Secure in the essentialness of motherhood, shead even, she recalled, been able to lecture herself. Thereall come a time, shead told herself, when youall have to identify yourself without your children. They will simply shed you, like a snakeskin, and your support for them will become a need, your need. Motherhood, shead declared grandly, will not be a proud, public banner any more, but a quiet, private admission. Rosa will take motherhood over and you, Edie, will have to submit to her supremacy. Well, the time had now come. And, like most anticipated things, the reality did not match the imagining. Rosa was years away in both circumstances and ambition from having a baby, and she, Edie, was as unprepared to surrender positive support for negative need as she possibly could be. Motherhood had been such a solace, had acceptably papered over so many cracks, had given her, if she was honest, such a seemly excuse for not risking failure or disappointment or loss of confidence, that she could not for the moment think what she was going to do, without it.

She took her hands away from her face and laid them in front of her, palms down on the table. On top of the pile about two feet away lay the copy of Ibsenas plays that Russell had brought down from the bookcase on the first-floor landing when he heard about the casting for Ghosts, the student copy that she had had at RADA, full of her energetic underlinings. Ibsen had been obsessed by the past. Head written once that awe sail with a corpse in the cargoa. Ibsen was, Edie decided, the very last thing she needed at the moment. She picked up a copy of the Islington Gazette that was lying close to her elbow, and covered the book with it. Out of sight: out of troubled mind.

Holding a telephone between his hunched shoulder and his ear, Matthew Boyd was writing down some information.

aOpen plan. Interior walls of glass brick. View of Tate Modern and Millennium Bridge. Four hundred thou -wow,a Matthew said. aFour hundred thousand?a aThat was what Ruth told me,a the agent said.

Matthew made a face. What was an estate agent, who hardly knew her, doing calling Ruth Ruth? He said, aI donat thinka"a and the agent said, aAdmittedly, top whack. But she said she could consider that if the place was righta.

aShea"a aAnd the value of lofts in Bankside have almost tripled since the mid-ninetiesa.

Matthew drew an angry line under his jottings. He and Ruth had not, as far as he could remember a" and he was good at remembering a" discussed Bankside. They had discussed Docklands and Hoxton and Clerkenwell, but not Bankside. Bankside was much more central and therefore much more expensive. The budget a" putative, but shared, obviously a" had been three hundred. Tops. Matthew added teeth to his line.

aIave made an appointment for Ruth to see it,a the agent said.

aYoua"a aShe asked for Saturday morning, so this is a courtesy calla.

aAa"a aSaturday morning at ten-thirty. Itas about three hundred square metres, by the way. Shall I tell Ruth or will you?a Matthew wrote aSod offa in capital letters above the teeth.

aI will,a he said, and rang off.

He dropped the phone on his desk and shoved his chair back so violently that it cannoned into Blaiseas desk behind him. Blaise was on the telephone, handsfree. He put his hand over the mouthpiece.

aOy!a Matthew stood up. He mouthed aSorrya in Blaiseas direction. Then he bent over his desk and retrieved his phone. Ruthas was the first number in his speed-dial address book.

aHello,a her voicemail said, cool and friendly. aThis is Ruth Munroas telephone. Iam away from my desk just now so please leave me a messagea.

aRing me,a Matthew said. He took a breath. aPlease, I mean. Please ring mea.

He dropped the phone in his pocket and turned to make coffee-drinking gestures at Blaise. Blaise nodded. Matthew went quickly across the office, threading his way between the grey plastic desks, and made for the lifts. They had all, as usual, collected on the top floor. He made a face at himself in the brass panel that lined the wall between the lifts.

aCross,a Ruth had said to him at the weekend, tapping away at her laptop and not looking up. aYou look so crossa.

He looked at himself now, stretched and blobbed by the soft reflections in the brass. Cross might be how he looked: frightened was how he felt. And frightened was how he had always hated feeling, ever since those first unnerving nights in that new ramshackle house when he was a child and they expected him to sleep, knowing that there were holes in the roof, real holes through which anything might swoop, anything clawed and fanged and malevolent. His gumboots, Matthew remembered, had been his salvation. Solid and reassuring and rubber, he had worn them in the uncarpeted house all day for years, and slept with them by his bed. When they began to cramp his toes, he would pester Edie for new ones, so great was the terror of being without a pair, without their simple reassurance. They seemed to be able to insulate him from fear, from the unknown, to protect him while still letting him see what lay ahead. When he finally had to trade them in for trainers, head known head never have such a straightforward mechanism for consolation ever again. And head been right.

The lift doors slid open, revealing walls and floor made of stamped silvery metal. Matthew rode down to the ground floor with his eyes shut and emerged into the immense glass foyer that in turn gave on to a vast pale outdoor concourse where architectural trees planted in concrete drums blew stiffly about in the wind from the river. Matthew buttoned up his jacket to stop his tie whipping across his face, and plunged out towards the coffee shop on a distant corner. A large latte a" a girlas drink, but sometimes it offered just the right kind of unremarkable comfort a" and half an hour nudging figures about would restore him, he was sure, to a place where anxiety resolved itself into being nothing more than a very temporary state of not quite understanding.

He carried his tall white mug to a table by the window. Across the square, even though the river itself was hidden, he could see a huge, clear sweep of sky, hurrying spring sky full of racing clouds and the sharp white trails of aeroplanes. He had never liked weather much, had always seen its unpredictability as vaguely threatening, but it was a pleasure to look at from behind the safety of glass, like looking at a turbulent painting, a Turner maybe, or a Goya, securely confined within a frame. He had once confessed to Ruth, in the early days when they were still entrancedly exploring one another, that he enjoyed the idea of the presence of chaos, somewhere out there, whirling away with all its arbitrary energies, but he couldnat actually handle it if it came too close to him.

aOh, I know!a shead said, her eyes shining. aWe couldnat have a world without perfect control, but please may we be allowed to control our own bit of it, for ever and ever, Amen!a After Edie, Matthew could not believe Ruthas sense of order: her make-up in perspex boxes, her T-shirts in piles of three, her papers filed in translucent plastic folders made meticulously a" and cheaply a" in Japan. There were no leftovers in her fridge, no scattered newspapers on her sofa, no jumble of tired shoes in the bottom of her cupboard. Ruth had been a business consultant when he met her, and was now, at thirty-two, a junior head hunter for a firm that specialised in finance directors. When they met, she was earning a third again as much as he was; now, her income was closer to twice his. For the sake of his dignity a" undefined as a danger area, but well understood by both of them a" they had shared everything as an equal financial commitment on both sides: rent, bills, entertainment, travel. To create flexibility within this equable arrangement, a further understanding grew up that if Ruth contributed more money (a cashmere sweater for Matthew, Eurostar tickets to see an exhibition in Paris), Matthew would repay, without being asked, in kind (replant the window boxes, breakfast for Ruth in bed). It was a system, Matthew thought, that had worked very well for two and a half years and that his parents would consider not just barmy, but over-controlled to a point of inhumanity.

His parentsa opinion on most things was, in fact, something Matthew never sought. He loved them in a suspended, unexamined way, and while he found their way of life hopelessly dated, it was something that was as much part of them as their personalities. When he saw Ruth a" these occasions were very seldom a" seated at his parentsa kitchen table in her considered weekend clothes and forming such a contrast to the evolved disorder of her surroundings, he felt an unmistakable affection for the way he had been brought up, and a profound pride in the way he was living now. It was made easier, of course, by the fact that Edie and Ruth liked each other, that each fulfilled the expectations of how the other should be.

aGhastly cat,a Edie would say, snatching Arsie off Ruthas black cashmere.

aBliss,a Ruth would say, sinking into one of the deep, battered armchairs in the sitting room, full of the kind of food she would never buy herself. aInstant destressa.

Periodically, Matthew would urge his parents to mend the house, update their wills, reconsider their futures. Encouraged by the success of persuading his father to specialise more, he had hoped to nudge his mother towards more commitment to work and thereby a" though he bore his brother no grudge a" detach her from the long, long nurturing of Ben. He was actually slightly congratulating himself on the success a" or rather, lack of fireworks a" in initial conversations with Edie about how life might be after Ben, when Ben confounded them all by announcing he was off to live with a girl none of them really knew, in her motheras flat in Walthamstow. When told this news by Matthew, Ruth said, aHeavens. Whereas Walthamstow?a Matthew was, he supposed, glad of Benas initiative. But it had been impulsively done and had left all kinds of ragged ends behind, which Matthew was only just beginning to collect his thoughts about when Ruth announced, quite suddenly, that it was time they were thinking of buying somewhere to live.

aActually,a she said, aitas not just time. Itas overdue. I should have bought five years agoa.

Matthew was in the middle of assembling a flatpack cabinet to house the television and DVD player. At the moment Ruth spoke, he was counting the screws supplied for the door hinges, and hoping that there would be sixteen as promised and not fifteen as seemed likely.

He said stupidly, aYou didnat know me five years agoa.

aIam not talking relationships,a Ruth said. She was sorting her gym kit. aIam talking property investmenta.

Matthew looked down at the screws in his hand. It would be so bloody annoying to have to go shopping for one single screw. His father, of course, would have screws of every type, mostly paint-stained and kept unsorted in old coffee jars, but at least he would have them.

aMatt?a aYesa.

aDid you hear me?a aYes. You need four screws a hinge for this and they have given me fifteena.

Ruth put the gym kit down and came across to where Matthew was standing. She put her hand into his and scooped up the screws.

aJust concentrate on what Iam sayinga.

He looked at her.

aItas time we bought a flat of our own,a Ruth said.

That was a week ago. One week. In the course of that week they had talked endlessly about the subject and Ruth had given Matthew a number of things to read. One of these was a newspaper article that asserted that there were now over three hundred thousand professional young women working in the City with liquid assets of at least two hundred thousand pounds each.

aIam not there yet,a Ruth said, abut Iam getting there. Itas time to start buying property for the long terma.

Holding his latte mug in both hands and gazing over it now at the flying clouds, Matthew knew she was right. What Ruth was proposing was not only shrewd and sensible but also indicated, from her use of the word awea in so many of these conversations, that she saw their future as something that they would unquestionably do together. All that, her rightness, her evident commitment, should have heartened him, should have enabled him to catch her enthusiasm for this great step she was proposing, and fling himself into the process with the eagerness that she clearly a" naturally even -expected to match hers. And he would have, if he could. He longed to be able to seize upon this project as the exciting next stage of their relationship. But he couldnat. He couldnat because a" he shut his eyes and took a swallow of coffee a" he couldnat afford it.

He had been over the figures twenty times. He had rearranged them, looked at them in the short term and in the long term, and come to a point that there was no escaping from, a point that made it plain, in black and white, that in order to match Ruthas present expenditure in their lives and therefore preserve the fragile equilibrium of modern partnership, every penny he earned was already committed. He was not, baldly, in a position to finance any borrowing whatever, and such assets as he had were so small by comparison with Ruthas that they were hardly worth mentioning. What crowned it all was that Ruth had little or no idea of how stretched he was for the simple reason that he had preferred her not to know. And as a result, here she was proposing to embark on something she assumed, because she had no reason not to, that he could comfortably join her in.

He glanced over his shoulder. The coffee shop was filling up, filling with people in his kind of suit, his kind of haircut. They looked, as people always looked when you yourself felt out of step with humanity, painfully secure and confident. Money should not be like this, Matthew told himself, swirling the tepid last inch of his coffee round the mug, money should not dictate or stifle or divide, money should never take precedence over loyalty or love. He gave a huge sigh and thumped the coffee mug down. Money should simply not matter this much. But the trouble was, it did.

aI would have paid,a Rosa said. aI wasnat suggesting I go home for free. I was going to offer to pay but he never gave me the chancea.

Ben, lighting a cigarette, said indistinctly, aI give Naomias mum fifty quid a weeka.

aDo you?a aShe pays all the bills. Says shead rather have it that waya.

Rosa examined her brother. He looked a" well, more sorted, somehow, even in the dim lighting of a pub, less flung together.

She said, aShe also plainly likes ironinga"a aNopea.

aWell, you look distinctly less scruffya. Ben drew on his cigarette and said, with elaborate modesty, aI irona. Rosa gaped.

aDidnat know you knew howa. He grinned, not looking at her. aLot of things you donat knowa. aClearlya. Rosa picked up her drink. aSo youare now playing happy families with Naomias muma.

aHardly ever see her. Sheas a caller at the bingo halla. aI thought she worked in a supermarketa. aShe does. And cleans officesa. aHeavens. Poor womana.

Ben glanced at her.

aNo, she isnat. She likes it. She says she likes being independenta. Rosa flushed. aThanks aa"a aDonat patronise Naomias mum, thena. aI wasnata"a aYour voice was,a Ben said. aYour tonea. aSorrya.

aAnd Iam sorry about Dad. Whatas going on?a aI think,a Rosa said, taking a swallow of vodka, athat he doesnat want any competition for Mumas attentiona. Ben gave a snort.

aI only meant for a few months,a Rosa said. aTill the summer. September at the latest. Iad pay rent, Iad be out all the time, Iad feed the cata"a aI kind of miss the cata.

aI was just assuming in my nave way that home is home until you have one of your owna. Ben blew smoke out in a soft plume. aHave you told Matt?a aNo pointa.

aWhy?a aBecause he and Ruth are thinking of buying a trendy lofta.

aRoom for you thena.

aNo thank you,a Rosa said. aRuth is great but sheas so organised and professional that I donat feel I could begin to lay the mess of my life out in front of hera.

aShe might clear it upa.

Rosa made a face. aPride,a she said.

aSo,a Ben said, holding his beer bottle poised, aWhat are you going to do?a aNot surea.

aHave you asked Mum?a Rosa looked full at him, as was her wont when skimping on the truth.

aI canat. I canat be turned down by Dad and go straight to Muma.

Ben grinned again.

aWhy not? You always used toa.

aNo,a Rosa said, aI got turned down by Mum and went straight to Dada.

Ben tilted his beer bottle.

aMumad have you backa.

aHow do you know?a aJust doa.

aBen,a Rosa said again, aI canata. He shrugged.

Rosa said slowly, aKate said I could stay therea. aFine, thena.

aWell, no, not really. Sheas pregnant and theyave only been married five months and Barneyas lovely, really lovely, but he wants Kate to himself, he doesnat wanta"a aJust like Dad,a Ben said. He looked at the clock over the bar. aGotta go, Rose. Meeting Naomia.

aWhat are you going to do?a aCatch a movie, maybe. Donat knowa.

He bent sideways and retrieved from a canvas bag at his feet a black knitted hat, which he jammed down well over his hairline.

aYou look like a peanut,a Rosa said. aThat hat does nothing for youa.

Ben upended his beer bottle.

aNaomi thinks itas coola.

He slid off his bar stool.

aHope things work out, Rosea.

aThanksa.

He winked.

aYouall find another joba. aAnd a flat. And a mana.

Ben leaned forward and grazed her cheek with his unshaven one.

He said, in an Irish accent, aKeep the faith,a and then he shouldered his bag and pushed his way through the happy-hour drinkers to the door.

Rosa looked down at her own drink. Before seven oaclock, if you paid for one, you got the next one free. Two vodkas might provide her with enough brief courage to ring Katie and ask if, after all, for just a short while and paying rent of course, she might sleep in the tiny room beside the front door that Barney was intending to decorate ready for the baby. She raised a hand and signalled, smiling, at the barman.

Chapter Four.

Vivien Marshall worked part-time in a bookshop. She would have liked to have worked more, but if she did her husband, Max, from whom she had been separated for four years, might notice and stop paying her the maintenance that he was perfectly entitled not to pay now that Eliot really had left home definitively, and gone to Australia. It wasnat the money in itself that Vivien wanted, useful though it was in maintaining the cottage in Richmond, and the car, but the contact it provided with Max. When he had suggested that they separate a" she had known it was coming but had chosen to shut her eyes to it, like someone in an impending car crash a" she had agreed in order to prevent him reacting to any objection by insisting that they divorce.

Vivien did not want to divorce Max. She didnat even, maddening and undependable as he had always been, much want to be separated from him. Not only was he Eliotas father but he was also, for Vivien, an exciting and energising presence whose absence had rather drained the colour out of things, particularly other men.

aYouad think,a she said to Alison who managed the bookshop, athat youad be thankful not to live on tenterhooks any more, whatever tenterhooks are. But actually, I rather miss thema.

Alison, who was not attracted to men of Maxas type who wore leather and denim well into middle age, said she thought they had something to do with stretched damp cloth in the dyeing trade.

aWhat do?a Vivien said.

Alison sighed. Max might not, as a type, be to her taste but there were times when she felt a sympathy for him. Vivien was someone who couldnat help, it seemed, being a permanent small test of patience.

aTenterhooks,a Alison said, and put her glasses on.

Vivien went back to dusting. When Alison had offered her the job, years ago when Eliot was still young enough to let her kiss him at the school gates, she had made it very plain that bookselling was not a white-handed occupation involving delightful literary conversations with cultivated customers.

aItas more like always moving house. Endless heavy boxes and books parcelled up in shrink wrap. Non-stop tidying and cleaning. Lists. Difficult peoplea.

Vivien had looked round the shop. Alisonas predilection for all things South American was very obvious: brilliantly coloured wool hangings, posters of Frida Kahlo and Christ of the Andes, a shelf of Chilean poets.

aI like housework,a Vivien said.

She always had, if she thought about it. When she and Edie had shared a bedroom as children, her side of the room a" fiercely marked out by a strip of pink bias binding drawing-pinned to the carpet a" had been both tidy and clean. On Saturday mornings she had dusted her ornaments with lengths of lavatory paper, and was apt to cover her favourite books in library film. It was this fondness for keeping house that she supposed drew her towards Max, towards a man who, although outwardly organised, was inwardly chaotic. He gave her the excited feeling that she was breaking rules to be with him, that she had kicked over the tidy traces of her upbringing and embarked on a heady and abandoned adventure. The trouble was that, in time, the tidiness reasserted itself and Max said he couldnat breathe. He began to set her challenges a" champagne in the middle of the night, impulse trips to New York, having sex in the car in sight of neighboursa front windows a" and, when she couldnat rise to them, he looked at her sadly, and sighed, and told her motherhood had changed her, had made her into someone he no longer recognised.