Abi was right: it suddenly seemed to him they were arrogant, his parents, in their attitude towards him; it was appalling that he should have nowhere he could call his own, other than a bedroom in their house. The fact that it had never occurred to him to demand such a thing was irrelevant.

He began to feel he owed Abi an apology: on his mother's behalf as well as his own. Her initial amusement had been ... actually ... rather generous. And typical of her. She was generous. And warm and funny and ... well, really very kind.

He should tell her so. He went out immediately after supper, drove to the pub, and sat in the car park, calling her. He hadn't expected her to be sitting at home, waiting for him, but he did leave a message saying he was sorry that she had been embarrassed, sorry that he hadn't been more considerate, and asking her to call him. He added that he missed her and really wanted to see her. And went into the pub to get drunk and hope for her call.

Christ, what a nightmare. What a complete bloody nightmare. When he'd been hanging on to his sanity-just-getting through it day by agonising day, longing only for peace and quiet, and here he was, confronted by what seemed like a hundred people, all laughing and joking and slapping him on the back, telling him what a great guy he was, and Laura hanging on his arm, kissing him and everyone else, saying wasn't it great everyone had come, wasn't he wonderful, who would have thought he was so so old ... old ...

The conversation with Abi had upset him badly, and made him nervous. And somewhere, in some deep, well-buried place, he felt a stab of something close to remorse. It was true what she'd said: he had instigated their affair, had walked out of the Garden of Eden for no other reason than that he had felt in need of some new, exotically flavoured fruit. And was Abi really so rotten? Not really. She'd had a raw deal from life; he'd taken advantage of that, used it, enjoyed flattering her, flashing his money around, taking her to expensive hotels, buying her expensive jewellery. And in return she had given him the excitement, the sense of sexual self-esteem that Laura had failed to do. Christ, what a mess Christ, what a mess. And here he was, trapped in this farce of an evening. Which somehow encapsulated his whole life. The fantasy that was marriage to Laura, and the reality that Abi had confronted him with.

No call yet. Well, what could he expect? She would be out somewhere. She was probably still very hurt and upset. It surprised him sometimes how sensitive she actually was; she wasn't really the toughie she seemed.

He'd never forgotten how she'd gone off to the hospital with Shaun that day, for instance. And she was absolutely ridiculous about animals, fussing over a kitten in the street she'd thought had been abandoned, and getting quite worked up when he'd told her he'd just sent a couple of bull calves to the abattoir. He didn't want to lose her. He really didn't.

He texted her, to tell her that she should listen to her messages, in case she hadn't realised there was one; and then in a sudden rash rush of courage, composed another saying, "I love you." He sat looking at it for a while before he sent it, slightly surprised that he could be telling her that, making sure he meant it, and wasn't just trying to make her feel better. But he did mean it; he did love her, and he desperately didn't want to lose her; he pressed "send" and then decided to go home before he was too drunk to drive even the half mile to the farm gates.

She had wondered how she would get in, whether someone would demand an invitation or something, but the front door was not locked; it pushed open easily. She stood in the hall; it was empty, but she could hear music and people laughing. A large gilt mirror hung on the wall; she went over to it, replenished her lip gloss and her perfume, combed her hair. She wanted to look as good as possible for her entrance ...

As she stood there, a little girl appeared behind her: an absurdly beautiful little girl, about nine years old, with long blond curly hair, wearing a white lace-trimmed dress and silver shoes. "Hello," she said, "I'm Lily. Have you come to the party? You're late."

"I know," Abi said, smiling at her. "I'm sorry."

"That's all right. They're just serving the food now. Do come in," she added graciously.

Abi took a glass of champagne from a tray and stood in the doorway, looking into a huge room, golden, it seemed, lit with dozens of candles, and filled with great urns of white flowers. People stood in groups, smiling, beautifully dressed people, holding glasses of champagne, and by the fireplace stood Jonathan, and next to him, leaning against him, smiling up at him, was ... well, she supposed Laura. Lovely, she was, quite small, with a fall of blond hair and dressed in something truly amazing, layers of pale, pale cream chiffon and lace. On the other side of Jonathan were two almost identical little girls and a boy-Charlie, of course, very handsome, with smooth brown hair, dressed in jeans and a blue shirt, already nearly as tall as his mother. It was all unbearably perfect-the light, the music, the display of family togetherness-and Abi really couldn't bear it.

She started to move across the room. Jonathan still hadn't seen her, was holding up his hand; Laura was tapping on her glass; Jonathan was saying, "This is not a speech, promise, promise," and everyone laughed and called out, "Good thing too," and, "Why not?" and, "Better not be ..."

He saw her standing there, an entirely dark presence in her black clothes, her eyes glittering, infinitely dangerous; and he was so terrified, he literally could neither move nor speak. He saw Laura look at him more sharply, puzzled at his sudden silence, and then follow his gaze towards Abi; felt her stiffen, heard her intake of breath. In his worst, his wildest nightmares, he could not have imagined this invasion of his family and his home, and in front of all their friends, this confrontation with the awful, ugly truth of her and what he had done. What might she do, or say, how could he stop her ...?

She stepped forward, right up to him, and said, "Hello, Jonathan. What a very lovely occasion. I thought I'd add my good wishes to everyone else's. That's what you deserve. Happy birthday," she added, and leaned up and kissed him on the lips. "You must be Laura," she said, turning to her, and she could hear a distinct graciousness in her own voice. "I'm Abi ... I'm not sure if Jonathan's told you about me. I'm so sorry I can't stop."

And she turned and walked out again, and he stood staring after her, noticing, absurdly, that she was wearing the same high silver-heeled boots that she had had on the day of the crash.

CHAPTER 34

Illogical things, emotions. She would have expected to feel rage, pain, humiliation; all she felt in those first few minutes was embarrassment. That all their friends should have been there, should have come with such generosity and genuine goodwill to Jonathan's party, and they had been forced to witness this extraordinary thing. It seemed so wrong somehow. Rude. Churlish.

In half an hour they were all gone, embarrassed, not mentioning the intruder-for so Abi had seemed-not properly meeting her eyes, just saying they would go and leave them in peace, very sweetly and charmingly to be sure, kissing her, shaking Jonathan rather awkwardly by the hand, and then the room was empty, horribly empty, the candles and flowers and abandoned champagne glasses the only signs that there had been a party there at all.

She directed the waiters to clear the room, and then dismissed them, told Helga to start putting away the food, load up the dishwasher.

The children were upset, the girls baffled, Lily in tears of disappointment, Charlie clearly troubled and with at least half an idea of what Abi's visit had all been about ... and she took them up to the playroom, told them not to worry, everything was fine, and that she'd be up in a minute to help them get to bed. And then went back downstairs.

She realised now-of course-that she had never believed any of Jonathan's explanations about Abi. She felt ashamed of allowing herself to pretend. She had let herself down. Been weak, cowardly, feebly female. She should have faced him down on that very first explanation, told him not to insult her, instead of playing the sweet, simple, loyal little wife. Well, not anymore she wasn't. Rage-and outrage-were growing in her, making her strong.

Jonathan was sitting in a chair now, his eyes fixed on her, watching like a terrified child as she moved around-blowing out candles, collecting the remaining glasses. When finally she was done, and faced him across the room, he said, "Darling, I'm so sorry, so, so sorry she did that."

"She!" Laura said. "Jonathan, she didn't do that. You did."

"But, Laura-"

"Jonathan, just stop it, please. I don't want to hear anything from you. You can do what you like; I really don't care."

"How ... how are the children?" he said.

"The girls simply didn't understand at all, just thought she was another guest, but they're disappointed that the party never really happened. Charlie's clearly got a better idea. He asked who ... who she was. Of course. Well, they all did."

"Oh, Christ," he said, "dear sweet Christ. What ... what did you tell them?"

"I said she was a lady from work whom I'd never met-getting rather close to your story, isn't it, Jonathan-and that she had another party to go to, and that was why she couldn't stay. The girls seemed to accept that; Charlie, I'm not so sure. He's old enough to see that she wasn't too much like all our other friends."

He was silent. Then: "I'm sorry, Laura," he said again.

"For what? Doing it, having the relationship at all? Lying to me? Getting caught? Bad luck, wasn't it, being involved in the crash that day? I wonder if it would still be going on if you hadn't. Well, she's very ... sexy. I can see that. Which I do realise I'm not. And probably rather good fun. Wives tend to be dull."

"Please-"

"And young, of course. I suppose she wasn't the first. Not that it makes much difference."

"She was the first. I swear. And the last."

"Yes, well, she's definitely that."

"Of course." There was a slight-very slight-look of hope in his eyes.

Laura crushed it swiftly.

"Yes. Because that's it, Jonathan. Absolutely it. Our marriage is over. As of now."

"Darling, you can't-"

"Don't 'darling' me. And I can. I've always said there were two things I wouldn't be able to bear. One was anything bad-really bad-happening to one of the children. The other was you being unfaithful to me."

"But, Laura-"

"I just can't cope with it, Jonathan. It's not the humiliation, although that's quite ... hard. It's not the pain ... not exactly. It's the death of trust. I'd never be able to believe you again, and I could never, ever again let you near me. I'd always be wondering if you'd been ... been making love to someone else. I mean ... how ..." Her voice broke; she hesitated, then went on: "How long has it been going on? Months? Years?"

"A couple of months. That's all. And I was about to finish it; I swear to you. That's the awful irony of the whole thing. I'd told her in the car that day that it had to end, that I didn't want to go on with it anymore. I'd been regretting it so much, Laura, hating myself for it ..."

"Oh, really? And what's that supposed to make me feel? Grateful? Reassured? I keep thinking back, you know," she said, "to all the times you must have been with her. Going to hotels ... I presume. Or does she have a little pad somewhere? No, don't answer that. I don't want to know. Ringing me last thing, like you always do, making sure I'm safely settled. Telling me you ... you ... Oh, God, you are disgusting, Jonathan. I wish I need never see you again. And all that stuff, lying to the police, in front of me ..."

"But, Laura, you can't, you really can't throw away thirteen years of happiness and a good marriage because of one ... one indiscretion."

"It wasn't a good marriage," she said. "I know that now. And the happiness wasn't very soundly based. So I can quite easily throw it away, as you call it. I'm going to bed. Good night."

Abi just could not stop crying. She had started as she drove out onto the Chiswick roundabout, and she had finally pulled into a motel somewhere near Reading, blinded by her tears, fearing that she would crash the car. She had had enough of car crashes ...

She flung herself down on the bed and cried for quite a lot longer. How could she have done that? Of all the wicked, awful things in her past, that had undoubtedly been the worst. The cruellest and the worst. Jonathan deserved cruelty, but Laura didn't. It wasn't her fault that he was such a one hundred per cent, Ai shit; she didn't deserve to have her beautiful straight little nose rubbed in it; she should have been left to her illusions. shit; she didn't deserve to have her beautiful straight little nose rubbed in it; she should have been left to her illusions.

And Charlie too, that handsome boy ... The little girls had been simply baffled, but he had been upset, his face crumpling into confusion as he stared up at his father and then back at her, some instinct clearly wondering, half comprehending even, who she was ... what she was.

She had destroyed them that evening, wrecked their happiness, surely and mercilessly; she should be destroyed herself, put down painfully, punished most horribly for her crime: and it was a crime-there could be no doubt of it-worse, far worse, than anything Jonathan had done to her.

She was a totally bad person; there was nothing to redeem her.

She lay there fully clothed, staring up at the ceiling, smoking cigarette after cigarette; somewhere towards dawn, she fell into an aching, troubled sleep.

At about the same time, William awoke, his head raging. He reached for his phone; looked at it hopefully. There was no message, no text. Where was she; what was she doing? Was she ill? Had she hurt herself? Surely nobody, however angry or upset they were, could ignore the kind of messages he had been sending. He would just try, once more, sending a text; he couldn't ring her at this sort of time. If he didn't hear then, he might even go down and see her. He had to make her realise how he felt somehow.

He wrote, rather sadly now, "Abi, please get in touch. I'm sorry and I love you," and sent it, and, because he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, got dressed and walked out to the top of the field where he had first seen the crash that day, and stood looking down and thinking about it, and how it had totally changed his life, and willing his phone to ring.

Abi called at seven, sounding exhausted and ill.

She thanked William for his messages and said it had been lovely to get them, and then said she was very sorry, but she really didn't want to see him anymore, that it had to be over.

William said was it about his mother, and she said no, it was nothing to do with his mother; it was all to do with her, that she really couldn't have any more to do with him, and she wished him well.

"I'm just not your sort of person, William. That's all. I'm so sorry. Good-bye."

It was a long time since William had cried. The last time had been when his grandfather, whom he had really loved, had died. He had felt then as if a very large and important part of him had gone too. He had the same feeling now, and he stood there, staring down at the place where he had first seen Abi, thinking about her, and how much he did, without doubt, love her, and he began to cry very quietly and bitterly.

CHAPTER 35

Georgia sat on the train back to Cardiff, thinking how she really must find somewhere to live in London. Shooting was starting in a matter of weeks; she could hardly commute. But somehow, she still felt so unsure of herself that the prospect of looking at a load of grotty bedsits or flat-shares seemed impossible.

And the day had been totally shit, trailing round with the costume girl, Sasha. Georgia had started by giving her opinion on the clothes, which ones she thought were cool and would suit her, but had then shut up as she realised they weren't going to agree about any of them, and in fact the worse she thought she looked in something, the more Sasha liked it, saying withering things like, "You have to look at yourself in character, you know, Georgia; it's Rose we're dressing, not you."

And then they'd got back to the offices and Merlin had been there, and although he'd been really friendly for about five seconds, he then went into a huddle with Sasha in the corner about locations and how the first assistant really didn't seem to have the right idea at all, and Merlin could see Bryn wasn't going to like any of the five short-listed houses; and then Sasha had said she'd had a shitty day too, and why didn't they go and have a drink. Leaving Georgia alone with Mo, the third assistant director, who was plump and rosy and smiling and looked more as if she should be working at a nursery school than an ego-ridden industry like television, and who was very sweet but clearly wasn't going to risk sympathising with her too much when her own job was dependent on pleasing everyone; and then worst of all, Bryn Merrick arrived and was very short with her, just nodded and said, "Hi," and asked Mo where the fuck Merlin was, and when Mo said she didn't know, he'd glared at Georgia as if it was her fault.

"I seem to be working with a group of total layabouts," he said, and stalked out again.

Georgia had left then and called Linda, hoping for a bit of encouragement and reassurance, and possible suggestions of whom she might share a flat with, but Linda had left early to go to one of the drama school productions.

She decided to cut her losses and go home, feeling like Cinderella limping her way bewilderedly back from the ball.

Abi saw William's car the moment she turned into her street. Her first instinct was to drive away again; indeed, she'd slowed down and was looking for somewhere to turn round when he waved out of the window and then, as she sat there, transfixed with horror, opened the door and got out, stood waiting for her. This was unbearable; this was unendurable; telling him she didn't want to see him anymore over the phone was one thing; being confronted by him, in all his great and terrible niceness, that was something else altogether. She pulled in behind him, got out of her car, walked up to him, tried to smile.

"Hello, William. William, I did say-"

"I know. But I wanted to be sure you were sure. That's all."

"I am sure."

"But ... why? I don't understand. I really don't. Is it my mother?"

"Of course not. I could perfectly well deal with your mother."

"I wish you would," he said, and couldn't help smiling. She smiled back.

"Please, Abi. I need to know why you ... well, why you didn't want to ... to see me anymore. I meant it ... what I said in my text," he added, and it was so awful, seeing the honesty and the hurt and the hope mingled in equal parts in his brown eyes, that she had to look away.

"I ... I know, William. And it was great to ... to know that. Really great."

"But ... you don't ... love me? Is that it?"

"William, I don't think I'm capable of loving anyone. I'm awful. Totally awful."

"Abi, you're not, of course you're not."

"No, it's true. If you knew what I did on Saturday alone ... well, you wouldn't be here."

"What was that, then? What did you do that was so bad?"

"Oh ... just killed off a little family. A happy little family."

"Killed it?"

"Oh, not literally. I just ... just totally destroyed it."

She wasn't sure how much she'd been going to tell him. Suddenly she knew. Everything. And she told him, in all its ugly detail, why he could not possibly continue to love her ...

CHAPTER 36

"So ... where would you like to get married, then? Where shall we have our wedding? I imagine you'll want it somewhere in England. The bride's prerogative, choosing the venue."

"Well ... yes. I suppose so. I mean, yes, of course."

"In a church?"

"Oh, of course."