"Oh, don't be so stuffy. This is a holiday, not an army workout."

"Yes, and a very expensive holiday. I was expecting you'd participate rather more fully. I'm disappointed."

"Alex, you are joking, aren't you? No, you're not. Expensive indeed! Is that supposed to make me change my mind?"

"I'd have thought it was a factor."

"Well, I'm sorry if I'm a disappointment to you, but I hadn't expected to have to earn my stay here."

"That's a filthy thing to say!"

"It's pretty filthy talking to me about how much it cost. Remind me to write you a cheque when we get back."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm going to bed."

"Good. Because I'm going back to the bar. And don't worry; I'll pay for my own drinks."

She phoned for the escort and slammed the door after her.

In the morning when she woke, he was gone; she turned over, went back to sleep, and was sitting in the Jacuzzi when he returned.

"Good safari?"

"Very good."

"What did you see?"

"Animals. Wild animals," he said stiffly. "I'm going to have breakfast. I'll see you later."

Linda stuck out her tongue at his back. It spoke of huge hostility, that back. In fact, it was the most expressive back she knew.

Later they made up, lunched by the pool, and went out on the evening safari together. It was very wonderful. Nothing could have prepared Linda for the moment when a pride of lions walked by in a long, sinuous line, so close to the Land Rover they could have touched them. Or when two giraffes stalked languidly past them supermodel-style, heads held high, eyes on some far horizon, totally ignoring them. She'd somehow expected the animals to be about two hundred yards away, not within blinking distance. It was astonishing enough to get her up at five thirty the following day for more.

The highlight of that morning's safari was an elephant and her baby; just a few days old, the baby was being caressed and urged along by its mother's swishing trunk.

"So sweet," Linda said to the ranger, "and so gentle. But elephants always are, aren't they?"

"Until they're threatened. Let her think you might hurt that little chap and you'd have three tons of aggression heaped onto you."

Probably because Linda was tired, they quarrelled dramatically that afternoon, so dramatically indeed that when they emerged from their bungalow for dinner-having missed the safari-they realised from their slightly embarrassed expressions that their fellow guests must have heard them. The initial cause was Linda's getting sunburnt; Alex told her she was a fool to lie out at midday; she told him he was a stuffy old fart; he said he had seen enough skin cancer cases to make him cautious; she accused him of being overdramatic and depressing. Somehow after that they got onto the children, with him informing her it was as well she'd never become a mother, given her total irresponsibility of attitude: which was, she informed him, so far below the belt as to be totally obscene.

He did apologise at that; they had a making up of sorts, and braved dinner; but afterwards, alone in the bungalow, she said, "Just as a matter of interest, Alex, why have you never allowed me to meet your children?"

"What do you mean, never?" he said. "We've known each other only a few weeks."

"Months. Actually."

"All right. But we don't meet very frequently. It just hasn't been practical."

"I hope that is the reason. I'd have thought if you were in the least serious about me, you'd have realised I'd like to meet them. And them me."

"Linda, you know I'm serious about you. Neither of us would be here if I wasn't."

"OK, then. Maybe it's even worse than that; maybe you think they won't like me."

"They probably won't."

"Oh, what? Alex, how can you talk to me like that? You are-"

"I mean, of course, they won't like you because you're not their mother. They're bound to be hostile to any new girlfriend."

"What about her boyfriend?"

"Yes, well, they certainly don't like him."

"I thought they lived with him."

"No, they don't. His house is in Marlow; Sam has her own near Cirencester."

"But they do see him?"

"They have to."

"Well, why don't they have to see me?"

"Linda, this is absurd. Of course they don't have to see you ... I'm not in a permanent relationship with you."

"Well, thanks for that. I'm glad to have it spelt out."

Whereupon she pulled on a jacket, opened the door, and walked out into the darkness.

Alex waited for a few minutes; he was sure she'd be back. The bar was closed; there was nowhere for her to go. And she'd never dare walk far without an escort. An escort with a gun.

Five minutes later, he was growing anxious; only a few months ago a tourist had been savaged by a lion when he had got out of the Land Rover (totally against instruction) and crept up on a lioness and her cub to take photographs. Both lioness and lion had been shot.

They had all sat soberly in the Land Rover while the scout told them this story, shocked. And now here was Linda, doing something even more insane, out in the darkness, endangering not only her own life but those of the people who must find her. Stupid, bloody-minded, stubborn woman. Arrogant beyond belief. Self-centred, over-dramatic; she deserved all she got.

Alex rang for help.

There was a track leading away from the lodge; one way it broadened into a wide dirt road, the other into the track the Land Rovers drove along on safari. Linda could see that might be a little dangerous; she simply could not imagine the road could be in any way so. They would exaggerate the dangers to make everything more exciting, and so that people didn't take silly risks. There certainly hadn't been anything more aggressive than an impala as they drove along it on their way.

Fucking Alex; God, she hated him. How dared he talk to her like some patronising father figure, and then tell her his children wouldn't like her. That had been hugely hurtful. Thank God tomorrow it would be over and they would be going home. She realised she was crying-as much as at the disappointment of the trip, which she had so hoped would be happy and fun, as at the hurt he had just slung at her. Thank God they weren't in much of a relationship; they could part at the airport and never meet again. Apart from the toothbrush and razor he kept at her flat, there would be no trace of him left in her life. God, she hated him. How dared he talk to her like some patronising father figure, and then tell her his children wouldn't like her. That had been hugely hurtful. Thank God tomorrow it would be over and they would be going home. She realised she was crying-as much as at the disappointment of the trip, which she had so hoped would be happy and fun, as at the hurt he had just slung at her. Thank God they weren't in much of a relationship; they could part at the airport and never meet again. Apart from the toothbrush and razor he kept at her flat, there would be no trace of him left in her life. Bastard! Bloody arrogant, bad-tempered bastard! Bastard! Bloody arrogant, bad-tempered bastard! She hated him. She ... She hated him. She ...

Linda turned; better not go too far; it was very black, and it was the middle of the night. The park was noisy, sound cutting through the thick darkness, the raw cries of the birds and the chattering of the monkeys mixed with the occasional bellow or roar. Something moved on the ground horribly close to her; she jumped. Couldn't have been a snake. Could it? No, of course not. She heard, from about fifty yards away, a rustling, pushing in the undergrowth; nothing dangerous, she was sure, a bird probably. But still ... best get back.

She turned and realised that she had actually wandered off the main track, had taken, in the darkness, a minor one; grass brushed at her ankles. Damn. Bloody silly Damn. Bloody silly. Well, she couldn't be far from the compound; she'd been walking only a few minutes. Actually, looking at her watch, nearly ten. You could walk quite a way in ten minutes. Still, she was fine; it was fine. The hotel lights were ... shit, where were they? The track sloped slightly; she must just walk back down it, rather than up, and she'd hit the main track. Then she could easily ...

Fuck. She couldn't easily see anything. It was pitch-black-she hadn't even had the sense to bring the torch. Well, that was Alex's fault; she'd been too upset to think. She walked a few steps tentatively; was that up- or downhill? Hard to tell; the slope was very slight. She could be walking farther into the bush, or out of it. It was impossible to tell. Maybe she should shout ... shout for help. But if she did, an animal could hear her. A hungry animal. Like the lion that had caught the tourist. Or the mother elephant, startled into defending her baby. What had the ranger said? Three tons of aggression. So ... no shouting then. Just keep calm, Linda; walk steadily back Just keep calm, Linda; walk steadily back. But ... she didn't know which way was back.

She stood there, willing herself not to panic, her mouth dry, her heart thudding. What should she do? What the fuck should she do?

"Several of us will go," the ranger told Alex, "since you have no idea where she went." His voice was calm, but cold. He was obviously very angry: with good reason.

"Yes. Thank you. I'm so ... so sorry. Should I come with you?"

"Absolutely not. No. Stay here. If she turns up, if you find she's just sitting by the pool or something, tell them at the hotel. And they can radio us."

"Of course," said Alex. He was absolutely confident Linda was not sitting by the pool. Or the bar. Or anywhere. She was out there in all that danger, possibly even now being savaged by something, her lovely body being ripped quite literally apart, and it was his fault for being so harsh with her, so critical, so cruel. Sam had been right: he really wasn't worth having a relationship with.

He stood at the doorway, the light of the room behind him, that gentle, sweet candlelight, so at odds with what he was feeling, what was happening. He strained his eyes into the darkness. He couldn't see or hear anything, except the Land Rovers that the rangers had taken. Jesus, those lions the other day had been only a mile or so away. Several of the other bungalows were lit up; he could see faces at the windows. What stories these people would have to tell when they got home: about this misfit couple who fought endlessly, put the safety of the whole camp and all the rangers at risk ...

He tensed; he could hear the Land Rover now, drawing nearer. It pulled into the courtyard, its engine silenced. Alex stood, unable to move, more fearful than he could ever remember. They had called off the search; she had been found dead or horribly mutilated; no one could find her, she- "Right, Alex. Here she is. Safe and sound, although she might not have been much longer; something quite big out there, could have been anything, leopard, lion ... Please don't do that again, Linda; you're putting us at risk as well as yourself. Good night."

"Good night." Linda's face was drawn and tearstained, distorted by fear and remorse. "I'm so, so sorry."

"That's OK. Night."

He looked pretty cheesed off, Alex thought. He would have been, too. Some silly cow endangering his life, all for a bit of drama. He took Linda's arm, pulled her in, shut the door. He shook her-hard. Again and again. Her eyes were shocked and afraid in her white face.

"I'm sorry, Alex. I'm so sorry."

"You stupid fucking thoughtless bitch. How could you be so selfish, so insanely stupid ..."

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I ... well, I'm sorry."

"You'd better be." He stopped shaking her suddenly, set her away from him. "You know, I could ..."

"What?"

Suddenly he couldn't stand it any longer. Her fear, her misery, his relief. He sat down abruptly on the bed, his legs weak, sat looking at her. She didn't move, just stood there, staring back at him.

"What?" she said again.

"Oh, Linda," he said after a long silence. "I'm afraid I love you. That's what."

CHAPTER 47

It was very odd to be seeing him again. Being with him, talking to him, having a laugh with him, doing everything with him, really ... except touching him. That seemed to be totally off-limits. And it was all, really, she wanted to do. Well, more or less.

Still ... it was something even to be working with him.

And Georgia. Georgia was great. Really cool-bit immature, bit spoiled, but funny and clever, and really good to work with, full of ideas, willing to do anything, put in endless hours. A real trouper.

They had formed a committee, which met regularly and then issued properly reported minutes at Abi's instigation: "Formalising it all is the only way to push it forward; otherwise it just turns into a wank, everyone discussing their wonderful ideas and never doing anything."

The committee members were Abi, who was chair-"Only because I've been involved in all this stuff a bit before"-Georgia, and William.

Then there was Emma, representing the hospital, and a friend of Abi's called Fred, who worked for a charity and knew a great deal about the ins and outs of that industry, about fund-raising, about sponsorship, and running events in general. He said he might even be able to find a sponsor for them. He was doing it for nothing.

Fred wasn't too much like anyone would expect a charity worker to be: he looked like a secondhand-car salesman, as Abi said when she introduced him to the group. Fred had taken the implied criticism of this with great good nature and said that selling charities and selling cars were much more similar processes than anyone would think. "You're still getting people to part with more than they want for something. Charities are easier really, in a way, because you can work on their consciences."

Abi knew that William had thought initially that Fred was doing it because he fancied her, but in fact he wasn't; he was a happily unmarried man, as he put it, with a sweet-faced girlfriend called Molly, and a baby on the way. Abi spent a lot of time at the first meeting she brought him to asking Fred about Molly and the baby and when it might be due.

They had a notional date for the festival now, of July eighth and ninth; but as Abi said, it was no use setting anything in stone until they knew they could get some bands.

"There are literally thousands of them," she said, "and they'll all be on MySpace. You'll only get unsigned ones to come, obviously, although it would be great to have one slightly bigger name."

"Would a slightly bigger name come?" asked Georgia, and Fred said they might, if the idea appealed, and there was going to be some good publicity.

"Which there will be, won't there?"

"There certainly will," said Abi coolly. "And quite big bands will bring their fee right down if it's for charity. The smaller ones will probably do it for cost. Just to get the chance to play and be heard. We're just going to have to hit the keyboard, Georgia, e-mail all their agents. Those who have them. We also want quite a good spread of music styles. Like rock, obviously, but also jazz, bit of folk even, for the families ..."

It was William who came up with the really clever idea: "I was talking to a bloke the other night in the pub, telling him what we were going to do; he was awfully impressed. Anyway, he'd been to a small festival the other side of Bath, and what they did was have a whole load of sort of auditions-play-offs, he called them-called Battle of the Bands, in pubs. Each area fielded a few bands and they played in the pub and the punters voted and the winner was put forward to play. He said it was great because everyone who'd voted wanted to go the festival and hear their band. So they got loads more people than they would have done."

"That is such a good idea," said Georgia, "wonderful local publicity too. You are clever, William. Isn't that clever, Fred?"

Fred said it was a good idea. "Only thing is, what sort of standard would the bands be? Bit of a gamble."

"No worse a gamble than if we chose them from MySpace," said Abi briskly, "and obviously we'd hear them too, and if they were dreadful we wouldn't book them. We should get cracking on this straightaway. William, you give us a list of villages, or small towns I s'pose might be better, not too close together, with really good pubs that you think'd cooperate, and we'll get some flyers done ... I can run them off at work. Oh, God, if only we had some money. And a name. We've got to have a name. Georgia, you're the creative one; get us a name."

William felt rather pleased at having made such a large contribution to what he thought of as the theatrical side. Everyone-including him-had seen his role as strictly functional: providing the site, finding the contractors, organising the infrastructure ... The cost of providing power lines and building the arena was eye-watering, and he hoped his father would never find out. They had settled on a ticket fee of thirty pounds, children half price; it sounded a lot, but not set against the thousands they were going to have to find. In his darker moments, he worried that they wouldn't make any money at all, just a whacking loss, and half wished he had said no in the first place. But then he thought of the heady pleasure of the thing, the sense of purpose it had given them all, and of creating something so original and exciting, and he knew it was worth it.

And besides, it meant he could see so much of Abi.

The hurt of the memories had gone; he just longed now to go back to where they had been. She clearly felt quite differently; and working with her on the festival, seeing her more on her home turf, so to speak, he imagined himself through her eyes: very sound, nice, bit dull, someone she had once undoubtedly been fond of, and had fun with, a good friend, but who really was not in her orbit of consideration for anything more ...

Laura was sitting in her mother's kitchen, crying. She was in complete despair over Charlie. Jonathan's moving out had made him slightly less tense, but his behaviour was no better. Indeed, his year tutor had said that his work was increasingly erratic, "and quite honestly, Mrs. Gilliatt, he seems to have lost most of his social skills as well."

She had tried everything: persuasion, threats, bribes, even emotional blackmail: "you could do it for me, Charlie, even if you won't for Dad. It upsets me so much, your behaving like this, and life is quite ... quite difficult just at the moment."

She got little response beyond the now horribly predictable shrug; he clearly felt she must bear some of the blame for his father's behaviour.

Occasionally she thought she had made a breakthrough; one night he had found her crying, after the girls had gone to bed. He had sat down beside her on the sofa, put his arms round her, and asked her if there was anything he could do.

"I'm so sorry, Mum; it must be horrible for you."

Laura told him it would make her feel better if he started working at school again, and told him what his year tutor had said; that had been a mistake.

"Mum, I don't mind helping at home, or trying to cheer the girls up, but I can't go back to being good little Charlie again. He's gone. Dad's sent him packing."

"But, Charlie, that's not fair. To me or to you. You could perfectly well start working again if you wanted to."