasnat anxiety about what Edie might be doing that propelled Russell on to his bus before the second half of the play, but more a resurgence of the feeling that was becoming very familiar to him now, a feeling of just wanting Edie to be there, to be with him, to give another, a vivid, dimension to what he was seeing and hearing. He supposed, if he was honest, that it was years since he had actively missed Edie when she wasnat with him. Well, if that was the case, he was certainly making up for it now. He looked out of the bus window at the thronged mid-evening pavements and wondered how he would arrange himself, in his mind and in his feelings, when he reached home and found that Edie wasnat there.

But she was. She was sitting at the kitchen table reading the evening paper with her glasses on and a mug of tea. Beside the paper on the table, where he was not allowed, Arsie was posed like a cat on an Egyptian frieze, elongated and very, very still.

aBad play?a Edie said, taking her glasses off.

aWordy,a Russell said. He bent to kiss her. aWordy without grasping the subject. You indulge that cata.

Edie looked at Arsie. He didnat trouble to look back.

aI knowa.

aGood rehearsal?a aNot bad. Lazloas very good at super-sensitive but he isnat making him bright enough yet. If he makes Osvald all quivering introspection, itall turn the audience offa.

Russell went over to the fridge and opened the door.

aWhat about supper?a aIave had it,a Edie said, abut thereas plenty of hama. Russell bent to look into the fridge. He said nonchalantly from inside it, aSupper with anyone?a aYes,a Edie said, aMatthewa. There was a silence.

aMatthew,a Russell said, without straightening.

aYesa.

Russell stood up, holding a plate of ham.

aWhy didnat you have supper here?a aIt sort of didnat arise,a Edie said. She folded the paper. aWe went for a drink and then we had a plate of pasta. I am beginning to think I never want to see pasta againa.

Russell put the ham on the table and went across the kitchen to the breadbin.

aHow was he?a aRussell,a Edie said, sitting up straight, ait was awful. Heas in a terrible statea. Russell turned round.

aMatthew?a aYesa.

aHas he lost his job?a aHeas lost Rutha.

Russell came back to the table and sat down. aHas she thrown him out?a aNo. Itas sadder really. Heas left her because she wants to buy a flat and he thinks she should and sheas chosen this rather glamorous one, near Tate Modern, and he canat afford it and he hasnat been able to afford their lifestyle anyway, for ages, it turns out, and he doesnat want to hold her back, so heas gonea.

Russell stared at the ham.

He said, aMatt has left Ruth because he canat afford to buy the flat she wants?a aBasically, yesa. He raised his eyes. aEdie, whatas the matter with them?a aWith Matt and Ruth?a aYes. No. With all of them. With all these children and all theyare earning and still canat managea.

aIt isnat them,a Edie said, aitas now. Itas how things are. We got married young because people did and we didnat have any money or furniture because people didnat, but now they do, and itas differenta.

Russell sighed.

aDoes he still love her?a aI think soa.

aAnd does she love him?a aWell, she texts him most days saying so, apparentlya. aI donat get ita.

aIt doesnat matter whether you do or not,a Edie said. aItas how it isa.

Russell folded his arms on the table and leaned on them.

aHe looked launched to mea.

aI expect he looked launched to himselfa.

Russell said, aPoor old boy. Poor Matt. So itas back to bachelor flats and sharing and squalor and nosing around clubs for womena.

aCertainly not,a Edie said.

Russell raised his head and looked at her.

aOh Ediea"a aI canat watch him floundera"a aHeas twenty-eighta.

aThatas got nothing to do with anything. Heas in trouble and miserable and lost and I canat bear to see it and Iave told him he can come homea.

Russell sat back in his chair and crossed his arms on his chest.

He said to the ceiling, aI thought only the royal family continued to live with their parents when adult. Oh, and Italiansa.

aHis room is there,a Edie said, aand empty. Heall give us renta.

aThatas not the point, reallya. aI know. You told Rosaa.

Russell shut his eyes.

aYou told Rosa,a Edie said, athat she couldnat come home because you wanted my undivided attentiona. aI didnat quitea"a aWell, that may be what you want, but it isnat what I want. I want my children to know they are wanted and supporteda.

aIt isnat good for them,a Russell said. aIt isnat good for them or for us. Remember the fox in Le Petit Prince?a aWhat fox?a aThe fox who said, aYou become responsible for ever, for what you have tamed.aa Edie brought her fist down on the table.

aIam not taming them. Iam helping them. Itas a rubbish old myth, this idea that you undermine someone by helping them, that itas good for people to strugglea"a aIt isa.

Edie stood up.

aGod,a she said, aitas like pushing a bloody elephant upstairsa.

aYou donat want to let goa"a She began to move towards the door.

She said furiously, aYou canat let go of being a parent. Not ever. Itas the one relationship youare stuck with, besides yourselfa.

aWhere are you going?a Edie turned in the doorway.

aTo Matthewas room,a she said. aTo see what he needs. Heas coming on Saturdaya.

The weather in Cairns, Eliot told his mother, was bloody great. Twenty-five degrees and not a cloud and Ro was going to be a Buddhist. aA Buddhist?a aYeah,a Eliot said. aThereas a temple here. Sheas going to meditation classesa.

aWell,a Vivien said, agood for her. Are you going too?a aNah,a Eliot said, aIam helping a mate service his powerboata.

aYou sound so Australian, darlinga.

aYeah. Wella.

Vivien said, aIam having dinner with Dad on Saturday. Againa.

aYeaha.

aDo you know why heas asked me a second time?a There was a pause and then Eliot said, aWhy shouldnat he?a aWell, weare separateda"a aSo?a aIf youare separated, itas usually because you donat want to see each othera.

aDonat you want to see Dad?a aYes, darling, I do, buta"a aThatas fine, then,a Eliot said. Vivien gripped the telephone.

aI donat want to ask you anything unfair, darling, but -but do you know if Dad has a girlfriend just now?a There was another pause and then Eliot said, aIave no ideaa.

aSo he hasnat said anything to you? Named any names?a aWe donat talk about that,a Eliot said. aWe talk about footiea.

aOf coursea"a aMa,a Eliot said, aI have to go. Iam meeting someonea. Vivien looked at her watch.

aHow nice. Are you having supper with someone?a aA few beers,a Eliot said, atill Ro finishes her classa. aLovely to hear you, darling. Give my love to Roa. aCheers,a Eliot said. aTake carea.

Vivien put the telephone down. While talking to Eliot she had drawn a huge pair of parted Roy Lichtenstein lips, with teeth just glimpsed, and a high shine. It was the biggest mouth shead drawn for ages, taking up half a page. She wondered briefly if it meant anything, and if so, what. Possibly something a bit excitable, louche even, the same sort of thing that had propelled her into buying some suede sandals, on impulse, in a colour the girl in the shop described as watermelon. They were rather high, higher than Vivien was used to, and would need a little practice. Before Saturday. Vivien put out a hand and tore the drawing of the big lips hastily off the pad.

Rosa had left a note propped up against the kettle that morning. She had also remembered to put the box of Grapenuts back in the cupboard. The note said she was meeting a friend for a drink after work and she wasnat sure when shead be back so not to bother about supper. Then shead drawn a small sunflower with a smile and added, aHope you hadnat planned anything?a Well, Vivien had, of course, because she couldnat help planning. It was one of the elements that Max always wanted to loosen up in her, this propensity to live life in detail before she actually got to it. There were two tuna steaks in the fridge, and some borlotti beans soaking, and a bag of salad leaves. Well, they could all probably wait another day, and if they didnat, she could freeze the tuna and cook up the beans and a" oh, stop this, Vivien said to herself, stop this and focus on the fact that you had a lovely time last Saturday having dinner with Max and that he plainly did too because heas asked you again.

She went out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the landing. Rosaas bedroom door was shut. Do not open it, Vivien told herself, just do not because a) it is her room for the moment and b) you wonat like what you see if you do. She walked on down the landing and into her own bedroom, decorated entirely in white during a moment of feeling I-am-a-strong-woman in the aftermath of Maxas departure, a feeling that hadnat lasted. The pink suede sandals were sitting neatly at the end of the bed. Vivien sat down beside them, kicked off her shoes, and bent to buckle them on.

Beside her bed, next to a china tray of all her manicure things, the telephone began to ring.

aAre you hoovering?a Edie asked.

aNoa.

aIn white cotton gloves?a aNaked, actually,a Vivien said. She lay back on the bed, the telephone to her ear, and thrust one leg upwards to admire her pink sandal.

aYou sound happya"a aIave just spoken to Eliota. aNot that kind of happy,a Edie said. aWho is he?a Vivien hesitated a moment, turning her foot this way and that. Then she said, aMaxa. aNo change there thena. aWe had a really good time on Saturdaya"a aDid he kiss you?a aEdie!a aDid he?a aNo,a Vivien said. aI havenat been kissed for yearsa. aNor have Ia.