"He says he can't stop what he's doing, but if I could get his dad or the cowman they'd bring a tractor down. Where do I find either of those people?"

"No idea where his dad is. Strangling his mother, I hope. But the cowman-Ted, he's called-he'll almost certainly be up in the cowshed. There's a cow calving; apparently she's in real trouble; they're getting the vet; he won't be able to leave her just to drive the tractor. Oh, God ..."

"I can drive a tractor," said Barney unexpectedly, "if it's OK with William."

"God, I don't know. He loves those tractors. Far more than he loves me."

"Do you know where I might find one?"

"Well ... yes. There's one parked outside the lambing shed. I saw it as I came down."

"Take me to it. I'll risk William's wrath."

"But, Barney ... Oh, shit. What a nightmare. Can you really drive a tractor? I mean really?"

"I really can. Chap I was at school with, his dad had a farm; we used to drive the tractors all over the place whenever I went to stay with him."

"But-"

"I'm sure he wouldn't say he could drive a tractor if he couldn't, Abi," said Emma. "He's awfully clever."

"Emma, you'd think Barney could drive a rocket into space. I've never known love to make anyone so blind."

"Yes, OK. But-"

"Look, we've got to do something," said Barney. He pointed at the van; the driver had got out and was squaring up to the security guard, calling him an evil nancy boy. The security guard pulled his radio out of his belt and started alternately talking into it and shouting at the van driver.

"Oh, OK. I'll drive you up there. Emma, you stay here and tell William some lie if he comes over."

"OK," said Emma cheerfully.

She looked around her. It all looked-stuck van aside-extremely organised.

The food trailers were all in place and putting up their shutters, revealing signs that said things like, Best burgers Best burgers and and Finest fries Finest fries. A couple of girls were standing by a small children's roundabout, giving a child a ride; two rainbow-coloured tents side by side announced that they were face painting and willow weaving; someone clearly with a sense of humour was hoisting a large hot-air balloon over the loos that read, In Good Company In Good Company. A St. John's ambulance tent was going up; a girl and a man were constructing a large barbecue under a pagoda tent, with a sign that said, Paella: Biggest portions Paella: Biggest portions, and a small but determined-looking queue was forming across the valley where the punters' entrance was.

Everyone seemed to know exactly what they were supposed to be doing and getting on with it. The air was thick with the crackle of walkie-talkies, the hurdy-gurdy music of the roundabouts, and the occasional burst of rock music as someone checked a sound system. And all the time the picture grew: more vans, more tents, more colour, more stalls. It was astonishing, rather like watching someone doing a giant jigsaw. God, Abi was a wonder. She'd masterminded all of this without any of the histrionics Georgia had brought to it, just got on and done it. William was a lucky chap; she hoped he knew it.

"Oh ... William!" she said, realising he was behind her. "Hi."

"Hi. Everything all right? Abi gone to find Ted?"

"Yes. I ... think so."

"Great. Sorry I can't look after you properly, Emma. If you want a coffee, the site manager's cabin's got a kettle and stuff ..."

"William, I don't need looking after. Did you get the power problem sorted?"

"No, not yet. And that van's causing chaos. God. If only this bloody rain would stop ..."

"I think it is stopping," said Emma, "actually. Well, it's much lighter, more of a sort of drizzle, don't you think?"

"No," said William, looking up at the lowering sky, "I don't. Oh, good, here comes Ted now. No, it's not ... it's Barney. What the hell is he doing driving my tractor? Barney, you wanker, get out of that, for God's sake; you'll do the most terrible damage ..."

"Piss off, William," Abi shouted above the din. "Barney's fine; he can drive this perfectly well, and you'd better get up to the cowshed-that calf's a breach, and the vet needs help."

"Where's Ted?"

"Seeing to another calf. Go on, William, for God's sake."

William roared up the track in the Land Rover, with another agonised yell at Barney of, "You break my tractor, Fraser, I'll have your goolies off."

"You know what they say," Abi said, grinning at Emma. "You wait ages for a calf and then they all come at once."

"You'd think they might have waited another day," said Emma. "So inconsiderate-they must have known what was going on. Abi, would you agree with me that the rain's much lighter? Almost stopped?"

"Mmm. Not sure," said Abi, and then, "God, good old Barney, he's doing wonders with that thing. I hope that cow's all right; we lost one last week; can't afford another."

Emma looked at her, her respect growing by the minute.

"Are you Abi? Security sent me over." It was a girl dressed totally unsuitably in high-heeled red sandals and white trousers. "Tessa Stan-dish, Wiltshire Radio."

"Oh ... God. Yes. Cool. They said you might be coming. Let's go over to the arena. Have you got any other shoes?"

"No. So stupid, but I wasn't expecting to come this morning."

"Tell you what," said Abi. "We pass the welly stall. You can be our first paying customer. Here, look. Rainbow-coloured, madam? Spotted? Or even a pair of Hunters?"

Georgia was driving down the M4 just before one when she heard Tessa Standish: "Coming to you from In Good Company, the music festival based at Paget's Farm, just off the M4 near Bridbourne. And I can tell you, if you're thinking of coming you're in for a treat. It looks fantastic, incredible array of stalls, wonderful bands on the programme, lots of them local, great camping area, stuff for the kids to do, and the most amazing setting. It could have been purpose-built for the occasion, a sort of natural amphitheatre ... and don't be put off by the weather, because the rain's stopping here now, and there's even a bit of sun fighting its way through. Now the headline band is BroadBand, playing at eight, but there are loads of others, starting with a folk band called-what are they called?-oh, yes, Slow-mo. They're on at three. And it's all for charity, in aid of the victims of the M4 crash last August and St. Marks Hospital, Swindon, so you'll be doing some majorly good work if you come."

It was awful to be so late; she'd wanted to be down first thing, really make herself useful, but the second on the new film had suddenly called her and said they needed rain to film a scene, and here it was, most obligingly; could she get over right away? So she'd had to get over.

Georgia had had a pretty amazing three months since Moving Away Moving Away had gone on to the nation's television screens. She had had rave notices-been proclaimed by various critics as "an incredible new talent," and giving a "near perfect performance" and "exquisitely touching" and "a superbly intuitive actress." had gone on to the nation's television screens. She had had rave notices-been proclaimed by various critics as "an incredible new talent," and giving a "near perfect performance" and "exquisitely touching" and "a superbly intuitive actress."

"I don't understand it," she'd said to Linda. "I know I wasn't that good; I just know it. I'm not daft."

"Maybe, but the thing is, darling, the camera loves you. It isn't just models you hear that of; there are certain actors it's true of too. It found more in your performance than you know was there, maybe than actually was there. Frankly, Georgia-and I've always been one of your biggest fans-I didn't see you getting notices like this. You're a one-in-a-million screen actress, and you should thank God fasting for it. And don't come running to me after a bit saying you want to play Juliet at Stratford, you don't feel fulfilled ..."

"Of course I won't," said Georgia.

"Darling, you'd be surprised how many do. Just enjoy this. It's great."

Georgia's face was everywhere; apart from the arts pages, Vogue Vogue had used her for a fashion shoot, she'd appeared in the style section of the had used her for a fashion shoot, she'd appeared in the style section of the Sunday Times Sunday Times, and in the Guardian Guardian as their close-up spread in the Monday fashion slot. She'd been interviewed just about everywhere-and wonderfully had been able to plug the festival several times-and most important, had a part in a new BBC series, filming in the autumn, and after that in a main feature film, a screen adaptation of a new novel set against the background of what the publicity called "Thatcher's Britain." Georgia couldn't actually see that it was that different from present-day Britain, although her mother inevitably could, but it was going to be a great movie, and she had a great part. as their close-up spread in the Monday fashion slot. She'd been interviewed just about everywhere-and wonderfully had been able to plug the festival several times-and most important, had a part in a new BBC series, filming in the autumn, and after that in a main feature film, a screen adaptation of a new novel set against the background of what the publicity called "Thatcher's Britain." Georgia couldn't actually see that it was that different from present-day Britain, although her mother inevitably could, but it was going to be a great movie, and she had a great part.

She had moved out of her room in Jazz's house and bought a minute flat in Clapham; she had bought a ton of clothes from Top-shop and TK Maxx and a couple of dresses from Stella McCartney, for special occasions, and one of the new Minis, and she and Merlin were going on holiday to Thailand for a week when the BBC film was finished. Life had changed a bit, as she said to Abi, but she felt exactly the same. "Just as worried about everything, just as insecure, just as-"

"Nuts?" Abi said with a grin.

And yes, Georgia said, she supposed that was right.

"I'd so love to be cool like you, Abi, cool and sorted. I can't see it ever happening. Maybe I need a husband."

Abi said she thought a husband was the last thing Georgia needed. "Who could cope with you anyway, all famous like you are; you'd have to find another luvvie, and anyway, how about Merlin; what's wrong with him?"

Whereupon Georgia sighed and said nothing.

"Yes, there is, I can tell," said Abi. "What's the matter, trouble in paradise?"

"Paradise?"

"Yes. Merlin told me being with you was total paradise. I thought it was sweet."

"Well, it isn't," Georgia said. "I can't bear it when he says things like that."

"I wouldn't mind. The best William could manage was that life's got a lot better since we got married, but he's not so sure about this week."

"Yes, but he means it. Merlin doesn't."

"How do you know?"

"Oh ... it's all so corny. I swear he practises it in front of a mirror. And he's sooo vain. I don't know, Abi; I'd much rather have someone all lovely and steady like William. I'd love to be a farmer's wife."

"Georgia," said Abi, "you couldn't possibly marry a farmer; you'd be crying all the time-think about the lambs going off to market, or the poor little bull calves ..."

"Why, what happens to them?"

"I'm not even going to tell you," said Abi; but Georgia was intrigued and asked William, and then, as Abi had predicted, sat with tears rolling down her face at the plight of the poor things, off to market to be turned into veal.

Anyway, the festival looked like it was going to be great; a cautiously optimistic call from Abi at midday had reported a "huge queue" at the gates. "I just drove along the road, saw them from there, a great line of them, straggling between the cornfields, you know, the ones leading across to the end of the farm. Just get here, Linley you've got work to do. And where's your friend?"

"She should be there," said Georgia. "I spoke to them about an hour ago; they were at Swindon or thereabouts. I hope nothing's happened to them."

"No, not them, they're here and absolutely great. We managed to get them a plug on the radio. And a couple of blokes with beards and prehistoric sandals said they couldn't believe they were going to hear Sim Foster's wife and daughter. They were well pleased. No, I mean the CD guy. No sign of him."

"Oh, Jazz. He's coming down with Merlin; they're only about twenty minutes behind me."

Anna and Lila were doing a half-hour set at six: Lila on saxophone, Anna on piano. They'd turned out to be a big draw with both what Abi called the Boden lot as well as the fanatics.

"It adds a bit of class, such a lovely story for the publicity, tying in with you and the TV series and everything. He was huge in his day, her husband; I Googled him, wonderful for us to talk about. And Lila is just totally gorgeous, isn't she?"

Georgia arrived just as the sun came out in earnest; she parked at the top of the hill and looked down, smiling. The sky was a rather uncertain blue, but the clouds had gone, and the tents were going up now, hundreds of them, filling the first field-they'd obviously need the second; Abi had been wrong-all different colours, small igloos for the couples, and bigger frame jobs for the families. She could hear the sound of thousands of pegs being hammered into the ground, of children laughing and shrieking as they ran about, of people calling to one another, the hurdy-gurdy music of the little roundabouts; it was all so lovely, their dream almost unbelievably coming true. A few people had already lit barbecues, and she could smell the smoke drifting into the moist air; and across on the other side of the valley, the seemingly endless line of people, queuing in the sunshine.

"Hello, sweetheart. How you doing?"

"Jazz! How lovely. Fine, yes."

"Pretty good, isn't it? Your friend's done a great job."

"Have you seen her? She was worrying about you being late."

"Yeah, I've left Merl talking to her. And some bird in white trousers. Well, they were white. Pretty muddy now. She had a microphone. Well, I mean, show Merlin a microphone and he's off, isn't he. I mean, he's a great guy, but he don't half love the sound of his own voice. You and him a permanent item now, Georgia?"

"No!" said Georgia, and was horrified with the fervour with which her reply came out. "No, we're just ... well, you know."

"Yeah, think so. Well, you're a big improvement on the last one, I'll give you that."

"I thought you'd have liked Ticky" said Georgia.

"No, not for me, love. All fur coat and no knickers, she was. Not my type at all."

"And what is your type?" said Georgia, genuinely curious.

"Oh ... it varies. I know it when I see it. Look at old Merl, working the field. He do love a fresh audience."

She looked; it was true. He was moving amongst the tents, talking to people. He looked amazing-of course-wearing jeans and brown riding boots and a white collarless shirt. He was such a sweetheart; she should appreciate him more, stop complaining about him being irritating.

She parked her car and went to find Anna and Lila. Anna was down by the arena, checking everything out.

"Great piano," she said, "Japanese job. Just what I hoped for. And really well wired up. Lila's just been sick for the fourth time. She can do stage fright better than anyone."

"Oh, poor darling." It was Merlin. "Nothing worse. She'll be fine. I'll go and talk to her, see what I can do."

"That won't help," said Georgia tartly to Anna as he hurried off. "Enough to make her sick again, I should think," and then realised she had already broken her resolution to be nicer about him. How could she do this? When six months ago, she would have killed to have Merlin at her side, marked out as her boyfriend. What was the matter with her?

Lila staggered over from behind the arena, where she'd been throwing up. Merlin had obviously been unable to find her.

"Mum, I can't do this."

"Course you can," said Georgia, putting her arm round her. "You've got to, anyway. Come on, let's go and talk to Merlin."

Merlin was now sitting on the ground, sharing a bottle of water with a little girl wearing a long skirt, wellies, and a patchwork hat. Her forehead wore a rainbow.

"Hi, Georgia, Lila. This is Milly This is her fourth festival this year."

"Goodness," said Georgia. "That's impressive. Hi, Milly. You having fun?"

"So fun, yes."

"I like your hat."

"My mummy bought it for me. From over there." She pointed at the hat stall. "She got one too."

"Very nice." Georgia smiled at Milly's mum, a pretty dark-haired girl who was wearing an identical hat to her daughter's. "I want you to know, that stall was my idea."

"Well, it was a great one," said Milly's mum.

"It's lovely, isn't it?"

"Oh, so lovely. We're great festival people. We always feel they're like miniholidays. No stress, such freedom for the kids, and this is such a wonderful place. We've never been to one here before."