aEdiea"a She turned.

aIall be a bit later tonight. Iam going to have a drink with Cheryla. aAre you?a aYes. Will you get a taxi?a aProbably,a Edie said. aDoesnat matter. Donat worrya.

She gave him a faint smile. aGot to get used to different routines now anywaya.

aEven if,a Lazlo said, flattening himself against a wall for the stage manager to get by, aeven if I wasnat moving out, thereas only four weeks of the run to go, anywaya.

aUnless we transfera.

Lazlo looked away.

aNot a" much talk of a transfer latelya"a Edie glanced down at the cap in her hands. aFunny. Iave got rather used to thisa. aMe tooa.

She lifted her head.

aYou go and have a drink with Cheryl. You need to talk to actors your own agea. aIt isnat thata"a aWell,a Edie said bravely, ait should bea.

Cheryl led the way at determined speed to the pub where Lazlo remembered almost breaking down after his first rehearsal. It was full and hot. Cheryl shouted at him that she wanted red wine and then disappeared to the ladies. When she came back, Lazlo had taken their glasses out on to the pavement and had found seats at the end of a picnic table dimly lit by a square yellow light falling from the window of the pub. Cheryl, in a denim miniskirt and her slouch boots, sat down on the bench attached to the table, and swung her legs over so that Lazlo and the two men already sitting at the table had a prolonged view of her knickers. Then she smiled graciously at them and picked up her wine glass.

She gestured with it towards Lazlo.

aHappy daysa. aI hope soa"a aIam in a film after this,a Cheryl said, aon location in Norfolk, playing a single mother with a drug habit. Iall be perfect, wonat I?a Lazlo nodded.

She took a gulp of wine.

aWhat about you?a aI donat knowa.

aCome on, Laza"a Lazlo said cautiously, aRussell says I can read for a couple of his accountsa"a aOh please,a Cheryl said, aIbsen to chicken nuggets?a aIa"a aYou,a Cheryl said, ahave a crap attitude. And a crap agenta.

aHe says heas trying. And two others have been in toucha"a Cheryl leaned forward, folding her arms underneath her bosom and creating an impressive cleavage. aMy agent wants to see you, sad boya. Lazlo removed his gaze from Cherylas breasts.

aWhat?a aYou heard me. Heas seen you twice. He wants you to ring him. Heas told me to tell you to ring hima. aThe othersa"a Cheryl leaned forward even further and jabbed at the table beside Lazloas beer glass.

aNo, Laz. Not a aCome and see me sometime and maybe Iall think about it, but probably I wonata sort of agent. Stuart is for real. Stuart is a top agent. Stuart wants you to ring him tomorrow morninga. She paused and leaned back a little and then she said, aStuart has a casting for youa. aHe canata"a aHe can. He has. He wouldnat be asking to see you if it wasnat for something specifica.

aBut mya"a aDitch him,a Cheryl said. aHe got me this part!a aDitch him,a Cheryl said again, aif youave got any sensea.

aBut heas only seen me in thisa"a aFor Godas sake,a Cheryl said, aand when did showcases get better than bloody Ibsen?a aIam sorry,a Lazlo said, aand thank youa.

She stretched a hand out across the table and took one of his, firmly.

aYou really are rather sweeta.

The men at the other end of the table stopped talking.

aNow your hairas a bit longer,a Cheryl said, ayouare quite attractive. Very attractive reallya. She raised her eyebrows and smiled. aVery fanciablea.

Lazlo attempted to pull his hand away.

aSorrya"a aOh come on,a Cheryl said. aLive a little. Why dayou think I go to all this trouble?a Lazlo pulled his hand free. One of the men at the table gave a little yelp of laughter.

aSorry,a Lazlo said again.

Cheryl gave him an amused glance. Then she shot a look up the table. She picked up her wine glass and struck an attitude with it.

aSuit yourself,a she said. aMummyas boya.

Maeve paused in the doorway to Russellas office. She was carrying a takeaway beaker of coffee and a complicated document from their accountant, flagged with little yellow stickers. Russell was standing in his dormer window, hands in pockets, staring out. Nothing was open on his desk: it looked as if he had not only not started work, but had also turned his back on the very idea of it.

aRoom service,a Maeve said.

Russell turned his head.

aYouare a good girla.

Maeve put the coffee down carefully on his desk. aThe line in the play is aYouare a good little pudding, Mrs King.aa Russell sighed. Then he turned round completely and lowered himself into his desk chair as if he was convalescent.

Maeve laid the folder from the accountant down in front of him.

aThree signatures. Iave marked where. Do you think you can manage that?a Russell nodded.

aShall I stay,a Maeve said, aand guide your hand?a Russell glanced at her, then he slowly reached to pick up his pen.

aAfter all these years,a Maeve said, ado I still have to tell you that you should never sign anything you havenat read and understood?a Russell put his pen down.

Maeve laid her hands on his desk and leaned on them. aThe fightas gone out of you,a she said. aHasnat it?a He said, staring at the document in front of him, aIam just tireda"a aYouave been tired for weeks,a Maeve said. aYouave been out all hours at things a tinker wouldnat trouble himself with, and your house isnat your own, and nor is your wife and you canat get up the energy to lick a stamp. Can you?a aItas only agea"a aItas not,a Maeve said, aitas attitude. Itas circumstances. Your present circumstances are not conducive to your health and well-being. What are you trying to prove?a There was a pause and then Russell said, clearly and slowly without looking up, aI was trying to fill a gapa.

aWell,a Maeve said, athere you have ita.

aAnd the gap is still therea.

aTell hera.

aI canat,a Russell said.

aOf course you can! Sheas a reasonable womana"a aNo,a Russell said. aWhy not?a He looked up at her, his face slightly sideways. He said, aBecause sheas got a gap of her own. One shead never thought shead havea.

aOh,a Maeve said, athose childrena"a aNo,a Russell said. He picked his pen up again and pulled the folder towards him. aNo, not the children. Worka.

aI was going to tell you, doll,a Max said. He drew imaginary intersecting lines on his chest. aHonestly I was. Cross my hearta.

Vivien sighed. Max had been an hour later home than he had promised and she had spent that hour vowing that she would not, the moment he walked through the door, confront him about not going to Australia. And then she had heard the front door slam and Maxas quick steps coming down the hall and the minute they were in the kitchen shead spun round from the cooker and said, aEliot rang todaya.

Max had taken a pace backwards. Head always done that, when attacked, as if physically retreating before gunfire, and it annoyed her quite as much as it always had done.

He then put his hands up, as if surrendering.

aHow was he?a aDonat,a Vivien said. She was holding a wooden spoon coated with sauce. aDonat what, honey?a aDonat,a Vivien shouted, apretend you donat know!a Max dropped his hands. He came forward and stood in front of her in an attitude of contrition.

aI was going to tell you, doll. Honestly I was. Cross my hearta.

Vivien turned back to the cooker. aRinging Eliot about something that concerns me isnat just something that slips your mind. Itas deliberatea.

Behind her back, Max closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and said, aThe thing is, Vivi, I didnat know how to tell youa.

Vivien didnat turn.

aTell me what?a aThat a" oh hell, this is so embarrassinga.

aWhat is?a Max came and stood beside Vivien. He touched her arm. She shook him off. aItas money, dolla. She shot him a glance.

aWhat is?a aIam really sorry, but Iam afraid this isnat the year for going to Australia. Iam so ashamed. Iam so ashamed to tell you that there just isnat the money. Simple as thata.

Vivien tasted her sauce and reached past Max for the salt.

He seized her outstretched arm. aIam so sorry, Vivi. I shouldnat have got your hopes upa.

Vivien removed her arm from Maxas grasp.

She said, aYouare not running the flat now. Your living expenses have halved. What dayou mean, there isnat the money?a Max drooped.

aSorry, sweetheart. Honour bright, itas not therea.

Vivien said unsteadily, aYou promised mea.

aOh, look now, doll, it wasnat a promise. It was a great idea, a lovely idea to go out and see our boy, but it was only an idea. Be fair!a Vivien put the saucepan to the side of the cooker and turned out the gas.

She said again, not looking at him, aYou promised mea.

aLook here,a Max said, aweall go in the spring. Iam sure Iall see my way clear in the springa"a Vivien looked at him.

aWhereas the money gone?a He spread his hands.

aMaybe it wasnat there, doll, maybe I didnat want you to think I couldnat give you everything you wanteda. He tried a smile. aMaybe I was just being a bit over-optimistic. You know mea.

aYes,a Vivien said. She took a step nearer and when her face was only a foot from his, she said loudly, aLiar!a Max tried to hold her by the arms.

aNow wait a second, Vivia"a She flailed her arms sideways to elude him.

aLiar!a she said. aLiar! Just like you always were!a aPlease, dolla"a aPromises!a Vivien shouted. aPromises, to get what you wanted! Promise me what you know I want! There never was the money to go and see Eliot, was there, or if there was, youave spent it, havenat you, youave gone into some stupid venture with some stupid shystera"a aNo!a aThen youare paying off debts. Arenat you? Who is she? Whoas the tart youare paying to keep quiet?a Max reached out and firmly gripped her upper arms.

aVivien darling, donat. Donat do this. Please donat! This is just like the bad old daysa"a aYes!a aThereas nothing to get steamed up about,a Max said. aNothing. Itas just a muddle, a typical Max muddlea"a aThen why did you ring Eliot first?a aWell, Ia"a aYou rang him first,a Vivien said, aso that I couldnat talk you out of it. I bet you bought his flights to Bali, I bet you did that because you donat want to go to Australia with me. You donat want to spend all that money on me!a aNonsensea"a Vivien wrenched herself free.

aI sound like I used to,a she screamed, abecause you sound like you used to. Exactly like!a aI didnat buy those flights to Balia"a Vivien glared at him.

aLiar!a aDonat keep calling me thata"a She took a step back and then she spun round and stormed across the kitchen. In the doorway, she paused, her hand on the knob, and then she said furiously, aI wouldnat have to, if you werenat!a and crashed the door shut behind her.

Matthewas computer case lay in the hall, as if head thrown it down carelessly on his way in. As far as Rosa could tell, he was the only one at home. The kitchen and sitting room were disordered but empty, and the doors to both first-floor bedrooms were open. Rosa stood in the dusky evening light on the landing and listened intently. There was no sound, no music. She looked upwards for a minute, and then made her way back downstairs to the kitchen.

It didnat look as if anyone had had supper. It didnat look, in fact, as if anyone had done anything in the kitchen that day except have breakfast in a scattered sort of way and then leave in a hurry. Someone had propped an untidy bunch of envelopes against a cornflakes box, but no one had opened them. There was a banana skin blackening on a plate and two half-drunk mugs of cold coffee. The spoon Rosa had stuck in the honey twelve hours before was exactly where she had left it. If Matthew had come into the kitchen that evening, head plainly neither had the appetite to eat nor the heart to clear up.

Rosa ran water into the kettle and switched it on. Then she assembled, on the painted wooden tray with decoupage flowers she remembered making in a craft class when she was fourteen, a cafetire and two mugs and a packet of digestive biscuits. Then she added Edieas dusty bottle of cooking brandy and two pink Moroccan tea glasses. When the kettle boiled, she made coffee in the cafetire, took a plastic bottle of milk out of the fridge and carried the tray out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

There was complete silence on the top landing and no line of light under Matthewas door. Rosa stooped and set the tray down on the carpet.

Then she tapped.

aMatt?a Silence. Rosa turned the handle very slowly and opened the door. Matthew hadnat pulled the curtains and the queer reddish glow from the night-city sky illuminated the room enough for Rosa to see that Matthew was sitting, fully dressed, in the small armchair that matched the one in her own room.

aMatt,a Rosa said, aare you OK?a He turned his head. In the dimness she couldnat make out if his eyes were shining or tearful.

aYes,a he said. aYesa.

Chapter Eighteen.

aWhy the silence?a Laura emailed from Leeds. aWhatas happening? Is it something I said?a aNo,a Ruth typed rapidly. aNothing to do with you, donat worry. But lots to tell you. Lotsa.

She took her hands off the keyboard and looked at what she had written. Then she deleted the last six words. She would tell Laura, she thought, of course she would, if Laura could be deflected from the choice between Cuba or Mexico for her honeymoon, but she wouldnat tell her yet. There was, after all, no need to tell Laura, no need until she had got a little further down her own path of thinking, of realising, of unpicking, stitch by stitch, everything that had happened. And, more to the point, everything that was now going to happen.

Ruth took her hands right off her desk and laid them in her lap. It was that time of the day in the office when most people had gone home, taking the possibility of interruption and urgency with them. A colleague might come in for a chat or with the suggestion of a drink but finding Ruth dreaming at her desk would be something they expected, something they might even do themselves, to postpone the disconcerting business of going home. After six in the office was a time when being beholden to an obligation melted peacefully into a choice. She could, she thought, answer all the emails from America, or she could, if she chose, leave responding until the morning when the Americans would still be asleep, and concentrate instead, with tentative wonder, on the fact that the last thing Matthew had said to her when they parted was, aIall ring youa.

He hadnat, but she wasnat anxious that he wouldnat. She had, in almost a single second, shed the anxiety that had been such a burden for so long the moment she had realised he was crying. Shead been so tense about telling him about the baby, so poised for a rebuff, so braced for rejection that, when the words were out and he said nothing, it took her some little time to realise that he was saying nothing because he was crying. Shead put a tentative hand out towards him but head shaken his head and grabbed handfuls of tiny napkins out of the holder on the caf table and scrubbed at his face with them while his shoulders shook.

Ruth said, immediately regretting it, aYouare not angry?a He moved his head again.

aOf course nota"a aI thought,a she said diffidently, athat you might think youad been very unluckya. aNo. Noa"a She gave a little laugh.

aI did wonder if Iad been unluckya.

He stopped mopping his face and looked at her.

aDonat you want a baby?a She stared down at the tabletop.

aI donat know. I think I do. I think I want a" your baby. But it wasnat what I planneda.

He said, a little more sharply, aDoes it upset your plans?a She looked up.

aWell, it upsets those ones. But those arenat the only onesa.

aArenat you pleased?a She hesitated.

He said, more insistently, aArenat you pleased, that you can be pregnant?a aYes, I supposea"a aI think,a Matthew said, leaning forward, sniffing, aI think itas wonderful to get pregnant. I think itas amazing to make a babya.